inthegardcn.

❝ we used to be in the garden, no we're here where no one's safe. ❞ 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐡𝐪 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐚.

[inthegardcn]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐧, a dependent mumu for @carpeomniahq written lovingly (and sometimes loathingly) by kayla — she/her, est.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓 "𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘" 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑 — ( phoebe tonkin ) 36. local. owner of neon grave. money launderer of the jackals. intro • threads • connections • character study • pinterest • playlist

𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐘𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐋𝐔 — ( hande erçel ) 34. newcomer. operative of the spider lilies. intro • threads • connections • character study • pinterest • playlist

[sanctifiedcrimes]

Mia barked out a laugh before she could stop herself. The sound was genuine. Dangerous, really. Because anybody who could make her laugh that quickly usually ended up becoming a problem. Shay had managed that almost immediately. "Jesus Christ." She shook her head into her glass. "See, that's exactly why nobody should let you out in public." The corner of her mouth tugged upward as she glanced toward the overwhelmed bartender. Then back to Shay. "Though for the record, if either of us flashes a nipple in this place, I'm fairly certain security throws us out before we ever get another drink. Which means we'd both lose." And Mia hated losing.

Her gaze drifted across the casino floor for a moment, taking in the sea of people pretending they weren't watching one another. She took another sip of her whiskey before looking back toward Shay. "You know, I can't decide if you're actually bored or if you're physically incapable of existing without causing a disturbance." Her eyes narrowed slightly. Thoughtful. Suspicious. Amused. "Actually, no." Mia took another sip, her drink vanishing dangerously quick. "I can decide. It's the second one." Mia nudged her shoulder lightly in return. A familiar kind of ease settling between them. The kind that came from knowing enough about each other to skip most of the formalities. "How much did you lose at blackjack?" Her gaze dropped toward Shay's empty hands. Then back up again. "Because that look says either you're broke..." A pause. "...or you're about ten minutes away from making somebody else's evening significantly worse." The smile she offered afterward suggested she wasn't entirely opposed to either outcome.

[inthegardcn]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇, and her verdict, with an entirely unrepentant smirk of her own. “They really, really shouldn't, but I've yet to meet anyone who can actually stop me long enough to slip on a leash.” Was that a tiny white lie? Maybe. But considering she currently wasn't on speaking terms with the only person who'd ever managed to calm her down and put her in her place, she let it stand.

The other assessment, though? Not a chance. “You're tellin' me that even with all of this”—deliberately, she made a show of looking around them at the liquor flowing, the chips exchanging hands, and more than one piece not-so-discreetly peeking out from the back of few waistbands—“it's an innocent pair of tits that would be the problem?” A scoff thrust out from between her lips. “Talk about ungrateful. Not to mention short-sighted. Historically speaking, I'm pretty sure sex has ended more wars than weapons.”

Or maybe it was that sex started them? She couldn't remember which and, honestly, that tracked.

In any case, Shay put her attention back where it belonged and flashed Mia a wink. “Both. The answer is always both.” She was bored and incapable of presenting as anything but a problem. Broke after a few ( dozen ) bad hands at the tables and looking to stir up a little... fun. “I brought about four hundred bucks with me and most if it is gone.” The hilarious part about it was, Shay had money. More than she could burn on this casino's front lawn. She just refused to touch it—Or anything else from her mom.

“Now I'm just thirsty and wonderin' what to do with myself.” Her eyes traveled around the room again, pausing here and there as if weighing the options available. “I might find someone make out with on the hood of Rafe's car and leave my heels on.” At that, a small, private, at least semi-demonic smile curved up the corners of her mouth. “Or, pinch some party favors out of a D'Amico's pocket while they're too busy flexing their chests to notice. Haven't decided yet.”

[gvclds]

Location: Lucky coyote casino Open to all!

Viktor feels like he’s been schmoozing forever. Dragged like a leopard on a leash from group to group to group until he feels like his brain is melting out of his ears from how boring all this small talk was. Surely nothing was that important that it had to be sardonically defended at a casino. There were people being actively brainwashed on slot machines as they spoke for crying out loud. Viktor swears that if he has to fake laugh at another subpar gang related pun, he’s going to start walking into the desert and never fucking stop.

He excuses himself from the suffocatingly leery crowd of old men and makes a B-line for the closest bar and weasels his way in between a set of bodies to order a drink. The lights above the countertop strobe down in neon red and blues and Viktor drums his fingers impatiently on the countertop, a scotch order already barked into the face of a bar tender who was definitely not getting paid enough to take his shit.

“Well well-” he muses out loud, having twisted away from the bartop with a new tumbler in hand to linger somewhere close to a haphazardly thrown together buffet table. “-they really do just let anyone into these things, don’t they?” Those too bright blue eyes flicker pointedly down and up the other person, and when Viktor smiles in that chagrin sort of way that he was known for, its only ever so slightly mockingly.

[inthegardcn]

𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒—and then went for both his presence in any room and the sentiment.

Unless she needed a certain pick me up, Shay didn't spend her days thinking about D'Amico's accountant. She didn't check her phone for his missed texts, or look up hoping to see his face whenever the bell chimed above Neon Grave's door.

Yet, the second he reared his head into her life again, it was always with a level of pomp and circumstance that said he refused to spend another second demoted to the fringes of her subconscious.

She looked around the casino with an air of her own theatrics. “Yeah, I've been meanin' to speak to management about that.” When her eyes returned, after flipping through a brief assessing once over of her own, she leaned in close. “I mean, imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw you walkin' around unsupervised.”

Her tongue made a soft 'tsk' against the roof of her mouth to mask the fact that she was almost smiling. Almost. “Pretty sure the last time I saw you, you were snorting mystery powder off a gas station's bathroom sink.” Not that he'd been alone in that endeavor. “But, hey—at least you clean up pretty.”

[slamina]

The second DeLuca's name leaves her mouth, Rafe's expression goes flat. Not in anger or amusement. But, in something worse. Because unlike the stranger she'd been entertaining all night, DeLuca isn't some harmless idiot from accounting. DeLuca would know exactly what he was doing. And Shay knows exactly what she's doing simply by bringing him up.

A low breath escapes through Rafe's nose, dangerous. It’s the same kind of breath that precedes broken noses and bad decisions. Behind him, he can practically feel the attention shifting. Feel the way conversations nearby begin to dull as people sense something unfolding. Not a fight—nobody's stupid enough to start one of those tonight—but something close enough to make for decent entertainment.

