phoebe dayze

under construction

[dayzedandconphused]

BASICS

Legal Name: Phoebe Dayze Robertson Known as: Phoebe Dayze Nicknames/Alias: Phee, Dayzie DOB: April 1, 1992   Gender: cis female Sexuality: herteroflexible, heteroromantic Place of Birth: hospital wing of the Robertson Property, North Berwick, Scotland. Currently: London Nationality: Scottish   Day Occupation: Executive Assistant Jabberwock Occupation: ‘Revenue Raiser’ and Debt Collector

HISTORY

Childhood/Family Life: The Robertsons built their family wealth on owning multiple sprawling properties in Scotland. They are often booked and ‘rented’ by the elites of society, the royals or saved for weddings. Phoebe was raised by her mother and a slew of nannies and assistants – most of whom were fired by her mother once she found out they were sleeping with her husband. Education: Phoebe was educated privately until she was of age to be sent to Wycombe Abbey in England to board. Once she finished high school, she took the opportunity to travel as far away from her parents to study. Adult Timeline:  2010: moves to Melbourne, Australia to study International Business and Business Administration at Monash University. 2014: graduates (with honours) and moves back to London 2015: given a trust by her parents (conditional on her finishing University with a pre-approved degree) to live off. Uses it to party, buy a flat by Hyde Park and do anything but use her degree to work. 2016: through threats of being cut off, Phoebe lands her first (and favourite) job as an executive assistant to Rafael

PERSONALITY

Positives:  +fun-loving: Phoebe is not one to turn down the opportunity to be social or be the centre of attention at a party +open: with those she trusts, she is an open book, willing the share information and swap stories +congenial: mostly on the surface, Phee knows not to rock the boat until absolutely necessary

Negatives:  -manipulative: she will take as much information from someone as possible to store in her mind should the chance arise to need to use said information against the other person -self-centred: if it’s not about her or doesn't affect her directly, Phee barely wants to know -troubled: riddled with trust issues and a rather low opinion of her family, Phee struggles to find her place in the world

Personality Type: ESFP – the performer

Archetype: The Manipulator Likes & Dislikes:  + brunch and breakfast outings filled with coffee, pastries and mimosas + long lay ins with a good book + pushing the boundaries to get what she wants + recharging at home without the incompetent public around her - feeling forced into being social - long lines at her favourite café - rain (unless it’s a long lay in day) - being condescended to because she’s a short, attractive blonde, woman - blood stains on her favourite shoes

RELATIONSHIPS

Parents: Chrisopher Robertson (strained, more useful to keep her father in her pocket than to piss him off entirely), Heather (nee Dayze) Robertson (not on speaking terms post-arrest) Siblings: None that Phoebe knows of, though with her father’s multiple indiscretions she wouldn’t be surprised if a few popped up, [open] Children: None. Is not looking for children any time soon. Spouse: [open] Current Partner: [open] Ex-Partners: [open] Boss/Employer: Rafael Co-Workers: [open] Friends: [open] Enemies: [open]

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

Build: slim, 165cm tall, almost ‘too’ skinny, little noticeable muscle mass Hair Colour: Blonde, sometimes indulging in the darker side of life by embracing a light brown root shadow. Eye Colour: Blue Distinguishing Marks: quite pronounced cupid’s bow, small inch-long scar on the side of her neck under her left ear from a glassing incident whilst clubbing

[camilo-whitely]

who: open where: confessional at st. alban’s church

“You can speak freely here, you have my word.”

[dayzedandconphused]

"I don't need a confessional," Phoebe sighed out, knowing how stupid that sounded considering where she was, "I just needed a minute in silence. Everywhere else is so loud."

[dayzedandconphused]

daddy's little girl | self para

where: phoebe's flat when: friday 24th march description: phoebe's father calls to check on his only child

The last thing Phoebe needed was to be baby sat, but with her recent incarceration she knew there would be a certain amount of 'checking in' that would be done. Her lawyer, the police officer in charge of signing off on her community service, her father. No matter who it was, Phoebe was quick to reject anything and everything that looked like babying the blonde through the last few months.

