Aydın Sayılı

Pestilence - Drug Lord - Seraphim “We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”

[aydinsayili]

mitzi-zhang​:

When: 19th March Where: Opium, Chinatown Soho Who: @aydinsayili​ 

“I think we need to order thirds because I’m nearly finished with my drink.” Mitzi laughed, taking the last sip of the Pearl River Fizz she had ordered. She was not planning on getting drunk tonight, she could not allow anything to make her mind hazy, not when she was hoping that alcohol would be her liquid luck to make Aydın spill his thoughts. “I’m glad it’s a Friday, I don’t think I could have gone into work tomorrow otherwise. I going to get the Golden Child next, passion fruit in any cocktail makes it taste good.” The two of them drinking together was not an unusual sight. They had shared the same nightclub scenes before she joined PEST, her relationship with Fletcher helping their connection morph into more of a friendship than just acquaintances and once she officially joined the ranks of Pestilence going out for a drink together was part of their routine to unwind. 

Being away from PEST tonight was a good decision, the neutral territory of the cocktail bar they were sat at meant that there their conversation was private without any lingering eyes or ears. “How is dominion life like Mr Sayılı?” she teased with a playful tone. Aydın was a clever man, he was driven and knew how to get what he wanted by working hard, being trusted by him was an advantage, especially now that she whispered whatever she found out back to War. Ordering another drink, Mitzi’s eyes flickered upwards towards him, her brow arching upwards slightly at the next question she was about to pose. “I have a feeling you have some interesting theories on where Ricardo is at…he’s been gone for what? A couple of days now?”

-

Aydin laughs loudly, unafraid that the volume might get people to look at them. He’s here with Mitzi because it’s Mitzi and he enjoys drinking with her, but he’s also here to show his face and remind people that he’s always watching. The Opium is neutral territory but that doesn’t mean he wants the upstart drug lords to get any ideas. He waves over a waiter with the flick of his wrist and orders another glass of whiskey for himself and precisely what Mitzi describes to him. “I have never been a fan of cocktails, too sweet. I much prefer the burn of straight scotch.” He knocks back the last of his drink and adds the glass to their growing pile at the end of the table. He’s not drunk, it’ll be a while before he gets to that level just yet, but he is pleasantly warm and relaxed.

He smiles at her question and decides to indulge her in the small talk for a while. After all, they are here to unwind. “It is...chaotic these last few weeks. So much has happened since Micheala broke the truce and it feels just a smidge like I’ve been running a small marathon to keep up with the changes.” A foolish endeavor on their horseman’s part, but he’s not about to divulge that thought out loud and in a public space, or with Mitzi. Like her as he may he likes to keep his cards close to his chest until he needs them, and last thing he needs right now is for the Pinketts to hear how dissatisfied he’s been with the current direction of Pestilence as of late.

“Ricardo?” He scoffs, covering up any smidgen of worry that might bleed through his mask. They aren’t close, but with things as they are...his concern only ramps up by the day. “Knowing that man he’s either gotten lost up North in the countryside after a night out, or he’s off licking his wounds for taking yet another blow meant for his girls.” It takes a great deal of self control not to roll his eyes at the thought of that, instead he shrugs. “I’m sure he’ll appear just as we’re losing faith in him. We both know how Victoria and Charlotte love him so his leash is longer than most.” He cocks his head to the side and without looking at the returning waiter grabs their drinks from them. “Why do you ask? Have you learned something I haven’t?” He doubts it and he smiles at her to soften what could be taken as a demand rather than a question.

[aydinsayili]

rfjofficial​:

-

“You were never much of a romantic.” Of course, Aydin knew that. He knew himself well like that. An endlessly self-aware man. But it’s worth reminding him, when the disbelief punctures through his easy tone. Could he blame him? Rafael speaks with airy lightness and sarcasm, meant to mimic the theatricality of his time on Emil Becker’s talk show. And yet, Pestilence’s Dominion turns him on his axis. The seemingly innocuous comment making it clear that, for all of Rafael’s jokes, his old friend could isolate the truth behind it. Rafael almost smiles authentically, soured only by the mention of the Pinkett’s. “Yeah? Where are you gonna leave them? At the bottom of the Thames, I hope.” Rafael says, a laughter to his words but the intent clear as day.

