SPOTTED: CHRISTOS GALANIS in new york city! heard the FORTY year old belongs to THE SIGNAL as a PLANNER. word on the streets is that they can be STRATEGIC, DILLIGENT, but they can also be COLD, STUBBORN.
character name: christos kostas galanis
birthday & star sign: may eleventh, taurus
gender & pronouns: male, he/him
occupation: site security manager at maison noir
education: high school graduate; enlisted in the marines
sexuality: bisexual
gang affiliation: planner for the signal
faceclaim: ben barnes
character inspo: mike ehrmantraut (breaking bad/better call saul), raymond holt (brooklyn 99), mr darcy (pride & prejudice), joel miller (the last of us)
tl;dr biography key points
tw: death, injury, loss of limb
Christos was raised alongside his half brothers in Greece before his father moved them all to NYC, and they were quickly introduced into the family business once they became of age.
The Galanis' were not big-time criminals, but they were strong-willed and had strength in numbers -- and Christos never saw reason to go bigger like his brothers did. He figured being a blip on the radar of the criminal world helped them stay anonymous as they stuck to petty crimes, burglaries. He honed his skills under the close tutelage of his father.
When his younger brother, Angelos, died in a tragic accident, Christos found the grief too much to bear and fled to the Marines, unable to stay and wallow in the space shared by his loud, grieving, at times overbearing family.
He served ten years until tragedy struck during a routine patrol overseas, leaving Christos as the sole survivor with a lost leg and some hearing loss.
Quickly, he was flown back to NYC where he spent eighteen months in grueling recovering, including rehab where he learned to walk, run, function with a prosthetic and a newfound determination in life.
Fueled by anger at the establishment that abandoned him, the guilt that ate at him for leaving his family, and the grief that he'd harbored for over a decade, Christos dedicated himself fully to the family business.
However, after his family's operation was exposed, with many dead or jailed and somehow he & Victor spared, they found a new place within the Signal, with Christos now able to utilize his talents more effectively.
headcanons
Very quiet, and oftentimes can seem emotionless, robotic. He used to be lot more expressive, apt to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but since his injury he's become more withdrawn.
Fluent in Greek (his first language), English, and Spanish.
Though his job as Planner for the Signal involves more strategy, less violence, he has no issue using violence and killing when necessary. He's actually very good at it.
Moves around very normally, most do not realize he's wearing a prosthetic from the knee down. Mostly wears long pants regardless of the weather -- not because he's embarrassed or ashamed, but because he doesn't like eyes on him.
Has had nightmares since his injury, though they aren't as frequent as they used to be. When he does, he'll wake up panicking in a cold sweat, and won't be able to go back to sleep the rest of the evening.
Does not talk about what happened in the Marines, not to anyone. He'll leave it as he was honoraby discharged and leave it at that.
Loves a good cigar. One of his favorite things to do when the weather is nice is sit out on his balcony with a cup of turkish coffee, a good book, and a cigar, and let the hours go by.
Speaking of books, he's an avid reader. Loves historical fiction and non-fiction, anything about WWII (typical male), and has been getting more into sci-fi.
Terrible with texting. One-word answers, then disappears for hours on end. If you want a quick answer from him, call him.
Weirdly really good at solving Rubix cubes, and his Tetris high score is insanely high.
He prefers sitting with his back to a wall and full view of exits, and has a habit of scanning building rooftops when he walks down the street—old patrol instinct.
Met Mikayla Beaumont, and after some time of being bullied into befriending her & him coming to the rescue after a client of hers crossed a line, the two started a relationship.
A faint, nearly imperceptible smile touched the corner of her lips in answer, though it vanished so quickly it might have been imagined. “Work.” Was all she offered before drifting toward the front of the Lamborghini and lifting the hood to retrieve the small bag of ammo she had brought with her from the Foundry. At last, Miray crossed the space between the curb and the parking lot. “But i’ve got a few things I want to try out.” She raised the bag slightly, as if to further her point. “You got time?”