As Shay's fingers leave his jaw, he remains perfectly still for a moment. Then after a moment he laughs.... one sharp, humorless sound. "That's your play?" Slowly, he turns. Not toward the guy she'd been flirting with for the better part of twenty minutes. But, toward her. Amber eyes lock onto hers. For a second, the rest of the casino disappears. The noise, the music, the people. All of it... gone. Until, there's just her. Just that infuriating smile she wears whenever she's trying to get under his skin.

Mission accomplished. "You know," he says quietly, "for someone claiming this isn't about me, you've spent an awful lot of time trying to make me jealous tonight." What's that about? His gaze flicks briefly toward the stranger then. The poor bastard looks like he's contemplating whether the nearest exit is close enough. Smart man.

Then Rafe's attention returns to Shay. "By the way?" His mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. "If DeLuca was actually your type," if either of them were really, "you'd already be halfway upstairs making terrible decisions, waiting for the moment I barge in to stop you." A beat. "But you're still standing here. With me." The harsh truth lands exactly where he intends it to.

Because for all their years of this dance, for all the arguments and slammed doors and weeks spent pretending they don't care, one thing has remained stubbornly unchanged between them: they always end up right back here. Orbiting, colliding, some would even say... clashing. Refusing to let go.

Rafe takes a step forward. Not enough to corner her. But enough to remind her how little space exists between them. "Besides," he continues, voice dropping lower, "we both know DeLuca wouldn't survive you." His eyes drift deliberately toward the table of Jackals she'd pointed out moments ago. Then back to her. "And neither would your friend." The stranger immediately decides he has somewhere else to be. Interesting.

Rafe watches him retreat into the crowd before shaking his head. "Well." Another glance toward the disappearing man. "There goes your date." His gaze settles on her again. Slow, and unapologetic... but most of all? Victorious. And, possessive in a way he has absolutely no right to be anymore. Yet somehow always is.

"And before you start," he adds, already seeing the argument forming behind her eyes, "save it." One corner of his mouth lifts. "You and I both know he wasn't the one you wanted a reaction from." The words are irritatingly calm. Certain in their delivery. Because that vulnerable flash she'd shown him earlier? He saw it. Just like she saw every crack in his armor. Just like she always does.

"Question is..." His head tilts slightly. "What exactly were you hoping I'd do, Shay?" The use of her actual name lands softer than everything else had, and more dangerous, too. There's no more teasing nicknames. No more sarcasm. No more games. Just her name. And all the history attached to it. "What would've made you happy?" For the first time all night, the jealousy gives way to something rawer. Something tired and honest. His eyes search hers. "Me walking away?" A pause. "Or me staying?"

For a moment, Rafe thinks she might actually answer him. Not with one of her knives disguised as words or with a smirk, or with another challenge thrown directly at his feet. But, just an answer. However, that would require both of them admitting things they've spent years avoiding. And neither of them has ever been particularly brave when it comes to each other. His gaze lingers on her face, on the anger, on the hurt buried underneath it. The stubbornness that has always matched his own. God help him, she's beautiful when she's furious. Maybe that's part of the problem. Maybe it's always been the problem.

The distance between them suddenly feels impossible. Not because it's large. But because it's small. Because one step closes it. And one touch changes everything.

Rafe's jaw flexes. He should leave it alone. He should let her keep swinging, should let her keep pretending she doesn't care and continue pretending he doesn't know better. Instead, he does the only thing he can think of. The thing he's been wanting to do since she walked into the casino. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches for her. The back of his fingers brush her arm first, barely there. Almost like a question, or a warning. Or most of all.. an invitation. Then his hand settles against her waist. Firm, certain, like it belongs there. Like it remembers exactly how she feels underneath all the clothes.

The contact isn't possessive this time. It's worse. Gentler. The kind of touch that strips away all the games they've been playing tonight.

His thumb moves once against her side, a small motion. Almost absentminded. Except neither of them is likely to miss what it means. Because Rafe knows. Knows exactly what she's asking for every time she pushes him, every time she picks a fight. Every time she turns her attention toward some poor bastard across a bar and waits for him to react.

This. This thing they've spent years dancing around, this thing she keeps reaching for whenever she thinks he isn't looking. It's not jealousy, it's ownership.

His eyes never leave hers. "That's the problem, isn't it?" The words come out quieter now. The rough edge now gone. "You keep dangling all these other names in front of me." His hand remains where it is. Steady, warm, familiar. "DeLuca. Brad. Whoever the hell that guy was." A faint smile touches one corner of his mouth. "You don't want them."

The casino noise seems distant now, muted beneath the weight of everything sitting between them. Rafe swallows, his gaze dropping briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. "And that's what makes this so damn unfair." His thumb strokes once more against her side. Just once. Enough to remind her what she's been missing. Enough to remind himself. Because if he wanted to, he could pull her closer, could stop this ridiculous game for all of five minutes, could give her exactly what she's been asking for. What they've both been asking for. A raunchy fuck in some private corner, that’s meant to drown out all the noise and reclaim what’s theirs.

The realization settles heavily between them. His voice lowers. "Because you know exactly what happens when you look at me like that." A beat. "And you know, I'd fold for you." For the first time all night, there isn't a trace of jealousy in his expression. Just honesty.

His hand remains at her waist. Not holding her there, just offering. A glimpse of what it would be like if he finally stopped letting her walk away. “Is that what you want?” Better yet— is it he, who she wants? Because if that’s the case, that’s all she has to say.

[inthegardcn]

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 as Shay Schaffer, enjoying the flare of Rafe's nostrils and that dark, dead look in his eyes—the kind of look that promised someone else might be about to die, courtesy of his truly—was unfortunately one of them.

Maybe it was the almost imperceptible flex of his jaw. Maybe it was the dangerous stillness that settled over him whenever he was trying very hard not to do something stupid. Or maybe, just maybe, it was simply knowing that after all these years—after all of the other hookups, all the breakups, all the slammed doors, thrown bottles, and promises to stay gone—she was the one who still got to him the best ( and the worst ).

Whatever the reason, it sent a warm pulse of satisfaction through her so thick and heady she could feel it thrum through her blood and sink into her bones. Immature? Maybe. Deeply unfair, considering how often she'd been on the receiving end of that exact feeling? Undoubtedly. Yes.

