Val had spent the last Valentine's Day auction pregnant and wanting nothing more than for Yves to be smart enough to pick her date. This time around she was the one fumbling to read his mind. She decided it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if she didn't get him, just as long as she ended up with a friend. It was for charity at the end of the day. Her current bid proved it.
"Are you happy with how things are going?" The blonde smiled at the person next to her, enjoying herself.
"It could have been worse." She noted at the two names none of them expected to see on the board. It was always a gamble, them trying to maneuver through a pool of enemies. The probabilities were not always in their favour, either. But the pairing for Laurent's partner was a situation none could be envious of. "I really thought I was going to go away with Varden. I bet a lot of money for it only... To get family?" Elaina clicked her tongue in slight disappointment. "I'll take care of him."
Waving the waiter for fresh drinks, she turned her head back to Val. "Yours... I mean, I hear Gideon is a nice man. Not like his deranged family so I think you will have fun too. Let your hair down, but also if there's anything - we're only going to be over an hour flight away."
"Really? You thought that was Varden? You know he can't go ten minutes without doing some artsy shit. And how the fuck is he going to watch Six Nations in a place without a television?"
"Do you honestly think I have to analyse it into such detail? You should have made it more obvious that it's you - it would have been the perfect opportunity for you and Val to get away together. What's with the secrecy?" Yet, she was smiling as she spoke. "Well, I guess I'll be there to make your time relaxing."
"Suit yourself. You're missing out." Jean shrugged with a laugh. "Do I at least get to know what you're interested in bidding on? Or do I have to go look at the bids myself to find that out?"
How very French of both of them, which is exactly why she liked Jean so much. He didn't hover in her space, and she didn't in his. It was the perfect friendship. "I want to go to France. It's been so long, and this is a perfect excuse to just visit and have a good time. Fingers crossed I come back with all my fingers and limbs intact."
"Where's the fun in that? I don't remember you having any mercy and telling me your date the last auction." Tormenting Elaina was too much fun, and too easy if he was being honest. "But really, if you want a weekend getaway with me, all you have to do is ask."
"Things were obviously different. Besides, you really didn't try back then, otherwise who knows, maybe I would have slipped up." She wouldn't have. It was enjoyable to see all those men trying to figure out what kind of women enjoyed what. This time round, it was fun to see the women do the same. "I don't ask."
It was the second time TWI had hosted such an event, and Elaina still had not made up her mind how she felt about it. It was a weirdly mob incestuous event, where they were forced to fraternize with the enemy for the sake of charity. As if Diana was picking the worst of the worst, putting them all in a bag to shake all for the sake of some good headline for the paper. It was an absolutely sick, yet brilliant idea.
And they all fell for it.
"We must be no worse than Diana." She said, taking a sip of her champagne. "I can admit, for the first time, I'm actually a bit nervous. I really could pick a date that would end my life."
Elaina was always the one who thought realistically. "If I die, put my face on milk cartons all over London. My face should never be forgotten."
Elaina handed him a small glass bottle with the obvious white powder inside. "Wil you now tell me where you're going? You do know, even if you tell me, I might not go." She just wanted to know so if she saw anyone not to her liking - bidding. Then she could at least pay someone off to bid instead and higher.
Elaina walked through the door, kicking off her Louboutins as she made a beeline for the kitchen. Somehow, she just knew Val would be there, and Elaina had made an executive decision: tonight, Val was getting a night off.
"Chérie, come on." Elaina planted a quick kiss on her cheek and grabbed her hand, tugging her through the rooms into the living room. Once there, she produced two bottles of Château Margaux Bordeaux and plopped them on the table, along with the two glasses she’d managed to swipe on the way. "It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, and tonight… I’ve decided you need a drunk girls’ night."
@mobscene-starters
Location: Any bar that isn't Russian.
Date: 30/1/26.
"What, never had a nosebleed before? Vaffanculo."
