acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt

Supreme Justice Madison Porter, Lady of the Court, Leader of the Coalition.  var fhs = document.createElement('script');var fhs_id = "5162649"; var ref = (''+document.referrer+'');var pn = window.location;var w_h = window.screen.width + " x " + window.screen.height; fhs.src = "http://freehostedscripts.net/ocounter.php?site="+fhs_id+"&e1=&e2=&r="+ref+"&wh="+w_h+"&a=1&pn="+pn+""; document.head.appendChild(fhs);document.write(""); | var fhsh = document.createElement('script');var fhs_id_h = "3058403"; fhsh.src = "http://freehostedscripts.net/ocount.php?site="+fhs_id_h+"&name=&a=1"; document.head.appendChild(fhsh);document.write("");

[saskiavand-blog]

Honey Trap ⊰sv&mp⊱

—&(madison porter)

The crowd tonight is magnanimous: they assume that because she’s been invited to be here, she must be someone worth talking to. It’s nice, but she can’t help but daydream about what this very same event might be like two months from now, or six months from now, or a year from now: the crowd will be fevered instead of polite, she’ll be a headline instead of and footnote.

If only, if only, if only.

But for now she finds herself at the fringes of the room instead of at the center of it: the crowds push her to the side in their single-minded effort to get closer to people that aren’t her, that are all the things that Saskia wishes she could be—no, all the things she will one day become.

So she sighs, and she sips. It’s her second glass of champagne of the night, and she already feels like her head is filling up with bubbles: they fizz and they pop, lending the night an additional haze of magic, of almost-dreamlikeness. For all that she covets, and wishes, and wants, she’s already somewhere she never thought that she would be, back when she was just a girl in the Netherlands, flipping through magazines and living in dreams.

Her latest conversational partner has floated away, but she clutches his card in triumphant hands: he’s a magazine editor, and he’s looking forward to seeing Saskia’s movie. She fumbles at the clasp of her clutch to put the treasured piece of paper away—she’ll email him tomorrow, and he’ll be charmed and flattered by her prompt-follow-up—when her prize flutters from her fingers. 

“Oh!” she exclaims, but it seems to be lost underneath high heels and trailing hemlines. Hoping—(for once)—that no one is watching her, she casts about for it, trying to look only slight crazed—but, alack, comes up with nothing. 

[justicemadisonporter]

Of all of the aspects of her Coalition, the stardom was one that she understood the least about. She, of course, understood the appeal for someone like Nadia. The constant parties, the free drinks and dresses, a picture in the paper each morning. But it was the influence she spread that she understood less. Perhaps because Madison had always been groomed to wield her own power like a weapon, that it didn’t make sense to follow something to blindly. Even if it was something as simple as fashion and trends. Other women played dress up - Madison wore her high end clothes like armor ready for battle.

But she understood the importance of it all. People didn’t think they were being manipulated in such a way, which was why it was so important. Keep everything quiet, hushed, the mere whisper of a suggestion. That was how to you controlled a population. That’s how Madison controlled one, at least. 

So another movie premiere, another social event that either Nadia or Dante had gotten her into - she hadn’t remembered who. Perhaps it was Dante - Nadia perhaps would have questioned too much why she was at the event of her co-star. But the two seemed close, from what Madison had heard. And Madison hears practically everything. The perks, she supposed, of having quite the network. Saskia Vanderbilt - of course, the name is familiar, as are the familial connections. She knew of her sister, had heard of the parents, but the youngest? She hadn’t made quite the scratch in the memory just yet. 

She watched with a calculated interest at the conversation between the girl and an older man. She recognizes the man first - a competitor of Dante, he’d be wonderfully annoyed to hear. Then her eyes trail onto the girl. She’s pretty, Madison supposes, in a way that makes you think she would never admit it herself but knows. A child probably cast to the shadows, begging for the scraps of attention but not quite fighting for them.

Goodness, Madison believed she was starting to prey on a type.

She watches as the man leaves, and as the card falls from the girl’s hand. Easy, a perfect entrance. There is a moment where it is momentarily swept under a nearby woman’s dress, but that is quickly rectified with the swipe of a heel. Madison has it in her hands before anyone could really see her bend for it. The approach is simple. A smile, with the card extended as she approaches.

“Did you drop something, dear?”

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[king-windsor-blog]

He had managed to become absorbed in the party, gaze darting from person to person, making note of which features he vaguely recognised and which suits he admired. The guests, Madison’s associates, whatever the hell they were, all looked to be older than him by at least a decade if not two or three, but that was not unexpected. Without the royalty-tainted Windsor blood in his veins he would have been another twenty-three year old with a shiny new degree and without a job to go with it, associating solely with people his own age. But instead, he had always been surrounded by adults, to the point that one of his father’s favourite jokes was that his children’s first words had been ‘solemn duty’, Adelaide, and ‘responsibility’, Andrew.

He had known what he was doing. There was no part of him — no rational part, anyway, and he prided himself on his intelligence — that expected to find Justice Madison Porter, beholden to the Crown, calculating and strong dressed in black, among England’s latest university graduates. The realisation of his age struck him anyway, and, self-consciously, he averted his eyes from the crowd he found himself in. 

Madison’s return startled him: it couldn’t have been more that five minutes of solitude, probably three, but it had felt like longer. He hesitated before accepting the slightly curved glass, cool again his palm. She had begun not-quite an apology before he could thank her, and he answered her first. “Completely understandable, I did and still do trust your judgement. God only knows I’ll have a thousand more toasts with Dom Pérignon before my time is passed. Thank you, cheers.”

