Phantogram Three
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Today's Document
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@draconiiandevil-blog
howdy folks. ( if any folks still remain. )
xmotive is now draconiiandevil.
this originally was a blog for my mafia boss oc, matteo kadriovski. it still is that. however, my fc has changed from tom hiddleston to blerim destani, & though i am still using matteo for a lot of my other work, this blog remains an open resource. i may return here someday!! but please; go check out matteo's 'son', ira. it's where i am right now!!!
---- ell. xoxo
ooc; like for a starter owo c:
”If it truly was, y’would be dead by now. Make no mistake.”
[ No this is no surprise, Moran is certain of it. Least of all because since setting foot within the building he’s been watched, followed, tailed every step of the way. Matteo Kadriovski is not the kind of man who can be easily surprised. Not in this way. Yet, perhaps there is a genuine startlement shining in the depths of those eyes. It seems Moran hadn’t been expected to get this far. ]
”You’ll find one of your men out cold on the second floor. Don’t worry, he’ll live, but I really would suggest you find better staff.”
"Oh, trust me. I don't make mistakes."
[ What is most unnerving, perhaps, is limited to the smile on his lips. It isn't stretched, as it may be for so many like him in this business, and it isn't wolfish either; it doesn't bleed with monstrosity and with a million fire breathing demons. No; it is calm. It is a polite, collected smile, which looks inviting and warm. Even when faced with someone he knows well to leave be, he can create and form a malleable ruse of honey-gold; and bend it to his will, should the need arise. ]
"-----Are you trying to impress me?"
[ A hum of a chuckle, that graces his throat and tumbles barely hap-hazardly from his lips, is what meets the man next. His chin will tilt upward, just so, as all other parts of him remain perfectly still. ]
"I would, normally, have said that it is in both of our interests to leave one another well and truly alone. Though today, I believe, is an exception to that rule."
She’ll watch and wait for his reaction, leaning forwards slightly as she lay her arms on the desk, chin lowering the smallest fraction of an inch as she looked up at him. Her posture was usually straight. Completely. Hands would usually be clasped upon her lap or upon the desk. And so, for her to sit in such a position was… odd.
”I’d hate for you to witness a bad one,” is her simple but effective reply.
Posture back, the lock of hair that was liable to escape her typical up-do tucked back into place. Pristine, from the suede black heels to the silver earrings. A gift, of course.
”Things are well. Then again, you know how pedantic I can be over such things.”
One would usually be gifted with compliments at such a remark on oneself. And so, she’ll wait expectantly.
Of course, he, the ever watchful man, takes that into account. He has been present with her when they sit in on political meetings and debates; he has seen how the woman holds herself. So to see her so... casual, it certainly is a point of interest for him. He can ponder that thought later, however.
"I believe that sentiment is mutual, my dear."
Glittering, gem like eyes are set on her like a hawk, because he doesn't exactly want to move them. He will hatefully admit that he has an infatuation for the prettier things in life, whether they sparkle or not; and he drinks in what he sees.
"Oh, but of course," he hums. "You couldn't be who you are without it, surely."
ooc; like this for a starter if you'd like one c:
[ Rather than taking the words as compliment, the consultant nodded in agreement. A polite curve of the lips forced onto his features. Very few people got close to Moriarty, fewer got to see his face; but when it came to meeting with men like this one it was better to meet in person. Only to vanish afterwards of course. A clean get away prevented inconvenient complications for all parties involved. ]
“It is a l w a y s nice to meet one of the fam-i-ly. Although, I have to admit, men in your shoes never come to me seeking a consultation … (As unfortunate as that is~)”
[ Jim never considered himself one of the factions of criminal powers that blanketed the globe. His Firm was above the mafias and gangs, in a different league. In fact, he was playing an entirely different game. But most of of the regular criminals saw the relatively young Irishman as a threat. A threat that was expanding his business out of England and into the other territories. And those men and women weren’t the type to seek help from what they deemed to be the competition.]
”So what brings the Prince. Regent. to my local pub?”
[ There is a melodic chuckle, that burns on his tongue and tumbles past his lips; and his expression will shift into an almost warm one. Warm without a flame. ]
"Well; ---- after all, it is only me that wears them."
[ Matteo will push the chair around, just a tiny bit, to get him to face the other with a deal more ease; his movements in doing so fluid and coherent. There is a black grace to the way he operates, and he is not unlike a swan, as it preens it's feathers afore another; be this an ally, or a potential threat, he will decide when the time arises. For now, he can be considered a conversation piece. After all; what is a better thing to discuss is the endeavours of 'M'; he, the man who 'singlehandedly' infiltrated the Tower of London? In fact, Matteo understands that he is the discussion of many more monopolies than just the Albanian one.
He will try not to pay too much attention to the referral of he himself being a 'prince'. ]
"... we'll call it 'sight seeing', shall we? After all, one must take many things from their time in watching the 'spider' at work. I do hope I'm not intruding, duck."
{ The tea cup is set back on the table with ease, as she sets her hands in her lap. He’s worthy of being a distraction for her. For how long is another question entirely. }
It does sound slightly familiar.
[ The laughter that bubbles in his lungs is melodic, and deep, like his voice; his expression nothing but accountability for her recognition. There is a tint of honey over his eyes, which colours his being inviting. ]
I should indeed hope so. It may have offended me otherwise.