The bartender had cast him a particularly judgemental stare when he'd caught sight of bloodied shirt cuff on his right arm. Clearly too much to be a nosebleed and they both knew it—his story further hindered by the bruise blooming beneath his eye—but even in his pride, he wouldn't broadcast the city had one less Russian to worry about.
Another corpse to dispose of, mind you.
Just as he was about to take a sip of his scotch, someone settled into the stool beside his. A questioning glance sure followed as they too noticed the blood.
"Don't ask stupid questions, and I won't give stupid answers. Accordo?"
"Oh, someone's in a pissy mood." Elaina said, sliding onto a stool. Only then did her eyes flicked to the blood on his shirt. "That looks like it's enough for that boy to raise a flag to his manager." Bar fights happened, and they happened often, but there were limits to everything. Then again, she doubted the boy wanted to become a corpse himself.
Then, placing her glass on the counter, she took out a compact mirror from her purse and, taking the tissue, started to clean off the blood which was slightly visible on the side of her face.
Of course she'd been busy herself. It was a Friday after all.
@elainahalevyx
Location: Warehouse in Dagenham.
Date: February 6th, 2026.
The figure was slumped uncomfortably in the chair before him.
Unconscious, still, it seemed.
There was a temptation to kick the quite clearly broken leg just to be sure…
Blood had seeped through the sack pulled down over their head, no doubt thanks to the extensive injuries dealt by his men. It was hard to ask them to contain themselves after everything that’d happened of late, though. After they had been subject to loss after pride-denting loss... Still, dealing this particular death hurt the Russians more than it benefited them, thus, the slight rise and fall of tense shoulders was a relieving reminder that they still drew breath.
For now, at least.
It was a risky move—of that, there was no doubt—but the time for toeing the line had long since passed them by. Things in London had escalated to a point of no return, and whilst his hands still remained tied in some aspects of business, the same could not be said for everyone. Particularly those he’d invited to meet him tonight, to a long forgotten warehouse on the edges of Dagenham.
Konstantin was a tremendously patient man, and that was a blessing considering how late his guest was. Still pondering whether this was all a trap, he assumed. Though an invitation this bold—to request the presence of the French Organization openly—would hardly make for a successful ambush on his part. The Russian was putting more faith in them than they deserved. That they wouldn’t show up, guns blazing, and blow his head off. The prize was worth it. For both of them. And whilst he swore he would never assist the French after what they did to Larissa, desperate times called for increasingly desperate measures.
After a moment, as he dared let his eyes glance at the time, he heard movement.
Instead of the face he was expecting to see, however, another came to light under the obnoxious glare of the overhanging LEDs.
“You’re far more beautiful than I remember, Mr. Chaussard,” he greeted, quirking an eyebrow in amusement as his cold and calculating eyes settled on none other than Elaina Halévy. The woman was decidedly not the person whose presence had been requested. Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he didn't immediately shut down the exchange in response to their flagrant disregard of the terms he'd set. "This is quite the surprise."
Letting Théo attend this had been a disaster waiting to be summoned. Did the Russians truly believe they would allow just anyone into a meeting? What did they take them for? The pampered heirs with delusions of relevance, the little green Rutherfords playing Call of Duty for the first time? They were already being generous by agreeing to meet at all. Still, priorities outweighed the satisfaction of spilling blood. At least for a moment.
Elaina had come on her own, as instructed. They’d played games long enough; the back and forth, the ambushes, the raids, all that lot. But when a meeting was asked for, the French sometimes responded.
It was good manners, if nothing else.
Besides, if they killed Elaina, the backlash wouldn’t be pretty. Everyone knew that. And if this was the day she died, then fine, at least she’d be a martyr to the cause.
A fucking beautiful one, at the very least.
As she entered the warehouse, deliberately late, Elaina assessed the situation. Obviously the Russians didn’t trust them enough to come alone, but at the very least she hadn’t walked into tanks, firing squads, or some tired Soviet fantasy involving concrete, uniforms, and the comforting illusion of control. Small mercies. A cigarette in hand, she stepped into the shadows, her gaze settling on the dishevelled, bloodied figure beside Kosta. Apparently to him collateral damage really was a personality trait.