That was, of course, aside from the leg up her father's connections (let alone his money) had given her when it came to a speedy and relatively stress-free release from serving her time. With the time, effort and coin invested in his child's freedom, the wealthy realestate mogul had taken to calling his daughter weekly to see how she was doing. With each call, Phoebe could feel her resolve deteriorating and it wouldn't be much longer until she told her father exactly what he could do with the fifteen minutes he seemingly 'found spare' for her every week. Even she was at school he had no time for her, so why now was he so interested in her life?

"A grandchild?!" Phoebe baulked down the phone, desperately looking around as if someone uninvited would be walking around her flat to overhear the two Robertsons talking, "What in the hell do you want a grandchild for?!" It wasn't often that Phoebe allowed her Scottish roots to be shown through her accent, but when speaking to her father it was hard for her to hide the twang from the north returning to her speech patterns.

"An heir," her father corrected, his tone as even as if he'd spoken to her of the weather outside his window, "I'm not getting any younger -- and who on earth am I meant to leave all of this to...?" Phoebe could practically hear the old man's hand waving flamboyantly around the den she assumed he was sitting in on the grounds of his favourite of the Robertson properties.

"I don't know Da," Phee hummed, clearly losing her patience, "Your actual child? Or have you decided to skip a generation?"

"You?" the old man practically hissed down the line.

It stung. Though the way he had so clearly decided to bypass her lineage in favour of a child she had no plans on having any time soon wasn't meant to make her feel good, was it?

"You cannot seriously thing the grounds can go to you," Christopher continued, his daughter tightening her jaw as she readied for his explanation, "A woman...? A woman who now has a criminal record because of how foolish she thought she could be with her body...?"

"Da, I told you--" Phoebe began, about to reiterate for the umpteenth time that she wasn't actually using her body in the way he seemed to think she was. She wasn't selling herself for money, she wasn't even promising herself as a prize to the man she had managed to extort money from. It had all been for the greater good of the Jabberwocks, though she wasn't about to spell that out for him.

"Looking like you did, you expect your mother and I to believe you?" Christopher spat down the line, "We saw the CCTV, you can't lie your way out of this. You're just lucky--"

Now, it was Phoebe's turn to interrupt her father, "I'm lucky what, Da?" she finally broke, "That a headline about your daughter being in trouble is a threat to you? I couldn't care less, but you? You're so desperate to make it seem like Ma and I are two beautiful trophies on your shelf you can't even fathom what you'd do if people found out I was arrested. You're the one paying to keep me away, aren't you? The flat, the line of credit... Hell, you're even the police officer who signs my forms. What's your other option? You cut me off and I have to come back up there - and God knows the trouble I'll cause."

Her father was silent.

"Tell Ma when you see her I'll be up to visit in the summer. When you're away to Spain."

[liamramsey]

If someone had asked Liam— lanky, knobby-kneed, exuberant eighteen-year-old Liam— how he’d felt about officers who trod a path far more rambling than straight and narrow he’d have scoffed; rattled off some claim that he’d never dream of doing something of that sort— that he never intended to be anything other than moral and righteous and worthy of a profession he’d held in high esteem as long as he could remember.

And then the universe had seen fit to send his life crashing down about his ears and every moral Liam had ever crafted with careful, gentle hands became a loose, mutable thing— more likely to shift and crumble altogether than it was to remain steadfast in the face of the turns his life had taken.

With his head down and hands tucked into his pockets he was at least half-certain he might’ve looked like any other work worn man in the city, trudging off to the local to spend the day’s earnings just for a bit of relief. He tended to find that relief in other substances, mind, but it wasn’t an assumption he had any problem leaning into— it was a comfort, in truth, no one would assume a mildly disheveled, scowling hulk of a man was a detective constable on his way to accept a bribe. Or perhaps they would— perhaps the fact of the matter was that Liam had long since shifted past the point of caring.

He stepped into the bar around a couple leaving— unable to contain the soft snort of laughter that escaped him as he caught a tidbit of their conversation and was reminded quickly, painfully, of his late fiancée. It certainly wasn’t the time to be dwelling on his past— not if he wanted to make it through the night with even a fraction of composure.