Eyes flickered from Miray to the bag in hand, considering. Though his time in the service rendered him an impeccable shot, it was infrequent he found himself brandishing his weapon -- being part of an elite heist team meant that they were, ideally, in and out of their mark undetected without any need for guns to be drawn. Hence why he found himself at the shooting range whenever he had some time, finding it necessary to keep his skills sharp. Plus, sometimes Miray happened to pop by with some particular interesting tools. "Depends. Not just a bunch of Glock 22s in there?" Not that he had an issue with those -- but he figured the brunette had something far more interesting hidden away. End of the cigarette was tossed on the ground, snuffed out with his shoe. "Long as I'm not holding you up."
"I haven't talked to him yet. He gave me his contact information and address to reach out whenever I was ready, but..." She frowned. "I went to talk to Mami right away. The moment I mentioned his name, she confirmed it. She was only 16 when she had me, so I imagine the list of candidates is slim." She took a slow sip of her wine. She could see the gears turning in his head, the suspicion in his eyes. "Part of me is worried he's been following me for a long time, but he doesn't seem like he's dangerous. I have so many questions that only he can answer, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk to him yet before I know more about him."
"He doesn't seem like he's dangerous," Christos repeated her words with a quick roll of his eyes, though it wasn't meant to be directed at her -- simply at the situation, and considering the fact that he'd run in with the man multiple times now and hadn't been discerning enough in those moments to get a real read on him. "Considering his attendance at the casino, and then the Cavalry-sponsored car show, I'm wager to say he's connected at the very least." Though -- there was also the slim chance that he wasn't, considering the crowd at both of those events wasn't made up entirely of criminals. But Christos wasn't a firm believer in coincidences. "And your mom has no idea why he's decided to contact you now? She hasn't kept in touch with him?" Brows narrowed, gaze softening to something closer to concern. "I'll look into it," he decided, "so you and I can both know for sure."
plate pushed aside, he'd eaten all he was going to stomach of the diner food, not that he was picky, and focused a hand around the lukewarm sludge they called coffee. being in christos company was a mixed bag and not for any fault of the man's, it was all due to what stirred up whether he allowed it or not. the more time stretched from his days before his second honorable discharge the more the walls around his memory seemed to crumble. just five or six years ago the mortar holding the barrier strong kept all of the horrible shit he'd seen and done packed away. now it was seeping out and haunting him. most that had been in the military, that had seen and done real service, meaning at war and in the thick of it, didn't talk about it. there was a reason for that. sonny and chris were no different, but there was an ease that felt like he didn't need to keep up any kind of appearance. the eyes across from him knew many of the same things he did.
"even without the bomb threat it would've been." a spot of humor that faintly tugged at one corner of his mouth. coffee sipped he very briefly eyes christos. "i hadn't had much of a choice on attending but i was like a damn chippendale in there peeling off bit by bit of that fuckin' suit from the moment we got there." the slight shake of his head was at the memory of all the fidgeting while he'd swept the room. a habit he had in any crowded area. always looking for threats and liabilities. "be glad you didn't go. i dunno, though... sometimes i think you see people for real in a mask."
"A sentiment that I'm guessing you share with the rest of the Reapers." He wagered, knowing what he knew about the motorcycle club and their more grounded members. There was an odd respect that Christos held for the group that didn't extend to many other factions he found himself rubbing elbows with these days, perhaps because he came from more humble mean that didn't tout absurd opulence. Of course, his father and his uncles had always been greedy bastards in their own right, and ambition had been the cause of continued strife -- hence why his younger brother had been killed -- but regardless, there was still a twisted fondness Christos held for certain aspects of his childhood even amidst the trauma, the contempt. Some weird version of Stockholm syndrome, he supposed.
"You ever consider that your suit might just not fit you?" He remarked wryly, shoulders pulling in a shrug. "Yeah, well, usually I get roped into these things too, but -- guess this time I was spared. Probably wanted a more cheerful bunch. Don't really understand the point of showing face when half the job is makin' sure we go unseen." At least as far as his heist team was concerned. "What makes you say that?" Christos asked, following up with a light smirk. "Can't get distracted by all the pretty faces?"