“It keeps things interesting, I guess. We were never really the boring types.” He concedes with a low laugh, yet there is a hint of naive wistfulness. One that lingers, as the taste of scotch stings his throat. If there was ever a choice to be made, or a preference to lean against - Rafael would pick Famine, ten times over. The hatred for Pestilence runs deep in his Femenias blood, like poison. Potentially rooted in the rivalry of their two gangs, long before his own life. Yet he can concede that he misses this. The easy presence of a friend like Aydin. He may be a rat, like the rest of Pestilence’s scum. Yet at the very least, he wasn’t a coward. There was something to be said about that.

Rafael listens, still and curious for a moment. Aydin is slick, as to be expected. A provocateur of admiration and mirth, he embodies the natural charm that could dismantle even the crosses of figures. But what the Seraphim feels is not just childish petulance, but a mark against his family’s honor. He doesn’t condone Aydin’s velveteen words with a laugh, or take his sentiments for what they are. “Spare me your empathetic bullshit, Aydin. It means fuck all if you can’t do anything about it.” He dismisses, haughty as he takes a longer sip of his drink. A reminder to limit himself to one, lest he start spilling even harsher truths. Only to still, as his eyes narrow into recognition. Rafael may not be the most strategic of minds, but he was intuitive - a natural empathy, through and through. “Unless… That’s why you called me over here for a drink.” He hears the words idiotic and square, and makes a move to turn and look at Aydin directly. Slowly, a smile crawls along his features. “What can you give me on Victoria?” He asks directly, quick to sweeten the conversation. “You know, FemEn’s got some connected clients looking for a drug plug. It could help speed up your recovery process.”

-

Aydin snorts at Rafael’s bad joke, leaning back into his seat and taking a long drink from his glass. He doesn’t try to hide his lack of real amusement from him. “Such a cliché, no? Throwing my enemies in the Thames. After knowing me for so long I’d have hoped you know that I prefer to be...original in my disposal methods.” He smiles over the rim of his glass, having a great deal of fun crafting his double meanings. “And I am not a cliché.” Another drink. “Besides, evidence left behind is simply a trail and I don’t do loose ends anymore than you do.”

He sets his glass down on the table, running his finger over the gathering condensation on the sides. For a moment, contemplative. A part of Aydin does miss Rafael and does miss the easy nights of expensive alcohol and dark clubs they shared. But the more important part of him always knew they’d been flirting with danger and dancing with the devil. Both knowing that when push came to shove they would part ways like nothing had ever happened between them. But a foggy friendship, however brief, was a resource Aydin knew he’d be foolish to ignore any longer. There’d be no more parties...but there might be tender alliances. Building blocks for something bigger and better down the line. His smile is genuine when he looks across the table at Rafael again. “Boring was for our parents. The future is by far more exciting.”

He can’t begrudge Rafael for his anger, were the roles reversed he too would have been ferociously angry about it. And seated across from someone that might’ve had a hand in it? He’s only mildly surprised that Rafael has managed to hold onto his vitriol as long as he has. He lets him spout his angry words before his eyes shoot up at his offer, a sharp smile fishing, for just a moment, across his face. He sits in silence for a moment, eyes searching Rafael’s face, trying to sort out the lie, weighing his options, and picking his next words with a practiced and careful patience.

“It wounds me to admit to the likes of you that we are...hurting.” His tone is flat, the insult bears no sting he is simply using the words for what they are, words. “I’ve taken it upon myself to try and gain back the ground beneath our feet.” More drugs, more dealers, more muscle to stake out local places and keep the riff raff from rising through the cracks in his carefully built foundation. A plan he’d never once thought he’d have to concoct one day. “I’ve been stretched so thin lately that it has been hard to find good people for more important needs." He locks eyes with Rafael briefly before downing the last of his drinking and letting the glass clink back onto the table. “I find evenings to be some of the hardest these days, don’t you? Coming home from work, alone and exhausted. Worried about all I haven’t managed to achieve or accomplish in the hours spent where I’m needed most.” He taps his fingers on the table. “It keeps me up.”

[kourtwrites]

BERK CANKAT on Instagram

[rpxmusings]

       you   A L L   think i’m the   BAD  GUY                             (  BUT I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO’S WILLING TO DO WHAT IT TAKES TO SAVE US  )

[aydinsayili]

remuswarden​:

—

Young, wealthy men in London often run in the same small circles. Two princes, both alike in dignity ( and in debauchery ), make for fast friends, bearing similar weight across their shoulders, finding relief in the other and a shared bottle. It’s been sometime since their last wild night, even if tradition leads them to return to familiar stomping grounds even as years pass and life moves on. Old friendships are forced to die as the truce does, smothered by the new order, a set of expectations fit for a new age ushered in by who else than Pestilence: first-founded, first to hold power, first to break bonds formed only out of absolute necessity. But in truth, Michaela Pinkett can’t be blamed for the distance between Remus Warden and Aydin Sayılı. Tensions were high long before then, the burdens of growing up and getting married and the thickening race for War’s succession all weighing down on a friendship built around heavy boozing and the idealism of youth.