But she couldn't seem to regret it. He might've had her all figured out but every little reaction she just clocked was tangible, visible proof that she had him figured out right back. And yeah, sue her for a million bucks if you must, but something about the tight, coiled threat of him made her mouth water for a better taste.

That's why she couldn't stop herself from kicking the hornet's nest a little harder.

“You know, you're showin' an awful lot of confidence for a man who has no idea where I've been or what I've been up the past few days, let alone tonight.” A slow, serene, and utterly ruthless smile danced across her mouth. Sure, she might be standing there with him now, he wasn't wrong about that, but—“Who says I already haven't?”

Her eyes held steady with his another moment before purposely, pointedly drifting in the directions of at least three doors emblazoned with 'employees only' signs to warn off guests.

“Maybe I just gone done lettin' Bruce bend me over the bathroom sink before you showed up to piss all over my evening.” A finger gently curled into the collar of his shirt like an anchor to keep him close. Close enough to hear with perfect clarity when she murmured, “Maybe some dude from Nameless is waiting in one of those rooms over there, wearin' nothing but the smell of me and wonderin' what's taking me so long to come back.”

Shay chuckled, the sound delighted and every bit as wicked as her words. “You don't know, Rafe. Not for sure, and I bet you hate that.” The crook of her dangling finger tightened. “I hope it's killing you right now.” The not knowing. The fear that maybe this time she wasn't bluffing. “I hope it's fucking eating you alive.”

At least then he'd have the tiniest idea of what it was like, loving someone who always kept close but refused to let you actually keep them.

Breaking her hold, Shay jutted the sharp point of her chin in his direction. “Fucking one of your friends”—someone he had to be around constantly, see every single day—“would serve you right. At least when I find someone new for a night I make sure not to do it where you have to sleep.”

He knew exactly what she meant. Who she meant. Not anybody specific, but the other women as a whole.

The ones she had to serve at her own damn bar, or overhear talking about their nights with him after a meeting was done and everyone stuck around for beers at the motel. The ones who didn't breathe word of it at all but always looked his way a little too knowingly and a little too long to be anywhere close to innocent.

It didn't matter whether or not they were officially together at the time of his other pursuits. That shit still hurt. It hurt ten years ago, long before she ever walked out, and somehow it managed to hurt more now that she was back.

Mostly, because he loved her then, but not enough to stay. Because he'd missed her since, but not enough to change.

So no, this wasn't about her actually wanting Bob or Brandon or DeLuca. But it also wasn't about jealousy. Not at it's core.

And maybe that's why, despite every instinct that told her to shove him away, spit in his face, and keep fighting, Shay just let loose a flat, tired laugh of her own. “You wanna know what's unfair?” Her eyes dropped to the curl of his hand on her waist, fleetingly, before returning. “It's that every time I'm reminded of the fact that you're never gonna actually choose me, you show up sayin' just the right thing to make me think maybe you might.”

The confession sat between them, raw and ugly and true. Because it wasn't anything she hadn't said before. It wasn't anything new. He never seemed to stick around when she was standing still and only came back once she was already leaving.

It was almost like they both knew if they actually tried they could actually work, and that terrified them.

The second things got a little too good Rafe was out the door. The second she thought he might be about to bolt again she started picking fights to blow it up first. He'd go off and lose himself between someone else's legs. She'd pull this shit to get back at him for it. They'd fight, break something other than each other's hearts, fall back together and—Lather, rinse, repeat.

Tongue tucked up and over her teeth Shay stared back, her eyes hard but her body growing pliant. “You know what I want.” Him. It'd always been him.

And not just tonight for a few quick and dirty minutes in whatever unlocked room they could find, her dress around her hips and his pants around his ankles. She wanted him tomorrow. The day after that. Burning rubber down back streets with pink slips in their pockets, a trunk full of cash, and eating cold pizza for breakfast on the couch in their pajamas.

History proved he was good for at least half, but the rest?

She shook her head, still stuck somewhere between resisting and relenting. Still stuck feeling desperate to watch him fold, as promised, and knowing even if he did it wouldn't be for long. “Wanting isn't the issue.” They both wanted each other enough that it became everyone's problem. “Believin' you know how to give it to me without taking it right back is.”

[unvertuous]

the cigarette in her hand gets his attention first, then the zippo she pulls from her dress and his mouth gives a small twitch. “ gut instinct, ” he says, taking it from her. “ that, and i took a wild guess that you didn’t light that thing with manifestation. ” the lighter turns once in his hand, thumb passing over the scuffed silver before he flicks it open and leans in to catch the flame. it lights on the first try, which already gives it more dignity than the dead piece of shit that's now back in his pocket. “ well, shit, ” he adds, snapping it shut and passing it back before it can become one more thing he forgets to return. “ you really do, shay. you didn’t even make me beg for it. ” the surprise giving way to a small grin. the first drag gives him a second to look past her over the room. “ good’s probably overselling it. not bad though. i've had one drink and lost no money, ” he says at last, smoke leaving him on a quiet breath. “ everyone’s acting like they’re having a normal one which is starting to creep me out a little bit. almost makes me want to start shit just to see who drops the act first. ” his gaze comes back to her before glancing around, half expecting company, then lets his shoulders settle when he finds none. “ how’s your night going? you by yourself? ”

[inthegardcn]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, her hand disappearing into the neckline of her dress again to shove it back into her bra, not a shred of self-consciousness to be found.

“Careful what you say out loud.” The corner of her mouth twitched, hazel eyes sparkling with otherwise silent amusement. “If anyone hears I'm over here playin' favorites people will start to think I'm going soft. Word might spread.” And she couldn't have that, could she? “I need Rafe to stay at least a little bit terrified of me.”

That's the moment she finally succumbed to a laugh. The sound was quiet. Bright. Free. But it tapered off into silence soon enough when she took another hit off her cigarette, watching Billy over the burning ember while he spoke.

“Right? I mean, for fuck's sake, fifteen minutes ago one of those stuck up bitches from the Lilies even complimented me on my dress.” And, considering Shay pulled out of a questionably clean pile of laundry at the bottom of her closet, she highly doubted the woman was being sincere. “Nope. Hate that.”

Not just the compliment itself, but the entire evening and all the shiny, smiling facades that came with it. There were a lot of things that got on her nerves, but people being fake was nearly number one. At least with her—be it good, bad, or downright ugly—what you see was what you got.