It would be pleasant, he hoped, to spend some time in a more casual setting with someone. He certainly couldn’t call Phoebe a friend, not with their relationship being more of a business dealing than anything else, but she was familiar and lately that seemed to be enough. His gaze shifted from one side of the bar to the other— clocking Phoebe quickly in the midst of the scan and approaching her when he felt comfortable doing so.

His head dipped in a nod and for all the hardness that tended to settle into his features when he wasn’t interacting with someone— he managed an easy, crooked smile in the blonde’s direction as he sat beside her and quietly ordered a pint for himself.

“Gettin’ tired of the park, then? Or are you just tryin’ to get me as pissed as possible before we sort this out?” He asked, a note of playfulness in his voice that was only reliably present when he wasn’t technically working. In spite of the nature of their meeting, Liam felt as though he could relax— even if it was only for a moment.

[dayzedandconphused]

Phoebe wasn’t necessarily avoiding going home, but it wasn’t as if she was chomping at the bit to be back in her husband’s presence either. She wanted to make up to him – and the rest of the Jabberwocks – for the foolishness of her incarceration. Her ego was wounded and the sooner this community service bullshit was over with, the sooner the blonde could move on.

And by move on, it meant she would be welcome to step foot back in the Casino. Her second home, her second workplace and where her heart yearned to be again. She was valuable there. She was necessary there.

Her second glass of red wine went down far easier than the first, her palate warming to the harsh, almost vinegary tones the rather cheap tasting wine held. She’d had better, but she’d also paid more for a glass of worse. She was considering calling the whole thing off and meeting Liam back in Hyde Park the next day when her blue eyes landed on the familiar man approaching her.

She sat up a little straighter, preparing for the accent she considered far harsher than her wine. His voice reminded her of her father in the least appealing way possible, simply by the fact of his lineage being literally too close to home for her liking.

Still, Liam was rather easy on the eye and he was wiling to risk his career for her money, so who was she to complain?

“Why bother with the park when I’m going to be here instead?” she countered, not willing to reveal the cash just yet. She knew better than to pay for something she didn’t have in hand just yet. At the mention of getting him pissed, Phoebe indicated to the bartender that anything Liam ordered was to be put on her tab, trusting the Scotsman wouldn’t be the kind to order overly expensive champagne on her dime.

She reached into her bag and produced the small folded card with the falsified community service hours filled in by someone else she had paid to do so, slipping it into Liam’s hand as she waited expectantly for him to sign her off for the week.

[diamond-scrapbook-deactivated20]

Margot Robbie

[dayzedandconphused]

rafaeleliad·:

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Rafael answers, his voice carrying the faintest note of amusement as he goes back to his report.

“There’s certainly an argument to be made in sterility’s favour,” he agrees, “But without Luke, I would be having a significantly more difficult time keeping the front page of every major newspaper occupied with stories about the Duchess of Sussex or Prince Andrew - whichever one they happen to hate most at the time.” In so many words, he’s been working with Luke’s father to keep Malachi Liddell’s name out of the press - it won’t be forever, but he hopes it will make some small difference in the Jabberwocks’ favour. It’s the least he can do. The reminder of Phoebe’s other line of work inspires a quiet huff of air through his nose, which might be a laugh, or something close to it. “Fair point, well made. I rather like my assets, both financial and personal, where they are, so I suppose I’ll leave the betting to the degenerates at the Rose.”

“You’ve never invited me to your apartment,” Rafael counters, “And I, like Dracula, would be remiss to enter somebody’s home without their permission, regardless of any superior coffee facilities they may possess.” Making a quick, final note on the folder he’s been examining so thoroughly, he sets it aside and immediately picks up another in its place, frowning at the way its been organised.

“In this case, for.” The firm is discreetly representing the honourable Philomena Winchester, the conservative member of parliament representing the constituency of Tunbridge Wells, who’d caused quite a stir when she’d been photographed in the intimate company of a junior staffer the month previous. It had only been too easy to find proof that her poor, betrayed husband was carrying on his own extra-marital activities, and for quite some time, if the sheer volume of evidence was anything to go by. “I would like a sample of the photos delivered by courier to the Daily Star’s office before the end of the week, if you would oblige me. Their readers will be baying for his blood in due course.” Perhaps he feels a modicum of pity for the young man photographed alongside Mr Winchester, whose life will implode as soon as the news breaks, but… results are more important. Somebody’s life will be ruined either way, so his people might as well make a profit from it.