Remus: Yes please, I need a fucking drink

Remus: She doesn’t mind loaning me out for the night x

There is value in hearing out your enemies when they come to you, especially the ones you once called your closest friend. Things with Aydin are rarely clear cut, and knowing him well, Remus expects a more discrete agenda. Or maybe he just wants to fucking unwind — bad time to become a Seraphim, he supposes, the whole fucking thing is news to him, first sight of Aydin’s new title deep inside the Cathedral. He approaches the old booths, seats that have certainly worn down to match their bodies over time after all the nights sat in this spot and getting drunk off their asses. “Aydin Sayılı in the flesh?” Remus asks boisterously, smile on his face as he nearly struts to meet his oldest friend. “And the bastard’s already ordered a drink without me.” Familiar smirk grows on his face.“Well, I’ll just have to catch up then, yeah?” Laugh follows as Remus slides into the booth, only a moment longer before he waves a bartender over. Whiskey neat — no, no, better yet, a bottle for the table. Anything goes for old time’s sake, and there’s no better reason to drink than losing Juno at Death’s hand, a harsh reality that has yet to fully set in. 

Since marrying Rita almost seven years ago, a once easy friendship becomes more difficult to manage; their typical wild tendencies and habitual benders are non-conducive to married life, not to mention conflicting personalities between Aydin and Rita. Though both play nice for his sake, the strain of work and War keeps him too busy to keep in real contact — hearing from Aydin is a pleasant surprise now, even if there are ulterior motives lurking beneath the surface. “I was wondering when you’d reach out,” Remus says, fingers lacing together, resting atop table. “Seeing you newly crowned as Seraphim was certainly surprising…but it’s about fucking time, huh?” They’d leaned on each other when they were young, naive men not yet fully grown into the expectations of their respective empires, despite all the ambition in the world. Would now be any different? Bartender returns, bottle of Macallan in hand, setting it on table beside two glasses. Remus makes quick work of pouring himself a drink as the bartender scurries off to their post. “Congratulations, by the way. It’s nice to know there’ll be some real fucking leadership in Pest for once.” See what Aydin says of that before Remus starts on about how he’d sooner see Pestilence up in flames than watch another wretched Pinkett take the throne.

-

There is no denying the wave of relief he feels when he sees Remus enter and approach the table. A pessimist at heart he’d half convinced himself tonight would be another one of those lonely and brooding nights. And the large smile that comes across his face is, perhaps, the first genuine smile he’s had in weeks. They’re not as close as they once were, the gulf between them seemingly fathomless, but for just a moment, he can pretend they’re getting ready for another late night full of expensive alcohol and new products. A part of him misses it and a part of him looks back in awe at how far they’ve come...and how much further they could go. The smile doesn’t fade as Remus takes a seat and poking fun at him. “Remus. It’s been too long.” He holds up his half full glass and smirks, tilting it back and taking a drink for good measure. “You know me. If I don’t start early I’ll never be able to keep up with you.” He laughs and leans his elbows on the table top. Remus’s choice in alcohol never fails to impress.

He temples his fingers and his smile fades as he leans back into the seat a little, he even gives Remus a rare shrug of his shoulders. “Things have been...chaotic, to say the least.” And he’d meant to, after he’d gotten promoted to Seraphim. There were few people in his life he wanted to share it with in the moment, and even being in War, he’d wanted to share it with Remus. He sighs and shakes his head. “But between the Cathedral and Death and Jack and...Ricardo.” Another shrug. “Finding time to do anything not directly work related has been...impossible really. Michaela has been keeping me busy.” Both on purpose...and because Aydin felt like he needed to clean up after her daughters at every turn. He shakes his head and raises his glass, smile back on his face.

“You’re right. It is about damn time.” He downs the last of his drink, not hesitating to pull the bottle on the table to him and pouring himself another glass. “Been playing nice and kissing ass for far too long. And I don’t plan on wasting it.” He holds his glass out to Remus for a toast. “Not with Death and his traitors running around our fair city.” He tilts his head, only slightly concerned about his next statement. He pauses for a fraction of a second, contemplating even saying it before tossing caution to the wind. “To a better and brighter future for Pestilence.”