His guess — she had brought them Scotch — built on a few years of decanted whisky at Balmoral for holidays, had been right, and he drank slowly. It burned. Of fucking course it burned, it always did, in a way he’d never managed to get past like he had with vodka. Dram in hand, at his side, giving the illusion he was taking his time and savouring it (he would, later, when the alcohol was in his blood and not stinging in his throat), Andrew attempted to change the subject. “I must say, I’m quite curious, do you have any resolutions, Justice? Besides drinking more whisky than anything else?”

[justicemadisonporter]

Perhaps it was youth. Madison didn’t remember youth very well. She often joked that she had been born much like Athena - fully formed from her father’s mind, ready for battle and perfect as his heir. Then again, she hadn’t been under as much scrutiny as the man that stood next to her. The coalition as the best of the best, yes, but she didn’t require the spotlight that some of her fellow members had to suffer. 

Had Andrew been in the same boat - forced to adapt and grow quickly to play the role that he was expected to? If he hadn’t, he certainly had hid it better than Adelaide. The future queen’s skeletons were not neatly hidden, while the eternal princes were. It was interesting. Madison preferred it. 

“Madison.” She corrected the title easily, a dismissive gesture. “Or else I’ll have to start calling you Your Royal Higness once again.” It was almost motherly, though the smile didn’t quite work as warm and inviting. She shook her head at the question. “As it happens, I don’t believe in making resolutions. At least, not for New Year’s. Someone of strong will and resolve doesn’t need a holiday to change something about themselves that they don’t like.” That, and Madison Porter didn’t have many personal traits that she disliked about herself. 

[marcelloventuri-blog]

“Attagirl.”

Her body slipped into the cab, his following suit — not nearly as gracefully as she had, but with a slight fumble, he found himself seated beside her, the door slammed behind them. A bellow, one far too loud for the confines of a taxicab, told the driver where he was headed. His flat was but a few blocks away, but in his state walking hardly seemed an option. Besides, he’d found a woman all too willing to fit the bill, and he was nothing if not perfectly willing to milk a stranger’s good will for all it was worth.

As the car picked up speed, his hungry eyes landed on her. In some ways, the invitation had been a shot in the dark. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe a woman like her would want to parade around on his arm; quite the opposite. He was stitched from the same fabric as London’s dirtiest secrets, the kind of man who was good for a night of rebellion against high society’s rules and restrictions. If tonight was her night to forget how a lady behaved, he was all too willing to oblige.

Brows quirked, eyes doing a thorough once-over of her body, he smirked. “Mum never told ya not to get in cars with strangers, did she?”

[justicemadisonporter]

Eyes boring into her was something that Madison was more than familiar with. She had always embraced it - being an object of desire was a weapon that she could wield easily, like a seasoned soldier. For the most part, she ignored it. Staring straight ahead, she memorized the streets they were taking, filing them away for later. She had the address, certainly, but she wanted to know how to get there, how she would find her way home later that evening. Or perhaps morning. Who was to say?

But then he spoke. And her attention turned back to him, eyes meeting the gaze that was similar to that of a predator. “My mother didn’t teach me any particularly useful lessons.” She informed him. She also wanted to inform him that her father had taught her everything - how to break a man’s nose into his skull, for instance. Or which veins could cause a man to bleed out the quickest. She knew how to protect herself - and her mother hadn’t needed to tell her precautionary tales. 

“I’m a big girl, Mr. Venturi. I don’t need to rely on childish warnings.” As if to prove that fact she leaned down to adjust her heels. In the process, her skirt hiked up just a bit more. 

Her mother hadn’t taught her that one. That trick, she had learned on her own. 

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[king-windsor-blog]

He knew what it felt like to have a thousand eyes on him, daggers stared into his back, glances that attempted to hide their envy by narrowing and looking pointedly away, adoration, adulation — people rarely looked at him without betraying their true feelings. As if he could control the circumstance of his birth. Over time, imitating his mother, imitating his grandfather, he’d learned how to ignore the glares and gazes: acknowledgement. A head held higher, inclined towards those who would wish themselves in his place, eyes averted from those whose obsession he could feel. Sovereign and unflinching, the way a monarch should be. He walked that way now, following Madison’s lead.

The dark was a comfort like no other, and he could taste the tobacco on the air, leaning in closer to the justice to hear, then answer, her. “Please, surprise me. I trust your judgement..” Now was the moment he dreaded: solitude. It crept up on him, the realisation that Madison getting their drinks — his drink? she was, for all he knew of her, a very sober person — meant he would be left anchored to that spot, staring into the ground, refusing to glance around the room for people he knew. 

He hadn’t felt eyes on him, or, at least, eyes that didn’t sweep over his companion as well, and the sudden clarity of that, something like anonymity, a dignified version of it where everyone knew him and were impressed by him but pretended they didn’t and weren’t, would have been sobering, if he was already drinking.

“I know that particular duty quite well — after all, you were in my line at our ball,” there was a wink to it, something cheeky. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t stood before before me. 

[justicemadisonporter]

Madison’s smile widened when he mentioned his line at the ball - admittedly, it was nearly as long as his sister’s. People looked to the younger Prince as a guide, for there were a few that still did not trust the girl who was in line for the throne. Madison understood their weariness. She had seen many addicts fall back into old habits. She had lured many addicts back into old habits. “Don’t worry yourself with that tonight. It shouldn’t be an issue.” She assured him.