" -- Did you need something?" Christos finally asked after what felt like an eternity of awkward silence -- which was saying something for the male who preferred to move through life with as little conversing as possible. Team meetings (such as the one they'd just finished up) had been rather uncomfortable as of late, what with he and Vic still not entirely on speaking terms, but if they were both good at one thing it was maintaining an air of professionalism around others. He wondered, however, if Adriana was picking up on that tension -- or if this was another one of those times that she felt the need to put her nose in his business. "If you want a gallery tour, go ask the front desk."
"What it sounds like," she replied with a light laugh, wrapping her hands around the glass as though it were one of her tea mugs. The move brought her some comfort. "It's just been me and Mami my whole life. I never knew who he was, and she rarely talked about him. I guessed it was hard for her, so I stopped asking once I got past a certain age." She paused to take a sip, thinking back to the first event she'd attended with Christos. "Technically I met him at the casino opening, but I didn't know who he was then. It wasn't until the other week when I ran into him at the library that he told me to ask Mami about him. He clearly knew who I was, but how long he's known or if he's been following me for a while..." she trailed, the thought having plagued her for days now. Had Cesar known to find her at the casino? Had he known where she was even before then and engineered a meeting? "His name is Cesar Flores. He was the man who helped me get out when things went sideways."
His own father was so far from paternal that he'd always struggled with the concept of what a relationship between parent and child should look like. In theory he did, of course -- even being around Mikki, seeing how she interacted with her own mother, the strong bond and the love they shared incredibly evident. Regardless, it was hard for him to relate to that longing she felt, knowing that he'd probably be better off if his own father had stayed far, far away, but he understood it was much different for her and wanted to be supportive in any way he could. "Wait -- who?" The name sounded familiar, brows pulled together as he racked his brain for where he'd heard it before -- but once she mentioned the casino, it all fell into place. He'd even had a conversation with him at the car show, had shaken his hand and thanked him for helping her when everything went down. "And you haven't talked to him since then? Have you talked to your mom?" Brows narrowed, paranoia settling in. "Do you know if he's even telling the truth?"
After minor dramatics, Birdie eventually won for August's attention--as she usually did--and shoved her face in her lap so August could more easily rub her forehead, which she did without hesitation. Boone idled near Christos, shuffling slowly as he searched the ground for a snack. This always grounded August when she felt herself spiral, whether it was something as simple as sitting on a fence while her pair of horses idled nearby or she worked other horses for the stable's owner. Christos didn't have the same background as her, but doing something different always seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders a little. Neither of them liked talking about feelings, particularly the heaviest, but the tiny bit of levity opened some things up for both of them.
"Yeah, she'll do that," August said with a soft laugh. "I aim for once a week at least, sometimes more. Sometimes less, though, unfortunately." Her position within the Contingency meant sometimes her free time didn't allow for so much driving out of town. "There's a fifteen year old girl here who really loves Birdie and she's getting into eventing, and I was thinking about letting her share-lease her for cutting competitions. Birdie loved her cow job, she'd get more exercise, and I know that girl would be so happy about it." Not that she needed the money or anything. After a minute of silence, the horse in question moved her head and began to also push through the fine layer of snow for something to eat, and August turned her attention to her friend. "So... how bad is it with your family?" she asked gently.
"Can't beat yourself up too much for that. Not exactly city-friendly." Unless you counted those cart-pulling horses that you always saw tourists taking advantage of during Christmas time. Something about it always rubbed Christos the wrong way, even as a kid when he should have been far more wide-eyed an innocent. Perhaps it was because he could relate, in a way; having been put to work from the moment he was old enough to walk, talk, used and never nurtured. "That'd be nice of you. There a reason you're tryin' to incur some extra goodwill these days?" he remarked wryly, knowing that August had always been rather kindhearted behind the boisterous attitude.