[aydinsayili]

victoriapinkett​:

♛

Admittedly, Victoria doesn’t really want to be here. She wants to be home with her feet up, shutting out the world. Maybe she’d be sleeping, or watching some crap telly, or just resting, like she was meant to be doing in the aftermath of Rafael’s attack. But no, instead she’s trying to address another crisis, after barely recovering from any of the previous ones before her. At least she feels useful, determined to try and do something. Coming to Pest at least puts her in the proper headspace to think through the problem, bouncing ideas off the club walls to no one in particular.

Aydin’s arrival with that sickly sweet smile infuriates her, really, but she keeps her cool, as much as possible. She knows she certainly can’t afford to alienate him, not with so much riding on trying to keep Pestilence as functional as possible.

“That’s an ironic choice of words,” she remarks, indicating her injury with a vague motion of her hand as she sits there. “…But yes. You’re right. We have a lot to figure out.” Wincing as she shifts in her seat, she shakes her head with a tired sigh. “Fucking Jack. I still can’t believe it.”

-

He sweeps into the room, easily depositing his coat on the back of a chair and settling into it with a practiced ease. He’s wound tight and isn’t trying nearly as hard as he usually does to appear unbothered and unflustered. He doesn’t much like Victoria but he’d be a fool to hide everything from her, not when he needs her to trust him. And being unbothered by recent events would raise his own red flags. He sinks into the chair with a sigh, wiping his hand across his face. “Apologies it was...not an intentional turn of phrase.” To be honest...he hadn’t even thought about it that way when he’d said it. For a moment, he feels a twinge of guilt but he swipes it away without blinking. There is no time for that in this business.

“Jack’s...betrayal was...unexpected.” The raw fury in his voice wasn’t fake, just thinking about that bastard’s smug face was enough to get his blood boiling over. He hates him. Hates him. A vitriol sort of hate. He’d mourned his death, mourned the loss of a member of his family. Only to find out he’d betrayed them all and gone to the enemy like a rat. It takes him a moment to put a lid on his anger before speaking again, voice tight.

“It only goes to show that the really enemy right now is this...Death.” He scoffs at the notion that they’re actually real. Ridiculous, if it wasn’t so starkly true looking at all the facts. “If we get a chance to take Jack out for what he’s done you can bet I will be first in line.” He shakes his head. “Are you all right, Victoria?”

[aydinsayili]

realjessicareyes​:

MARCH 13TH, SATURDAY. UPSCALE CLUB IN MAYFAIR. FT. @aydinsayili​.

Jessica doesn’t forget parties. Or normally she doesn’t. But on the heels of the bombings of Femenias Energy’s Tower and the bombing of their reputation (care of the delightful Pale Horse Media, among others), Fem En’s marketing director has a bit more on her mind than her usual 9-to-5, and very nearly forgets the girls’ night out she agreed to join during drinks with her friends a week ago.

With dresses and heels to spare and a chauffeur at the ready, it isn’t difficult for Jessica to catch up to her friends in the VIP lounge and join them on plush velvet seats, raucous laughter greeting Jessica as they give her air kisses. The drinks flow freely, music thrumming in her veins as the lights shift from blue to purple to pink and back. But for some reason this all feels wrong, Jessica unable to think with the itch to feel something good for once, unable to lose herself dancing in the crush of bodies that’s satisfied her so often before. So when a shadow appears in her vision, one whose features are familiar enough from nights out anywhere other than Pest—though his name escapes her and she’s never had the pleasure of sampling his wares—her first thought is, Fuck, just this once. No one needs to know. Then, a mix of emotions, dark and convoluted: At least he isn’t Pestilence.

It’s easy to slip away from the girls after they down another round of shots at the bar; to beckon at the figure with a raised eyebrow and a wink, before walking away; to lead him where she wants him, leaning against the wall in a darkened alcove of the VIP lounge with a smile on her face, even as her hand rests protectively on her Saint Laurent clutch. It looks like flirting, almost, as she leans in to make sure he can hear her over the music, the bass: “Have anything good tonight?” Lip gloss-shiny lips twist up into a smile, teasing. “Come on, make it worth my while.” 

