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@delphine--stclair
@mobscene-starters.tumblr.com Who: Open Where: IDFK. lol
Delphine tapped her glass once against the bar, unimpressed. “I was promised atmosphere,” she muttered. Then, louder, to anyone within earshot, “All I’m seeing is bad decisions and worse poker faces.”
Drinks, on the other side were drinks, and she had to pass her in order to get to them.
What was the saying? You can't have a rainbow without a little bit of rain? Surely they didn't know what the fuck they were talking about.
Mustering her courage, Leyla took a deep breath and started walking past her.
"Well shit, she doesn't even need a costume to be fucking terrifying."
Delphine stopped her with nothing more than a shift of her gaze — slow, deliberate, and far too aware to be accidental. She let the silence stretch, a delicate finger tapping once against her champagne flute before she spoke.
“Terrifying?” she echoed, the word rolling off her tongue like silk over a blade. “Mm. I’ve been called worse.”
A soft, amused hum followed — but there was nothing warm in it. This was a woman who took the comment as a compliment… and a confirmation.
Her eyes swept Leyla from head to toe, unhurried, assessing, like someone deciding whether their prey was worth the effort.
“Though you should be careful saying such things out loud,” Delphine murmured, stepping just slightly into Leyla’s path — close enough to touch, close enough to unsettle. “Compliments have a way of sounding like fear… when delivered under your breath like that." The faintest, razor-sharp smile curved her mouth
"A very animated turn out, indeed. We're glad you were able to make it, Ms. St. Clair." She certainly cut an elegant figure, but at least her costume came with a warning. Félix nodded at the glass in her hand and offered up his own in a slight toast before taking a drink. Delphine St. Clair was far from the only guest on the prowl tonight, but the way the crowds parted almost effortlessly for her was what drew Félix's notice. "Hopefully you're leaning more towards treats than tricks."
The music swelled, lights shifting across the ballroom, and she glanced around them with a quiet, appreciative hum as the crowd unconsciously made space. “Animated is one word for it,” she mused. “London does enjoy putting on a show when given the excuse.”
At his last remark, she let her eyes return to him — amused, sharp, and entirely unreadable. “Tricks?” she echoed, letting the word linger. “No, not tonight. I find the treats far more… productive at this present time.”
Then, with a faint tilt of her head:
“Though between us, Félix?” Her voice dropped to something velvet-soft and dangerous. “London becomes dreadfully dull without the occasional trick."
She sipped her champagne, smile never wavering. “But don’t worry. I’m perfectly civil—unless provoked.”
Ophélie’s gaze swept across the room, a small wave of relief washing over her when she caught sight of a familiar face. Delphine. It had been ages—since before her abrupt departure to France. The trip had done wonders for the organisation’s finances, sure, but Ophélie still wasn’t certain how her return would be received. Old alliances had a way of shifting in her absence.
She clicked her tongue, the sound sharp against the low hum of conversation. “Well,” she murmured, half to herself, half to Delphine, “if there’s one thing we know about our dear hostess, it’s that drama is never far behind. Hopefully less bloody this time—but with her, you can never quite tell.”
Her tone curled into a quiet snarl as her eyes flicked toward Lara, a brief, cutting glance that said far more than her words.
Delphine did not startle when Ophélie approached — she simply turned, the light catching the dark sheen of her gown as though she’d been expecting her all along. Her smile was soft, perfectly formed, and entirely unreadable.
“Ophélie,” she murmured, lilting the name with that effortless Parisian grace, “London seems to draw us all back eventually.”
She took a sip of her drink. “Less bloody?” she echoed, tone dipping into a dry, velvety amusement. “Ma chère, if there’s one thing I’ve missed, it’s a little blood. This city gets so… dull without it. Especially when it's not our blood that's spilled."
The smile she offered next was warm enough to be welcoming, but carried no real softness — only the poise of a woman who remembered everything.
“But you look well. France must have treated you kindly.” Her eyes sharpened, just slightly. “I trust you’ve learned a few things worth bringing home.”
"Half of London under one roof, with all the alcohol and drugs they could want. Historically a recipe for an uneventful night." As if Jean himself wasn't itching for a fight. Even one Russian fuck walking around like they were safe was one too many.