The mention of his family made him stiffen for a split second, though he continued to brush Birdie's mane. "I don't think I've ever gone this long without talkin' to Vic." He admitted, the reality paining him more than he was willing to show. Even when he was overseas, thousands of miles and oceans away, he could always count on some sort of correspondence. "He just --" Brows pinched, shaking his head as his hand dropped from the animal's coat. " -- I tried to explain why I did what I did -- not excuse it -- but he refused to even try to understand." But that's what Christos' issue was; even when he knew he was in the wrong, he had to justify his actions -- he had to still be right in some way, even if it was just in his intentions. In his eyes, that should have been enough to spare him. "I'm not sure how to fix things, Aug."
The Galanis boys had been predisposed to keep things close to their chest, learning from their father early on that the quickest way to make yourself a liability was to rely on any type of emotion over pure logic -- and despite the resentment he had for the old man who was busy rotting away in a cell, it was a lesson that'd been ingrained in his psyche for so long he couldn't shake it if he wanted to. It was why he never cared to talk about his trauma, all that he'd lost from his time in the service, all that he'd endured in the aftermath. Sonny was a bit of a different story, though; sure, the two men weren't itching to bring up their pasts and sing kumbaya when they got together, but there was an understanding that passed between them when they shared a meal or a smoke, a recognition neither of them shared with many others. And, for Christos, a sense of gratitude, indebtedness, considering Sonny was half the reason he was still alive in the first place.
"Heard that thing on the island was a shit show." The male remarked, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "Surprised you even went -- not just 'cause these types of events are cursed from the get go." A shrug. "Didn't seem like it'd be your scene. Definitely wasn't mine. Don't love the idea of being surrounded by a bunch of people in masks."
Mikki had barely made any progress on her writing despite having the day to work on it. She would begin typing, only to backspace and erase whatever she had written, staring at the half-written chapter before her. Whenever she had a spare moment, her mind trailed back to the conversation with her mother, the one that had revealed something so fundamental about who she was that she still hadn't figured out exactly how to process it all. She hadn't heard Christos approach, so she startled slightly at the sound of his voice, but she looked up at him, processing his question before shaking her head. "Sorry, it's not about you," she remarked, offering a small smile as she wrapped her hand around the stem of the wine glass. "Yes and no. It's..." She took in a deep breath, unsure of how to phrase her next words. "I met my father."
He believed her when she said it wasn't about him -- mostly because, really, Mikki had never made it a secret when she had a bone to pick with him. It was something he appreciated about her, about their relationship, even if could be too stubborn to understand at times. The mention of her father, however, caused a notable shift in his expression, not sure what he was expecting -- but it definitely wasn't that. "What do you mean 'your father'?" Christos asked, moving to sit beside her on the couch. The topic of Mikki's parentage hadn't been something particularly dwelled on, but they'd had enough conversations surrounding it for her words to be notable. "When did this happen?"
It all sounded like semantics and avoidance to him, jaw tightening in some kind of stubborn refusal to give his brother a clear answer to anything he asked. Deeming it all rhetorical. More of a monologue than a discussion. So he waited until he was done, unimpressed and unmoved look clear on his usually stoic features. "All I'm hearing is guff and excuses." Skin prickled, trying to work out why the reasons Christos was giving somehow felt familiar. Then it struck him - they could have just as easily been coming from their father. "You sound just like him, y'know, unable to take responsibility. Making yourself the victim." The only real victim in all of this was their brother, his life taken from him.
The thought sends him down a deeper spiral, words no longer careful weighed but instead allowed to just fly. He's not even sure it's honesty compelling him but it's definitely a certain kind of bluntness, uncaring in the impact he has. "It's not just me you put yourself over. It's Angelo." It might have been easier to stomach if it was just him, more able to forgive a slight against himself. But time had turned their brother into a martyr, laid him to rest on an impossibly high pedestal. That was what grief did, immortalised someone at either their best or their worst. Years worth of anger was spat back at his remaining brother. "Those fuckers took his life and got another twenty years of doing whatever the fuck they wanted." That was what he thought was the biggest tragedy of all. That they got to walk around, enjoying the sunlight and whatever else life had to offer while his brother - the best of them - was stuck six feet under.