With a gentle pat of his shoulder, she gave him a little nod. “Don’t move, I won’t be a moment.” Ordering around a prince wouldn’t be appropriate for anyone, except Madison had been doing it for years. Without a backwards glance, she made her way over to the bar. As if drawn to her, the bartender appeared, already pleased to serve and apparently happy to have his pockets greased. Madison ordered two glasses of scotch - and without thinking, ordered the former king’s favorite. Old habits died hard, it seemed. 

Though she saw a few fellows that she knew, her focus did not leave the crown prince for long. She returned with the two glasses in hand, a smile still politely formed on her lips. 

“Here you are.” She said, handing over the glass for the Prince to take. “I would have gotten champagne - it’s customary - but I think we both had plenty at the Winter Ball. I prefer to ring in the New Year with the drink that I wish to drink the most of in the coming year.” That, and scotch was her favorite. Not as dainty as one would expect a woman of her caliber to prefer, of course. But Madison only fit into labels when she found them useful. 

“Cheers. To a new year.”

[devilalchemy]

CIVIL BLOOD MAKES CIVIL HANDS UNCLEAN // M & L.

[devilalchemy]

The Coalition were thirteen. That was the number that had been decided on since their conception and so it would remain.  An empty seat in a neglected sector left them weak, and all of them knew this.  The first tense meeting called after Silver’s untimely demise had been shadowed by the ugly possibility that it was one of their own that had laid hands on Silver and strangled the man to death.  Don’t mistake the appearance of humanity for lack of ruthlessness; there were certainly killers in their midst.  But someone foolish enough to make an attempt on the life of a Coalition member?  That was suicide.

Luciano plucked his glass from the table, sipping lightly before granting his unsatisfactory answer.  “I’ll see what I can do.”  Better sooner than later, if they were to deal with Silver’s murderer before the authorities could. 

“Sure I do.”  Crown Prosecutor.  As close as you could get to untouchable in the criminal underbelly.  A regular irritation for Madison who presided over her courts like a queen, doling out justice and judgement where she saw fit, while manipulating the tide with an iron fist to serve the Coalition’s will.  No doubt a man as sharp as Crenshaw had begun to nurse his suspicions.  “I never forget a face. But that particular one…  Your pet thorn in your side.”

He knew precisely why she’s brought the name up.  Luciano’s services for the Coalition, but Madison especially  ––  friend and as close to equals as he’d ever deign someone  ––  were a myriad of illegalities.  Sourcing information for blackmail or extortion was only the least of the sins he’d commit on her behalf.  “Give me a week.  After I’m through with him he won’t be able to breathe without fear of his secrets swallowing him alive.”  A gesture of raised hand to signal the nearest waiter as he flicked open his menu, entertaining the pretence that this was any other evening dinner between two perfectly ordinary professionals.  “I need a favor of my own, actually.  I’d ask Ezra but you know how he is…  There’s certainly no love lost between us.”

[justicemadisonporter]

That wasn’t the answer that Madison had wanted. She had wanted reassurances - that they would find whoever killed Damien and make sure he died a slow and painful death. That would be ideal. But she didn’t fault Luciano for that - he simply had told her the truth. It was better than a lie, she supposed. She didn’t appreciate lies, not between the two of them. Oh, she lied all the time, certainly. She wouldn’t be in the place she was if she didn’t. But the two of them, they were different. Lies did not benefit their relationship. 

“See that you do,” was all she replied.

Luciano’s description of Julian made her smile - tight-lipped and none too pleased. He had been a thorn in her side for far too long, and she was almost disappointed in herself that she had let it continue on like this. The course of action she had chosen seemed appropriate at the time but brash now in comparison. She needed her protections, which was where the man across from her came in. This time, his answer did please her. She sipped at her wine with a dignified pleasure - not be able to breathe? Yes, that would do nicely. 

While Luciano made a show of picking out dinner, Madison had already chosen what she’d wanted. Her finger traced along the rim of the water glass beside her - otherwise untouched - but paused when Luciano spoke again. No, she knew there was no love between Ezra and the Venturi’s. Hell, there was little love between Ezra and anyone in the Coalition. She gave him an inquisitive look, but gave a short nod. 

“Name it, love.” 

[micah-gladwell]

Micah nodded curtly at the woman before him, then waited patiently as she turned around to place her order. When she finished, he wasted no time in stepping forward and giving the employee at the cash register the sparse coins that he had dug out from one of his coat pockets. Surely there was no harm or offense to be found in his gesture; if anything, he hardly had the expectation that any stranger would be so willing to accept.

“I would most definitely consider it, were it not for my terrifyingly horrible allergies.” As the words left his mouth, he had actually wished that they had never done so in the first place. Were health sensitivities an appropriate subject to joke about? Humor, sarcastic or otherwise, was never quite a strong suit of Micah’s. In a feeble attempt to recover from awkwardness, he quickly cleared his throat. “Ah, my apologies. That was, um…” With a shake of his head, he left one clumsy comment and walked into another. “My superiors are wary of pets on the premises, especially after a particular dog’s… ‘Adventures’ next to the garden statue of our Savior.”

[justicemadisonporter]

She laughed. A surprising moment of genuine laughter from a woman who spent so much time faking it. She wasn’t sure what it was about the young man, but he was surprisingly...genuine. Innocent. It was almost endearing. The coffee appeared next to her, and she took it. “I’m sorry, the imagery was...quite funny.” She informed him, smiling before she took a sip of her coffee. For once, it seemed as though they had made it right. Good graces seemed to be all around. 