The question about her night pulled her attention back to him, though, and another laugh slipped out. “Well, I haven't been arrested, stabbed, or banned from the casino yet, so by my standards? Pretty successful evening.” The yet hung there intentionally. “But, even if I came alone and have mostly behaved, I suspect I'll be having company soon enough that'll shave at least three years off my life expectancy.”

She pointed vaguely somewhere over her shoulder then and said, lovingly, “There's about six feet of emotional constipation wandering around here somewhere”—they both knew who she meant—“so if you hear yelling later? Mind your business. Unless, of course, you're willin' to help me hide a body.”

[taiturner]

SCREAM VI (2023) dir. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin & Tyler Gillett

[dailygilmores]

Gilmore Girls (2000-2007)

[sanctifiedcrimes]

That last sentence earned her a genuine smile. Small. Brief. Dangerous only in the sense that it revealed he was enjoying himself. "Did you?" Kian rolled the glass between his palms, the crystal catching the warm casino lights as his gaze remained fixed on hers. For all the attention she'd paid to his observation, she'd neglected one important detail. Curiosity was rarely a one-way street. Especially not with him. "I'll admit, I considered leaving without introducing myself." His shoulders rose in a slight shrug. "Then you kept looking back." The observation hung between them. Kian took another slow sip from his glass, eyes never quite leaving hers. "I spent ten minutes trying to decide whether you were waiting for someone." A pause. "Then another five deciding whether you were trying to avoid someone." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Turns out I was wrong on both counts."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the gaming floor. Around them, the casino carried on uninterrupted. Dealers shuffled cards. Chips changed hands. Somewhere nearby, a burst of laughter rose from a roulette table before disappearing back into the noise. The Lucky Coyote excelled at creating the illusion that nothing important was happening. "So," he glance back at her. "Was I worth the wait?"

[inthegardcn]

𝐀 𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓, breaking against the roof of her mouth before it ever had a chance to make a sound. The only evidence it existed at all was the slight twitch in Safiye's cheeks. An infinitesimally deeper tilt to an already present smirk. “Almost.” As far as introductions went they'd only exchanged a handful of words—not names.

She wasn't particularly bothered by that, though. What did a name really tell you about a person? Nothing. It was little more than a collection of consonants and vowels, not to mention easily faked. She had an entire drawer of of old passports and identification cards as proof to that point.

Whatever he decided to call himself was of little consequence. The rest—That's what had her attention.

She let the silence between them stretch just long enough to make it clear she was considering while an unrepentant gaze drifted over the image he cut, never lingering on any one thing for long but taking inventory all the same. The tailored suit. The steady posture. The way he called her out for looking right back and expected an answer on what she found not two seconds after.

“You know, you give off a certain kind of confidence that seems at completely at odds with a man who'd wait fifteen whole minutes spinning theories in his head rather than just finding out for yourself.” That level of patience was... intriguing.

Safiye drew out their little staring match for a moment longer. Yet again, she tucked away her smile behind a sip of wine. “So”—to answer whether or not he was worth the wait—“I haven't decided yet.” She let that land for a heartbeat before lowering her glass. “I think the better question is: are you worth staying?”

[ncptunian]

"Well shit, I thought you meant your phone." Tommy shrugged his shoulders, slipping into the seat offered. "I mean my screen's busted, so I'd take it." His eyes narrowed, realizing take could translate to him grabbing it off the table and running like some low-level bandit. "Not like steal it, take it—you know what I mean." He was unusually on edge tonight, what with the unusual cast of characters occupying the casino. He shouldn't be surprised that he'd began the night announcing himself as a phone thief in this high concentration of very dangerous people. He eyed her curiously, "Robo-call? I hate those." He folded his arms neatly over his chest, eyes grazing over the glitz and glamor of the casino around him. Tommy might find it all to be quite impressive if it wasn't all a thin veneer attempting to mask the dark and ugly truth—about Coyote's Rest and about every single person here. They could dress up in their Sunday best and feign camraderie all they wanted, but the ugly truth of it all was just around the corner. He wondered how long it'd take for the mask to slip. "So... " he started, shaking himself out of his thoughts, "...how's the night treating you so far? Enjoying the festivities?"

[inthegardcn]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃 over himself trying to explain was so endearing, Safiye nearly handed over her phone as easily as she had the extra seat. Getting rid of it once and for all would have solved at least a third of all her problems. And spared her an inevitable migraine.

“Tempted as I am to watch you try”—stealing it, that is—“I'm afraid I'll have to decline.” A new smile, slow to form but no less bright, cut across her lips. “But, uh, yeah. Exactly that.” Her agreement wasn't even entirely a lie. Her mother was like a robot. Pre-programmed to one setting and utterly without an ounce of genuine feelings. “Apparently, my car insurance is very concerned and still hard at work at”—she glanced at an imaginary watch at her wrist—“Ten pm.”

Another stroke of warm amusement drifted over her face, followed soon after by an ambiguous half nod, half side to side shake. “The jury is still out on that front.” She hadn't really been participating. “What about you? Have you been having such a busy night you're hiding entire pockets full of contraband over there, or was I the lucky first to trigger your totally non-existent, completely innocent klepto switch?”

[hcllstvr]

FIFTY  YEARS  OF  PEACE  —  that's  what  tonight's  celebrations  were  all  about  and  from  the  outside  looking  in,  at  least  around  the  casino  presently,  you'd  think  that  all  seemed  well  and  copacetic.  the  masses  of  five  gangs  enjoying  an  event  of  pure  debauchery.  but  if  you  know,  you  know,  harmony  was  an  egg  dangling  from  a  bungee  cord  ready  to  snap  at  any  moment.  rocky  unable  to  also  deny  that;  while  not  wanting  to  end  up  in  the  middle  of  any  crosshairs,  well  not  now  anyway,  she  was  interested  to  see  the  what  sort  of  outcome  endless  booze  and  wild betting  would  have  for  them.

her  steps  tread  lightly  almost  everywhere  she  goes,  perhaps  a  habit  built  off  her  profession,  moving  like  a  shadow.  but  as  such  wasn't  her  intention  tonight,  in  fact  she  actually  made  her  presence  known  at  a  few  of  the  tables  earlier  on.  deciding  to  take  a  break  while  on  top,  the  woman  sauntered  over  towards  the  bar,  finding  a  familiar  figure  sat  in  the  direction  she  headed.  ❝  don't  mind  if  i  do,  saf  –  though  can't  help  but  wonder  what  else  but  the  spot  you  assumed  i'd  want.  ❞  her  words  fall  in  nothing  short  of  a  jesting  tone,  with  a  smirk  playing  across  her  features  before  taking  a  seat  and  ordering  a  french  75.  jade  hues  moving  from  the  bartender  back  towards  her  fellow  spider  lily.  ❝  hopefully  lady  luck  has  been  on  your  side  in  better  ways  than  finding  a  seat  ...  unless  gambling  isn't  your  particular  vice.  although  judging  by  the  way  you've  been  glaring  at  your  phone  i'd  say,  perhaps  not.  ❞

[inthegardcn]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 of an almond shaped nail tapped against the swell of Safiye's lower lip. She hummed thoughtfully, only for half of a second, before supplying, “My heart or my soul, for starters.” It was then that she finally cracked a full smile, every last inch of it due to the fact that it was Rocky at her side and nobody else.