-

Phoebe felt oddly justified that Rafael agreed with herregarding Luke’s father’s loins, knowing she was one for the dramatics. It wasalmost as if he knew humouring her would keep her in good spirits for long enoughso she could do her actual job. Something Luke seemed not to be able todo while she was away.  Her lip curled ina displeased way, making it clear she wasn’t all that keen that the businessneeded to keep the idiot employee in good stead to use his father, but she ofall people understood needing to use connections to get what you needed whenyou needed it. The community service paperwork in her bag a clear case in point.

“Fine,” she conceded again, a smirk curling on her lips as the next thought struck her, “But you’ll let me be in the roomwhen you tell him to leave, won’t you?”

“You’ve always been smarter than the men I can get under my eye,”she hummed softly, clicking away at her laptop as she shot off another email tofollow up with another PA. The mention of him being akin to the literary childof Bram Stoker caused a soft laugh to bubble from her lips, a sparkle ofamusement in her features, “I guess I haven’t,” she admitted, adding a momentlater, “And if it’s an invitation you’re after then here it is: you are more thanwelcome to step over the threshold for a coffee or two, Dearest Vampiric boss ofmine. Say, Sunday? I might even order some bagels if you’d like?”

Phee didn’t need to know exactly what was going on word forword, she knew it wasn’t really her place to pry, but it was nice to know whatside the alliances fell to, just so she could keep the information storedsomewhere in the back of her mind in case the opportunity arose that she wouldneed it. The instruction from Rafael caused Phoebe to sit up a littlestraighter, writing in the notes section of her laptop as he spoke to her, “Ofcourse,” she spoke gently, finishing he note in her laptop before glancing overat him, “Shall I leave you to it? I’d hate to actually bother you when there’smountains of fun for you in those files.”

[dayzedandconphused]

c l o s e d : @liamramsey​ l o c a l e : undisclosed bar, neutral territory

Phoebe knew it was a condition of her release to perform a certain amount of hours of community service, but the idea of actually having to do just that was mind-numbing to the blonde. There were so many better things on her to-do list, including (but not limited to) making up to Theo and the others by taking on some relatively simple debt collection outside of the Casino until the day it was deemed ‘okay’ for her to return without threat of interfering with her bail. 

Her father had done a great deal to ensure she wasn’t locked up as long as she technically should have been, his money having a great reach even all the way up in the north of Scotland and Phoebe was glad to know she still had her father wrapped around her little finger. Exactly where a man should be. He hadn’t even batted an eyelid when she had asked her lawyer to ring him, thankful that he still had a line to his daughter after everything they’d been through together. She may not want to be associated with him and his family name, but Phoebe was more than happy to use their wealth to her advantage. 

It was said wealth that had taken her to the bar that night, having found a connection in the police force who was more than happy to bend a few rules for a good price. They would usually meet in a cafe or at the park, just as two ordinary citizens who happened to bump into one another. Phoebe would slip Liam an envelope of cash and he would sign off on her weekly community service hours -- without her having to do them, of course. 

On this occasion, the blonde had been late at work, trying to fix all the filing cabinets back to her preferences when she had realised she wouldn’t make it to the park on time. Instead she had asked Liam to meet her in the bar down the road from her office, it would be far more convenient for her if he came her way this time. And she could enjoy a drink. Two birds, as the saying went. 

She sat herself down at the bar, in the corner away from prying eyes and ordered herself a dink, slipping her card over the counter so a tab could be started as Phoebe waited for the fuzz to show up. Hopefully he would know better than to show up in his work attire. 

[prurientdelights]

Margot Robbie

[dayzedandconphused]

andres-majano·:

“You want something to hold onto? ¿Qué carajo quieres?”  His voice raised and Andrés lowered his shoulders, as if making himself look shorter would help at all. With pleading eyes, he seemed to beg her not to keep this going, but she pressed further. The mention of a watch made him frown. The Swiss one on his wrist dated back to when he’d first made it to the Malaga FC, a gift from his adoptive parents, and one he cherished. Putting his hand to his wrist, the Arsenal manager shook his head at her.

