𝔻𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕃𝕀𝕊ℍ

santiago 'santi' flores. 45. red eye assassin. as penned by fox.

[goldnhalos]

. * pinned post !

the blood that drips down your chin is sickly sweet and metallic and oh so familiar. you're not sure who it belongs to anymore.

santiago flores. forty-five. assassin for red eye. pedro pascal.

as penned by fox (she/they. twenty-five.) ; affiliated with lawlessfm.

quick links: bio . open starters . ask memes . study .

[holieun-deactivated20240410]

Open starter. In the streets. 1 / 5

The terrain of the city made it easy to blend in with the corners,       strike at opportunities like a lurking widow.       A paradise for those who do not want to be found:       It made its streets a hunting ground,       perfect for the picking when one isn’t being careful.       It is long after closing hours when Prisha left her office,       but the city still buzzed alive,       neon lights still flickering Open for Business.       A routine they’ve committed to,       a hundred times over,       but tonight seemed colder.       A shiver racked through her bones,       following burning eyes that stabbed parts of her.       A wicked hunt,       and expert fingers pulled her coat closed further.       It’s still unpleasant,       more so when they are too aware of the footsteps that mirrored hers.       Quick followed quick,       calm matched calm.       She couldn’t go home,       not like this.       But a mind is sharp,       willing to risk fleeing a lion’s mouth only to walk right into another’s.       “There you are.”       Heels stopped short of the passerby,       an easy smile on her lips.       “Thanks for waiting for me.”       She lied,       in hopes the other would play along with the charade.       New York’s streets were never empty,       and it was easy to deter phantoms.       “It’s awfully cold tonight.”

[goldnhalos]

there was nothing santiago longed for more than a nice dinner and a bubbly bath. he was cold down to his bones, the shirt underneath his overcoat wet with blood; just a trickle, not visible unce he buttoned the thick wool layer of his coat, but enough to make him incredibly uneasy. the woman's approach made him stop in his tracks, body taut as he analyzed the situation. his senses sharp, santiago's eyes darted around. there were plenty of suspecting looking people in the streets of new york, and he wasn't down to getting mugged. "listen, lady. i've had the shittiest day and i'm not in the mood for this. if you're trying to pick-pocket me you're outta fucking luck. some kid already took my wallet six blocks ago."

[goldnhalos]

 ◟  santiago + angel.     ———     flashback.  ◞

hollowed. that's how santiago felt during a job; a hollowed, souless version of his own self. what was his own self, anyways, if not a souless vessel for those in power ? a killing machine, nothing more than a pawn in someone's twisted game. a part that suited him so well, nights like this made him feel like he was born to play it. "angel, right ? " santiago asked, a nervous smile on his lips. his posture seemed demure in nature, like he was a little shy, perhaps uncertain. except santiago knew exactly who he was talking to, and there was no uncertainty in his mind. this was one of the things that made him excell in his field, after all. the acting of a spy, the handiness of a killer; no wonder his handlers would never let him go. "i'm ramón. we uhm, we talked on the phone yesterday." he paused, stammered for a moment and then added: "i mentioned yuri spoke highly of your... uhm... services." // closed starter for: @synthetlc

[crestfallon]

status; open for replies, open for all

setting; the godfather house of blues, late evening

feel free to assume connections, he's been there his whole life in brooklyn && is the headliner dj @ the gravity club, so has some notoriety already. is also loosely associated with the jade tribe, but that is far lesser known!

as a lover of all music, he was not an uncommon fixture on week nights, during his nights off from the techno pulse of the gravity nightclub. he fancied the contrast that the blues house provided; something subdued, mellow, pared back from the overlit, saturated bass that rayan had made a home within. all but a ghost sunken into plush-lined seating, velvet cushion sat on denim && belt chains, his tattoos shadows against his skin in the sensual lighting. through a tendril of smoke unfurling, then sucking back in with a practiced ease between his lips, rayan gave a little cough as a figure took a seat near him, and waved his hand to dispel some of the smoke that exited with the heave. " shit, shit, sorry 'bout that. be warned about sitting near me, though. i'll probably get kicked out by the end of the night, when they realize it's bud, not some cigar. " he gave a flash of a smile, a glint of pearly whites in the dim flicker of light. " don't wanna look like you know me or anything, right? "

[goldnhalos]

in recent months, the house had become his second home; one might argue it might as well be his only home, considering that hotel rooms and friends' couches never made much of a home in the first place. as it was, santiago had started spending most of his evenings there, drowning in self-loathing and alcohol. santiago grinned at the other's words, shaking his head a little. tonight was particularly different than others, the beer warm in his hands, doing little to put the demons in his mind at ease. "don't worry, i can put in a good word with the owner for you. i've been told i can be quite the charmer." quite the opposite, really; though it served him well, keeping the right people at bay with the prisckly look on his face. "unless you're not down to share. in that case i'll probably skeddadle and let security deal with you on their own." santiago grinned; a joke, even though it wasn't quite a lie-- self preservation always came first, in the end.

[omorfias]

＊ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 .

located @ the bar in gravity nightclub .