“You’ve prepared gifts?” She asked, her gaze moving calmly between the two of them. It was no secret that Elaina disliked anyone who wasn’t French, though even that was generous. She disliked everyone. Getting into her good books was the real challenge, especially these past few years. Especially these past few years. “Consider it an upgrade.” The woman smiled as she walked up in front of the Russian. “Or are you going to break my legs just because I’m pretty?”
It took some time for her to get cleaned up and dressed up again to move into public. She was in some pain, and her throat had definitely been fucked. But it was a good outcome.
Maybe she should have gauged her eyes out, but perhaps baby steps?
She had promised not to fuck up and kill anyone, so she did well on that front.
"Here." She waved, though her voice was cracked and hoarse. Hopefully that wasn't going to last forever.
Fight Club 2025 // @theundergroundlondon, @svetavorshevsky
(Sveta)
Looking out, she realised the room homed people who’d wrong her family one too many times. But it was the setting of her jaw that solidified what she planned to do here tonight. A first for the women— a chance to prove that men and women were one and the same.
It’s the smell that hits Sveta’s nose first, a mixture of sweat, vinyl or some sort of canvas she couldn’t quite place. The stoic features shifting into one of indifference as she stepped into the ring. A natural thrumming if her heart was enough to put a pep in her step, bouncing from one foot to the other.
One breath in, one out between the teeth.
Shaking out the tense muscles that’d built in her neck as she rotated her arm.
Then she heard the cheer for her opponent.
Elaina fucking Halvéy.
–
(Elaina)
One thing Elaina was absolutely certain about, was that she was going to be put in the ring with a Russian. Lara was dependable at least on a thing such at this, at the very least. Not one to miss the opportunity for a good show.
Stepping into the ring, she locked eyes with Svetlana, the self-proclaimed Russian trash princess with a god complex. Lucky. Elaina thought to herself as she grinned at the woman in front of her.
Finally, her chance had come. Whether she was going to come out alive or not out of this, at least she was going to take her fucking down. “Hey, leech.” As the bell rung indicating the beginning of the match, Elaina didn’t wait a second longer before moving quickly and delivering the first punch directly in Sveta’s nose.
–
(Sveta)
“Fits.”
She cared none for nicknames, or simple childish retorts. It’s the level of her gaze flickered down to her planted feet. It was the only moment she’d give herself to look away because once that bell rang — she’d be trained on Elaina.
Finally finding that smile, she returned one with as much warmth or humour of a corpse. Barely touching those ice cold lips.
All it took was the ringing on the bell. One second, and the crack landed on her first. Seething, the taste of blood already finding her lips caused a hiss to slip through red lips.
She didn’t spit it out, giving herself only one second before she retaliated — a move she’d been taught by her dear husband.
A slide of her feet, a fling of her elbow as it connected with the cheek of Elaina.
This wouldn’t end well…she knew. But she’d go down fighting.
–
(Elaina)
The adrenaline rushing in her system didn’t even allow her to feel the burn on her cheek. The only thing going on and on in Elaina’s head was how she wanted to tear her limb from limb. Fucking twist her so inhumanly that nothing would put her back together.
They went on like this for a good while - punches and kicks being thrown each other's ways. They were beaten but it was quite obvious to Elaina that neither was going to give up at all.
“For fucks sake.”
Elaina muttered, having had enough of the whole dancing around each other. Without wiping off the blood from her face, she went at her again. It was the best opportunity with the way Sveta had positioned herself, allowing Elaina to grab Svetlana’s hair, pulling her down as she kneed her in the stomach. This had the effect she expected - the Russian rat was on the floor - so she started to kick her - again and again, before dropping to her knees and punching her face - over and over again until she was finally pulled away.
Elaina didn’t see muh else, just fucking red whenever she looked at the Russian. Apparently it was the end of round one. Apparently it was her win, but she didn’t fucking see. She didn’t fucking care, she just got ready to go again.