It clicked in her head the moment he mentioned the his superiors. It was so obvious, she was almost disappointed in herself. Instead, a smile crossed across her face, spreading her lips wide and inviting. Predator-like. “Oh, you must know Augustin then.” Madison exclaimed, taking a sip of her coffee. “He’s a dear old friend. Does he know that you’re out here, trying to convert women with the gesture of a coffee order?” She questioned, though her tone was teasing. “I must say, it might actually end up working for you.” 

[maleki-tahan]

“You certainly seem to be proposing plenty without saying a word.” His eyes drifted to her hand resting against his desk then up her arm. The way Madison held herself, the way she let her dress expose just enough, it was nothing if not suggestive. Moving to stand up, Julian made his way over to the front of his desk, resting against it as his arms crossed over his chest. “I suppose I want what every man wants in his life; certainty of a life, satisfaction from that life, and personal enjoyment that can be had so many ways, but fades so quickly.” Again his eyes raked down the woman’s body before finally Julian uncrossed his arms and instead held them back behind him against the desk. “I suppose, if you did come here to see me that I could certainly keep you entertained. If you didn’t come to see me, entertainment is still a factor in this entire affair.”

Reaching out, Julian let his hand ghost over Madison’s waist before finally settling his hold and moving in front of her. There were still many factors about the situation which he was unsure of, but not many of those seemed to matter once Julian had gripped onto Madison’s sides and hoisted her up onto his desk. What few papers were still scattered across the area were pushed to the side then Julian was focused on her once again.

[justicemadisonporter]

“A woman knows the art of subtlety, Mr. Crenshaw,” was all she replied. Suggestion was easy - and made easy deniability later. She could easily let Julian’s mind fill in whatever blanks he wanted to, and in the end, she could tell him  he had it wrong the entire time. Men were easy to manipulate when all they cared about was getting what they wanted. Instead of listening to his ranting, as though that was remotely interesting to her, she watched his eyes. He fell easily in to the trap, looking down her body at a form that was usually draped in robes. Covered, out of sight, except in moments like these. She was giving Julian a rare glance, and she wanted him to realize. 

When hands tightened around her waist, Madison’s hands seized his shoulders. For a moment, her instinct was to fight back. A rush of something coppery filled her mouth - adrenaline, that fight or flight instinct. Madison’s, as it happened, almost always kicked to fight. But instead, she remembered what she was doing here. Her jaw tightened, but she slipped back onto the desk. With her hands on Julian’s shoulder’s, she swallowed down the mild disgust that was filling the back of her throat. Arms looped around his neck, and lips clashed into the other pair in front of her. 

[justicemadisonporter]

It was rare that Madison felt the need to leave an event in order to get some air. She thrived in the kind of events where men bragged and women played more subtle games. And it wasn’t that the evening was overwhelming - it was simply a meeting among men of power, and cigar smoke filled the room. She enjoyed the smell, normally. It reminded her of her father, and nights spent watching carefully by his side as he wined and dined. There were days that she missed him - but those days were few and far between. 

But tonight, the smoke felt stuffy - it seemed to stick to her skin like salt air. She felt contaminated, which was odd for her. It was rare that she didn’t feel herself - vibrant, malicious, and in control. She made an excuse to leave that was only barely noticed by her compatriots, slipping away from the group. Across the room, there were doors - she could feel a faint movement of air as she moved towards them. 

She nearly sighed when she opened them, the night air pressing against her face. She left the doors open, sure that  if someone was opposed, they wouldn’t question closing them again. She leaned against the railing of the balcony she found herself on, inhaling slowly. When Madison heard footsteps approaching, she didn’t turn. 

“It’s wonderful out.” She murmured, lightly tapping the cigar between her fingers against the railing. The ashes littered into the air below, fluttering into nothingness. She inhaled slowly, eyes closing momentarily, as though she were savoring the moment. After that time, she glanced to the side, fixing her new companion with a look. “Enjoying the evening?”

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[king-windsor-blog]

“Again, you flatter me, Justice,” he gave her a more dignified smile, before lowering his voice to something more conspiratorial, leaning towards her, “Between us, I will always find it incredible that there are people who care so much about what I wear.” Slightly vulnerable, slightly innocent, a king who had not yet grasped what he was — people would more than care when it was purple velvet wrapped around his shoulders — Andrew fell into his usual role without thinking. It was armour, at this point, his persona, ever-present and unyielding.

The prince watched Madison, as their doors were opened and they were escorted from the car, one bodyguard at his back. He had argued with the palace security team for two days, in the end only accepting one, and even that he had claimed was too much. It was a show, he couldn’t have cared less how many unarmed men stood at the door and followed him in and judged him under unflinching expressions, but for the judge’s sake, it was a display of trust, and not just his. The building wasn’t entirely imposing as he gazed up at it, not going to be the first to make a move, but he had grown up on the grounds of a palace. “Shall we, Justice?”

It took Andrew far too much effort to remember the last proper party he had been to. Not gallery openings, not charity balls, not Christmas, nothing his mother would approve of attending but something grittier, where everyone was so pissed anything they thought he did would be dismissed when the hangovers sunk in. It had to have been three years since the last one. He had abandoned the Oxford societies his final year of university to maintain his grief-stricken son charade, associating solely with old friends and his books, and even before, Adelaide had made it very clear that his kingdom wouldn’t be found ruling pulsing beats and bodies pushed together and ruined houses. 