"what do you mean this isn't what you ordered?" dilara feigned innocence as she stared down at the person's drink, knowing it was wrong even before she walked over. it wasn't her fault — she wasn't a classified bartender, epecially when the only speciality she had up her sleeve was cherry vodka or a shirley temple. she had hoped at least one person would ask for one or the other while the bartender stepped away to the bathroom, but no such luck. she continued to give different customers the wrong drink and used her customer service voice to apologize then blame it on the light and music.

[goldnhalos]

santiago stared at the pink cocktail with amusement. he wasn't the clubbing type, but katya had somehow roped him into it and then completely vanished the second they stepped into the damn club. the forty minutes he'd been there so far had been nothing but miserable, but santiago had yet to stand up and walk away. "do i look like the type of person that would order a..." he paused, unsure of what the drink even was. " whatever that is ? " he took the glass either way, sniffing at it. the underlying scent of regret was quite familiar to him, even underneath all of the sugars and syrups. "vodka ? "

[gravefed]

CLOSED, * ◟ : @goldnhalos

“Ah,     my sweet Santiago.     Always so sentimental at my arrival    [ … ]    did you order this just for me?”      Amusement seems to dilute the faint paranoia in the wolf’s mind,     if only by a little.       Flirtation that mingles beneath the words of denial,    refusal to admit that there is anything other than a salt mine around her soul.     Filthy and bitter  —    stinging each wound of those she touches.      Including the rational killer.    The dog that doesn’t bite out of impulse,   but of necessity.       Her vice is violence,    his is narcotics.     But in the end they all swallow the blood in their mouths,   don’t they?     It is their duty.      She joins him at the bar,   the Olive Branch,     a quiet and private place they could speak more openly at.      A dirty gin martini sits in front of the empty place beside him at the bar’s counter,     her palm ghosting on his upper back for a moment before she takes a seat.        “You’ve been off the radar.      Have you been trying to hide from me?”

[goldnhalos]

"not at all." santiago replied, tone as flat as the look on his face; he had, in fact, ordered the martini for her. it was easier to lie than to admit to his own softness, and he knew she would see right through him. "you're giving yourself way too much credit here. that glass was already there when i sat down. wouldn't dare drink it, if i were you." he grinned, spine straightening at the touch on his back. it was unusual for him, to receive such careless touches; such... unviolent touches. except this was katya, and his personal experiences went flying out the window when it came to her friendship. he took a sip of his own drink, shrugging. "i would never hide. it's just... i was busy. had to travel out of state for work. good to know you missed me, though." he teased, shoulder bumping against hers. "i'm sure you were entirely torn in pieces these past coupla days. all on your lonesome, no old man to pester."

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

The Black Unicorn: Sequelae by Audre Lorde

[theoptia]

Zbigniew Herbert, from The Collected Poems: 1956-1998; “Three Poems from the Heart”

Text ID: living—despite / living—against

[goldnhalos]

𝕀ℕ𝕋ℝ𝕆𝔻𝕌ℂ𝕀ℕ𝔾: 𝕊𝔸ℕ𝕋𝕀 𝔽𝕃𝕆ℝ𝔼𝕊.

hello everyone ! my name's fox, (she/they, 25, brt.) and i'm so excited to be here ! i haven't joined a group in... i want to say like a year and a half ? maybe two ? so pls be patient with me while i get my grind back lmao. this is santi, he's a mix and match of some old characters i have, i hope u all enjoy him ! i'll be posting a plotting call on the discord server soon but if you wanna hmu there and start plotting already, my handle is aslutforpainandsuffering

* ◟ : 〔 pedro pascal, cis man + he/him 〕 santiago flores , some say you’re a forty-five year old lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both gentle and guarded, one can’t help but think of riders on the storm by the doors when you walk by. are you still an active assassin for red eye, even with your reputation as the arcane? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and bruised knuckles. a pile of unread letters thrown across the floor. a broken whiskey bottle, although we can’t help but think of oliver marks ( if we were villains ) + matthew prior ( gallant ) + jackson healy ( the nice guys ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

tw: violence ; torture ; suicide ; drug / alcohol abuse ;

. * basics !

full name: santiago flores.

known as: santi ; mr. flores.

age + birthday: forty-five ; july 10th.

birthplace: unknown.

gender + pronouns: cis male ; he/him.

sexuality: bisexual.

occupation: assassin.

fc: pedro pascal.

spoken languages: english ; spanish.

tropes: bad liar, trauma conga line, unconscientious objector, butt-monkey.

phisical atributes: 5 ft 11" (1.80m); lean built ; no tattos ; several scars ; scraggily beard.

