crimson gods

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[lifeinpoetry]

My only purity / is in my failure / to be satisfied

Elaine Kahn, from “THERE IS NOTHING MORE TO LIFE THAN THIS,” Romance or the End: Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

For you I would / give up all my ghosts.

Annah Browning, from “Widow: Out-of-Body Experience,” Witch Doctrine (via lifeinpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

What I also mean to say is that I recognize the focus. The impulse to know someone else before you reveal yourself. The impulse to know someone else because you have never been asked to reveal yourself. The impulse to know someone else because otherwise, you do not know yourself. The impulse to know someone else because you are self-conscious of your whole self, the one that fills up too many rooms, so much space. The impulse to hide how much space you need. The impulse to hide what you need.

Yanyi, from The Year of Blue Water (via lifeinpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

You laugh like everything / is not burning.

William Evans, from “Lore,” We Inherit What the Fires Left (via lifeinpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

When I loved someone I finally understood that I was worthy of love. It seems a contradiction. What I learned was this capacity for giving required me to give to myself, that it was possible to do so. Someone wants you alive. They are not the only one who insists this. Love exists in me like a counterbalance.

Yanyi, from The Year of Blue Water (via lifeinpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

You tell me that the old you is dead. I am also not who I used to be. The revolution is emotional. I found a reason to not fear death. I found more reasons to live, reasons to change what is living inside me and around me. The revolution is that I care about my own safety, that I believe my life is valuable and worth pursuing. As in, I am worth the work of transformations. As in, I do not fear how I will emerge from myself, or how many times.

Yanyi, from The Year of Blue Water (via lifeinpoetry)

[crimsongodss]

crimsxnbeau‌:

Sloan stood near the entrance of the ballroom, a delicate smile on her face as she rubs elbows with a few  men and women of the city. Offering up their congratulations, and adoration for such a worthy cause. To her face they are all smiles, and praise and while she takes in with humility; she knows she is in a room full of vipers. Maybe this is why Zoe hates organizing things like this. Why her sister’s get so anxious.  No matter how worthy the cause maybe. Event’s like this hosted by their family never end will. Events in this city period. They were forever cursed by The Fates. Held under thumb as they weaved their tapestries and decided each person’s rise or fall. Sloan jumped slightly as the wine glass appeared; relaxing as she looked upon a friendly and familiar face.

“ It’s as if you read my mind.” she chortled.

Taking the glass from Amelia, Sloan took a long sip from it. It’s content’s barely having time to formulate a flavor pallet on her tongue. Humming softly, she looked out towards the nearly filled ball room. “If nothing goes wrong then, I will be. Not before.” Sloan didn’t mince words with Amelia, and she didn’t know why. Some would say that trusting her would prove full-hearty. But Sloan liked the woman, they were similar in many ways but different enough that it wasn’t to jarring. Considering their lives up to this point. To say they had been on different paths would be an understatement— still might be? Still, she welcomed her company and her friendship. Dark eyes turned to the other woman as she took another— smaller sip of her drink. “But thank you for saying so. It’s— if I’m being honest I’d much rather be home. Enjoying one of my own bottles of wine with a nice bowl of popcorn and watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s was one of my mother’s favorites. That and Roman Holiday. She used to watch them both at least once a month.”

Strange to be reminded of her mother when she least expected it, but perhaps it’s appropriate. This sort of event had always been more of Catelyn’s thing than Mason’s - and Amelia had always been more her father’s daughter than her mother’s.  

Nevertheless, it’s a sweet image; the one with the popcorn and the movie and the wine. But Amelia shakes her head at it. It’s just a sweet image and it’s what Sloan thinks she wants.

“But if you really wanted that, I’m sure you would have made it happen. Instead, you chose the option that was possibly 100x more dangerous.“ Ame;oa’s only known Sloan for a short amount of time, so she wonders is the other woman catches the smallest of smirks on her otherwise stoic features. She’s in no way chastising. As charming as Sloans fantasy is, it’s a version of reality that speaks to a level of complacency that Amelia doesn’t think Sloan really wants at this point. This event is proof of that. Sloan knows the track record of events in this city, and yet here she is, throwing a Day of Giving event, in no way daunted by it. Amelia doesn’t see as stupid, she’s pretty sure it’s a necessary act of survival to the underbelly of Chicago.

