a pair of cold hands to hold

i. no children, ii. no murder, iii. no mark ❦ dilshad fleur marie boissière dove ❦ interrogation specialist ❦ unmarked o'shea ❦ hummingbird cake & brown sugar ❦ rosewater & cigarettes

[glamoroussource]

golshifteh farahani for les inrocks photographed by renaud monfourny, 2014

[justxdove]

day-dreamcrs‌:

Lady.. what the fucking hell are you doing? 

There was a warning that sat right at the tip of his tongue; ready to take off at any given moment. Yet it didn’t. Griffin simply watched as this brave soul dared to crane upwards to reach the cat. Alright, sure, Butters could pass as an average tom at a glance, but that creature had the meanest mug a feline could ever have. Not to mention the immediate spats of hisses and low growls once a hand comes into view. 

Maybe, just maybe, this lady was a miracle worker. Maybe Butters wouldn’t be too keen to turn feral the second she got too close. There was certainly a kernel of hope that sat in his chest, but it promptly withered away when he saw the telltale signs show itself. 

Ears flattened, bits of fur started to puff up, and that godawful hiss began. “Oh, he’ll get down alright. Just might be at the cost your face and his claws.”

Oh, she noted Butters’ ears flattening. She knew all the warning signs thanks to her own gravely impolite cat. Most likely Fancy was sitting at home his satin pillow on the windowsill, judging whoever on the street below dared to walk past. She would give Butters his space. But the hiss still forced a short laugh from her all the same, “Is that so? What a ferocious beast you are.”

She turned to glance down at the stranger, “It would be fine, honestly, I’ve seen worse.” She lowered herself from the chair, “My cat is the same, he only tolerates me because I spoil him.” She was talking too much, but maybe it was nice, for once, to just be... normal. Or as normal-ish. Most people weren’t willing to kick off their shoes for a cat. And this was Chicago. Who knew what this man was up to. Her mother used to tell her to expect everyone to be just as skilled at what they do as you were. That way you’re never surprised. Dove’s reality hit her when she reached the ground, “Anyway. Unless you want to sacrifice your jacket, this is all I can do for you.” She moved to slide on a heel, “He will come back to you when he gets hungry enough.

[day-dreamcrs]

status: open ( neutral grounds ) | @crimsonstarters​

“Get down.” His tone was nothing but stern, and the look upon his face was downright menacing. And for what? All because Butters thought of himself as king. The tomcat merely peered down at him; tail slowly swaying to fro from his perch atop of the awning.

It wasn’t until another person came around, did the feline perk up. Clearly interested in the other instead of him at the moment – probably out of spite if Griffin had to guess. His lips thinned into a scowl, but he wasn’t actually angry with Butters. Just peeved out of his goddamn mind that he couldn’t wrangle the cat himself when his foot was still recovering. “I’ll give you a twenty if you can help me get that cat down,” he said, this time to the newcomer rather than the feline.

[justxdove]

Maybe, somewhere, hidden under years of trauma, Dove still longed to become the Disney princess of her dreams and convince cat she was an ally. If her apartment allowed it she’d have more than one. They seemed to get each other. 

She had noticed the man and the cat before he noticed her, bringing a hand up to her lips to cover a small smile. “...” she glanced up towards the awning, “-- What is the name?” In all honesty, she was just happy to interact with the tomcat, it was a much-needed distraction, clicking her tongue at him on his perch. Her voice was soft, “Salut, joli...” She glanced around her, stealing a chair from the closet outdoor seating and kicking off her heels before hoisting herself on top of it. She reached careful fingers out to the cat to smell, “My boy is going to be so jealous.” She was mainly speaking to the cat but glanced briefly over her shoulder at the man all the same, “He is very handsome.” Returning her gaze to the feline, “Clever thing, how did you get up here? Can I bring you down?”

Sometimes she forgot what her own voice sounded like. This was the most she had spoken all day.

[justxdove]

@brenhannigan​

Dove looked forward to her wine dates with Breneghar. Maybe too much. What had once become an occasional knock on his door, unannounced and overwhelmed, had become something planned and... Often times still overwhelmed. But besides Amelia, Breneghar was the only one she’d think to go to. She enjoyed good food, good wine, and good company. The first she could provide, the second he knew well, and the third they worked together to nurture over the past couple of years.

She was Dilshad with fewer people than she could count on her fingers and Breneghar was one of them.

She always brought more food than they would eat that night, making sure the man had meals he could heat up throughout the week. How many dozens of macarons she brought over would depend on her mood.