"It's an explanation, not an excuse." Words overlapped with his brother's a twinge of frustration -- or was it desperation? -- evident in his voice as the other refused to hear him out. Refused to understand where he was coming from, why he did what he did despite how terrible it may have been in hindsight. But it was Vic's accusation that really struck him, like a dagger deep in his chest. "Don't you dare fucking compare me to him." The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand on edge, blood boiling at what he regarded as a careless, spiteful comparison to their father. To the man that raised them as dutiful soldiers, as weapons, somehow managing to keep them utterly loyal while tearing them apart all the same. No, Christos wasn't like him -- couldn't be like him.
"Angelo wouldn't have wanted you to do anything stupid either." Like go after their uncles, make an example out of them like Vic apparently thought they should have. Jaw clenched, at a loss for words as Vic continued on, never before having heard the man speak with such disgust, such vitriol -- not directed at him, at least. They'd gotten into their fair share of spats growing up, but all of them superficial. A product of close proximity and raging hormones that came with being brothers -- and even now, as adults, there were times they didn't see eye to eye. But a mutual respect had fostered between them through the years, a bond that Christos thought impenetrable. Now, though? That notion was starting to fracture. "What is it you want me to say, Vic? More apologies? I'll keep giving them; I'm sorry." He held his arms out helplessly, a mix of stubbornness and defeat evident in his gaze. "Tell me what to say, and I'll say it."
Miray had received a shipment at the Foundry a few days earlier. After sorting through the newest additions to the gun inventory, a few pieces had stayed with her while the rest were sent over to High Caliber. Which was the only reason she had come by now, simply to confirm the delivery had actually made it without problem. She noticed Christos before she even turned into the back lot, a habit that was so deeply ingrained within her that it moved beneath conscious thought. The brunette eased the black Lamborghini into a parking spot and cut the engine. Through the windshield her gaze settled on him for a brief moment as she pushed the door open and stepped out onto the pavement. Her expression barely shifted when he spoke. "One of them." New rides, she meant. Her gaze drifted from him to the car and then back onto him again. "You work the corner now?" The words were meant as a joke, though her face offered no indication of one.
Her answer to his question brought a slight quirk to his brow, head tilted to the side slightly as he inspected the vehicle from afar. As much as he wasn't one to fawn over large displays of wealth, he did have an appreciation for cars in particular -- one that he didn't feel necessary to materialize considering, at this point in his life and where he lived, it'd spend half the time parked in some private garage in Brooklyn. "What gave it away? The grey on grey sweats I'm sporting?" Quip was tossed back wryly, another long drag of his cigarette taken. "You here for work, or to blow off some steam?"
It didn't surprise him that Christos didn't take the hint. Stubbornness had always been one of the stronger Galanis traits. He scoffed, a harsh and humourless sound, dismissing his brother's past feelings as almost matterless. It wasn't like him, his family usually at the forefront of his mind but his anger had him selfish for once. If it hadn't been so all-consuming it might have been a sobering realisation but instead he kept on seething. "Didn't want to lose me and yet I had to lose both of you." Because that's what it had felt like. They'd gone from a trio to him all of a suddenly being on his own. Almost twenty years of togetherness shattered in days, leaving him to pick up the piece of his life by himself and try to put them together in some semblance of a human. He was bitter, he realised, not just that a secret had been kept but that it made the life he'd lead during those years into a mockery.
"Sure, fine. You were nineteen." He accepted it roughly, if only because he didn't want it to be the crutch of his argument. They might have hardly been adult, far too young to suffer such a loss, but they both knew that they'd been old past their years since they were grown enough to understand what their family really did. "What about the twenty years since then?" Because that was what he was struggling to get past. How it made it feel like everything between them since then had been a lie. Their whole relationship corroded by a secret he'd had no idea Christos was hiding. It was unfair and perhaps illogical but his emotions were at the forefront of his mind, leaving him wondering just what else the eldest Galanis might have saw fit to hide from him. "Were you just never gonna tell me? Save it for your fucking deathbed?"