Delphine’s lips curved, the kind of smile that never reached her eyes. “Mm, yes. A room full of armed egos and old grudges—what could possibly go wrong?” she mused, swirling the champagne in her glass. “At least it’ll be entertaining before it gets ugly.”
@mobscene-starters Event: Halloween 2025 Where: The venue
The pulse of the bass hit her chest like a second heartbeat as Delphine weaved through the crowd, clad in black from head to toe, every curve accentuated, every movement deliberate. Her glass caught the light as she tilted it just so, eyes scanning the room with a predator’s precision. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “Well, this is… lively,” she murmured, voice low and teasing, the hint of danger in her tone matching the sharpness of her costume.
Delphine St.Clair as "the black widow."
Time: Post 1st Fight
Valérie might have hated Lara's sick event each time it reared it's head but that didn't mean she wasn't going to come and support those she loved. Still, she never looked forward to the yearly anxiety attack it brought on.
If only she took drugs like the rest of them. A habit Val had never developed and very rarely wondered what life would be like if she had. It certainly would have made nights like these easier though.
Nestled into a booth, the Commandant nursed her drink, feeling it slowly warm in her hand. She'd need a new one soon. A shadow fell over her just as she contemplated heading to the bar.
"Join me for another? This one's gone warm."
@mobscene-starters
"You read my mind," Delphine said, draining the last of her own drink. "I'm going to need much more than this to get through tonight." She could only hope that there would be enough blood in that ring to satisfy her appetite for it. It felt like it had been far too long since she'd witnesed true brutality and tonight usually promised at least some of that.
"What's your drink of choice tonight?"
Fight club: After 1st fight.
"Mon dieu," Delphine muttered under her breath, talking to no one in particular "This is just as entertaining as watching paint dry," she reached for her clutch to take out her cigarettes, shaking one out of the pack and putting it between her lips.
"The next one better actually have at least some finesse or I'm going to have to be much more fucked up to get through the evening." And she'd planned on being very fucked up to deal with present company.
@delphine--stclair Event: Fight Club 2025 - During the women's rounds.
Well, witnessing Giordana's fight felt a little bit like he'd just committed a crime.
With a glass of cognac in hand and a grimace firmly painting his weathered features, Varden sought out an all-too-familiar face amongst the French crowd in an attempt to cleanse his fucking palate. Often, she proved a safe haven when he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of company, and as was a surprise to none, tonight was one of those occasions. Varden's own fight wasn't any kind of looming anxiety—it was only ever going to go one way, and they all knew that—but some of the match ups for the other French fighters concerned him.
Taking a sip from his own glass, he extended a coupe of champagne in the direction of the blonde as soon as she was in earshot. A sight for sore eyes, as always.
"Not overly attached to Olivier, are we?"
The amount of time Delphine had rolled her eyes during Giordana and Nevra's fight was starting to give her a headache. If it was any indication of the way the rest of the night would go, she was sorry she'd even accepted the invitation to attend. Her couch would have been a better and more exciting place than this boring shit.
Seeing Varden's familiar face gave her face a much-needed smirk, the frown lines in her forehead receding as she sipped the end of her own drink before reaching out and taking the one offered from him. She was both pleased to see him and also wanted to smack him for participating after everything he'd been through. But he was a big boy, he could handle himself. Didn't mean she had to like it.
Her smirk became a little wider at his question. "God, no. I think it's no secret how annoying I find the man. He even knows it. Our 'relationship'," she rolled her eyes, "is tenuous at best." Her smile faded a bit. "Was a little surprised when I saw your name, though. How did Val take it?" She asked taking a sip of champagne, her not so veiled attempt at mentioning her dislike of him being hurt again. God forbid anyone realize she actually cared.
Delphine St.Clair begrudgingly attending Fight Club 2025
12 Days of Christmas 2024: Delphine St. Clair
Delphine spoke, and it was like music to her ears.
Odile had almost backed out when they'd taken her phone: she was aware of the rules but with Laurent sitting in a hospital and his condition up and down at the best of times...it'd left her feeling less like herself, and more like a woman who needed to cut loose. It was in that mirror, where Laurent was herald as the play boy, the party animal -- tonight, she'd honour his inability to attend in the best way she knew how.