“There’s my car,” he finally said. Fishing in his pockets, he took out the keys to a Maserati.

It was better than compromising his reputation with Fifa. He had worked hard to build a reputation, with Arsenal, with the Spanish team, and that had opened him a few doors at Fifa, doors that could be shut if he slipped. It was better this way, and maybe this would help him, at last, push the door to a therapist. He needed to be stopped, because he knew he couldn’t do it on his own. God only knew how many times he’d tried in the past.

“What do I do? Report it stolen? Lost? Sold?” Because he sure as hell wasn’t paying for their speeding tickets. One thing he wanted for now was to get away from her, go home and focus on something else, anything. He’d have gone to Eilidh, but he couldn’t do that, they shouldn’t do that anymore.

She didn’t understand, nor did she care what the man in front of her had spat at her in Spanish, his tone was enough to grow the smirk on her lips further. Phoebe was under his skin and it was exactly where she planned on staying until she got what she wanted. Needed, rather. The way he touched his wrist was a clear sign to the blonde that he indeed did have a watch worth something, but not being able to see it she wasn’t able to ascertain if it was merely sentimental. Sentimentality meant little to her when it came to settling debts, but it was good to know there might be another way to get what she wanted from him. 

Finally, the jingle or car keys caused the soft smirk to turn into an excited smile, her long fingers reaching out to take the keys as they were revealed, “That’ll do,” she hummed, a clear amusement in her tone. 

A well-manicured brow raised when he asked what he was meant to do and Phee found herself actually laughing, “No Darling,” she hummed, slipping the keys into the Prada that hung on her shoulder, “You’re merely lending your car to a dear friend of yours who’s in need of a set of wheels for a few weeks. The keys, and your precious little car will be returned once suitable payments have been gathered.” She lent in, making sure to keep her voice low as she warned, “You don’t want to know what happens if you report it stolen. I’ll be the least of your worries.” 

Straightening up once more, Phoebe smiled politely at Andres, satisfied with what she’d managed to get from him, “It’s been a pleasure, Mr Majano. Do keep well.” 

[crookedhvnd]

In many ways Theodore is a simple creature, he’s a man motivated by money and all that money can bring. There’s certainly more to him, and a gun to his head will have him admit that perhaps there are some things that money cannot buy - but for the most part, money keeps a man alive. He’ll leave Phoebe with ten percent more than promised for her troubles, for this little surprise. A gloved hand reaches for the vermillion box. Doesn’t open it. He knows the money is in there. Theo can see she’s itching for something.

“How is Mr. Mendelson? Was he any trouble? He’s inconsistent with everything,” Volatile, incendiary, a little too handsy. Not to mention - the man played Russian roulette with his ballots. Thorn in his side, pebble in Theo’s shoe if there ever was one. “I can’t imagine it was easy.” There, a bone. Let it not be said that Theo wasn’t giving. Benediction over brunch.

Praise kinks aside, there is a curiosity for how the exchange went down. Theodore is protective over those he considers close. And Phoebe is his as far as he’s concerned. For a man who’d raised all of his brothers and sisters, concern is still somehow an ill-fitting suit on Theodore, one he tries on anyway. His clients have come to expect a certain cut and dry nature with him and that’s all he can offer now, though he likes to think Pheobe practically thinks of it as home. 

“Tell me the story after we order. I want to know what was so eventful.”

The table is private, the restaurant vetted. Not one bug amongst these pristine hedges. Sharing the story with all of the details wouldn’t be a breach of any security. He peers down at the menu. 

“What are you in the mood for?”

[dayzedandconphused]

If Phoebe was thankful for one thing about her boss, it was his subtly. She’d had to deal with people who would immediately have opened the present she had brought and give the game away before it had barely started. Phoebe supposed that’s why the man in front of her was who he was, however. One did not gain the influence a man like Theo possessed by being reckless and tactless. 