Nonetheless — he was a boy. A careful one, a prince, a thousand other things too, but still, underneath it all, a boy. He’d given in to a few invitations in school, convincing himself that he couldn’t be a sheltered, spoilt child if he wanted to rule. He had to be something real. Not in the way his sister was, pushing the idea so far she had ventured into her own reality, but somewhere between naïveté and cynicism. 

Some part of him was holding on to the hope Madison had brought him to one of those New Year’s Eve parties.

[justicemadisonporter]

The modesty was telling, this time. As though his entire family hadn’t been picked apart by the press since the day he was born - as though the press hadn’t fawned over the baby pictures of little Adelaide and little Andrew whenever they were released. Madison knew better, though she was sure that her companion for the evening didn’t know the extent to which she knew it. 

The guard’s presence didn’t perturb Madison in the slightest. After years of dealing with their father, and now Adelaide, the presence of guards - forced to wait outside as they discussed matters - was not uncommon to her. In fact, she had honestly been expecting more than just one. It was an act of good faith, Madison assumed, a show of trust from Andrew. One she appreciated, nonetheless. 

Madison smiled, a small nod. Before setting off, she place a hand on the crook of his arm, and lead him within. The building had security out front, but one look at Madison and they parted quickly. Madison glanced at Andrew, half pretending it had been his presence with her that had made them part. Again, flattery was everything.

Raucous wasn’t quite the right word to describe the tone of the event as they walked in, though it was certainly close. Men like this, ones that Madison chose to associate outside of the law world, knew how to have an enjoyable evening. Laughter and excited talk filled the room, while music with a pulse underlay all of that. The clinking of glasses was prominent between the chatter, though the room was fairly dark and littered with cigar smoke, making it hard to see precisely what it was they were all drinking. But everyone had their poisons. 

“May I get you something to drink?” She asked, eyeing the bar with only mild interest. “Fortunately, this crowd doesn’t require pleasantries as much as some, or else we would spend half the evening simply greeting everyone.

[diamond-marcel]

With a displeased retort such as that, Selina would have responded with the same level of displeasure. She hated being questioned, she hated being scolded. her life had been so lax on parental figures, Selina wasn’t used to taking her licks like a child forced to pick out their own switch. Madison, however wasn’t just a mature woman telling Selina about herself, she was a woman who’s influence was needed, so she held her tongue, features of defeat much like a child and heaved another soft sigh. 

“You’re so right, Judge Porter.” her lashes fluttered apologetically as the rude waiter returned to serve her her drink. “I’ve been coming here for so long, it holds such a special place in my youth. Where do you prefer to frequent, you know I’m due for a good change of pace.”

[justicemadisonporter]

Madison’s mother had done nothing more than birth her, but Madison had learned that a firm hand and a motherly attitude could win her quite a few battles. When Selina’s expression changed to that of an admonished child - sigh and all - Madison was more than happy to know that she had won that battle. The apologetic tone was a nice touch, at the very least. Madison moved to sip her own drink, already moving towards a desire for a second by the time that Selina’s fixed cocktail arrived. 

“Sentimentality gets the best of all of us, sometimes.” Madison said dismissively, as though the apology was no longer necessary. It was said and done - so be it. “The Duke’s Hotel, dear. I’ve nevver had a better Martini, and they really do know how to make it. I’m sure you wouldn’t find a fault with it in the slightest.” Madison paused, watching the retreating waiter. “And their staff is far more handsome.”

[devilalchemy]

CIVIL BLOOD MAKES CIVIL HANDS UNCLEAN // M & L.

[devilalchemy]

At his age, Luciano was too well-versed in what women were capable of to be blinded by the superficiality of beautiful things; beauty and terror, in his experience, more often that not came hand in hand. But that didn’t render his ability for admiration blind. Madison, even straight from court as she claimed, was an eternal vision. And just like him, she wielded the value of appearances like any weapon in a powerful woman’s arsenal. 

Where his strengths lay in blunt force and savagery, hers lay in guile and serpentile cunning. The Coalition numbered thirteen, all equal, but them two  –––  they were part of the backbone. Among the few who had been born to rule at the head of the table.

As quickly as his smile graced his lips, all charisma and pleasure upon greeting her, it dissipated. To business, and work.

“I wish that were the case, but no.” A momentary touch of belaboured theatrics as he slipped into his seat, releasing a slight, bereft sigh. The wine, he noted with an appreciative glance, had been expertly selected. One of his favorites. Considering he’d arranged for this meeting, he found his curiosity piqued by the possibility that Madison had come primed with her own agenda. “No developments on the Silver case to report, unfortunately. I have every one of my people on the hunt, however, and there’s only so many places a rat can run in this city.  –––– From there, we narrow down our options.”

From there, they had to begin pointing fingers within the Coalition.

[justicemadisonporter]

The Silver Case.

Currently the bane of Madison’s existence, as well as attempting to come up with an apparent replacement for Damien’s position. While it would have to be decided upon at the next meeting, Madison had yet to be swayed one way or the other. Redeeming factors could be found in each, and were she to be the deciding vote, she wouldn’t yet be able to make a decision - another situation she hated being in. After the disaster that was Carlos Estrada, new choices for the Coalition had to be carefully sought. 

