HALF LIGHT.

AMARA ROYCE Wife of the mayor. Owner of Old Rider Bar MC Secretary

[amararoyce]

SPOTTED: AMARA ROYCE in new york city! heard the FORTY-FIVE year old belongs to THE REAPERS MC as a SECRETARY. word on the streets is that they can be PROTECTIVE, but they can also be CAGEY.

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

name. Amara Madani Royce nicknames. None birthday. October 21 zodiac sign. Libra siblings. tbd time in nyc. 20 years occupation. Owner of Old Rider Bar character inspiration: Shauna Shipman (Yellowjackets), Sarah Manning (Orphan Black), Furiosa (Mad Max), Waverly Earp (Wynonna Earp)

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘.

TLDR; Amara Madani transplanted to NYC twenty years ago with nothing on her person except a bus ticket and a small bag of clothes from questionable origins. Originally born and bred in a strict, traditionally religious family in Utah, her early years are murky at best and only ever arise in conversation as dark humored jokes at her own expense. She was married young to appease their expectant Mormon community, but knew from an early age that something about this life path didn't quite click regardless of any indoctrination. Her ex-husband taught her how to drive motorcycles as part of some faith based riding group and that's about all she'll say on where she inherited her love of the road. Amara joined the Reapers almost immediately upon stepping foot in the city, having been utterly alone and seeking any shred of familiarity to sink her teeth into. Started with bartending, then eventually bought Old Rider outright and slotted in as the club's secretary— it seemed easy enough when she'd always been an ace with numbers and logistics. Met Breslin several years into her tenure with the club and immediately felt overcome with the sense of correctness, as if her life hadn't made sense until that very moment (gay awakening fr). She fell hard and fast for the attorney and they've been married for 10 glorious years. Her wife's career took off and she became mayor of the entire goddamn city, which still blows Amara's mind and surprises her whenever they're recognized out in public. From the outside it's all perfect and polished minus one small detail: Amara is still involved with the MC and Breslin has absolutely no idea.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

Since they're living in the official mayoral house in Manhattan (due to security + political reasons), she heads out to Brooklyn to tidy up their actual home pretty often. It would freak her out if they just left it to gather dust and disrepair, so she makes sure the whole place looks fairly identical to how they left it when Breslin got elected.

Old Rider is her pride and joy. She can't have children (emotionally) because that's her child for all intents and purposes.

Tends to adopt strays: cats and people. She is acutely aware of what it feels like to be alone in the world and never wants anyone else to feel as if they don't have a lifeline somewhere out there.

Favorite movie is The Prestige and she's made Breslin watch it roughly 37 times.

Idk more to come, she's nuts.

[blamurdered]

anyone 6'0 or taller: stands near me

me: [softly] for fuck’s sake

[noxmourners]

"Hammer is... upstairs, unfortunately," Breslin said with a frown as she headed towards the weird chest thing and retrieved the bat. Over and over, she repeated to herself that this stupid house was worth it for the location alone, nevermind the security and wealth of history that came with it. Security that did not include any clauses about exorcisms or ghosts. Bat in hand, she returned to her wife and passed it off, then began slowly towards the source of the noise. "I don't know--those Ghost Adventures idiots probably think so. They didn't include how to handle old-ass rich ghosts in my onboarding," Breslin quipped, voice soft despite the sheer idiocy of all of this. The second bat was under the bed, which was probably a good place for it, all things considered, but left Breslin with just a shitty plastic flashlight as a weapon and she wasn't sure she could throw it hard enough to do any damage. "Okay, upstairs. Also, I'm turning on lights as we go because you've made me watch too many horror movies where they do this stupid shit in the dark."

[amararoyce]

"Why is it upstairs? Were you hanging somethin' without me?" It dawns on her that she doesn't actually know if they are allowed to desecrate the beloved mayoral home with their personal, eclectic decor, but then again who was going to tell Breslin no? Certainly not Amara. Twisting the bat between her hands, familiarizing them with the weight, she ascends the stairs in lockstep with her better half. "Yeah, well, I stopped trusting Zak Bagans' advice after he tripped over the chair in that one episode." She'd laughed herself stupid over it at the time, but the point remained. "Anyway, maybe the ghosts just hate Led Zep." She gestures off-handedly to their matching, albeit faded, band t-shirts. "Suddenly regretting every single one of those, by the way. If it gives you any sense of vindication. We can be action movie people now."