“Mr Mendelson was...” Phoebe trailed off, thinking of how to explain the man to Theo, “Pitiful, to say the least.” Her admission was soft and low, keeping herself wary of people milling about around them, “At one point I thought I might need to call--” she stopped herself from mentioning her spouse, still frustrated from a fight the two had engaged in mere hours before, “--reinforcements, but you know me, I won’t be backing down any time soon.” 

She nodded gently when he mentioned ordering, her blue eyes flicked down to the menu, as if she hadn’t already ordered the same breakfast every time she sat down at her favourite cafe, “The usual,” she hummed easily, “If I have the Benedict with mushrooms I can go all day without having to bother stopping for lunch. Places to go, people to see, you know the deal.” 

She flicked the menu over to glance at the coffee list, again knowing full well her usual would be the order to fall from her lips, “And a mocha. Extra shot.” The coffee order was so familiar to her that she spoke with the clear Scottish accent she normally tried to hide from those in London. She cleared her throat and took a sip of water, as if attempting to flush her lineage from her mouth. Finally glancing back up at her boss, she asked, “Hungry?” 

[gangsters-wife]

[dayzedandconphused]

andres-majano​:

“ ¡ Oh jódete ! “ He was in no position to curse at her, or even discuss with her at all. “What do you want me to do right here and now? Sign you a check?” He didn’t have that kind of money in his main bank account right now, and he knew for certain his banker would raise eyebrows if he moved such a large amount of money like that. “You know that’s not going to be possible,” he rubbed at his face, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyelids.

“Look, I have houses to sell, places I own.” Because once upon a time, he hadn’t been an idiot who spent his money filling a void. Therapy would have cost him less, if he’d even thought of seeing someone. He just had a way to completely avoid introspection. What would be the point anyway? What was there to reflect? He had a pretty normal childhood. His parents tried, they even tried harder than most, because they felt awful for the things he’d been through. Never mind that it wasn’t their fault, never mind that he didn’t remember a thing.

And that was the issue, wasn’t it? A 8 years gap. A whole lot of nothing.

“It’s ridiculous anyway,” he sighed. He wouldn’t have let them approach his team anyway. Losing games to make these assholes richer? Pass. “Collateral?” A sigh. “I have a team who needs me. I’m not fucking going anywhere,” he put the drink down by his leg, refusing to touch it. “If I had plans to disappear, I’d have done that last year already, right? But I paid you guys then. I just… I’ll figure something out.” How, and when? Well he wasn’t really sure. He’d have to make concessions, and there was the whole: let’s not do that again part which he hadn’t sorted out at all. He’d pay, and tomorrow what?

-

Phee didn’t care to know what he’d said, but the tone in which he’d spoken made it clear he wasn’t happy with the way the conversation was going, “It’s becoming that way, isn’t it?” she asked when Andres dropped the term ‘ridiculous’. Even if they weren’t referring to the same thing, Phoebe was more than happy to agree with him on at least the words he was choosing.

“I want you to give me something I can hold on to until you actually pay up. Collateral, Mr Majano, since clearly the threats are becoming idle, I’m going to need something I can at least sell if you decide that the call of the casino is once again better than the call of repaying your debt when you eventually get money through your account.” In all honesty, the blonde didn’t think she was asking for much. All she needed was something to take away with her, otherwise the night had been for nothing and since the last three months in prison had taken her value away from her, she wasn’t going to leave empty handed, “I know you’re not going anywhere, but your life seems far less saleable than anything you may currently have on your person, hmm? An expensive watch...? Keys to a vehicle...?”

She wanted to help him -- actually, no she didn’t. The blonde wasn’t even sure why she had let the thought even cross her mind, but it was quick to be quashed as she looked rather dully at the pathetic nature of the man in front of her. She understood, maybe that’s what she was feeling, but again Andres had done this to himself, he had no one to blame but his own vices and that wasn’t Phoebe’s issue to deal with. Thankfully. A well-manicured brow raised as she finally spoke again, not afraid to look down her nose at him, “I’m sure you understand why your word carries less weight with me than you FIFA connections. So less talk, more discussion on what I’m going to be taking with me tonight.”