. * early days !

the only memory santiago has of his family is os his siblings running through a green pasture; he can remember the soft feeling of his mother's lap underneath his cheek, and the way her fingers ran through his hair. the sound of little children laughing haunts his dreams, but there's not a single face in sight. the people in his memory are nothing but blurred sillouettes, ghosts of people he once knew, of the child he once was. the orphanage, though, of that his memories are crystal clear: the beating, the fear, the hope that somebody would come and rescue him, and then the subsequently disapointment once he grew old enough to understand that nobody would. and then, nanuvut. the cold was somehow worse than the beatings, worse than the physical training that took and took and took from him until santi was nothing but a shell of the smiley kid he'd once been. killing is all that he knows, but santiago has never been at peace with it. he's familiar with death, has given it his entire life and soul, but it has never been something he enjoyed, something he got used to it. despite all the training, his handlers have never been able to supress his kind soul and gentle ways— nature vs. nurture, santiago being the living proof that there are some things nothing can ever truly change. all he wants is some peace and quiet, a life away from all of the decay and violence; a herb garden far away from the city, a sunlit kitchen and a big library to ruffle through. his dreams of tranquility have yet to come: when all you know is the underbelly of chaos, the rotten people and monsters, no other place feels like home.

. * recent years !

santiago tried leaving; at twenty-three, he tried to hang up his guns and become a regular, law-abiding citizen. and he didsurprisingly well. santiago went as far as graduating college, a major in psychology, and those were the best four years of his life. he partied, and he fell in love, and for the first time since he could remember, santi felt truly free. like he could finally be himself, like the blood on his hands had finally washed away. he settled down, and married a nice girl. his dreams of a suburbia life iwth white picket fences and a big slobbering dog were so close to become a reality he could barely believe it. a month after his marriage, another operative showed up. the operative -- probably a mercenary, santiago figured -- destroyed his home, tied his doe-eyed wife to a chair and ripped every single one of her nail before he got home from work. the message was clear: he was to return willingly to the red eye and fufill his purpose, or they would force his hand and the punishments for it would be devastating. his wife survived, but the trauma was too much. it ruined their marriage faster than anything else ever could, and santiago saw no other option but to return to his handlers with his tail between his legs. the corporeal punishments and risky missions were nothing compared to the feeling of falure, and santiago found solace in drowning himself in liquor, white lines and all sorts of chemicals that he could get his hands on. it started to affect his job, and santiago got slippery. more than once, the organization had to step in to prevent him from going to jail. considering his large death toll, santiago was giving a single chance: if he didn't get his act cleaned up, he could be terminated. as it turned out, santiago's destructive behavior was meant as self-sabotage, not as suicidal tendencies, and his self-preservation instincts took over. after a hellish period of going in and out of rehab, santiago has been somewhat clean; he hasn't exactly dropped the alcohol, though his black outs have stopped getting in the way of his work, and he's gone cold turkey on any narcotics. a functioning alcoholic, a friend called him once. it was good enough for the red eye, in the end.

. * wanted connections !

a best friend ; the only person in the world that santi trusts. he's not one to give himself lighty, but this person has proven time and time again that they're his ride or die. ( 0 / 1 )

an old friend ; someone that was in the orphanage with him. maybe they get along, maybe they hate each other, this dynamic can be played in any sort of way. ( 0 / ?? )

friends of all kinds ; santiago can be kind of closed off, but as it turns out he can be quite friendly once you push through that, so he probably gets along with this person pretty well. ( 0 / ?? )

an ex ; ever since his marriage, santi has big issues with commitment. in his life of work, he knows having a partner is a weaklink, something people can use against you. they cared for each other deeply, but once things got started to get serious, santiago jumped ship, probably in the worst way possible. ( 0 / 1 )

a protegé ; there's something about this person that just makes santiago's instincts bubble up. it's someone he'd kill and die to protect, and has been working on teaching them as many of his own skills as he possibly can. bonus points if this is someone that can handle their own better than he ever could, but he insists that they need help anyways. ( 0 / 1 )

the enemy ; santiago has made many enemies along the way ; he's quite blunt, and despite not enjoying violence, he does resort to it whenever needed. they've probably come blow to blow at some point before, and it doesn't get better. ( 0 / 1 )

the bad influence ; santiago's a very strict, logical person. he doesn't do things on whims, and certainly doesn't partake in reckless behavior very often. this is someone with whom santi's first instinct is to be “well, what the hell!” and he’ll do things he normally wouldn’t, be that go to a rave late at night, do the hard drugs he's supposedly given up years ago or just eat that greasy bacon cheeseburger that might give him a heart attack. ( 0 / 1 )

the protective friend ; there’s nothing santiago doest best than taking care of people. in return, no one really takes care of him. except for this person, who’s there for him when he breaks down, who would go head first into a bar fight to watch his six and just doesn’t fuck around when it comes to calling santiago out on his bullshit. ( 0 / 1 )

[jennifersbod]

#mood

[pedrohub]

Pedro Pascal by Ryan Pfluger for THR (January 2023)

[goldnhalos]

01.       ／       *     SANTIAGO FLORES         .        tag dump    !

01. ／ * santiago flores . visuals !

01. ／ * santiago flores . convo !

01. ／ * santiago flores . study !

01. ／ * santiago flores . aesthetics !

01. ／ * santiago flores . open !

01. ／ * santiago flores . closed !

01. ／ * santiago flores . ask !

00. ／ * fox . ooc !