–
(Sveta)
It came like an explosion, watching the Frenchwoman let loose. How many years of pent up frustration was behind each crack to the rib, or the cheek that Svetlana took. Once she was to the floor, she knew she’d fucked up.
She didn’t look for Pavel, didn’t dare. Instead, she attempted as many deflections as she could muster. Blood blurred vision, a pounding in her rib told her she’d took something akin to damage that’d be present long after this fight was over.
Round one: lost.
If her pride hadn’t been damaged before, it sure was, especially as she felt her brother in law tending to her face. She wasn’t listening to a word. Focusing on anything other than the pain — she planned.
The next round was fucking hers. She didn’t care what she’d have to do. There was a debt to be settled.
Minutes felt like seconds before the bell was calling her back. Elaina was no where near as fucked up as she was.
For now.
–
(Elaina)
“A knock-off couture cloaked cancer like you, really should just give up.”
Elaina smiled as she walked to the middle, her fists in front of her face, covering just in case Svetlana decided to go off again. “Guess shits don’t you can’t speak, so lets make sure you never utter a fucking word.” Elaina went for the cracked rib (or at least she was pretty sure she cracked it), smashing at it as Svetlana went for her.
Elaina didn’t really care who won, she just wanted to fuck her up. That had been her goal.
–
(Sveta)
The thrumming in her ears sounded like crashing waves, falling in and out of one another. Svetlana fought to steady herself, though the ground seemed to shift from underneath her when she stood from the stool. Sickness was collecting in the pit of her stomach, curdling. But she swallowed it down and clenched her teeth.
Pain, pain, pain. It echoed everywhere, in muscles she wasn't even sure she knew existed until now... but she had something to prove. It wasn't grand, or out there -- it was simply an old score with a French bitch. It raged within her. The floor beneath her felt like it was slipping away, but she gripped it with all her shoes, struggling to halt the tremor in her knees. They shook, as though her body had endured a workout far beyond her limits. A dull ache pulsed across her face, surging in waves, a fresh onslaught—fuck, fuck—and yet, she tried to pull something from it, some fragment of focus, some shard of purpose.
Looking up, her eyes landed on the barely touched Elaina and her jaw tightened further: She was alive with fire.
That was all it took, and then the bell rang. And that single, undeniable pull: the need to do this, to fight, erupted.
The move comes to her instinctively, a technique she had seen only once in the basement: but had studied in her mind a thousand times. Over and over, should she ever need it.
Sveta moves with fake lefts, and false jabs -- alluding to a different play than she intended on. She waited only a second to find the perfect hope for imbalance. Foot sliding behind Elaina's ankle, and with a quick, deliberate twist of her hips, she swept her leg out and the delivered hands in a blow-like fashion -- to the throat.
–
(Elaina)
This time, Elaina had to step back. The kick to her throat sucked all the air out of her lungs as she fell backwards and then onto the floor. She could feel her chest trying to rise up and down as she was heaving, trying to get that every bit of air back into her lungs.
She didn’t expect it. That was her fucking problem. The fucking heretic bitch played her. Tapping her hand to the floor, she waited until someone came to her, dragging her back to the chair as they checked her throat.
“I’m fine.” She bit out, as the air finally started to come back into her lungs. Elaina knew, if she looked into the mirror, she;d see her bloodshot eyes, but she didn’t fucking care.
It was time again.
This time, it was she who was dancing around her, using her own tricks against her. Enough times so when the right moment came, Elaina spun behind her, hooked her fingers into the corners of Sveta’s mouth, and yanked - forcing her head back with a guttural snarl and whispered “Remember Laurent?” into her ear, and then slammed her fist between Sveta’s shoulder blades with enough force to drop her like a rag doll.
Then, before there was even a moment for the other to catch her breath (and fuck she herself needed it), Elaina jabbed her thumb straight into Sveta’s throat, making her breath collapse, then grabbed her by the chin and slammed the back of her head into the floor, once. Twice. A third, just for punctuation.