A small smile tugged at her lips when his door opened, “For a second, I thought you would leave me in the hallway.” holding the bags out to him, “Pour toi. I would have baked more but I ran out of sugar.” a short laugh, “Which is a stupid problem nobody has as frequently as I do.”

[fletcher-hargrave]

Aggravated by Acorns | Starter

[justxdove]

fletcher-hargrave‌:

As if Dove’s touch singed his face, he swiped her hand away with some irritation and took a step back. It was childish, but she seemed to reduce him to the actions by just her manner. Fletcher kept the frown on his face as she continued to play on the fact she knew how to get under his skin. God help anyone else who had the ability to do that. Hargrave didn’t offer her the satisfaction of an answer - Dove was well aware what she was doing. 

Fletch was not at all appreciative of any version of the stupid nickname. No matter whether he made that clear to her or not, if she hadn’t left it behind already - she was never going to. The man had comes to terms with it; he just didn’t like it. Dove was just lucky he liked her. His grin was yet to return.  When he realised she was getting comfy on the grass, his face hardened and his tongue slid along his teeth with growing aggravation. He was trying to find the humour in her words and anything he would have responded with would have likely been virulent - so he bit his tongue. 

Fletcher only eased off when he watched her expression become that of dislike. “It’s fitting,” he returned. Fletch had always considered Dove to have a weapon hidden in her words; something he respected her for. She didn’t need bullets, she had a tongue that could do more damage than even a gun. “You’ve seen grosser,” he added, matter-of-fact, the slither of his smirk returning at being able to at least return the dislike of a nickname. 

He released his arms from across his chest and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. “I’ve been busy,” he murmured, patting his pockets for a light. “why, do you think I should be trading lead for acorns?” he quipped before sparking up the straight in his mouth. The spark in Fletch’s hues made it obvious that he was letting the glimmer of amusement return to his actions. 

Oh, Dove really did it now. He was pouting. She gave him a look,

“Come on, hm?” patting the grass next to her, “Don’t be that way.”

She leaned back against the tree, exhaling through her nose, “Maybe.” Guns were loud, she didn’t like the noise though she knew how to use one, expertly. Anyway, it wasn’t really her M.O. As far as messy was concerned she had... too many options in her tool belt, each less seemly than the last. Usually reserved for the most difficult of people. Lately, most were difficult, “So I invest in plastic and tarps and things to make it less...” gross. Waving a dismissive hand, “If it comes to that. I do well with just words.” Dove ran her fingers through her hair, “It is a fitting nickname. Good job. Is that what you want from me? Validation?” She patted her pockets for a cigarette and finding none held out a hand to the man for him to place one between her two fingers, “...I think I never see you anymore.” She paused before admitting, “...And then I worry.” It was just the nature of their line of work. One day you’re there, the next... “You know I am very good at it.”

[justxdove]

richieoshea‌:

The smile on his face widens even more so at the sight of Dove, the old school boy crush he had on her disappearing years ago and replaced with a fondness comparable to that with anyone he deems as family. It’s a little embarrassing really, but what his siblings lack in affection, he tries to siphon it off of her. Like a leech.

The woman moves without drawing attention to herself, but Richie catches her in his sights. He always does. Waving away the other employees that look on for more instructions, he approaches Dove, arms wide for a hug but then forming into grabby hands as he spots the present. “Oh shit, is that for me? You really didn’t have to, what the hell,” he lets out an embarrassed laugh, having never been used to Dove’s sentiments. Richie still goes in for the embrace as he grabs on to the box, relishing in the way it eases all of the tension he didn’t even know was building. Within seconds he has the wrapping paper ripped off, eyes widening at the sight of art supplies. “Fuck, is this your way of telling me I gotta make you something new,” he asks, voice wavering. One of Richie’s biggest insecurity is his art, hence his profession pointing towards that of a restorer. While he does do his own sketches every once in a while, an original painting of his is a rarity, usually thrown into a dumpster if Dove doesn’t get her hands on it.

He wipes away the emotion from his face — he has to man up now, after all — and takes a look around the room. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s just a random order of chairs, I swear.”

Family.

Dove didn’t have any ““real”” family left. So she would spoil Richie to make up for baby brother she never got to have. Any semblance of a schoolboy crush when right over her head. Because it was Richie. Who she loved dearly but in a pinch your cheeks kind of way. But he wasn’t a baby anymore. Today was a reminder of that.