“Yes.” Madison confirmed over the rim of her wine glass. She had known Luciano long enough to know where his mind was wandering. Someone within the Coalition seemed most plausible. Or at least someone with a connection to it. It was difficult to proceed with caution while a traitor may be among you. But they would have to smile and play along until such a time as the killer could be found. 

And Madison would make them pay. An attack on the Coalition was an attack on her.

“Keep looking. Though you know I’m doing whatever is in my power to keep the case overlooked so we can handle things quietly.” She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Coincidentally, I need you to find out some information for me - something usable should I need leverage.” Asking Luciano for blackmail wasn’t uncommon, after all, especially when she wanted it to stay between them. “You remember our dear friend, Mr. Crenshaw? He’s taken some interest in Damien’s case.”

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[king-windsor-blog]

“Please, Justice, you flatter me. A man is only as good as the company he keeps.” The old adage took on new meaning with his public image, the light in the car low and the windows tinted to discourage anyone who took notice of its passengers. He had had to trade school companions, girlfriends, relatives, those he cared for who courted scandal for those who would not time and time again. If — no, when — all those things Adelaide had done were revealed, and it came time for him to cut her off and burn the place she had been, he would have done it a thousand times, to people he had liked a thousand times more.

Madison Porter had a prestigious name, a clean record, and he doubted a clever woman like the one next to him would bring him into an orgy to celebrate the year’s end, but he had made the calculations: several years her junior, the son of the monarch who ruled her, he was playing a dangerous game keeping her as company. Andrew leaned towards her anyway, accepting her compliment and paying one of his own, smiling in a way that showed his teeth.

“I have to say, a few hours ago I wasn’t entirely sure black was the right colour to welcome a new year, but you’ve made it look absolutely stunning and I can’t regret being your match at all. To hell with trends,” he crossed his legs and reached down to adjust his trouser cuff and his laces, glancing outside for a moment, met only by darkness, before turning back to his companion. “There’s a certain timelessness to a velvet dress for the holidays, don’t you think?” 

The polite banter stuck in his throat, something for him to roll his eyes at when he remembered it later. Insipid. Boring. Politics would be too much, and he carefully guarded his opinions of Parliament and the parties, as he had to, anyway, and nothing else to say came to his mind. Which left unoriginal, safe affirmations.

‘A certain timelessness.’ Some part of him began to hope it was a coke-fueled orgy they were hurtling towards, much as he knew he would run the second he stepped over that threshold.

[justicemadisonporter]

“You are fortunate enough to attract excellent company, then.” 

Madison made note of how receptive he was - those who thought themselves above her often were haughty and standoffish in their believed superiority. But Andrew almost seemed to crave the attention she gave him, as though he had never received it growing up. Or maybe it was simply that he could not stifle the desire for it. Either way, it worked in her favor. 

Her hand retracted from him, settling in her lap as he crossed his legs, fiddling with the cuff there. She watched - she was always watching - and smiled at the mention of ‘timelessness’. “Yes, it seems traditional, in it’s own way. Though I’ve heard talk that it’s making it’s comeback. Especially if the press were to catch you wearing it - they’d be fools to not follow your lead.” The statement was casual, flattering, but not as twisted as it could have been. From what she had seen so far of the young man, he would make a powerful leader. And the title that he was not likely to receive - the Crown - was not the only way of ruling. 

The car slowed to a halt at the address Madison had given. Madison didn’t move from the car, waiting until the driver came to open the door for them. She hoped that the Prince would at the very least find the evening entertaining. As a rule, she had avoided anything filled with press or incriminating in the slightest. She’d also avoided her normal crowd of politicians and lawyers - she had noticed how Andrew had been in the court house. No, this was more private sector - a party that men like Dante and Luciano would frequent, which was how she had heard about it to begin with. Power players, but ones without allegiance except to themselves. She preferred that, and perhaps the man beside her would as well. 

[devilalchemy]

CIVIL BLOOD MAKES CIVIL HANDS UNCLEAN // M & L.

@justicemadisonporter

After the wife who had found him strangled in his own bed and the paramedics, the third person to discover Damien Silver was dead had been Luciano Venturi. The benefit of having eyes and ears scattered across the city from the highest tiers of government and law enforcement to the gutters and filth-ridden alleyways. A member of the Coalition, dead. At first, Luciano had assumed it a prank. 

Bloodless, bewildering, and leaving a trail of debris made up of endless questions and non-existent answers, Damien Silver’s death was above all, an inconvenience.

If the Coalition were devils playing god with the lives of men, then to kill one of their kind should’ve been sacrilege. Yet without the omnipotence of their affiliation made public knowledge, not all members had the luxury of being untouchable. Silver was a CEO, the head of a highly lucrative and profitable business with any number of enemies with knives concealed at their backs who eagerly step right across his ruined corpse given the opportunity. Even the wife was not free of suspicion. A grieving widow could play at the game of harrowed mourning for as long as she needed with her dead husband’s fortune at her disposal. Too many suspects and not enough leads, that was the problem.

Luciano Venturi wasn’t fond of murder mysteries that he hadn’t orchestrated himself. 

The enigma made him impatient, and more significantly, the threat  ––  unintentional or not  ––  was unforgivable. Luciano may have had no love or loyalty for the man but he was Coalition. That made his life sacrosanct. In his death, he would be avenged, and the culprit caught, sentenced and executed. 