“Both of which I'd give you gladly, I might add, but I draw the line at my handbag.” She'd been stuck in a loop of playing spoiled princess for so long now that, sometimes, she forgot there was anything else underneath. Forgot that, when they met, she'd been nothing but a seventeen year old kid terrorizing Miami with little more than a royal blue bikini and some beat up Chucks.

But Raquel remembered. Remembered enough of that distant past between them that she'd been willing to vouch for Saf four months ago when everything in her life went to shit. Again.

And that was enough to let a little bit of her truths spill out between them now rather than brush it all off as fine. “Let's put it this way... If not for bad luck today, I wouldn't have any luck on my side at all.”First it was seeing Taz. Next, it was calls from her mom. Then more calls... and more calls. They still hadn't stopped.

“But”—her lips curved in a slow, slightly teasing, sugar sweet smile—“if you've won big at the tables I'd be more than happy to let you buy my next drink.”

[aftcrlight]

"i can hardly tell which order for those two is the better outcome of events," sky laughed, the sound itself far lighter than she would offer with most others. but the comment had caught her just slightly off guard, and enough to ease some of her own tension in the amused sort of way. if nothing else of the night, she supposed it was nice to see people genuinely enjoying themselves.

there was a part of her now that envied the sort of carelessness others had. the ease they embodied themselves with to simply exist, unconcerned of consequence or outcome that could wait until the following morning.. or at the very least when everyone was more sober, anyway.

but her gaze drifted back across the casino floor, lingering on crowds and tables for just a moment longer as she spoke. "the 'impending shitshow' as you call it, may genuinely be my only reason for staying." she gave a half shrug, easy. "though that also comes with the understanding that my door will remain firmly closed to anyone that expects my help in their own clean up." she rested her chin against her palm then, leaning against the table. "do you think the carpet is actually going to survive the night?" she hummed, the amusement threading back in once more, "because i'm fairly certain that the last man who ruined it disappeared for a month, and came back with the strangest apology i've ever heard."

[inthegardcn]

“𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 endeavors, not one and the same event?” Shay didn't just pretend to give it thought. She genuinely sat there and weighed the pros and cons of all the dozen or so disasters she might find herself in that evening, then picked which one felt... less. “Losin' my dignity first, clothes second. At least that way when they come off it's like a consolation prize, not a crisis.”

Unless her ex was involved. In that case, the loss of clothing somehow went right back to being both a prize and a problem.

“But honestly? Same.” What else was she going to do? Head home to sit on the couch and drink the last few bottles of bargain beer in the fridge by herself? Believe it or not, that'd likely bring about far more destruction than any drinking, gambling, or failed attempts at cross-gang civility in the casino ever could. At least here there was a new distraction glittering from every corner. There was the promise of entertainment at anyone else's expense than her own.

“Does it make me a terrible person if I say I'm almost hoping they don't?” It did, and she was, but she'd reconciled with that fun fact about herself a long time ago. “Jokes aside, I wasn't necessarily planning for the one who ruined them to be me, but... Now you have me curious.” Her eyes sparkled brighter. “What was the apology?”

[slamina]

Three months. Three months came and went of unanswered calls. Of texts being left on read. Of months being ignored by the one woman on this planet capable of making Anastasios Papadopoulos feel like a sixteen-year-old child with his heart stuck in his throat and his dignity somewhere dangling around his ankles.

Three months and she still, she had the nerve to look surprised when he'd shown up.

Taz, in no hurry to leave this Casino, much less this city, all because she'd spotted him across the room, took a slow sip from the whiskey in his hand, as his eyes never left hers while she crossed the Casino floor. God, had she always walked like this? Like the room belonged to her and only her and everyone else was just lucky enough to breathe the same air? The answer was always—yes. Ever since he's known her.

His mouth twitches upward despite the fire that simmers behind her eyes as she approaches. "Well, hello to you too, sweetheart." The endearment slips out automatically, familiar and reckless all at once. He'd called her it, ( among so many others ) and for so long that he wasn't sure he even knew her real name anymore.

It took him a few more seconds but, he finally caught it. Not the anger in her expression. The anger, he expected that. But, the fear in her eyes.

It made him straighten. Not much but, enough. Enough for anyone with decent enough perception to notice.

His smile fades a fraction. "See, that's funny," he murmurs, setting the glass down untouched. "Because I distinctly remember you tellin' me three months ago, if I had something to say, I should come say it to your face." A beat. "And unless I'm mistaken, this..." He glances around the lavish casino floor with exaggerated curiosity. "...is your face." A hauntingly beautiful one at that. Either way, the joke lands softer than it usually would have.

Because she wasn't yelling. She wasn't rolling her eyes. She wasn't threatening to stab him with her stiletto, yet. No. Safiye was worried. Actually worried. Suddenly the smartass in him—the one she'd spent half their lives either encouraging or threatening—began to shut the hell up.

His dark eyes searched hers, the amusement draining away entirely. "What happened?" he asks quietly. No, why are you mad? Why have you been avoiding me? Why are you even here?

But, what happened? Because something must have. He knew her too well. And for all their years apart, all their mistakes and almosts and unfinished goodbyes, there remained one truth neither of them could ever manage to shake: Safiye only got scared when there was something worth losing around.

His voice lowers even further, almost drowned out beneath the noise of the casino around them. "Saf." He resorts to calling her by some version of her name. Which... God, he hasn't called her in months.