[dadivosos]

amara made sense for breslin , at least of what little he knew of them. the good law abiding citizen falling for -- well amara , he could imagine just how well the two got along. " or gorgeous , i think that's an applicable substitute. " though neither were used or could be used since alfie immediately walked out as soon as amelia mentioned being done. " does it matter ? " usually a red flag meaning she broke it off with him but he had yet to admit it to anyone. " you're going to have to be a bit more specific , love. "

[amararoyce]

"Crazy that she'd give your ego all that ammo." Only mentioned playfully, without any semblance of bite behind the comment. "No, I'm just hopelessly nosy." And she was, about the girl and the relationship. How it ended and who did it. Why they were still orbiting one another and apparently trading complimentary barbs. With a sigh, she inched slightly closer as if confessing to something moderately obscene. "It's a marriage certificate. My first one. I need it gone and all the legal bullshit tied in. Like it never happened."

[minerva-price]

Location: The Reap House Starter for @amararoyce

"Do I have the word Idiot painted on my face? Maybe my back?" Minnie turned around for dramatic affect before dropping into her chair. "51 fucking percent, Amara. He could've asked me for money, he could've talked to me but instead more than half the pier is gone and now he wants me to figure out if we can play nice with this family." Minnie almost made a joke about her playing very nice with the middle daughter but that felt like too cheap of a joke. She knew that Saadet was smart, capable and if it was working with just her then maybe Minnie would consider it but the whole family? Brothers and parents and all? "With everything that's been going on, fucking Cahill and his bullshit and now we have to share the Pier?" She had a headache and she was only complaining to Amara because she trusted her. She knew that she needed to have her shit together when the rest of the MC started to ask questions, started to ask what this meant for them and she needed to have an answer. "Am I playing my hand too hard if I ask to meet with them?"

[amararoyce]

No, not today at least. The taunt sits at the edge of her tongue when Amara thinks better of it. Current circumstances provide no laughing matter and with Minnie as stressed as she is, humor dies before ever rising to the surface. "What do we know about them?" She leans back in her chair, both feet propped on the low table between them. "Other than the Miami thing." As in, how heavily did their operations overlap? Losing majority control sucked and put them in a bind, but if these Demirci people ran a separate game then maybe a peace deal could be brokered between both factions. Everybody stays out of each other's way. "Depends on which one you meet with, I think. Maybe don't go in hot lookin' for a handout. Keep it light. We're just sharing the playground after all."

[noxmourners]

By the time Amara found her--admittedly not long into the evening--August was double-fisting drinks, which currently consisted of a pair of champagne flutes she'd swiped from a passing server's tray. Her attendance was an attempt at playing nice, to show the mob and Nico in particular that she wasn't about to cause further issues and that the Contingency would remain neutral despite her actions prior to her joining and eventually leading the organization. That didn't mean she liked it, and that coupled with the prospect of experiencing fireworks after years spent avoiding them put her in the worst of moods. This showed plainly in a flash look of indignation at the readability of her mood and she quickly tried to quiet her expression following that jab.

"Ooh fuck off," she growled weakly, then drained one of the flutes and abandoned it on the nearest (albeit occupied) table. "Breslin must be great if you're enduring this bullshit for her."

[amararoyce]

"She's one of one." Everyone knew that. Or at least she preferred to think they did because what followed was an extremely long monologue about why her better half outshone everyone else on the Eastern seaboard. "But I also respond to bribes and she knows that." Not that copious amounts of offerings and platitudes and whatever else could be offered were wholly necessary at this point. Avoiding a solo stay at home with the resident poltergeist was convincing enough. "Maybe we should get you something stronger. Walk with me."

[minerva-price]

"My edible isn't hitting hard enough yet for this shit." Not that Minnie didn't enjoy flirting with a bunch of rich women. Some of her friends would say her type was married but she was trying to be better behaved these days. Trying being the operative word. "How long do you think is respectable to stay at this thing? I don't want anyone to think I'm rude." Minerva made her voice soft before she laughed, both of them knowing that she didn't give a shit about what any of these people thought of her. "You want to check out the restaurant with me? Maybe I was wrong, the edible is kicking in. I suddenly have crazy munchies and these little finger foods aren't doing it for me." @amararoyce

[amararoyce]

"And she didn't even share." An edible might have been the only thing besides idle gossip and the occasional roast that could truthfully get her through an event like this. Opulent, and dazzling, and so far beyond the realm of what she wanted to be doing on a Saturday. Let alone the Fourth. But attending for Breslin's sake was a nonstarter and she'd show up in this curtain of a gown if it meant boosting her other half's career image. "Definitely two hours. After that, social obligations are paid." Or at least that was the argument she planned on making when the second hour struck. "Thought you'd never ask. Think they've got Italian even though everybody's in a napkin?"