She smirked, “I always am hounding you to make me something new. Better,  you could paint with me? We could have a little date.” She paused, smile faltering, “I have... been slacking. Honestly.” She hadn’t picked up her paints in a while. She really needed to be working on a new body of work, getting into a new gallery, doing... something other than just. Well. O’Shea business. Maybe she was depressed.

Dove pulls her attention back to him when he rips at the wrapping, eyes seeming to smile. In the box, the metal of a vintage watch face glinted under the light, “I know you never knew him.” She began, softly, “And I never speak of my parents, really. But my father collected many beautiful things: chess sets...old coins...” she motioned towards the gift, “Watches. He used to say he wasn’t fully dressed until he had one on. I remember that.” A shrug, “I’m rambling. Anyway, I thought you should have this one. It looked like it was made for you.”

He could always make her smile, “I’ll take you word for it. Now that you’ve been promoted you won’t forget about me will you?”

[justxdove]

micahontherun‌:

Her voice was disconnected, and it made Micah wince. Frustration or anger weren’t foreign things to her, especially as of late, but even then she felt guilty every time the strong energy was directed at her. Micah simply nodded, turning her attention back to the empty road beneath her. The comfort she’d felt moments before fading away with every second, gravity seeming to shift and make her feel heavier. She didn’t mean to make this woman stop, her intentions were only good, but they were always only ever good and where did that get her? 

So she put on a smile, and let out a short laugh. “Well, rest assured that’s not a headline you’ll see. And if it is, it’s not me.” She turned her attention back, craning her head to look up at the woman beside her. Even Dove’s posture read ‘this is an obligation’ and that made her stomach turn. Micah quirked up an eyebrow, debating giving a fake name, but what was the point of that. “Micah. Yours?” She was placing bets on whether or not Dove would answer the question or brush her off and keep walking. It was late and this was no emergency. There was no point in her staying. 

She watched the woman ruffle, watched her play everything off with a laugh. Then sighed. Her own body deflating to the ground. She did not swing her legs under the railing. Instead, she opted to cross her legs, one arm resting on the barrier of the overpass to keep her head up, the other limp in her lap.

“Dove.”

She paused, looking over the landscape of cars and city in front of them, “So. Do you come to sit on the sides of bridges often?” Returning her gaze to the woman. Micah. What a pretty name. “There are much better places to spend your time.”

[justxdove]

dove boissière { mood board 001/??? }  - general

↳ “People look at you like you’re weird, but, you know, I’ve always been a little weird, so it’s no big deal.”

[fletcher-hargrave]

Aggravated by Acorns | Starter

[justxdove]

fletcher-hargrave‌:

Well, fuck. The words ricocheted through Fletch’s head for a second time in a minute. As he watched the acorn fly, he could see clear as day who it was making a straight line for. Dove. There was a tearaway feeling that flushed through him about whether it was a good thing it had been an ally - or a terrible one because she’d grill into him like an overbearing sister would. Hargrave often considered Dove the sibling he didn’t really want - but adapted to grow to tolerate, even if they wound each other up incessantly. It’s not like you talk to your actual sister, is it? They had years of long-time friendship under their belt and because of it, she became one of the handful, once again, that he wouldn’t raise a gun to. Though, the way he’d seen the acorn plonk its way across her forehead made him press his teeth together and just as she did, Fletcher kept his silence for that additional moment. Now he was trying not to grin whilst she crossed the distance towards him.  “Oh, I know,” Fletcher assured, finally making it clear that he was amused by her misfortune. “I’m a good shot, I can’t help that,” he added with a shrug, knowing full well that Dove was going to understand his manner; his demeanour. Then, as if all the humour had been sucked out of him like a vacuum, his face dropped. Mouse. Fletcher loathed that nickname; constantly wished it had stayed in France with them, or better yet, never came about at all. Dove was the only one to keep her head to call him it - anyone else would end up in a shallow grave, very quickly. It was also well known, Fletcher didn’t do apologies very well. Reluctantly, he took the acorn and curled his hand around in with some intensity. Hargrave kept his eyes on her for a few extra moments, even when her attention changed to his literature. “It’s about honour in the Roman empire,” he murmured, his tone now agitated and the previous acorn incident seemed gone in the wind. Fletcher turned back to her, arms folded across his chest. “some premise about imperialism crushing it,” he added with a waver, not far enough to read past the obvious within the book. “Not at all your cup of tea I doubt, langue de sang,”

Dove had this way of attaching herself to people, shrowding them under her wings and naming them her adoptive siblings because she had none of her own and valued family above all else. Fletcher was one of those cases. And she would undoubtedly do near anything for him.