"You didn't lose me." He argued, the intention behind his brother's words missed entirely. In Christos' eyes, the fact that he was even alive was good and well enough, the constant letters and occasional phone calls home plenty to keep the both of them afloat. But -- back then the idea had been that whatever Vic didn't know wouldn't hurt him, sure by that point that his uncles wouldn't be planning to retaliate further considering the broken unit that was their remaining nephews. Perhaps it was twisted logic, but it was all Christos had to go by, what he had clung on to since the day he'd signed those papers to enlist.
He couldn't help the scoff that fell from his lips, as if the answer to the question was obvious. "At what point would it have mattered then, Vic? What time would have been the right time, to avoid this?" A hand gestured between them. "In a letter? Between deployments? Tell me when." There would never have been a right time, not after he'd withheld the information initially. And he truly believed that, no matter what logic Victor would be able to throw in his face -- but the question posed was one that Christos didn't no how to answer, not really. If only because they both knew the answer, and saying it out loud wouldn't help either of them. "I thought about it. Towards the end of my last tour, when I'd be home for good and we could figure it out -- but then..." Teeth grit, after all these years still filled with discomfort and disdain at the thought of talking about what had happened to him. Even referencing it. "...and I was finally back home, and we were working together again. And I didn't -- I couldn't do it."
She knows him so innately in the way she’s able to sense the whereabouts of everyone she shares a stage with - but even more so. It’s not even a thought to turn as he passes her and follow, Christos lingers in the foyer, but Magda urges him forward with a gentle hand on his elbow until they are at her kitchen island and she finds her wine glass to steady her nerves. Something is terribly wrong. She knows it by the set of his jaw - neutral to any casual observer, but Magda spent her childhood marking the various silent ways the Galanis men exhibit anger, fear, resentment, sorrow - any number of emotions they dare not name. She takes a sip of her wine, then squares herself, as if stepping on stage, as if setting off to battle.
Information and other bullshit - she’s ready to brush it all off with her easy smile until he says Angelo. Magda freezes, a preternatural stillness drawn from training or fear or whatever bone deep part of her still held that sorrow. Angelo. Angelo.
Magdalena’s spent more of her life without him than she ever did with. When you’re eleven years old you still believe in magic, you still believe in the wonder and enchantment of the world - no matter how wicked and cruel your father is. The three of them - Victor and Angelo and Christos; Christos and Angelo and Victor - are herculean in her eyes. God how she longed to be one of them, eavesdropping at the kitchen door whilst they sat amongst the men discussing all things important until some aunt or another would fuss at her to help with dishes. Back then they were invincible.
Grief is a funny thing, it’s almost a goddamn cliché. Here one day then gone the next. When you’re eleven you think the whole world should halt at the loss of someone so important. But it doesn’t. Everyone seems to move on, go about their day as if everything hasn’t been irrevocably shattered. Her remaining brothers cope in their own way, and maybe they were given the tools to reckon with such a loss that she wasn’t. But this isn’t the kind of family that tolerates emotion and weakness - so Magda poured her heart out on the stage and buried her grief all alone.
“What?” It’s the barest whisper, tears pooling in the corner of those wild and wide eyes. “Why would they do that? What - oh god, Chris—“ she sets the glass down and reaches out, hand clasping around his wrist. “You carried this all alone, for so long didn’t you?”
Grief is fickle, it comes when you least expect it - Angelo always finds her just as the rain stops, tentatively lowering an umbrella - you’re not made of sugar, you won’t melt. A thunder clap outside the window, but the snow falls on and on. Magda grabs Christos’s hand and pulls him to her couch.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, “that you felt like you had to carry that burden all alone for so long. We were all just kids, all of us - not just me. And I’m not going to stop talking to you because of a choice you made like 20 years ago that you thought was for the best.”
