A Sombra Do Rei

Marcelo Rodriguez | 29 | Mercenary for hire | Current job: Babysitter

[marcelorrodriguez]

👫 ( as Melanie )

@derrieuxmelanie

Marcelo has occasionally come back to visit Melanie to assist her with the occasional photoshoot. He’s not entirely sure what the big deal is but she seems to enjoy using him as a model and he has little reason to complain.

Marcelo has absolutely no idea about what Melanie is talking about once she starts going off about other fashion designers, but he appreciates her passion for the subject.

Melanie is not yet aware of Marcelo’s actual occupation. He decided to roll with it.

Marcelo has yet to tell Gabriel that him and Melanie are acquainted, but he’s also unaware that Melanie and Gabriel are friends. Unfortunatly that also means that Melanie doesn’t know about Marcelo’s past history with Gabriel. It’s a bit messy.

[marcelorrodriguez]

is there anyone who catches your eye? you are too beautiful to be single

“Well I haven’t been exactly single the whole time, but it wasn’t something that was meant to last in that way. If we’re talking as of late…well I did run into someone while on a job and she was…yeah. But keeping an eye on Lorelai is taxing enough, even if she has been acting strange.“

( @derrieuxmelanie, @lorelaidegenhardt,  @gabrielvbeaumont )

[marcelorrodriguez]

@princessrosales

The bar was one that Marcelo had only gone to a handful of times, mostly because his working hours didn’t often leave him time to get a drink before closing. But it was a rare day off after a stressful week and nothing sounded better than a cold beer and a night without constantly worrying if he’s have to go chasing after the person he was supposed to be protecting because she had no concept of staying still. 

He was working on his second drink, feeling more relaxed than he had been in a while, when he noticed a gaggle of university students stumble their way into the establishment, likely drawn in by the temptation of a good drink and the loud thump of reggaeton playing throughout the bar. Marcelo could hardly blame them for their choice- this place was a gem in the neighbourhood. He studied them as they approached the bartender, bombarding him with new orders, but the sudden occupation of the seat beside him had not gone entirely unnoticed. 

The mercenary turned his head slightly, supposing that he might as well share his better mood while he was off-duty. “Buy you a drink?” He asked the woman, offering a faint grin. “It looks like you came in with quite the crowd. I don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts before.”

[marcelorrodriguez]

@charles-rothschild​

Every now and again, Marcelo would accompany Lorelai on her visits with some of the weathier families in New York. The Rosales family, the Golightlys, even if his ward had rather questionable tastes, she did float around in a rather elite circle of friends, but that did not mean she could go visit said estates without protection. No, her father had been explicit in his orders when he had been hired in the first place. Where Lorelai went, Marcelo was to follow, and apparently that meant that today, he would be meeting with the Rothschilds.

Marcelo could hear the chattering of Lorelai and Alexandra in the other room, but he was not so inclined to sit in on their discussions. The last time he had done so, he had been bored half to death with their endless chatter. At least out in the hall he could pretend as though he was doing something worth his time.

But the appearance of a well-dressed man walking towards the room forced him out of his thoughts a moment, guard instincts kicking in at the presence of a stranger. Marcelo studied him, a nagging feeling tugging at the back of his mind. Had he seen this person before somewhere? “Sorry, but I’m afraid this is a private party. Pretty sure I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I let you pass.”

[marcelorrodriguez]

@rosales-javier​

Marcelo was on edge entering into Cartel territory. Even if it was his job to guard the Degenhardts, which required the kind of gear the foreign dignitary was unlikely to provide, it made him uneasy. He had known the Cartel when he had been a ghost in South America, and they had been a fearsome bunch. But their American counterparts? The stories of the Rosales family were urban legend and frankly nothing but trouble. Even if he was only passing through for a quick supply run, the mercenary didn’t trust his luck as of late.

The warehouse near the Del Barrio Hookah Lounge was the best place to go to find weapons, as far as Marcelo was aware. Weapons that couldn’t be so easily traced by the authorities, which didn’t require much more than cash to acquire. In and out, nice and simple. Or at least it would have been if he hadn’t recognized the man who was just leaving the building. Fucking hell, O Ceifeiro. The bloody fucking Reaper himself. The only reason why Marcelo even had an inkling of who he was had been to avoid him where possible. The last thing he needed was to get on the bad side of The Capo’s mad dog. 

But necessity trumped self-preservation, he needed those supplies and there was only one way to get to them; by getting past Rosales. “Olá amigo, o armazém ainda está aberto não é?” Marcelo wasn’t quite sure how well his Portuguese would translate to Spanish, so he opted to switch over to English. “I came here looking to buy. I heard this is the place to go when you want to get a bit of extra firepower.”