[selinagha]

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐮𝐩, though not necessarily in a dramatic, humiliating, everyone-look-at-the-poor-girl way. naturally, a date would be the only thing that would lead a girl like her to a bar like this; pink nails, glitter on eyelids, the doe-eyed look of someone who ended up in a place like this by accident. or by being stood up. still, she remained, an hour after the scheduled meet time. she was still perched at the bar, drinking rum and cokes and, seemingly, reviewing security footage with the bar owner like they were on law and order: special bikers unit. “wait, wait. oh my god, no. that’s totally him.” selin pointed at the screen, borderline drunk and far too invested. “look at the little guilty waddle. like a penguin.” she glanced toward the clock when amara did, then back toward the door, suddenly delighted by the possibility of live drama. “what happens if he does show his face?”

[amararoyce]

"It is," she nodded in agreement as they replaced the footage again before cursing, "motherfucker." Unbelievable that someone could not only be that careless twice in a row, but walk off without a note or trying to find the owner. Granted, people who stopped in loved their bikes more than strangers so he almost assuredly would've gotten his ass kicked, but it was the principle of the matter. "That's an insult to penguins." Amara smirked at the comparison before her gaze shifted back from the clock to her patron. "You know how to swing a bat?" Now her smile blew wide, megawatt and jovial. "Kidding. I can do it myself." For the other woman's sake, and in avoidance of any legal ramifications, that was a joke. "It would be a waste of these pretty nails anyway." A nod to the other woman's manicure. "By the way, whoever you were supposed to meet? He sucks. I can use the bat on him next if you'd like."

[dadivosos]

" i don't know and my ex , wanna join ? " he said with an all too knowing grin. " can you believe , she had the audacity to say i was too handsome ? " he paused for dramatic effect. " as if that were a bad thing. it's not my fault she lost out on a once in a life time opportunity. " as if he were the best catch in all of new york and he was convinced he was. head slowly turned , eyes almost glimmering with hope , " what can i be of service ? "

[amararoyce]

"Yeah, alright." A little shit talk was usually warranted and she had nothing better to do when left unsupervised. Breslin could drag her away with a cane later. "Was handsome actually the word she used?" It seemed an awfully convenient compliment to level when their relationship clearly had no shortage of bad blood. "So who did the breaking up? That's gonna inform my opinion." She hadn't chosen him lightly, nor was her request flippant enough to act coy about it. "Need you to erase something for me."

[noxmourners]

Oh, she heard them. Shit, she heard them on the first goddamned night in this God-forsaken house. Their move from their much-loved little place in another borough to Gracie Mansion was for both political and safety reasons, Amara insisting it was probably much easier to secure than anywhere else. For the most part, Breslin agreed, particularly now with a rogue terrorist organization trying to run their lives. Nights like this, however, had her doubting their decision.

"I'm getting a bat and a flashlight," she murmured as she carefully removed a cat from her chest and placed it on the floor, then quickly walked to a cabinet in the adjacent kitchen to find the flashlight. "I did not sign up for some Blair Witch shit when I became mayor," she murmured to herself, then returned with the flashlight. "Where'd we put the bat?"

[amararoyce]

"A bat and a hammer!" She called after her wife's retreating form as Breslin walked with the sort of determination only questionable specters could elicit. Because like hell was Amara planning to sit pretty and weaponless while her better half cleared the house like Jason fucking Bourne. "I put one in the weird chest thing next to the kitchen door and the other under our bed." The latter being near impossible to reach when said entities were no doubt guarding the stairs. At the mental image, a far worse possibility arose. "Ghosts can't pick up bats right? 'Cause that would really fuck our odds."

[soracities]

Paul Eluard. “I Cannot Be Known” (selected lines), Selected Poems (trans. Gilbert Bowen)

[amararoyce]

@noxmourners

[nanxschaefer]

character: Amara Royce @amararoyce

location: the white party

"Oh my gosh, where's Aunt Breslin and how do we make sure she or my mom doesn't see Francis right now? He apparently got high." Nan let out a small tut and shake of her head. She loved both of her aunts, however the fact that one just happened to be part of the same gang as her felt semi-relieving that she wasn't hiding from everyone in her life, just a majority of them. "Don't get me wrong, I think it's funny as fuck and I totally think it would help sway that I'm actually the perfect child, but also he's like using it to grieve, which like sucks that he feels like that's the only way." Nan let out a small sigh as she wasn't sure what Amara really could do about it, but knew she would listen.

[amararoyce]

"Oh, too late. She's got eyes and ears everywhere." At the very least, it would be one of the first things that Amara reported to her wife with a cackling laugh in the car ride home. Sorry, Nan. "Weed's not a crime anymore though. Gonna have to find somethin' else damning for your case." Of course, she was open to spitballing theories. What did her current state of being mildly tipsy exist for if not to be a sounding board and instigator? "Yeah Breslin told me that he took some personal time. You think he's still goin' through it?" Grief had no timeline, but it sounded as if the impact and its ricochet were still as fresh for Francis as the day it happened. "Loss is hard. And personal. There's so much to work out in your head before comin' up for air."