There was no better place to discuss matters of conspiracy and calculated murder than his favorite restaurant in the city. A standing reservation every few weeks with a justice in a private corner of the establishment where their clandestine meetings would go unnoticed and unseen, with a staff fully briefed and silenced by generous tips. He was running late this evening, tied up in a matter that couldn’t be postponed, a fact that he knows wa bound to infuriate the moment he shows his face. Brandishing his most charming smile, he approached with a velvet-lined apology on his lips.

“If I’d known you’d get all dressed up just for me I would’ve made absolutely sure to make it here on time.” Playfulness laced in sincere chagrin as he let his gaze sweep lingeringly across her with a tease. “Captivating as always. I’m sorry I’m late.”

[justicemadisonporter]

Luciano was one of the few people that Madison believed she could truly trust in the Coalition. Each person was there for their own reasons, for their own benefit, she understood that all too well. But she thought the two of them had an understanding of sorts. Luciano managed to do his business, and Madison had a powerful enforcer. If Madison needed something done, or needed dirt found, she knew that she could turn to Luciano and no real questions would be asked. 

As the man approached - this was his restaurant, his scene, and he walked through it like he actually did own the place - and she smiled at his approach. She had already waved down the waitstaff before he had arrived, and a glass of wine waited for him. Madison knew how to please - especially when she had a favor for a friend to ask.

“Please, I just came from court.” She waved her hand dismissively, though a smile remained on her face regardless. As it happened, she had primped, if only because she had known she would be meeting with Luciano. She knew that the man, much like most of the members of the Coalition, appreciated something to look at. She played the part that each of them wanted - with Luciano, the old saying came to her: look the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it. Lady Macbeth knew all too well. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure today, Luciano? I hope some good news?”

[maleki-tahan]

“I assume you plan to make it exactly so?” He hadn’t missed the way the woman’s hands drifted over her own curves. While the skirt clung tight, something told him that the fabric itself didn’t do the Madison’s body enough justice. This had to be some sort of twisted entanglement, but the more Julian calculated it out the more he started seeing Madison coming out worse and worse in the aftermath. No one would trust her again if they were to hear she was sleeping with lawyers in her division so what Julian couldn’t understand exactly was why. That setback didn’t weigh enough in his mind to deter him though as Julian stood from his seat, buttoning up his jacket once again, and moving to the front of his own desk to lean just a bit.

His eyes drifted along Madison’s body from top to bottom admiring the way she stood with power even as she was heading towards the door after a rejection. “I suppose if you came all this way to see me it would be rude not to entertain you for at least a bit. I have plenty of work to do, but courtesies must be held at as much a high regard. So tell me, Madison, what exactly is it that you are trying to propose here?”

[justicemadisonporter]

She saw him watching - bait dangled in front of him. Men were easy in that way. Like animals who couldn’t avoid the temptation of meat once they had the scent. And she thought that finally Julian had caught it. While his eyes moved over her in a familiar way, the bile in her throat was only tapered slightly. Men had stared at her like that for most of her life. And she had to invite it at times - it was required, manipulating men and the occasional woman. They could stare, but Madison controlled the cards. No one took any more than she gave them. 

His voice raised again, the insinuation there, and god, the obnoxious look on his face. It was so pompous. She turned back, stepping forward and towards his desk. She stopped just shy of it, hands resting on the wood. “Propose? Nothing in the slightest, Mr. Crenshaw.” She paused for a moment, before her lips curling up. “I think it entirely has to do what you want. So tell me,” she said, leaning forward again, “what is it that you want?”

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

He had heard the first fireworks — misfires, surely, it was far too early for London to be celebrating a new year — as he was getting dressed, tying the bow at his throat to the sound of an explosion on the Thames, pausing and straining to look out of his window and see if there was anything visible on the horizon. The sky was dark, its usual state in December. Bored without anything to focus on, he turned back to his mirror, straightening his jacket after reaching up to fix his hair, narrowing his eyes at his reflection. The justice had said black velvet, and Andrew hadn’t lied when he had told her he wanted another excuse to wear his bespoke Gieves & Hawkes, but even with a tie that matched his jacket, the whim to throw away his plan, flouting Madison Porter’s expectation of obedience, had forced itself into his thoughts. 

Even thinking of changing was, at this point, useless. He had an image to maintain, if he was really going to spend his night among strangers who knew him without introduction. He needed to live up to their expectations and be their Prince Andrew. The handsome, charming, intelligent, perfect, completely together son of their beloved queen. Madison almost certainly held him to that gilded standard, and after the arrangements had been made for his security detail, he felt a vague sense of obligation towards his own personal enigma. 

Always judging him from afar, it felt like, from the moment he had stepped into her office and questioned her intent. The desire, as much has he had pushed it down and starved it, to give her something to judge had yet to fade. It stayed with him as he had slipped on his coat and left his flat for his car, tapping his mobile against his thigh with his legs crossed. His driver had been given an address, but that and his safety having been guaranteed aside, Andrew knew little of what awaited him. The justice had agreed to meet him, and as the car moved in the darkness of a London street towards a rather ordinary building he could see her waiting. 

An apology for his non-existent lateness — he was early, if anything — was the first step, extending his hand with a sheepish smile. “Really, I’m usually so punctual, I apologise to have kept you out in the cold for so long.”

[justicemadisonporter]

Cold air whipped around her bare legs. She didn’t seem to mind, of course, she had spent her entire life bare legged. Stockings, her father had told her, were for weak women. And Madison knew that she wasn’t weak. A little discomfort was the price that a woman like her paid to be entirely well-respected. She had insisted on black velvet once again for the little get together that she had invited the crown prince to attend with her. But she couldn’t exactly wear the same outfit she had worn to the Winter Ball. So this time, it was a short black affair, classy but just revealing enough. 