He’s been slumming it lately, lower quality clubs and even lower quality drinks. In the aftermath of the bombing and the data leaks Aydin’s been on damage control for what feels like forever. Scouting the clubs to find rats brave enough to try and fill in the spaces Pestilence can’t reach anymore. He’s always been a fan of healthy competition and for those that can’t stand the pressure...they weren’t cut out to go against him anyways. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like doing it, just a little. The hunt, the approach, the inevitable take down. It was bloody good fun. He just wished it wasn’t work. He takes another drink of his whiskey and scans the room. He’s never been here before, in fact, it barely ranked as much more than a minor bother a few months ago. Now? Word in some circles is it’s the new hot spot for something ‘new’ and ‘exciting’. 

Also known as: competition. He’s here to scout them out and tear them down. He’d have sent a lackey, as Dominion he has a thousand other things to do, but he thinks working on the ground just a little keeps his people loyal...and honest. And it’s an excuse to get out from under his horseman for just a few hours.

He spots the dealer as soon as he slips inside, he’s not even trying to hide it. And he is clearly not one of Aydin’s, he picks his people with just a little bit more brains between the ears. He lets him work for a moment, partially hoping that he’ll redeem himself, maybe be a useful asset. But there’s nothing. No poise, no salesmanship and he goes for the easy targets, the ones with maybe a little less money. Maybe because he knows his product is subpar at best? One doesn’t build an empire on bad reviews with the wealthy. He lets him approach someone new, vaguely pretty. He doesn’t recognize her until she turns into the thug and smiles at them. Jessica. He doesn’t know her personally, but he knows her cousin and he’s not estranged enough from him to remotely consider letting this little adventure happen any longer.

He finishes off his drink, leaving the glass forgotten on the table and moves in, grabbing the man’s hand with his own and wrapping his fingers less than gently back around the bag he’d been holding. “I think we both know where this is going to go, hmm?” He squeezes, just a fraction too hard. “You’re going to leave now. And you’re going to tell the rat you crawled out from under that this club is off limits, as it always has been.” He holds the pressure a moment longer, eyes locked on the thugs, his smile sharp and dangerous. There’s a moment he thinks the moron is going to argue before he inevitably sees his guards melt out of the shadows behind him. He moves to pull away and Aydin holds on. “Leave the bag.” It drops without protest and only then does Aydin release him to scamper off like a wounded animal. It’s a subtle shake of his head that sends his guards after the man. There’s no need for violence in front of a crowd. He turns his gaze to Jessica, softening his smile.

“Hello.” He holds out his hand. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. He has nothing a beauty like you could possibly want.” He shakes the drugs out into his palm and moves it around with his pinky, staring at it. “Low quality, poor make, I’m sure if I tested it I’d find it to be mildly dangerous for your health too.” he lets it scatter to the floor with little regard for the mess. “Rafael would never forgive me if I let you stoop to such sad quality.”

[dovchkiin-deactivated20190612]

To provoke me is a horrible,                                               horrible,                                                                mistake.

[buckykingofmemes]

you call it ‘a heinous violation of legal and ethical rules;’ i call it ‘creative problem-solving’

[aydinsayili]

prisephone​:

• • • 

Priscilla doesn’t know what to feel, or to be more precise, which of her emotions to latch onto. She feels as though she’s been on a sickening rollercoaster, having first been annoyed when Ricardo hadn’t shown up to PEST, then confused when they’d found his apartment in shambles, nervous when an invitation appeared, and horrified with what she saw at Mortem. She felt seething rage at Jack’s disloyalty, his almost person betrayal, and disgust at Death’s theatrical show of power. But perhaps most of all, she feels fear, feels it crawling beneath her skin, taking her breath away as she realizes it could have just as easily been her on that television screen feeling the press of a needle pumping narcotics into her bloodstream. She loathes the fear the most, hates the way it makes her jumpy, and erratic. It had been cowardly, all three of the gangs gathered against a common enemy and not a single shot, not one attempt at making those godforsaken bodies fall from their perch high above. 

Priscilla had come straight to PEST from the warehouse, not bothering to change, and sat herself at the bar. She isn’t the manager tonight, nor a Virtue, instead she’s a woman forced to face her fear of death, forced to recognize that she’d never see Ricardo, or hear his laugh, or argue with his stubbornness again. One drink follows another which follows another, and only when she’s beginning to go numb does she slow down, sipping the gin now rather than throwing it back. No one speaks to her, the patrons oddly aware of her status among them, and her employees wise enough to know when to steer clear. 

Yet there are a few who would dare to offer Priscilla company in such a state, and when her cool blue eyes meet Aydin’s across the bar, his invitation is met with a little shrug of acceptance. Downing the rest of her drink, she slips from her spot, and makes her way to the newly appointed Seraphim. “Drinking your sorrows away, then?” She greets, a humorless smile on her face. “Finish that and come upstairs. I’ve got something for you.” And without another word, she turns to lead the pair through the club, and up to her office.