A heavy sigh left his lips as she began to tear up, a mixture of shock and grief frantic in those eyes of hers that, somehow, had escaped the gene that’d made the rest of them emotionally stagnant, resistant to expressing themselves any which way. He’d long known, long been told by others outside of the circle of toxicity that was the Galanis family that it wasn’t a normal way to operate. That weakness didn’t come from wearing your heart on your sleeve, or being honest about how you felt – she’d come away with that understanding somehow, even despite Dimitrious’ cruelty, treating his children like soldiers. But regardless, the man’s voice was always reverberating loudly in his head, so no matter how he might have known that logically, it’d never materialize for him. He didn’t believe he could ever get there – and honestly? Maybe a larger part of it was that he didn’t want to.
“You know why, Mags,” he tossed back, perhaps a bit harsher than he intended to, but tensions were already running high from his last stop, and the bitterness he felt for their extended family was seeping out far more than it ever had since the lot of them had been taken in. The elder Galanis men were ruthless, ruled by an outdated code founded on what they deemed as respect -- which, really, was just a bunch of old men who didn't want to change their ways. They were worried we'd pull the rug out from under them. Push them out of their own operation if we went too big, if we got what they wanted. I --" a scoff, "I don't even think Angelo was the target. I think they told the guy they paid off to just point a gun and shoot at the first one of us we saw durin' the break in."
Fingers ran through his dark locks, his head pounding -- probably from the way he'd been gritting his teeth -- not realizing the toll that retelling the same story, reliving the same marred memory over and over again has done to him that day. But it's her words and the warm hand wrapped around his wrist that has him taking pause once more, surprised by the lack of ire emitting from his sister's tone in response to his confession. "I --" Brows knit together, unsure how to respond, " -- what else was I supposed to do?"
He allowed Madga to lead him to the couch, looking down at the hand that gripped his -- momentarily remembering when she'd been small, so small it could fit in his palm, when he'd been the one to try and provide comfort no matter how foreign it felt. Now the roles seemed to reverse, and he didn't quite understand how. "So -- you're not pissed at me." Christos stated after a moment, meeting her gaze, wondering if he was missing something in her reaction.
LOCATION: a stable well outside the city
TAG: @christosgalanis
To August, nothing did as much to get her out of her head as spending a day around her horses, and so when Christos seemed like he might bury himself under the weight of everything, she badgered him into going out there with her. She figured they could talk or not talk, and her own horses as well as the herd of them kept at the stables would keep them occupied enough to prevent too much rumination. Snow started near the tail end of the hour and forty minute drive and by the time she'd managed to park and lead Christos towards the rolling pasture where her horses spent much of their time, a fine dusting of it covered everything.
"They're outside unless the weather is really bad or they're hurt or something," she remarked as she stepped up the rails of the fence and swung her legs over one at a time, then sat on the top of it and hooked her heels over the next board down to keep herself steady. The herd of horses occupying the pasture idled nearby, which meant it didn't take long for Birdie and then Boone to come closer. "Have I brought you out here before?" she asked, attention half on her friend and half on the pair of horses that now demanded attention from her. "If I haven't, the black and white one is Birdie, the brownish one is Boone."
The amount of time it took between Christos being resistant to one of August’s ideas and then actually agreeing had severely diminished, his protests more out of habit than anything these days. And, really, when it came down to it, she usually had good ideas – ways to get him out of his condo, from out under the weight of everything crushing down on him at that moment without needing to shed a spotlight on it. Alas, despite how overly reserved he was when it came to expressing himself, he trusted August in a way that didn’t extend to most people – between serving overseas together, being present during each other’s respective trauma, navigating the disappointing aftermath of life in the marines, perhaps there was a comfort there that didn’t make opening up (the little he was able to) as difficult.