Not since she'd started disappearing from him. "You know I hate it when you do that thing where you decide for both of us how this is going to happen. That's not how this works." His gaze flickers briefly around the room before settling back on her, sharper now. "What am I missing?" And, because he was still Taz—some version of him still hopelessly and stupidly hers in all the ways that mattered—he offers her a crooked smile that's meant to ease and belongs to years ago. "If this is you warning me that somebody's finally gone and put a price on my head then, I'd like to know if I should be offended by the number first."

[inthegardcn]

“𝐈'𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃, archidia gaidarou.” Her hand was but a light brush against Anastasios' shoulder as the words growled out, low an undiscernible to anyone else, but the shove she actually wanted to give him was implied.

( And yes, for the record, she had just called him a donkey's testicle. In his native Greek rather than her own mother tongue, naturally. )

“If you really must know, it was for exactly one dollar and three cents.” That same hand, still warm from its brief detour into forbidden territory, made a pass over the ivory fabric clinging to her hips instead. “I would've done the job myself—gladly—but this dress is vintage De La Renta and blood is a nightmare to get out of silk.” Ask her how she knew.

All around them drinks continued to disappear and new bets were placed, but she couldn't spare a second to think about the party. She couldn't think, period.

When she took a few steps closer to a shadowy alcove nearer to the end of the it was with a silent assumption he'd follow. And when he did, when Saf pivoted on the thin spikes of her heels to once again find his gaze, whatever ire she'd previously dampened for appearance's sake had returned.

“And you know I hate it when you don't just listen when we both know it'll go how I want anyway.” It wasn't much of a secret that she could never say no to his sister, or that she struggled to within an inch of her life defying her mom. But Taz? He was perhaps the one person in their merry band of miscreants she had no problem shooting down.

Maybe because she knew he knew she never meant it. Maybe because, no matter how far or how fiercely she pushed, he always come back.

Preferably, though, he would've picked a better time and place to show off such a brilliant display of pigheaded resilience than now.

“When I said to my face, I would've thought the fact that I meant privately was a given.” Not that she made it easy, what with the unanswered texts, unreturned calls, and an outright refusal to share her new address. “I also thought someone so skilled at reading others would've read between the lines and taken a hint.”

If she wanted to see him, she would have.

Except that wasn't entirely the truth. Or even halfway near the mark. The problem wasn't in wanting to see Taz ( though him in the flesh was a problem of a sort ). It was knowing what to say once she did.

About that night in California. About all those little moments during the cons that came before. About why she left, or what she was even doing at a casino in Coyote's Rest. She didn't have the answers he wanted. Not ones that came easy. Or without a price.

“Nothing happened.” Lie. “There's nothing to miss.” The practiced ease in which she lied to him again in such short succession made Saf's stomach clench. “It's just that I came here with a date and I'd really rather your general existence not ruin my chances of getting laid, all because you couldn't dreg up a modicum of patience.”

Her stare shifted around the obstacle his chest presented to her line of sight, searching. Not for the imaginary date she'd just claimed, but for anyone paying too close attention to their end of the bar. Anyone skilled enough to smell the familiarity and unfinished business between them as well as any cigar smoke or decadent perfume.

Finding no-one, something in her settled and stilled. For now. And only enough that, when her fingers dared to press into his arm again, it was with a touch less implied violence than before. Still every bit as dangerous, though. Touching him was like stroking a hand against the past. She'd run away from that—him, them, all of it—for a reason.

“You really should leave.” Her hand dropped back to its rightful place at her side, empty but for the memory of what she'd had too many times to count but never got to keep. “This party... Just forget about it, okay? Go home. Please, Taz. If not to them”—to their families, wherever that might be—“then at least to wherever it is you're staying. If you really want to talk I'll make some time this weekend.”

[slamina]

𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: the lucky coyote, 9:52pm,

𝔣𝔱. margot schaffer, @inthegardcn

The Lucky Coyote is loud in all the ways Rafe generally hates. There's too many people packed shoulder to shoulder. Too many forced smiles. Too many old gang members pretending decades of blood and bad history can be drowned out beneath expensive bourbon and casino lights. He'd tolerated it for exactly as long as necessary, lingering near one of the bars with a glass he hasn't touched in over twenty minutes, and surrounded by a few familiar faces from the Jackals while conversation drifts around him unnoticed.

Because his attention has been drawn elsewhere all night. Which should come as no surprise, considering Shay was in the room. Rafe spots her the second she walks in and immediately wishes he hadn't. Not because she looks good ( or bad ). Quite the opposite, actually. She looks like trouble. The kind that settles beneath your skin and lingers there.

At first he tells himself he's only watching her because old habits die hard. Because Shay has always had a talent for attracting chaos. Because keeping an eye on her and making sure nobody starts anything with her, is practically muscle memory by now. But, that's not the actual truth.

The real truth is, he can't take his eyes off her even if he wants to. Especially, as some asshole approaches her at the bar and leans against the counter beside her. The longer he loiters there, the more Rafe's jaw tightens where he stands.

He observes the way the stranger says something that earns a laugh from her. Observes the way the guy shifts closer, getting entirely too comfortable and entirely too interested.

It's not his fault, though. The poor bastard doesn't know any better. In retrospect, he's not even the problem. It's Shay, and the fact that she hasn't immediately sent him packing. Probably because she's still pissed at Rafe for whatever argument they'd left unresolved days ago. Or maybe it's the fact, she knows he's watching. And she keeps talking, keeps smiling, keeps letting this guy think he has a chance with her.

The ice in Rafe's glass cracks beneath the pressure of his grip, causing one of the Jackals to say something to him, a warning not to get involved. But, he doesn't hear it. Not when... across the room, Shay reaches forward, resting a hand briefly on the stranger's arm as she laughs again. That's what does him in. In a flash... a dark look crosses Rafe's face before he drains the remainder of his drink in one swallow and sets the glass down hard enough to make the bartender glance over. Without a word, he pushes away from the bar. The crowd parts easily enough for his presence. Most people know better than to get in his way when he's wearing this type of expression.

By the time he reaches Shay, whatever story the stranger is telling her has reached its conclusion. Rafe steps directly into the space beside her. Close. Possessive enough to appear noticeable. His shoulder brushes hers as amber eyes settle on the man across from them. Slowly, deliberately, sizing the other up like he used to an opponent before a race.

The stranger falters almost immediately. Good. Rafe lets the silence build for another moment before looking at Shay instead. "Interesting choice." His voice comes out smooth, but barely. It's a warning hidden beneath a silk mask. His gaze flicks back toward her conquest, then returns to her. "I figured you'd have better taste than whatever the hell this is."