She’d give him a hard time about it (and like hell she’d ever let him know she cared about him) but she would all the same.

She poked him in his cheek, fondly, when he frowned, “Oh, what happened?” it was her turn to smile, the corner of her lips pulling upwards just so. Half smirks were all she could offer nowadays, “Just a moment ago you had a shit-eating grin on your face. Ma petit souris des champs. Did I upset you?~” she cooed at him.

Setting her items down in the shade a short, light laugh fell from between her lips, “Yes, because I only read books of romance and whimsy...” crinkling her nose, “Langue de sang. It only gets grosser. I hate it.”  She was the only one allowed to tease in this relationship, didn’t Fletch know? She paused, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, thoughtful. “...How have you been? You never text me so I have to ask. Is throwing things in the park a new pastime of yours or am I just special?”

[horrorhooligans]

[justxdove]

↳ “Eyebrow game strong? More like eyeBAG game strong. I’m fucking exhausted. Haha lol.” 

[fletcher-hargrave]

Aggravated by Acorns | Starter

Location: Chitown Park Time: 17:37 Open: All.

There was still light streaming down from the sky, despite the clouds that moved in tandem above Chitown and obscured the sunlight every few moments. There was no denying that the sky was greying, darkening as the early evening began to roll in. Fletcher was gradually losing the natural light that offered him the ease of reading the black ink printed on the pages of Roman Honor; he’d eventually found the time to begin flicking through it since he’d swiped it from Chicago Library.  Hargrave glimpsed upwards towards the dwindling light, the cigarette propped between his lips, the cherry burning orange as he took a drag absently. He was lounged on the grass, partially shielded by one of the Park’s trees. Another reason it’s getting darker, you’re in the shadows. His mind reminded him the reason for it was to keep out of the way of anyone intending to interrupt him. He was sober - for the most part, still a little half-cut from the beers he’d had earlier on his walk; stopping at a bar was almost customary by this point, but he was lucid and alert. Clunk. Fletcher’s train of thought was quite literally knocked off course, one hand snatching the straight away from his mouth whilst the other darted to the top of his head to find the source of what had just smacked his skull. His eyes saw the acorn roll along the tufts of grass next to him even before he found the location of the bump amongst his hair. With some irritation, Hargrave glared at the fallen nut as though it was single-handedly responsible for murder.  Then, as if another culprit played a part, he twisted around to glower at the tree just off where he was sprawled with his book. In some kind of vengeance - and childish temper, he flicked the cig from his hand towards the tree like it was powerful enough to set the whole thing alight. Obviously, it wasn’t. Rubbing his head a little, he moved to grab the acorn, felt the heavier than normal hunk of tree spawn with growing annoyance and launched it like a weapon across the park, a little satisfied for his agitated behaviours.  Fletch hadn’t considered where he’d decided to throw the fallen item and as he followed its path, he noticed it was bee-lining straight into someones path as they headed along the public pathway. “Well, fuck,” he muttered, knowing that he’d just brought the attention to himself after trying to avoid it all afternoon. 

[justxdove]

There was little Dove got all that excited about anymore, honestly. But the farmer’s market? The farmer’s market was definitely sacred. She was carrying a bag of produce, enjoying her chai latte and minding her own damn business when it happened. She had been humming. Humming! OH! Dove was in a great mood! For once in a long time, she was CONTENT with her grapefruit and asparagus. No thought of work. No parinoia. Just the mellow croon of Nat King Cole. Until...

It was like in those action films when everything went in slow motion. She saw Fletcher in the distance, saw him pull back, saw him release something from his hand that was barreling in her direction and because she was in such a good mood and because she had her hands full with apples for baking and delicious sweet caffeinated beverage she had no time to cover her face.

It wasn’t like she had been punched or anything, but the whole ordeal left a little indent in her forehead, just between her now furrowed brows. If it had been a bullet she’d be dead.

There was a moment of silence, “...” slowly bending to pick up the attack weapon and return her gaze to the man across from her.

“...I want you to know...” She began, closing the distance between them, “As we are in public, I will refrain from retaliating.” She held the acorn up between her thumb and pointer, “But I am, completely, engulfed with rage.”

She held the acorn out to him, placing it in his palm. Sleep with one eye open tonight, Fletch. Then used her finger to tilt the book in attempt to sneak a peek at the cover, “What are you reading, Mouse?”