Christos followed suit and climbed over the rails of the fence, plopping down on the ground before leaning back against the post beside his friend. “One other time,” he answered, watching as the two horses competed for August’s attention. “Think it was after the sting operation.” The one that resulted in his father, his uncles, many of his cousins getting thrown in prison – some of them even killed when they tried to fight back. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, reaching out and brushing Birdie – the closest to him – lightly on her neck. “This one almost knocked me on my ass last time.” Something he obviously couldn’t hold against her. “How often do you come out here, anyway?”
"Maybe she watched that movie with Rachel Weisz in it, can you blame her?" Pierre answered as if Ellie's request made perfect sense. It was a sure way to show loyalty to his cousin, if you asked him - and it also showed his heist team's capabilities. Not that they weren't very efficient. Their family was eccentric, so Christos was in for a rude awakening. "It means get her a pyramid - we don't talk in code here. One time Alix and I tried it and realized halfway through we'd called everyone the wrong name the entire con. It was funny, but by the end of it a stranger ended up in our car and we had to tell him that it was a joke that his friends had hired us for."
"-- I don't really think it's a matter of blaming her or not," he responded back, brows knit together in confusion. It wasn't that Christos couldn't take a joke -- it was that he was never sure if Elle (or, subsequently Pierre) was actually joking. And considering the other male's response, he was inclined to think not. Hand moved to rub at his forehead, more stressed about this so called task than he'd ought to be. "That's --" Brows knit together. " -- Duly noted, in case you guys ever try to weasel your way into a heist." Not that he thought either of them would given they had their own duties, but better to set the expectation, he was learning. "Okay, so none of you talk in code. I still don't understand the ask. Museum of Natural History has paperweights in the shape of 'em, should I just go and do that?" A sigh. "My old boss operated very differently." Meaning his father, the real son of a bitch that he was now rotting in a cell somewhere.
"Replace cheap with broke, then you're onto somethin'," he replied with a wink, followed by a savored sip of the alcohol. He considered Christos's theory, thinking back to his conversation with Emiliano. Though the information hadn't been blasted out to the world like Christos's secret, it seemed like whoever these people were, they had targeted him, too. At least in his case, the information sent out had been nothing but a rumor -- but rumors could be enough to get you killed in this line of work. "Why would I? It's got nothin' to do with me," he replied, glancing over to his friend. "There's plenty of reasons you're an asshole, but the way you reacted to losin' your brother's not one of 'em."
A scoff fell from his lips, feeling a bit more at ease as Chase continued on cracking his normal, dumbass jokes. “You still getting paid like shit after all these years? Probably should find a new line of work, I hear HVAC guys are makin’ a killing these days,” he remarked wryly, knowing that his friend, like him, were stubborn enough to stick to the career paths that made best use of their skills. Though, for Chase, he at least had the tattoo shop, something that served as a sort of passion outside of the Reserve’s demands. Christos had always wondered what that would be like. “No, it doesn’t,” he shook his head, agreeing – though there were plenty of people that liked to assert their own morals onto situations that had nothing to do with them. Thankfully, the man beside him wasn’t one of them. Another slow sip of whiskey was taken, and he let out a snort. “Comforting.” Not that he really wanted that. “I don’t know if Vic will ever forgive me, though,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Magda did. For some reason. She and Mikki think he’ll come around, but – I don’t know. We’ve had our fair share of disagreements, but I’ve never seen him that angry before.”
where: christos' place
who: @hardtolcve (mikki) & christos galanis
Out of the two of them, Mikki had always been the more talkative, the more eager one to fill the silence with lively conversation. It was something that he'd initially found disconcerting--before they were what they are now, before he'd officially fallen for her, back when he was resistant to letting anyone into his life that wasn't work or family. She'd been over at his place most of the day, vacillating between curling up with a book and working on her novel. Things that didn't require much, if any, conversation really, but Christos knew her well enough by now to understand her silence as something else. "So," the male started, setting down a glass of wine in front of where she sat, a beer heavy in his own hand, "I don't think you're pissed at me anymore, which means this whole you bein' silent thing is due to something else." Brow arched, and a sip of his drink was taken. "Everything okay? Your mom?"