[margoterobbies]

MARGOT ROBBIE for Vanity Fair

[twinsfawn]

[dayzedandconphused]

andres-majano·:

“Isn’t that what you people want? For people to play until they’re indebted to you?” He rubbed at his face. This was terrible. He was just making small talk in an attempt to earn himself what? An extra moment to think. And his brain was not giving him much. Yes, he could easily get her out of his way but this place was full of cameras, and one of her friends would probably replace her then. “Then, you know it’s just a matter of time before…” The football manager looked away in frustration. With a sigh, he tried once again to collect his thoughts. 

“I suppose,” he drily replied, glancing over at the bartender. Andrés wasn’t sure he wanted to be social with that woman. Sure enough, she could be pleasant, but wasn’t that how proverbial snakes preyed on their feast? “I suppose you still don’t want my connections with FIFA?” These people, they probably had those already, he figured. Their spider web must have been crawling down every crevice available. Still, he tried. Another option could be selling one of his places, but he’d already sold the one in Marrakesh last year, for this very same reason. “I’ll … figure it out, think of something. You.. Just… Please wait, just a little bit more,” and they knew he wouldn’t try to flee. He was too loyal to his club for that. 

-

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe chuckled, a noise of genuine amusement bubbling through her lungs, “Are you unaware of how casinos work?” It was honestly funny to the blonde that perhaps the footballer didn’t realise the point of her place of employment... or the point of her collecting the debts for people like him who couldn’t keep their money in their bank accounts, “Ah yes, we all know it’s always ‘a matter of time’ before you finally pay up, but you are going to need to give a little more than your word, Mr Majano.” She wasn’t stupid enough to simply let him walk away now she had her claws in him. Could she maybe be able to excuse another week or so of payments if she wanted to? Of course. Was it far more fun to watch him squirm? Definitely. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you that the last thing on earth I would want or care about is your connection to FIFA--” they had people to handle connections, so the downtrodden footballer was definitely barking up the wrong tree in his feeble attempt to placate her. As their new drinks were served, Phoebe threw the server a polite and pleasant smile, as if she hadn’t berated them hours earlier for ‘forgetting’ to get her first drink of the night. Once they were out of earshot, she spoke again, “I need collateral. Something to hold on to until you figure your life out. However much you insist it will be soon, I can’t trust you not to immediately bury yourself, can I? You don’t have much of a track record to go off.” 

[dayzedandconphused]

dcvth​:

Phoebe’s little incarceration stint is badly timed and it leaves her locked out of the Casino for the next three months - for better or for worse. No, it’s most certainly “for worse,” because the result is that Theodore is out one of his best con artists for the next 90 days. In the Crimson King’s opinion, the real sin here is not necessarily the slight of hand Phoebe attempted, but the fact that she was caught at all. There’s no notion of luck to entertain about the situation because that would require Theodore to believe in matters of luck in the first place and he really doesn’t intend on starting now. He’s is a man that strictly believes in the tangible capabilities of a person and the buck stops there. Phoebe’s tendency to be underestimated is a gift in itself, and he’s seen what happens to men who are foolish enough to fall for the charade plenty of times. Theodore holds a respect for finesse and maybe that’s why he’s so disappointed in her, he expects better from Phoebe, knows she is capable of better. 

And yet, he doesn’t greet her with anger. His own feelings on the matter have blanched since her ‘one phone call’ to him on the eve of the incident. Theo’s hiss of rage through the phone line has mellowed to disappointment (to exasperated humor - though he’d never admit that out loud) and Theodore now meets the whole affair with a sort of sober acceptance. Time to batten down the hatches and weather the storm of the next 90 days. 

When he arrives, it’s all polite airs and correctness, a kiss on her cheek. It’s more than likely that there’s a pair of wandering eyes not too far off taking this whole interaction out of context, blowing it out of proportion, but the formalities are a pedigree he’ll never shake. The soft question is not unexpected, not really. Who would Phoebe be without that yearning for her beloved limelight?

“Come now Phoebe, have I ever been the sort to indulge such requests?” There’s no doubt the Red Rose misses its favorite thorn. “But I’ll give you this, we left too much money on the floor last night. Some of these lookouts, you’d think they’ve never conned a man before.”