The second you backed down, the second you chose staying at home instead of venturing back into the night, was the second you were no longer seen as a force in this city.

You can’t let them forget you exist. Sloan, new to the game, plays it like a natural. Amelia takes another small sip of her drink, tempering her intake. It’s certainly a choice to invite the Vasiles as well though...

“I haven’t had a chance to look at who’s being auctioned yet. Do you think you’ll bid on any of them?”

[crimsongodss]

[zedekiah-vasile]

| Table 7 | Washington Gala |

Location: Washington Gala Time: Dinner Open to: Table 7.

It had been a concern the entire night; being seated an arm’s length from people that he would rather never have to lay eyes on in the last half of his life - or considerably less, it was anyone’s guess these days. He couldn’t nail that down to a science even if he tried. Though, until Zed had actually pulled the chair out, planted himself into it and scooched back towards it like sealing himself into a box with no obvious exit, that he truly felt his gut twist into knots. This box came in the form of the ones seated around it, walls. He really hadn’t felt the icy cold chill that was running down the length of his spine til now as that all to straining smile found a way to stretch the corner of his lips upwards. 

Not fear, Zedekiah felt too past that; conditioned out of such things in his youth and as a Vasile, he tread darker paths that fear wasn’t welcome. The Washington Gala was no different, it was just draped in lavish canopies and glittering with beads that did more to distract from the ugly insides of every person that sauntered around the room like gods. Ridiculous. His eyes were assessing the table, calculating intentions hidden behind another warm expression lighting his face. The chemist had no less than mastered that by this point, the evening was so far, besides the odd encounter, rather uneventful. 

He still hadn’t figured out the ethyl puzzle he’d created from the alcohol offerings at the refreshments table. Zed also figured, he wouldn’t get his answer tonight either- judging by first impressions of the table, he wasn’t going to even try pose that to them. Irina was at least, a face he could trust. Amongst the table, he was going to utilise that to the best of his ability. Even from where he sat, he could only imagine what Eli was thinking of how the seat assignments had ended up as intriguing as they were. Zedekiah hadn’t ruled out planned. If he were honest, he was a little too convinced that this whole front of Chicago’s kindness was a pawn’s move in a game of chess. Isn’t it always?

Zed liked chess, but he liked to also see the pieces on the board and where they lay. 

The man beside him; potentially the King of the board at play? The Vasile did not allow himself to stay silent any longer. Dying in silence, travesty. Adjusting slightly on his chair, Zed’s too idle hands began to arrange the silverware on the table in front of him, hands moving in a concentrated manner, each move precise. No shake to his hand, not even Faust got that kind of  luxury; that awareness that his presence could unnerve a room. 

Unfortunately, Zedekiah knew that name; that man, far too long to not know what he was capable of. Irina, across from him, did also. A pregnant lady to her right; timid, some kind of smile attempting her face, out of place among the few of them really. That earned a real mirrored grin from the chemist before he caught gaze with the last female, another face wanting to be filed - or plucked out from the mental cabinet of his mind. But he didn’t intend to tiptoe. They were imprisoned in these chairs in tandem until food was finished - or they were, Zedekiah addressed the table, breaking the ice, as they say: “All enjoying the evening?” he inquired, surveying a gaze around the table to indicate that was an everyone question. Vasile wasn’t going to like the ones at the table, but he would certainly struggle to tolerate them if they were ignorant too. “I am not exactly one for all this drapery,” he added, arm wavering in the air to indicate the decor, whilst likely insulting the Washington’s choice of a party. Don’t chemical them already, or is that your plan, Zed? Bore them into thinking you’re an invalid. “See, just imagine swapping out those silks with pyrotechnics, that’d set the place alight, would it not?” he offered, opting for flames and cinders over the icy chill that refused to subside from coiling its way down his spine at how tense this stayed. If anyone planned to set the place aflame - he would call that the foreshadowing of the century. A laugh slipped by him, thoughts coming to the forefront of his mind as he glimpsed at the table again, maintaining some interest in showing he was all for civil. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bit inclined to test the waters. “Something with a bit more of a bang isn’t much to ask?”

[crimsongodss]

‘This whole city’s like chess’ her adoptive dad used to say.

‘I’ve never had the patience for chess.’ Juliet, newly badged, had shot right back at him. Time had drilled a little patience into her, but Juliet now was often the same Juliet that had chased down the Ukrainian mob in New Orleans. Impatient and insistent. Tenacious and unyielding.  