The stranger stiffens. Rafe couldn't care less. His attention never leaves Shay as he reaches past her to snag the drink sitting on the bar, taking a sip of it before setting it back exactly where it was. A petty move, he knows that. Yet, he doesn't care. Nor does he apologize for it. The faint smirk tugging at his mouth says he doesn't particularly regret it or his actions. "Tell me something, Diablita." His head tilts slightly. "Are you actually enjoying yourself, or have you just been keeping this one entertained because you're still pissed at me?" There's very little time for her to answer, before he bends down and whispers rasply into her ear. "You know, you could do better."

[inthegardcn]

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐄 when six feet of territorial bad habits materialized out of nowhere, acting like they owned everything from your soul to your shadow, but Shay didn’t so much as blink when Rafe went from across the bar one minute to stealing oxygen at her side in the next.

She'd predicated this. Bet on it, even. He might not want her, not in the ways she needed, but he sure as hell didn't want her with anybody else.

Every time somebody paid her even an ounce of attention there he was. Asserting his dominance like fucking clockwork, acting for all the world like they hadn't been giving each other the silent treatment for the last several days.

That's why she didn't bother rewarding him with a glance. He hadn't earned one yet.

Instead, her eyes took a slow, steady dip toward the drink he’d just helped himself to half of and fixed in pointed stare at the impression of lipstick he'd smudged against its rim. Because of course he had. Of course it wasn't enough to take her drink—He had to taste from the exact same spot in the process, as if proving her kiss was still his to claim.

Maybe it was. Maybe it always would be. But Shay refused to accept that when she knew damn well he’d never be open to her claiming him right back.

It was that thought that sent her mouth curving deep with a vulpine smile. Not aimed at him, of course, but at the poor, clueless bastard standing across from them both that couldn’t even begin to guess what he’d just bullshit and bravado’d his way into. 

“See?” She gestured toward Rafe with an irreverent flick of her hand, still not looking. “This is exactly what I was telling you about.”

A little confused and a lot concerned, the guy’s gaze widened. She’d be willing to put money on a guess that Rafe’s narrowed in return. Good. Because when Shay finally dropped her head to the side, meeting the annoyance in those pretty amber eyes, her own promised war. The kind of promise she had no business making good on, but would. 

A heated gaze raked over him from top to toe. Then did the same to her new friend. “Have you met Brad”—Ben—“yet? He’s in accounting.” Which, in present company, could mean any number of things. Not that it mattered. Or that she cared. 

Even if she’d been genuinely interested at the start ( and she wasn’t ) that all would’ve changed the second he took a step back rather than forward to meet Rafe's silent challenge the moment he appeared.

See, Shay's father taught her a lot of things, but one of them still reigned supreme: any man who wasn’t willing to bust his hands and get a little bloody defending his right to be at her side didn’t deserve to stand there in the first place. 

She’d held tight to that kernel of wisdom her entire life. It became the standard to which she held all men. At least, until the new standard became Rafe.

That was the problem with first loves. The term 'first' implied there'd be a second. A third. Hell, maybe even a fourth. She'd only ever had one—the one—and half the time she couldn't decide if she wanted to fuck him stupid and then make the idiot pancakes, or hand deliver his corpse to an early grave.

Currently? She felt alarmingly close to saying 'fuck the carpets' and finding a shovel.

With gritted teeth she endured the brush of his mouth at her ear, pissed beyond reason that a mere whisper of his voice still made her spine quake. But that'd always been a particular gift of his, hadn't it? Nobody knew how to her curl toes and her hands into fists, and all within the same breath, like he did.

Bastard.

“You think this is about you?” Shay let sharp laugh escape. She'd deny the accusation, and especially it's truth, until she was blue in the face. “Lemme tell you what I think.” The offer came softly—Too softly to be anything but her about to pick up the proverbial blade. “I think you’re just having a hard time watchin' me do the same exact thing you’ve been doing with fuck knows who for fuck knows how long.”

For a second, something vulnerable flashed within all that fire. Something real. Something that said they'd had this argument—played this twisted little game—too many times over too many years to still keep count.

“But you are right about one thing.” She could do better. They could do better. Be better. But if they hadn't figured out how in the last twenty years they weren't about to start now, in this place, on this day.

She circled his imposing figure in a few languid strides, stopping somewhere behind a stretch of broad shoulders. Then, gently—so gently she hoped it hurt—Shay's fingertips coaxed his hard, stubble edged jaw to shift. Not toward her, but toward the direction he'd come from. Toward his audience of friends.

“What do you think about DeLuca over there? 'Cause, now that you mention it, I think Blake”—Ben—“and I could do some real damage with a third.” Against the warm leather at Rafe's back she smiled, twice as bright as any diamonds in the room and meaner than a rattlesnake. “That sounds a hell of lot BETTER, don't it baby? If you apologize for interrupting our date, I might even let you pull up a chair as a thanks for the suggestion.”

[sanctifiedcrimes]

who: open to all (0/5) where: lucky coyote casino

The Lucky Coyote was one of the few places in the city where people could pretend the gangs weren't constantly one bad decision away from tearing each other apart. The illusion was almost impressive. Cards shuffled. Glasses clinked. Slot machines chimed endlessly in the background. People laughed. Money changed hands. And beneath it all sat an unspoken understanding that everybody in the building was armed, dangerous, and behaving only because the consequences of not behaving were significantly worse. Mia liked it. Or maybe liked wasn't the right word. Respected it, perhaps.

The mechanic sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a whiskey she'd barely touched. One elbow rested against the polished countertop while her attention drifted across the casino floor. Old habit. People-watching. Keeping track of exits. Noticing who arrived together and who pretended they hadn't. The place was full tonight. Representatives from every corner of the city. Enough tension packed into one room to start a war if somebody sneezed wrong. Mia found herself smirking. The whiskey burned pleasantly as she finally took a sip. The seat beside her scraped softly against the floor. She didn't look up. Not immediately. "You're either brave," she said finally, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, "or you've never been told it's rude to stare."

[inthegardcn]

𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘, the sound nearly silent yet somehow still rife with amusement all the same. "People tell me it's rude to do a lot of things"—blocking doorways, interrupting others mid-sentence, throwing entire bottles of tequila at Rafe's head—"but that doesn't mean I have to listen."