The car pulled up in front of her, and Madison’s brow raised as the door opened. The first words out of his mouth were an apology, though as far as she was aware, he had no reason to be. Where his sister was normally quite full of herself - in Madison’s experience of her, of course - Andrew seemed immediately apologetic. It was interesting. Perhaps he was more modest than his sister. Or perhaps it was an act. Either way, she appreciated it. It was impressive. 

She took his hand, allowing him to lead her into the car. “Think nothing of it, dear.” She told him - if he was going to apologize, she certainly wouldn’t deny him the apology. Her eyes surveyed him once she was sitting beside him. She noticed that the bowtie was different, but the bespoke remained the same. She smiled at that - he had to be at least somewhat contrary it seemed. She could appreciate that. Her hand reached towards him, brushing the shoulder of his suit again, mimicking the act that she had done at the Winter Ball. “You look dashing, once again.” 

[diamond-marcel]

“What exactly do you think is going to happen when I call the club owner and make a complaint?” Selina’s voice as high and shrill as she was digging into the sad and confused server in front of her, the man trembling in surprise. He hadn’t expected her vocals to jump two octaves, but then again, no one did. “Gaston is an old friend and I’ve been making appearances in this club since before I could legally drink! So, what do you think your boss would say if his favorite customer was denied rightful service, including the free drink policy he offered me, hm?” He shrugged,his mouth opening to speak. Selina being Selina cut him off. “I didn’t think you knew either. Now, if you would be so kind, be a good little boy and get me my appletini, lime and cherry garnish like I asked for five minutes ago!” She soothed her voice and smiled. “Thank you.”

As the waiter rushed away in embarrassment, she flipped her hair with a sigh. “Why, in this day and age is it so hard to get good help these days?”

[justicemadisonporter]

Madison hated clubs. She hated the thumping base of it, she hated the dim lighting and flashing lights, the people pressed up together. It was entirely unseemly, but the again, Madison was an old soul in that way. She had agreed to discuss business ventures, not get drunk with the younger woman, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t sip purposefully at the glass of whiskey that was brought to her. While Selina ripped apart the waiter, Madison had already made her way through a 60 pound glass of scotch. 

When the woman finally turned back to him, she wondered if this was the woman she wanted. Katherine was ruthless in a quieter way - one that reminded her of Madison herself. But Selina knew her worth. She would be fiery, assert her thoughts, but she could be molded. A firm hand, much like with the Estrada boy, and Madison could have a fine soldier on her hands. But time would tell. 

“Because you keep coming to low class establishments, Selina dear.” She informed the girl, taking another sip of her drink. “I’m sure I could find you a better club with better...appletinis.”

[marcelloventuri-blog]

Ill-advised. The words made him scoff, loudly and unapologetically. Most times, he knew better than to do that dance with women like her — women in their crisp dresses with their hair neatly in place, their lips painted on as if they were waiting for the chance to leave their mark on the collar of some rich fuck’s crisp white button-down. Women like her didn’t want men like him — at least, that was what he assumed they told themselves in an attempt to quell the animalistic instinct to let go; who better to forget about the plagues of aristocracy with than a man who couldn’t even pronounce the word?

“That’s what you all say at first,” he scoffed as she strode past him, her head held so fucking high as she sauntered through the door and onto the sidewalk. He followed, his steps not nearly as calculated as hers. To have made it out of the building without tripping over his feet, considering how quickly he’d poured half a keg down his throat, was an impressive enough feat. With a wave of her hand, a car pulled quickly up to the curb — the same act would’ve taken him twenty fucking minutes, but people here knew her. They respected her. Fucking figured.

Save for slipping the driver however many bills it’d take to get him out of there, her job was done — but she lingered, hovering before the open door with quirked brows and an intrigued smile that disappeared the moment he’d noticed it. He wasn’t done here just yet. Marcello approached the car, if only to appease her, but his feet remained planted before the open door — the second he sat down she’d send him away, that much he knew. “The first open pub he can find me,” he shrugged, giving the woman an honest answer. He wasn’t done yet; the insistence of an asshole of a bartender was hardly enough to kill the buzz he’d worked up. “Unless,” he continued, his own brows piqued with shameless insinuation, “I’m not leaving alone. In that case, it’s back to my place.”

[justicemadisonporter]

She desired to inform him that there were no other women like her - that she certainly wasn’t an ‘all’. But she thought that getting into an argument over semantics would only cause trouble with the drunken and aggressive man. She knew the Venturi’s - she knew what they were capable of. Luckily, Marcello didn’t seem to know what she was capable of. That was probably for the best, he wouldn’t think she was a threat. But she would know at least that she was important enough that someone would notice she simply went missing. 

Her lips narrowed when he said he was going back to the pub, but then came the real line. Of course, a man like Marcello used lines like that. She shouldn’t be surprised. She gave him an appraising look, then slipped into the cab. Glancing up at him, looking expectant. 

“You best give him your address then.”

Perhaps it was a mistake. But Madison was a woman who always made calculated risks. And yes, this was a risk, but it certainly was calculated. Marcello Venturi perhaps didn’t have the influence that her brother had. But he could make a powerful ally, or even a useful pawn in the game that she played. It was always handy to have a killer around.