Often, but not always. And that was character growth.

These sorts of events had done their own special number on Juliet. Life wasn’t the same after New Years and - and - she itches for the trigger. Her days as a marshal left the phrase ‘was it justified’ ringing in her ears and Juliet knows that she will always be better at that than she was at this.

Especially this. Day of Giving? The dresses and the suits and the catering are very much not her scene. Maybe she’ll blow her own brains out and then they can ask ‘was it justified.’ She’s doing her best to quit smoking, but how a cigarette tempts now, if only for the excuse to step out into the cold night air. Juliet knows what a bad idea that is though. She’s not leaving this room till the night is over. Her gut tells her it’s only a matter of time before this powder keg goes tick tick tick - boom. They always do. 

She’s nowhere near the table she’s supposed to be at, but in her defense your honor, she’s an officer of the law in a city that’s has an unusual amount of hits during these sorts of events. She’d be naive to so much as blink right now.She feels her standard issue glock locked on her hip - all she needed was a cowboy hat to be an old fashioned gun slinger.

So if Juliet is watching the room, she’s not watching her drink. The body of an already-intoxicated attendee shoulder checks her while she’s by table 7. Juliet, out of instinct, shoulder checks them right back - at the expense of her own drink sloshing over the rim of her glass. There’s that tell-tale splash! and yeah - the seated guy who’s been talking about banging is having a bad day as he catches some of the splash of her spilled drink all over the toe of his shoes. It’s more or less a hit and run, with the offender far gone and all Juliet can do is turn to face the aftermath.  

“That enough of a bang for you?” She asks dryly as her eyes glance down at his shoes to check the damage. They’d be fine, but she had a low bar for those sorts of things. “Sorry - seems like someone just had to get somewhere.”  She holds up her glass of soda (no drinking for her tonight) as an explanation. 

[lifeinpoetry]

I am / my own prey

Abdellatif Laâbi, from “In Praise of Defeat,” In Praise of Defeat (via lifeinpoetry)

[gracelcssx]

OPEN TO: table 5 (and other tables near by)

already on her second glass of wine, hana knew more would be needed to get through this night. with being seated at a table with someone she really didn’t want to be near, it was just her lucky night….not. did she mind the others sitting at her table? not at all. for now though despite not liking where she was sitting, she knew she would have to ‘play nice’.  at least out in the public she would. “i think i’m going to need more than two glasses of wine to get through this night.” she muttered as she sat there.

[crimsongodss]

A three course meal made by people who thought salt was a spice? Asher’s certainly thankful he ate before coming here. He picks politely at his food, mostly just moves it around to imitate the illusion of eating, though to say he’s completely present would be a lie. It’s been a while he’s done one of these under the banner of семья. But the muttered words make him glance at the girl who has uttered them. She’s small, he’s surprised she can hold more than two glasses of wine. His is untouched.

“You’re more than welcome to mine. I don’t drink.”

[littlcxbirdie]

@crimsongodss​ 

birdie wouldn’t admit that she was nervous. sawyer was a friend from work and he seemed so genuinely excited to bring her to this party. events and birdie hadn’t mixed well the past few months so she tried to ignore the pit in her stomach. “you were right. i can’t say i was ready to see your jacket.” she giggled softly as she fixed the collar of it. she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “i’m happy i had a neutral color dress… i would hate it if we clashed.” she teased.

[crimsongodss]

Sawyer’s empathetic, whether he chooses to care or not is a different story. But he genuinely does want Birdie to have a good time tonight. There’s hurt there, he can tell. So he’ll do his best to cover it up in smiles, that’s his usual trick.

Besides, Birdie’s cute, and pretty and a lot of things. Sawyer isn’t a poet so these are the words he sticks to. He’s got some texts in his pocket that promise he’s in a world of trouble, but Sawyer just wants to focus on the night. The world doesn’t really exist beyond tomorrow.

He casually laces their fingers together as the kiss on the cheek sparks through him. Sawyer plucks at his jacket.

“I’m wearing a little bit of everything so, I feel like you could have gotten away with just about any color.”