Priscilla closes the door on the the thumping music, muffling the sound of the revelry below. Kicking off her heels the woman makes her way behind the desk, before pausing. “Alright close your eyes. And don’t fucking peek,” she commands, opening the drawer to pull out a small box. Setting it on the desk, she collapses into her chair. “You can open them.” She’d meant to give the gift to him a little while ago, but with everything going on, the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. Now seemed as good a time as any. “Congratulation on your promotion, Aydin. I know it got a little fucked, but we can still celebrate.” 

-

He watches her approach, she hold her liquor well but he sees the redness in her cheeks and the all too familiar distance in her eyes. She’s been here a while...and he can't blame her for that. He sends her a wan smile and takes another long drink, carefully placing his glass back on the condensation ring it’d left behind. “What else does one do at a bar at this hour? Aside from procure some high quality Pestilence product?” His smirk is almost bright but the energy fades away as he downs his drink, pushing the now empty glass away for the bartender to take away. He gives it a moment more before following after her, his curiosity over taking any desire he had to drink more. Perhaps she keeps the really decent stuff behind her desk. 

He slides into her office, shutting the door behind him with a click and watching her expectantly. He trusts her not to do anything untoward. Death might’ve taken Jack but he doubts they’d take Pris. He won’t allow himself to even consider it at this point. He grins at her instructions but obliges without a word, closing his eyes and putting his hands over them for added effect. He doesn’t know what her reaction is to that, but he hears her moving around and then she instructs him to open them and he does so, eyes falling to her before sliding down to look at the beautiful little box on her desk. “Priscilla, you shouldn’t have.” But he’s preening regardless. It feels good to get recognized for his accomplishments, feels good to know that there are people in Pestilence who think this was the fight move. 

He opens the box with careful hands, letting his fingers drift gently across the smooth leather and sleek watch face. She knows him so well. He lifts it out of the box and slides it onto his wrist, adjusting the buckle until it fit snugly. It’s perfect. “I love it.” He looks up at her now, making sure to look her in the eye. “It’s perfect, thank you.” He fiddles with it a moment long before moving on and letting his hands close the box on her desk with a snap. “It feels a little like you’re the only one whose noticed what with all the rubbish happening.” He shakes his head and sits down heavily in one of the chairs across from her. “Damn Death. And damn Jack while I’m at it.”

[aydinsayili]

rfjofficial​:

-

“What can I say? I’m a complex man. Growing and changing, into a better me. True love can change even the most mercurial of hearts and minds.” He belabors the words with all the theatrical exaggeration of a Femenias man. Coyly playing into the media narrative designed by his cousin, Jessica, and propelled by Rafael’s ability to shine in a public setting. Of course, he cuts back on the exaggerated turn of phrase. Opting for something far more believable, and down to Earth. Yet even as he speaks so dramatically, or offers a few nuggets of affection - anyone looking could see the truth that betrays Rafael’s hazel eyes. That it was, indeed, love that’s changed him from the drug laden playboy into a growing Seraphim. Love not just for his new partner, but for his father, for his family. For Famine.

“But, if we’re being honest.” And what were Aydin and Rafael to one another, but honest? “It’s a nice change of pace.” Nights were no longer blurred by vice, nor were morning spent with pieces of memory and long legs of his super model ex-girlfriends. Maybe, just maybe, Rafael had finally stopped running from things. “If this were a booty call, my friend, we’d skip the drink and be up at my suite already. Lubed up and ready to go.” Rafael answers in vulgarity, sharing a laugh. Forgetting, for the slightest of moments, of Pestilence’s sins against Famine’s Horseman. But such a thing cannot be forgotten, not even in the company of a nearest and dearest friend. And, inevitably, he lands back to the initial question. Chuckling slightly at Aydin’s purposeful evasion. Some things don’t change.

“No - but you’re not dumb enough to risk Michaela asking questions when one of the paps or customers catch us together.” The media attention for the Seraphim had grown in ten-fold, since his and Ikki’s coming out as a couple. “Don’t think me coming ‘round for a drink makes things square with us. That bitch of a Seraphim with yours is walking with a target on her back. I promise you that.”