Total carnage.
"See, and this is why you run things -- always prepared." she peaked a glance over her shoulder. "I see you haven't got the BFG in tow today. Did you actually give Olivier the weekend off?" she was aware of the indifferences the pair shared, even if she noted their inability to let the other go, also. He wouldn't have been working there that long if she hadn't. Delphine was a force to be reckoned with. "Lead the way. I need a pick me up, before I get someone to actually pick me up."
Delphine rarely laughed and didn't smile unless it was actually genuine. People would get a smirk now and then, but when interacting with her people, she found herself letting her guard drop just a little bit.
At Odile's comment, she let out a genuine laugh and make an arm gesture. "What can I say? I know what my people need," she teased. She wanted to ask about Laurent, but wasn't sure if she should bring it up or not, especially since their phones had to be given up.
"Yes, he's free to do...whatever the hell it is that he does." She said, waving a hand in the air. "The last thing I need to deal with is living in a poor tent with a Rutherford and Olivier hovering over me. That would add extra stress on both sides but most especially mine." She admitted. "Plus, I need a break from the guy." She linked her arm with the other womans and started walking away from their poor tents. "So...any idea on the type of 'work' we're supposed to do to earn drinks around this place?"
"Unfortunately, that's not possible. You might as well think ahead and just pick someone for night three." Diana was definitely not going to take bribes. She was going to be enjoying this whole fiasco with a glass of Bollinger. "Besides, my brother is an actual diamond." A charmer and one that certainly could hold his own with any woman.
"That's why you drink."
Delphine almost snorted as Adriana spoke of her brother. "Suuuuure. A Diamond," she said, winking. "I'm working on night three." She admitted. Hoping beyond hope that she could find one of her people that would be willing to pair up with her.
"Well apparently... I have to work for my drinks. Thank you so much for the reminder."
"Shit happens." Though Adriana did wonder how her brother was going to take this. And opportunity? A challenge?
She was definitely going to find out.
"For the children, right?"
Delphine rolled her eyes with a smirk on her face. "I would prefer if shit didn't happen. Who do I have to bribe to switch tents and partners with me?"
"That's what everyone keeps saying. Don't know how many people are simply saying it to convince themselves that this might not be a total shit show," she said, taking a hand through her blonde locks.
FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: The Camp Out, 2024. WHERE: Woodland areas, low class tents.
"It's for the children, they say." Odile mocked under her breath, regret evident, hand reaching up to smooth down her (some would say) too-short skirt, as she slid her sun-glass hidden gaze carefully across the wooded area: thank god she'd paired this with boots...nose wrinkling in a form of disgust at the reality of what her weekend was going to look like.
Turning, her eyes found the nearest person, "Tell me you've got anything, a joint, a fuckin' line. I've got cash." The idea of leaving her phone behind, with Laurent in the hospital already wasn't helping. "I think we're all gonna' need it this side of the estate."
Odile was a sight for sore eyes. She knew this was for the children and blah, blah, blah, but she intended on staying as close to her people as possible. Everyone else was simply the rabble. She'd talk to them if she must, but she preferred a 10 foot radius when it came to anyone she potentially wanted to murder.
Delphine reached into her pocket and took out a carton of cigarettes. She shook one out and handed it to Odile. It wasn't a cigarette, but a joint. "I smuggled some in. I knew we'd need it for all the bullshit," she said, winking at the other woman before handing her a lighter.
@mobscene-starters
Was this some kind of cosmic joke? She couldn't remember the last time she'd been camping. It had to have been since she was little bitty. She'd really enjoyed it depending on where it was...but when night fell and she got eaten alive by bugs, it became a nightmare.
She'd come prepared this time, especially because she was going to be in a tent that any type of little bug could get into. And even worse....
She was paired with Damon Rutherford.
Sure, she and Lara had come into a tentative understanding, but still. As Lara had said herself, they were not friends or even friendly, their understanding was simply a means to an end...that end being specifically for Konstantin Vorshevsky.
She'd brought simply a small bag with essentials. Her tongue snaked over her teeth as she looked over where she'd been staying for the next two days.
"Well...isn't this fucking precious. C'est de la merde."