And then, maybe because he’s a little cheeky or maybe because he likes to see her flustered he adds a:

“This one’s a good choice though - you’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

[polcrity]

open to: table 13 && any adjacent [ your discretion ] || eli

his phone is nearly slammed onto the table, face down. fingers grip hard into a fist, nails digging into his palm. to say his appetite has disappeared is an understatement– in fact, he can feel the bile rising in his throat just as quickly as the tension has bolted through his chest. the recovery is swift, nearly broken as he glances across the room and catches a glimpse of red hair.

as he turns back to the table, a sigh escapes from his lips and a smile– too perfectly symmetrical to be genuine– takes its place.

“The wine is good.”

[crimsongodss]

If the best thing this guy has to say is ‘the wine is good,’ Sawyer thinks he’s not interrupting anything important.

“Hey are you Eli?” 

He holds out a sticker badge with the words ‘Eli Vogel’ neatly printed on it under the photoshopped banner ‘I’m being auctioned!’ 

“The lady over there” - a jerk of his thumb indicates one of the event coordinators at the other end of the room - “asked if I could run this over. She seemed pretty swamped.”  

Sawyer’s got a badge of his own and he’s placed it right over his sternum. He taps it and grins. 

“Looks like we’re both getting lucky tonight.” 

[crimsongodss]

Amelia never attends these things with an ounce of ease anymore. Quite plainly, this ain’t her first rodeo. Sloan stands in the corner of her eye, and Amelia, who is here with her as a friend, finds it refreshing that both women are the exact kind of independent that the don’t need to be within proximity of each other for the entire night.

Still - Amelia keeps an eye out. Cause she knows how these things go. She wants to terribly be proven wrong that there will be no trouble tonight. Professionally, her future partnership with Sloan exists in a grey area, one riddled with land mines that Amelia navigates the same way she navigates everything - with care and precision. Personally though, Sloan is possibly the first friend she’s had in a while that’s simply been there for the sake of camaraderie. That, coupled with the track record of the city, has Amelia memorizing every escape route, every weapon (intentional or not), and every threat within the square feet of this arboretum so that should something go down, she has a plan. She remembers her text message to Gerald earlier, where she had shared blueprint layouts of the entire space -

Always have a plan.

She finishes her turn of the room and approaches Sloan with a drink for each of them in hand. 

“You should be proud - this evening has come together very well.”

She means that.

“Is it everything you hoped?”

@crimsxnbeau​

[richieoshea]

Richie bows out of small talks before it develops into an actual conversation. There’s a small voice in the back of his mind — one that sounds suspiciously like Amelia — that tells him to play the role he’s given, but fundraisers have never really been his forte. The room looks a little too crowded but Richie meanders through the throngs of people, all dressed up to the nines. His own suit feels like a second skin, not completely trapped in, but an added layer that’s needed. The assigned seating is a little troubling but after a couple of fingers of whiskey in, he makes himself not worry about it too much. It’s a public event. What could happen? As it is, he makes his way to the table, only stopping as he accidentally tries to sidestep around a figure who does the same. “I swear I’m not drunk yet,” he lets out a small chuckle, looking up to face the person head on. “I actually never thought this happened outside of movies.”

open for all @crimsonstarters​

[crimsongodss]

She’s never been one for crowds, but she’ll play the part. Amelia could do the false smiles and small talk all night. Besides, in her experience, peopled tended to tell you more about themselves when they thought you were one of them. She knows she’s bound to run into her siblings here, but the oldest O’Shea intends to stay cordial if only for the sake of Sloan, the friend she’s here with tonight.

I actually never thought this happened outside of movies.

“Only to the graceless.” Amelia says before stepping around her brother, and correcting the flow of their paths. This is pure coincidence, but she doubts the other sees it as such. Strange to think of Richard drinking at these events when Amelia can so clearly remember a time when she had to order at the bar for him. 

She almost raises an eyebrow at the ‘yet.’ 

“And I’d avoid getting too drunk if I were you.” It’s loaded advice. She’s seen this exact set-up one too many times in the last year. Best to keep your wits about you should something go down. Hence her virgin cocktail. She tempers her words with an anecdote. 

“Cousin Brennan on mom’s side came to one of these years ago, got smashed, and almost ended up auctioning off half his estate.” 

It’s mere dressing for her intent but true nonetheless. Pleasantries. She could do this all night. 

[lifeinpoetry]

— lost and found and lost again. But here, in this world, hungry to defy.

— Teva Harrison, from “A Pocketful of Stones,” Not One of These Poems Is About You