-

“True love” Aydin can’t help the way his brows jump into his hair line. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t believe in it, but hearing it from Rafael wasn’t something he’d genuinely been expecting. But his mother always told him that she’d known it was his father from the on set, maybe Rafael had the same moment. Maybe he was blustering. Aydin could see that look in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Let Rafael have his love, he could never begrudge him that. “So when’s the wedding? Don’t tell me I’m not invited.” He flashes a smile. “I  promise to be on my best behavior. I’ll even leave the Pinketts at home.” He winks and chuckles into his glass, taking another drink and relishing the burn. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly how Rafael feels about them right now, and he can’t blame him for it.

“Two roads diverged in the wood, and we took the much more fun one. Yes?” Aydin missed the blurry nights and loud parties of his youth. With Remus at his side and Rafael close at hand. A shame life had taken them the way it had. And with the truce lost, no chance of that relationship growing into something more akin to adult. A true pity. “So lewd, Rafael. Are you saying I’m easy?” Another laugh and he downs the last of his drink, flicking his hand at a nearby waiter to bring him another. He watches Rafael closely, gauging his reactions, trying to read the room. The easy camaraderie has been nice, but Aydin isn’t a fool, he knows damn well that things between them should be tense, strained even. After Michaela’s latest stunt he wouldn’t have blamed him if he hadn’t shown up at all.

“Ah, yes.” The meat of the matter, a part of Aydin is sad they were getting to it so soon, but he understands. His drink arrives and he swirls his finger along the edge before rubbing his fingers together.  “I never thought this would make us square. My mother raised a gentleman, not a heathen.” Although there were moments he wondered if it wasn’t the other way around. “I fully expect you to have a target on my dear Victoria’s back, all is fair in love and war.” He shrugs. His loyalty is to Michaela, never to her daughters, but at the end of the day his devotion is to Pestilence itself. He’s worked too hard to get this far and watching her flounder and flail has not been easy to sit by and watch. “I...fail to see what she thought she would accomplish with such a idiotic task.”

[aydinsayili]

oflightfeet​:

Wren does not often feel like they know what they’re doing, often feeling like life is a play where they have forgotten their lines where they have to improvise over and over again. But when they’re taking bets, they feel quite in their element. Blinking doe eyes, curls half-twisted back, fingers swiftly handling sometimes impressive amounts of cash and sometimes depressing amounts of it. Tonight, Thomas is set to win. But ( and no offense to him ) it is Leon who is more easily favoured, with the way he knows to hype up the crowd, get people to chant his name. Leon is more easily loved by the crowd, even if Wren decidedly loves both those men.

Subtly, they get people to bet on the younger, handsomer, more professional-looking boxer. ( Again, no offense to Thomas. ) The higher the bet, the higher the small rush that pushes through Wren’s body. Tall men underestimate them, mansplain the situation as they make large bets that will come to bite them in the ass by the end of the evening. And Wren gives smiles and quips and sometimes looks more clueless than they really are. 

Another punter shows, and another, and another. Wren gets one to bet over two thousand on Leon and he looks euphoric as he skips off to watch the fight ( and the man he’s bet on, inevitably, lose ). The next punter that shows feels distantly familiar, but Wren does not ponder on it long. They are still somewhat fresh to this world; soon enough all faces will gain names in their head. “That’d be correct,” they say, trying to estimate the other. “Feeling lucky tonight?” They take out an empty betting slip, look up as a pen is raised like one might raise a sword. “Do you already have your mind set on who you want to bet on?”

-

They’re good. He’s been watching them since sliding into the building and the nonchalant way they  greet him is impressive on its own. Excited without being swept away by it all and nonchalant without being distant. The perfect ploy to drag money out of unsuspecting and unwitting. He likes them. For a tool of Famine’s anyways. He watches them move, a smile on his lips. He gently pulls the pen from their fingers but doesn’t move to write anything down. Not yet, at least. “I’m not really here to place bets.” He shrugs, feigning a certain kind of nonchalance he’s perfected over the years. “I’m here on business actually. I was hoping you could help me.”

His lips quirk like he’s sharing a funny thought with just them and he lays the pen back on the table between them. There’s little point in dragging out the unnecessary here, business before pleasure and all that jazz. “You see, I’m looking to do a little side business here this evening.” He levels them with a slightly more serious look now. Lean in a little, throw his weight around, see what happens. They can’t be more powerful than him on any level. He had people to take bets while he greased the palms and the fingers of the wealthy clientele. 

“Perhaps you’d be so kind as to show me where the real betting is taking place?” He cocks his head to the side and leaning a little heavier onto the table. “We both know the real betters here don’t need a pen and piece of paper.” He leans back and scans the area around them, mostly for show. To make the point he’s noticed something most people don’t. “I can make it worth everyone’s while. I’m not what people would call...a small fish.”