█ ▌♛ ; ɢreeтιɴɢ ; +3 ———————
[ A sudden bustle of people in the café grant trepidation in the monarch's blood, and he will stand from his seat to make his swift exit. However, he, to his own extreme dismay, will bump into the one nearest the door. ]
❝ --excuse me. ❞
█ ▌♛ ; ɢreeтιɴɢ ; +5 ———————
[ He appears an expectant man; steely blue eyes set on the airport around him. There is a tan suitcase by his feet, and a pristine IPhone hangs lazily on thin fingers; but he looks... almost paranoid. A glance around him is spared almost once a minute. Anyone could tell he felt he was being watched. ]
Tom Hiddleston attends The EE British Academy Film Awards 2013 (x)
”Oh, I do, Matteo.”
He mustn’t doubt her. Of course, she imagines that to be the last thing he’d do — he’s not daft, nor does she really believe him to be absolutely naive of her other activities.
”Me?”
Her voice feigns surprise, her mouth forming a small ‘O' as she pursed her lips, sultry red tones contrasting with white teeth.
”You’ve caught me at a good moment, Pet — now, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The use of his name certainly does grab his attention a little more swiftly; and if he hasn't already, he can feel his sub-conscious gaze hastening to grab a look at his surroundings. Still; he is more than calm about it. Somehow.
She makes him laugh, then. Just a small, and humoured chuckle; nothing more naive than her own response.
"Aren't I lucky?" he will say. "I would hate to catch you on a bad one."
But he will catch the use of the name 'pet'.
"Oh, nothing too large. I, in fact, came here to ask about how things have been going, recently."
The compliment, of course, appeals to the woman’s ever-present vanity, and so that smile of hers softens slightly, with that rather sarcastic edge to it almost disappearing as she gave him a quick up-and-down glance. Only human, after all, one of the very few things she wouldn’t bother to deny.
”As do you. You’re going to have to tell me the name of your tailor one of these days.”
Crossing her legs, she tilted her head to the right a tad, leaning forwards.
”As for bad time, that would depend upon who you wish to see…?”
Now, the man is as vain as her; and he likes to imagine himself the 'sculpture' in the museum. Of course, he doesn't tell this to a soul; but he prides his good lo- oks, and he knows exactly how to use them. He is more than sure she is the same.
"That would be giving away my secrets. Which I'm not sure I want to do just yet, you must understand."
His brow will raise as he leans backward in his chair, just a little; his right leg cro- ssing over the left.
"------Well, I wish to see you, actually. As I said before; I hope this isn't a bad time."
[ A seat opposite her is occupied, and filled with the presence of a crime lord; a tilt of a smile on his lips. ]
Miss Adler. A pleasure, no?
{ He has all the air of being the kind of thing that could come with a great amount of trouble. Perhaps something interesting had finally decided to make itself known. }
Perhaps, darling, if I knew who I was speaking to.
[ Of course, he is, now, preening himself, not unlike a bird of paradise; his pride something that will likely have him killed one day. ]
You might know me better as a Kadriovski.
xmotive
“May I ask you what you’re doing around here?”
"You could; though I'd have to kill you."
—— xmotive
She’ll smile at him as if greeting an old friend, such an expression one she wears often. She smiles easily, surprisingly enough, though only a select few managed to bring out one of any genuine quality.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite make the cut.
”———Back so soon?”
Her accent makes such words sound almost musical, despite having little skill in such a subject. One that was of very little interest to the small woman. Instead, she occupied her mind with bigger things.
“I don’t suppose you have an appointment, Pet?”
Much alike a magpie, Matteo has a certain eye for the pretty things in life. Quite fitting to the method of dressing he will indulge in, really, is this trait; his suit, today, a sharp, pinstripe grey. His eyes will glitter like gems before her.
Of course, he knows her ruse; he knows nothing better.
"------Most regrettably, I do not. I do hope this isn't a bad time."
English, though not his first language, so strong it could fool anyone. His own accent takes a lilt on the more prominent consonants in his speech; and slurs them, just so. Not necessarily in an annoying way, but enough to make any bigoted 'man or woman of England' upturn their noses in their self-centred view on 'immigration'.
"You look wonderful, Miss Carter. As ever."
[ Moriarty was far from a household name. He prided himself on being a shadow, a whisper on the lips of only those deemed worthy (interesting) enough to know of his talents. And there were few more “interesting” than one of the royals of the Albanian Mafia- or at least that’s what they liked to believe. The consulting criminal would soon be the one to judge the validity of their claim. ]
“Matteo Kadriovski I presume~… Or are we going by aliases to-daay?”
[ The Irishman’s voice lilted as he came to stand by the vacant seat. He too was dressed in the finest suit money could buy. The dark blue fabric tailored to fit every line of his slender frame. He did however decide to forgo the comedy of the burgundy tie with with little white demons hidden within the pattern, opting for something more simple and refined that would appeal to the other’s tastes. After all Moriarty always dressed for the occasion. ]
[ If he permitted himself to feel a twinge of surprise, it is quickly burned in the fire of his lungs; merely a thought upon a tongue too proud to speak; and it is with a potent esteem that he casts a panther gaze to the man; or, rather, the spider; close to him; a half-smile tugging on the curvature of his lips. The warmth is a mockery, but he is a polite man, and will treat him as such. ]
"----Why don't you tell me?"
[ There is a sly tint to his expression, then, as he studies the smaller man. Evidently, he is taking such a thing in his stride; for he has an organization behind him. He, somehow, feels he must be impish. Only to serve as a method of attaining his attention, of course. ]
"I jest with you. Yes-- that is my name. Might I say; it is with great personal honour that I am meeting you, Master Moriarty."