He notes the hangover. Raises his hand to hail a waiter, snaps with all the authority of the pistol for their attention. They’ll need at least another pitcher of water for her. ( And they’ll need to keep her away from all open flames. ) “It seems you found a way to enjoy the evening regardless.”

@}-,-'–.

If there was one person Phoebe was both eager and rather terrified to contact post-arrest, it was Theodore... but of course he had to be the first to know what had happened. At least to the best of her knowledge he didn’t have a ready contact (aside from her) in the prison she’d found herself in so she felt he was the best person to alert to her arrest first. Then, came her father. When it came to fearing one man’s reaction over the other, her father was no comparison. She was like him in many ways, but as the only child and the only girl born into the Robertson family in several generations, Phee knew she held a light in her father’s heart that could do no wrong. Theodore however… Phoebe knew she was replaceable. She was expendable and she was skating on thin ice now she had been arrested.

They were in public, and Phoebe knew the man in front of her was all about subtly when the occasion called for it and thankfully their meeting at the café called for just that. She leant into his kiss, her nerves settling ever so slightly at the intimate greeting. Surely if he was still upset with her, he wouldn’t have indulged her with such a greeting.

Her lips curled into a gently amused smile when Theo denied her the simple ‘yes’ she had been seeking, even if she knew he wasn’t about to simply agree with her and compliment her outright, the follow up to his comment told her all she needed to know. She wasn’t one to leave much money on the floor if she could help it – it was what had gotten her in trouble in the first place after all – so she took his comments as slight praise to her abilities. Somehow he knew her better than she knew herself because the moment he ordered another jug of water for the table her, her mouth salivated at the thought of hydrating herself through the pain in her head.

“My evening was… eventful,” she admitted, eyes following the server as they placed the water down on the table between them. Once he was out of earshot and eyesight, Phoebe lent down to her bag and retrieved a small envelope sized red gift box and slid it across the table to Theo, “Mr Mendelson sends his regards and a gift to apologise for missing you last week.” As much as she wanted the praise of having done well, she also didn’t want Theo to be seen with wads of cash in a café, so she had packaged the repayment from said indebt Irishman as if she was gifting him a pocket handkerchief for his birthday.  

[dayzedandconphused]

andres-majano·:

.-

“Can’t blame a player for playing,” he pointed out. He’d have been even stupider for not trying his shot here, but he might have been pushing his luck, teasing her like that. She worked for these guys, and she must have had some friends he wouldn’t want to meet. “Alright, I’m sure you’ve been checking the news.” He began. It wasn’t precisely the most secure way to get the conversation going, but Andrés certainly didn’t shine in interviews with his prose. He was great at motivational speeches (or inspiring fear in younger players, or so he was told), he certainly wasn’t great at telling stories.

“We’re doing very well,” which meant he was able to renegotiate his contract with a raise. Should they win the league, a bonus would come his way, and with a qualification in the Champions League, even more. They just had to be patient with him, and he had to stop spending most of his pay check in this damn casino. But Andrés wasn’t certain they’d agree to that.  Looking around them, he made sure no one could possibly hear him and pleaded: “I just… Wait a bit more and I’ll have it. Please.”

-

“Except when playing is what keeps getting him into trouble,” Phoebe pointed out, a playful smirk on her lips. It was great having people willing to play, but when it came to people like the man in front of her playing a little too much... well then it became everyone’s problem. Most importantly, it became her problem. Unluckily for the footballer, Phoebe was the problem solver. “Oh I’ve seen the news,” she purred gently, raising a brow slightly, “Why do you think I’m over here, Darling?” 

“Congratulations are in order then...?” she wondered, indicating with her index finger to a hostess that the two of them wanted another drink. She was drinking red wine and he... well, Phoebe didn’t care what he was drinking, all she cared about was the size of his wallet and the enormity of his debt. If it was drinkable, Phoebe would have requested a glass of the way that he begged for her to wait, but the cab sav would satiate her for the time being, “We both know we can’t wait much longer, Mr Majano. You’re going to have to give me at least a little something to take to the bank. Delay the inevitable and I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you what happens next.”