[knavex-archived-blog]

                            What doesn’t kill me—-                                                                       has made a powerful enemy.

[aydinsayili]

Location: Northern London Date: April 1st Starter: @remuswarden​

He hasn’t slept well in almost a week. Hasn’t really allowed himself the luxury of laying down and turning off his mind. Too much was happening and not enough questions were getting answered. The reveal of Death, the death of Ricardo, his promotion to Seraphim. There was too much happening and any moment not spent tackling the coming wave felt like lost time. It was only after Michaela all but chase him out of her office that he took a moment to just...be. Spend a little time sorting out a few unexpected company and gang issues that had cropped up in the aftermath of Mortem. Low level nobodies jumping ship and spilling secrets. It’s better to smash down on it now rather than let it fester, annoying as it were. By the time the culprits have been identified and dealt with he’s bone tired and itching to talk to Remus about it all.

An old itch and one he’s been squashing for months now. Between the truce shattering into a thousand pieces and his wife...Getting anytime with his oldest friend hasn’t been easy...and Aydin would be lying if he said he’d been trying all that hard. Today, he didn’t give a fuck. And it would be easy enough to paint it as a business meeting between Seraphim. He doesn’t let himself think about it for too long, phone already in hand and text message already drafted. It’s simple enough to swipe his finger over the send button.

Aydin: Drinks? My treat. Aydin: If you can get away from your wife that is. Aydin: I’ll be at the old place if you do.

Remus or no Remus he could at the very least go for a drink. God knows he needed it. And their old haunt served a mean Long Island. He sweeps out of his office, coat draped over his arm and slides into his car, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just the fraction of an inch. The drive is quiet, he keeps the radio off current events in the normal world don’t interest him today, and his phone on silent. It’s set for important calls to make noise only at this point in the day.

He skips the line waiting to get in with nothing more than a subtle head tilt to the bouncer who acknowledges him only by opening the door for him. Aydin elects to ignore the shadowy shapes that slip in behind him. A requirement in today’s world. One he will ignore for tonight. He slides into an open spot on the bar and orders himself a stiff Long Island before making a swift exit and sliding into the old seats he and Remus used to haunt. It brings back many a memory and almost makes him smile. He tries not to watch the door too much as he waits. It wouldn’t do to look too desperate.

[truebloodgifs]

[brokensmolders]

[aydinsayili]

Location: PEST Nightclub Date: March 29 Starter: @victoriapinkett​

Aydin doesn’t get any sleep in the aftermath of St. Paul’s. There too much to think about, too much too do, and sleep too wasteful of the time the had. But the worst part of it all is the fact that right now...they know next to nothing. They have nothing to go off other than a fancy piece of paper and the betrayal of Jack and May. And no matter what angle he tried to look at it from, there were no answers. At least, no answers Aydin wanted to hear.

At some point he gives up on the notion of sleep, climbing out of bed and getting ready for the day long before the sun is supposed to kiss the horizon. He spends a few hours dealing with the family business. Making calls, sending messages, controlling the myriad of strings he holds to operate the drug running business. It helps take him mind off the Cathedral. Helps him level out his mood by taking it out on others. The sun has barely started rising when he wraps up the last of his daily duties. His operation is a well oiled machine and some days, Aydin wishes it wasn’t. He could spend another few hours working out a kink or two. 

Sure, he’s avoiding his new Seraphim responsibilities, but he can hardly blame himself for that. Last night was supposed to be his crowning glory, moment. The big reveal. The moment he gripped power by the neck and demanded respect. Instead, he’d be usurped, and relegated to the sidelines with the revel of Death and his traitors. Looking at Jack’s smug face had probably been the part that pissed him off the most. He’d mourned that traitors death. Thinking about it again only served to piss him off and within minutes he’d grabbed his coat and was out the door. He couldn’t sit on his laurels anymore and by god he wasn’t going to let Pestilence do it any longer than they already had.

He goes to PEST first. It’s his best bet for catching at least one of the Pinketts without actually calling one of them. He’ll call them if he has to, but he’d rather surprise them instead. PEST is closed and the handful of Angels gathered inside watch him with guarded expressions and he ignores them. Sweeping through the lower area and up into the offices without batting an eye. He sees Victoria first and smiles, pulling his coat off and draping it over his arm as he approaches. “Victoria, my dear. Just the woman I was looking to speak to. We should talk. And I must insist on doing it sooner rather than later. We’ve licked our wounds long enough I think.”