[amararoyce]

Who: @dadivosos (Alfie) Where: u already know

"Whatcha eating and who are you talking shit about?" Both reasonable questions because all Amara wanted was a damn churro and a conversational topic that didn't made her want to claw her face off. Schmoozing had a very short time limit and her well of patience at these things ran considerably dry. Breslin was off being the savior and protector of the city, which left her unsupervised and prone to sidling up beside a questionable source of entertainment. "Also I need a favor. Big one."

[amararoyce]

Who: @noxmourners (August) Where: guess

"I can't decide if I like the look you're wearing or not." Her brows rose in a mocking gauge of the other woman's expression, some good natured attempt at unraveling what sort of mood August landed herself in tonight. Mischief or chaos? The line ran real fucking thin sometimes. "On your face, I mean." An addendum because she liked her companion's outfit. Really. Especially considering Amara put bare minimum effort into her own, shaping up just clean enough to avoid embarrassing her wife in public. Once they tumbled in the door of Gracie Mansion tonight, she was immediately putting on a Led Zep t-shirt.

[amararoyce]

AMARA ROYCE ATTENDS THE WHITE PARTY EVENT

…. escorted by Breslin Royce

[amararoyce]

Who: @pantheonsays Where: somewhere between 9th and the secret address TW: religious trauma :)

The one glaring negative about living in The City That Never Sleeps was that it never fucking slept. Every minute or so, Amara found herself peering speculatively out the front and side windows, anticipating a news camera to be posted up filming the mayor's wife committing grand theft auto in the dead center of Manhattan.

Or maybe that was the catch all along. Get pulled over and become a splashy story announced by every chirpy evening anchor from here to Detroit. And she'd fallen for it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Then again, when had she ever truly thought more than two steps ahead when diving straight into something?

It wasn't in her nature to peer around corners, that had always been Breslin's area of expertise. Perpetually competent, Amara commented on her wife more than once over the years. Her own talents excelled in the realm of keeping one foot landing in front of the other, showing up when it mattered, holding the gravity of weight and silence when people needed it. Some sanctimonious bishop once told her that such consistent efforts were a pathway to holiness. To redemption. To salvation. What a goddamn joke.

At yet another red light, her gaze flickered to the now dark phone in the cupholder where some offending text message burned. Like staring into a light for too long, she could still see the imprint of it written against the blackness. All of its obvious implications, all of the secrets left behind in that damn desert.

We all like to think you're a better wife now...

Was she? Amara held no tangible regrets about the methods that got her to this place. The life she kept now, publicity aside, became filled with the only people who ever gave half a damn about her well-being and that alone was worth severing any ties back west. Regardless of how she'd gone about it; reckless and brash and spontaneous in the heat of the moment. Then one foot in front of the other, like always.

Only unease settled into her bones now, the kind steeped in guilt and internal shame, to recognize how that decision touched Breslin too. Her lack of forethought struck again when falling for someone who would inevitably become a spectacle in the public eye as her political career soared to well deserved heights. All the while, quietly weighed down with a litany of baggage she never asked for yet accepted all the same.

Decades old events forced their way into her silence without permission and for once, she allowed the series to play uninhibited. Searching for any other places where she'd misstepped, left a loose end that could irreparably harm them. Then further back, to the dry, blistering summer heat in her school uniforms. To the churches, the sermons, the wagging finger of her mother. How years of old white men ranting and raving led her to that fateful night in the first place.

Ultimately her choice, yes, but did she really hold all of the fault singlehandedly? Was no one else present to blame? Even in spirit?

When her eyes fell south again, Amara realized suddenly that her knuckles were clasped white around the steering wheel of a car she'd only ever dreamt about driving. Ironic. Pathetic. Dark tendrils shook once to clear both the memories and their accompanying cobwebs before she turned a harder left than necessary and arrived at her instructed destination. Engine off and phone confiscated, her movements only paused just before tossing the keys in the glovebox.

There was still time, she could drop it at the police station instead. Do the right thing for once. Earn some miniature crumb of morality to her name in case the tales of fire and brimstone were right after all. But if damnation for herself in the afterlife meant Breslin avoiding all trace of it in this one, Amara couldn't hesitate. Wouldn't. Ever.

The keys jingled hollowly in the compartment just before she slammed it shut and exited the vehicle in one swift motion. Hood up, eyes cast down and away from any stray security cameras until she hit the street. It was two blocks further when she removed the jacket altogether and blended perfectly into a flurry of New Yorkers going about their middle of the night ventures.

Thanks for the joyride, assholes.

[pantheonsays]

@amararoyce