[milohcrding]

     The rain drummed its fingers on the low tin roof, the sound echoing across the empty space of the boxing gym; harsh and sharp against his ears. The boxing gym was a place Rourke often found himself other than The Pint when he needed to unwind, or occupy himself with something other than the gurgling sound of somebody choking on their own blood from his last kill. Rourke had found himself here more often than not since his father’s death, his grief and the weight of the loss driving him to seeking release from his skin splitting on his knuckles as they struck the punching bag instead of finding solace in somebody else’s bed.

(  It wasn’t the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but it beat the alternative. )

Each strike of his knuckles against the leather sounded like a clap of thunder, masking the squeaking of the swinging doors and the footsteps on the vinyl flooring until he felt their presence behind him. ❛❛ You looking for a demonstration or somethin’?  ❜❜ He pressed his lips together, voice wringing with indignation; stormy blue eyes fixed on the punching bag.

━━   🔫 ┊OPEN STARTER ┊ @crimsonstarters​

[justxdove]

It was just a fact of its life that her little cozy apartment was not meant to act as a gym and a home. It was one or the other and Dove opted for more of a comfy abode and less of a work out facility. Thus, she was forced to go to the gym. She didn’t... dislike working out. But she swore that anyone who claimed to enjoy it was lying. It was fine. It was something she needed to do. It allowed her the space to clear her mind. Which seemed to be the general consensus of the O’Sheas: Anything to drown out the screaming.

She had heard the sound of knuckles against the bag, pausing in the doorway and debating if she should just come back later. She knew the back of that head. And completely ignored the offer for a demonstration.

If she had the energy she would audibly scoff.

“Rouke.” It was something of a greeting, “That is your name, yes?” She glanced at her watch, “I can come back... Later.” Unless this man planned to be here for ages in which case they would just have to share. Worst case scenario but c’est la vie. 

[hcmmersnstrings]

She should be home. Micah knows she should be home, this lock down has everyone safely tucked away behind the walls of their apartments, houses, mansions, whatever. But it had been too nice of a day for her to stay inside and even after the sun had set, and the wind chill picked up, she wasn’t ready to go back. Micah decided to wander the city, the empty streets too quiet for her liking, but silence was never something she was comfortable with on her own. Once she realized her feet were hurting, she decided it was time to head home, retracing her steps, and eventually coming to the overpass that connected two sides of the city. She paused, looking over at the road, normally so busy but tonight was bare. After a few more moments, she took a seat on the ground, sliding her legs through the railings and letting them freely swing over the side. The empty space and knowing there was a drop sent pangs through her legs, but she kept them there, humming along to the song playing through her headphones. Thoughts ran through her mind, so inviting and comforting, and she got lost in them for awhile. No tears came, no sobs or fear, just pure comfort as she stared down at the empty road, her feet and knees aching along with everything skipping around her head. It took a moment, but she finally noticed a shadow standing over her, looking up at the stranger, their features not super visible with the streetlights back lighting their features. “I’m sorry, can I help you?” 

[justxdove]

Dove was forever, exponentially, more comfortable with quiet than noise. Usually, after a night’s work, her mind was too loud, too clouded, to think about dinner or continuing her book sat open on her chair at home. Home. Not yet. The silent streets were a weighted comfort she could wrap herself in. She took the scenic route, having already suffered her soiled clothing into her backpack, one hand securely in her pocket, the other flicking a cigarette butt onto the overpass.

She saw the woman there, sure, and kept walking. She had to feed the cat. And it wasn’t in her nature to stop. For anyone. Especially not when she wanted nothing more than the comfort of a warm cup of tea and a purring animal on her lap. And yet, here she was, pausing paces away from the woman. Turning around only when she was called to.

“I would be annoyed. If tomorrow, I wake up and turn on the television and they say: ‘someone jumped off  the overpass last night’ and I did nothing.” More annoyed even if she had been caught on some security camera as the last one who passed and the Chicago P.D. came looking for her for answers. This was an inconvenience, frustrating as she herself had been sitting on an overpass before. When Dove was much younger. Maybe when she was this woman’s age.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned her hip against the rail, “Your name?”

[justxdove]

↳ dilshad “dove” boissière { bold survey }

PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty / depends on who’s asking

medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged.

class: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure / unknown

education: qualified / unqualified / studying

criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no (she doesn’t get caught.)

FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / open / single / divorced / separated / verse dependent

has a child or children / has no children / wants children / verse dependent

close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased

orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / other

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between (organized at work, organized clutter at home)

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional (ish) / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured / in between / unknown

loyal / disloyal / unknown

faithful / unfaithful / unknown

BELIEFS:

monotheist (maybe? kind of?) / polytheist / atheist / agnostic / other (makes “i dunno” sound)

belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know (hopes so) / don’t care.

belief in reincarnation: yes / no (hopes not) / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in aliens: yes (she has a tin foil hat somewhere I’m sure)  / no / don’t know / don’t care.

religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious / other (makes “i dunno” sound)

philosophical: yes / no / maybe

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / demisexual / asexual / pansexual

sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable.

romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable.

sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious.

potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes (she likes a nice glass of wine every now and again) / frequently / to excess.

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently (too often, she thinks) / to excess.

other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

medicinal drugs: never / sometimes  / frequently / to excess.

indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

gambling: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

[shirazade]

Golshifteh Farahani photographed by Olivier Metzger

[richieoshea]

It’s a signifier of his current mental state that Richie’s going for the big, the brash, and the utmost dumbest way to make the announcement. The initial shock has worn off and he’s left with an itching feeling to do something about the news. He knows he doesn’t deserve the promotion, knows that people will think he only got the job through name alone and while he’s not even sure he wants it, Richie needs to let everyone be aware of it. With a hand on his hip and the other on the megaphone he somehow acquired, the young O’Shea barks orders at the hotel employees, ensuring that every piece of furniture is placed just so. He doubts anyone would figure out the chairs are placed in a way that it takes the shape of a penis but it’s the principle that counts.

The banner behind him reads “slightly less of a disappointment” and while it’s shoddy at best, it’s what he could do in such short notice. He’s deep in conversation with the clown he’s managed to hire when the first guest comes through the doors. “Welcome,” he greets, arms open wide. “To the Richie “Guess You’re Not So Much of a Fuck Up” O’Shea extravaganza! Alcohol’s over there. I know that’s what you’re really here for.”

open: O’Shea and affiliates location: North Coast Hotel recreation room

@crimsonstarters​

[justxdove]

Maybe Richie could be... A lot™ sometimes. Maybe he was loud and positioned chairs in the shape of penises. These were his truths. But Dove would forever be endeared to him. She beamed with pride at the Richie O’Shea originals hung with care in her home.

It was in character for her to slip in quietly, early. Enough that she didn’t need to interact with anyone else that might make an appearance at what would undoubtedly be a ‘Richie O’Shea Extravaganza’ (Or R.O.S.E. for sort). She could weasel flowers into anything, Dove, it was an art.

Now, Dove would never come to such an important event empty-handed. No. She came bearing gifts. Namely, a neatly wrapped box in her hands topped, of course, with a pretty arabesque bow. Her voice was soft, “Chapeau, Richie.” They all had their thoughts on their line of work, but if there was one thing that made Dove happy, it was doting over someone she loved. Holding out the gift to him, “Open it. Quickly now, before too many people arrive.” She waited for him to take the parcel from her, eyes scanning over the room.

Clicking her tongue, “Why do that to the chairs? You little monster.”

[justxdove]

@crimsongodss​

Whenever Dove returned from a particularly brutal job she scrubbed her hands till they were raw, then baked. And when she baked she baked enough to feed the entire city of Chicago. Thus, this afternoon, even more than usual, her apartment smelt of heaven. Which was lovely even if she was up to her knees in pies.

Baking to relieve stress led to more stress. She should know this by now. It was the way of things.

“...Cherry. No... Custard....” Her pie server hovered over one pastry, then the next, “No.” She didn’t flinch when her door unlocked, she knew it was Amelia.

Fancy weaved around her ankles, trotting over discarded vinyl and under easels, around the plant stands and antique furniture to greet their visitor at the door. He mewed at her, rolling over to expose his fluffy white belly. The cat didn’t go out of its way for most people but seemed to have taken a liking to Amelia.  

Dil spoke without turning away from her sugar babies, staring at her. You did this, Dilshad, there’s too many of us. There’s  t o o  m a n y !  “Why do I do this to myself, Mimi?” Cherry, Custard, Cherry, Custard, “Maybe I finally lost it. Shut-in found buried alive in sea of pie, that would be the headline.” A pause to consider this, before, finally, pulling her gaze away to greet her friend.

“Cherry or custard?”