From the time she was little she'd never been the type to care much for living her life by someone else's rules, or anyone else's standards. Her mother blamed it on being one half her father, as if the lawless nature running through her veins was some kind of genetic curse. Shay reckoned being like Charlie Schaffer was a hell of a lot better than being like her.

"Besides, I wasn't staring at you, I was staring at him." Him being one of only two bartenders on deck, and both currently lost in the weeds. "The other end's a lost fuckin' cause, so I was hoping I'd have better luck down here in getting my hands on a new drink." Having already bet ( and subsequently lost ) all of her money at the Blackjack tables earlier in the evening, Shay needed something to keep her busy.

Too much time with too little entertainment never ended well for her. Or anybody.

"Quick," abruptly, and with a crooked smile, she nudged an elbow into Mia's arm. "Flash a little nipple in that direction and maybe we'll both get lucky tonight."

[inthegardcn]

location: the lucky coyote casino ; a night of rest

status: closed for anastasios papadopoulos / @slamina

𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄 sounded impressive on paper, but Safiye knew as well as most that all it took was the smallest brush of flame to turn something so fragile into ashes.

And with the lot of them stuck there, surrounded on all sides by old bloodlines, fresh ambitions, and enough concealed weapons to arm the entire county? It felt less like a celebration of peace and more playing Russian roulette with five powder kegs and an unlit match.

Sure, the first few strikes might amount to little more than a spark and some smoke, but eventually it'd catch. Eventually, one of them would blow.

She hadn't been around long enough to truly comprehend any of the reasons why but, if Saf were a betting woman—and her entire existence would argue she was—she'd say it wasn't so much a question of 'if' but 'when'. Or, more importantly, who.

Never, not once, did she expect the answer to that question might be herself. Then again, never, not once, did she expect to slip through the crush of bodies packed inside of The Lucky Coyote Casino and come face to face Taz.

He couldn't be there. Shouldn't be there. Yet there he stood, the bane of her existence and the haunter of her dreams, leaned back against the very bar she'd been intent on reaching like some tall, dark, and tattooed poster child for narcissism and obnoxiously good genes.

What the fuck was he doing?

Not in Coyote's Rest—she'd been dodging and weaving all of his many calls and requests to meet for three months now, long enough to know he'd found them out—but what was he doing there? At the casino. Tonight.

Safiye kept her gait casual and indifferent as the distance grew shorter and shorter between them, but her eyes—Their chocolate depths simmered with frustration bordering on barely concealed rage and something so close to genuine worry she refused to give it a name. "You need to leave. Now."

Taz had no idea what kind of party he'd just crashed in some ill-fated attempt to get her attention. He was going to get himself killed. Or worse, her.

[inthegardcn]

location: lucky coyote casino ; a night of rest

status: open, capped at 2/4.

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓, shots of top shelf liquor clinked in a toast to fifty years of relative peace. At the tables far to her right came the rhythmic flutter of dealers shuffling through decks of cards.

Bursts of victorious laughter and their accompanying growls of defeat cleaved through the air louder than any crack of gunfire and yet, even so thoroughly entrenched within the chaotic din of the evening, Safiye didn't need to see behind her or hear their steps to know someone was lingering.

Either they were there to slip a blade between her ribs over a rivalry she hadn't been around nearly long enough to fully comprehend yet or, more likely than not, they had eyes on the nearest seat.

Betting on the second—though she was one more call away from welcoming the first—she murmured, “Go on. It’s yours if you want it.” 

Still, her gaze didn't shift. Dark eyes remained locked on her phone, the thing face down and vibrating atop a cocktail napkin, while she held a glass of 2016 Chateau Margaux in a white knuckle grip.

It wasn't until voicemail inevitably took over ( and took the choice of accepting or declining out of her hands ) that Saf sighed. Or that she finally deigned to spare a glance. “The spot beside me, I mean.” A corner of her mouth twitched. “I waited about thirty minutes before I managed to snag mine so, if you're looking to stake a claim, this might be your only chance.”

[sanctifiedcrimes]

who: open to all (0/5) where: lucky coyote casino

Neutral ground was a myth people told themselves to feel safe. The Lucky Coyote Casino had built its reputation on the concept.

The casino floor hummed with life around him. Slot machines chimed endlessly. Chips clicked against felt. Laughter rose and fell in waves, mixing with the low murmur of conversations happening at a dozen different tables. Above it all hung the unmistakable scent of expensive liquor and old money. Most people came here to gamble. Kian came here to observe.

From his seat at the bar overlooking a large portion of the gaming floor, he watched the crowd through the reflection in his glass rather than directly. Years of habit had taught him that people revealed more when they believed nobody was paying attention. The clear liquid in his glass remained untouched as he mentally catalogued faces, movements, and interactions. Not because he needed to. Because he couldn't help himself.

Then something shifted. Not on the casino floor. In his attention. A familiar feeling settled at the back of his mind. The kind that came before certainty. Then, after a moment, he finally spoke. "You're either very good at pretending not to notice people watching you," he said evenly, gaze settling on them once more, "or you've already decided I'm not a threat."

[inthegardcn]

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐘𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 could be boiled down to the concept of attention.

How to get it. How to keep it. How to avoid it. How to use it.

That evening was different. She had no firm objective. No pre-determined mark. No endgame or ultimate goal or elusive finish line to cross. It was almost a novel concept to merely exist within a single slip of time and space at her own discretion, bound by little more than a handful of reminders like 'behave' or 'if you spill blood on the carpets, you pay'.

Both were easy enough to comply with considering she'd been in town barely a breath over four months. She didn't know these people; there hadn't been proper time to manifest vendettas or revenge quests of her own.

So, when his words came, she only pressed the hint of a smile against the rim of her wine. “Interesting that you assume those are the only two options.” 

There was no pretense to her silence, and she was smart enough to assume everyone gathered at the casino was a potential threat.

The answer he sought sat with a much simpler, third thing: while he’d been watching, she’d been waiting.

“I noticed.” Safi's elbow shifted to perch against the bar top, eyes fixed not on him, but on the deep burgundy of her drink. “Decided you were doing it on purpose.” She indulged another sip. “That's when I just got curious. Would you eventually introduce yourself, or just keep hiding behind a piece of crystal all night?”

Impish and bright, her gaze made a pointed shift to his glass then finally lifted to catch him dead in the eye for the very first time. “Looks like I got my answer.”