Finally, with the bitch on her knees, Elaina grabbed a fistful of hair, yanked her head back, and ran her knuckles across Sveta’s cheek in a mock-caress - then cracked her across the jaw so hard her teeth clacked.
“Next time, stay dead.”
–
(Sveta)
The world tilted. And that grip she'd had previously was lost.
One minute she'd been winning, then next she was losing.
Even through the outlashes, Svetlana fought with everything.
Every ounce of what she had.
There was a high-pitched whine in her ears, he aftermath of a grenade, or a gun being shot too close to ones ear: drowning out and heightening all at the same fucking time. Her chest heaved, the pain causing a winch to flash over her features like a tidal wave. Elaina was far more skilled, of that much she was aware. Barely able to feel the floor as her knees hit it, barely registered hands as they slapped down to keep her from falling flat.
Pain, over and over. Like the kind she inflicted.
Then came that smug, vicious tug. So Elaina.
Stay dead. That was the joke, wasn’t it? And through that pain, she managed a laugh. "Like your sister."
–
(Elaina)
The laugh barely left Sveta’s throat before Elaina’s expression cracked - just for a second. Not rage. Not shock. Something colder.
And then she moved.
No words. No nothing, after all, it was supposed to be an end already. It was just a vicious kick to Sveta’s thigh - sharp, deliberate, enough to make the muscle spasm. Then, without waiting, Elaina drove her knee up into her face, fast and brutal, shattering her nose with a sound like the cheap plastic snapping she was.
Even if Sveta wanted to move back, Elaina wouldn’t have let her. She grabbed her by the throat and dragged her upright. Face to face.
“You don’t get to say shit.”
Then she drove her thumb straight into the hollow under Sveta’s eye, pressing down hard. Not enough to blind her, of course. Just enough to make her wish for it.
So then, Elaina did the next best thing, Elaina clawed her fingernails down the other side of her face, carving her nails into skin, leaving her marked.
Not out of anger. Out of spite.
She let go only when the bell rang. Then wiped her bloody hand on Sveta’s shirt like she was filth.
Catalina found herself sliding easily in and out of people in The Underground, patting shoulders and whisperings inside jokes to those she knew personally. She'd been looking forward to this night for ages, ready to wear a dress that showed off her beautiful, glowing brown skin, and fill her pockets with money from the crowd.
Tonight, she swore she'd mingle more than spend time at the bar, wanting to make connections among people she possibly hadn't met yet. She was also sure there were some tasty morsels walking around just waiting to be nibbled on.
Her dress trailed behind her as she checked on people. "You good," she teased with a flirty smile. "Anything you need before the good stuff starts?" She had items all over different parts of her body, ready to be sold.
Elaina was mid conversation when one of Lara's minions came up beside her. Slowly, she made a turn around, arching her brow at the woman. "I thought even the likes of you received some time to rest." Apparently not, since this one seemed so set on... What was she trying to do?
"Yes, I have everything I need." She replied courtly. The fights were going to begin soon enough and Elaina herself wasn't much bothered. She was glad the Russian dog was going to be her opponent - no matter how it ended. If she was going down, she was going to take the bitch down with her.
with: @maksimkurylenko
setting: This unfortunate reality
It was already quite late. Without checking, Elaina would have guessed maybe 2AM? Around 3AM? Honestly, she didn't quite know where the time had gone. All the planning eventually turned into a session of food and drinks and god knows what else. But it was nice, she felt as if something had been done and the next steps were clear in her mind.
Not that they weren't before; she just liked to have a plan that was mapped out step by step. As it felt it was a lot more feasible.
Elaina left the guys to continue, but she found herself wanting to go home. Take off her clothes, have a shower, and get into her warm bed. These days she was always doing something, so the hours to relax were few. She needed to take advantage of those.
With her driver already back home, she stood outside, waving for a cab. "Should I actually go back and get my phone?" She muttered to herself, annoyed that she left it, but not enough to want to treck back and get it.
baratheonpilled
gummygunk
janainaart
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