[marcelorrodriguez]

@mariexevers​

The Golightly gala, while a disorganized mess by the end of the night, had been remarkably good for driving up the demand for high quality mercenaries. It seemed as though it wasn’t just the snooty upper-class business mongers who wanted an extra bodyguard or two; the seven mafias that ran the city were practically jumping at the opportunity to purchase more manpower to protect their territories. For a mercenary like Marcelo, who straddled a very fine line of neutrality among the many criminal organizations in the city, it was a gold mine.

Given that his landlady had mysteriously disappeared, he needed to pick up a few extra jobs to pay the bills, and the Shadow Mob seemed to have something in mind.

The Queens Yacht Club was rather excessive, if anyone had bothered to ask for Marcelo’s opinion on it, but he could certainly see the appeal of the location. The space was considerably large, and given the number of guards in the area, well-protected. Still, if given the choice, the mercenary would have much preferred a subtle meeting place. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“I’m here for Marie Evers. You think you can call her out?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

gabrielvbeaumont‌:

If it were up to Marcelo Rodriguez, the party likely would have ended mere minutes after the birthday girl had arrived, and everyone would have worn matching sour smiles and grimaces. And that was precisely why Gabriel liked the other man as much as he did; a kindred spirit, if you will. Another thorn among a bed full of roses. As he made his way over to his acquaintance–friend, perhaps, if Gabriel was familiar with using such a term–he noticed that Marcelo’s expression only smoothed out slightly. He took no offense in his friend’s sour mood; after all, Marcelo had never been particularly skilled at disguising his distaste for things. Rather, he wore it plain on his face, like an angry smear of paint splashed across a canvas.

“Poor thing, being paid to look after spoiled brats,” Gabriel cooed, following his gaze around the room in search of Marcelo’s job for the night. A socialite, and likely a handful, if Marcelo had been assigned to her. “I could always find a way for you to work in the gallery in a more permanent manner, you know, but you’ll have to stop looking like the centerpiece of a Botticelli Inferno painting. Though Damien could always go for the look, personally. He’s always liked tortured things.”

Gabriel glanced around the party, his nose crinkling slightly as he took in the decor and opulence of the evening. No, no–Marcelo was right; it was hardly something he would have attended, had he been given the option freely. Had work not called to him. There were many places Gabriel could envision himself being on a night such as this, and a party was at the very bottom of his list.

“Far too much glitter and pastel colors for my taste,” he answered honestly, coming to lean up against the counter behind them. He tilted his head towards Marcelo, his eye roll reaching unknown depths of exasperation. “I am here for work, unofficially, though I’m a hair away from grabbing a butter knife and scooping my own eyes out, mon ami.”

Admittedly, the offer to work for Gabriel full-time was rather tempting given how much of a migraine Marcelo had suffered that evening. “Obrigado, Gabriel. I’ve no doubts that you’d find me quite useful in the gallery, holding up paintings and the like.“ Marcelo smirked, knowing fully well what it meant to work for the gallery. Mafias and their endless strings were not something he wanted to get involved with in the long term, but the offer was an appreciated one, especially coming from someone he considered respectable. “...But until this job is over, I’m at her service. Perhaps if you find a way to convince Miss Degenhardt, we can come to a more permanent arrangement.” 

Marcelo could see the gears turning in his companion’s head as he assessed the room with distaste, no doubt judging it against every high standard the curator held. Indeed, he was about as well-suited for this place as Marcelo was in the gallery; fitting, but not quite correctly. “Yes, well, you seem to have no small number of work friends walking about tonight. I recognized a few, though I made certain that they didn’t see me. Force of habit, we’ll say.” It was almost a pity that The Garden Hotel was neutral territory, but at least it kept the truly dangerous guests on something of a leash that night.

Although, the sudden rain of gunfire seemed to tell him otherwise.

A bullet flew by, shattering a glass along the counter as a colourful expletive left the mercenary’s lips. He ducked down, sharp gaze flickering to Gabriel as the screaming started. “So much for ‘no guns’, I guess.” Marcelo looked for Lorelai in the crowd, and his stomach dropped when he realized that she had disappeared from his sight. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. The stampeding was getting worse, and he could catch the telltale sounds of returning gunfire a little further ways into the ballroom. Where was she?

“We need to get higher ground, scope out what’s going on. We’re not going to be able to get through that crowd any time soon. ” The mercenary murmured, calming as the chaos rose around him. Combat was something familiar, something he knew well. A few bullets wouldn’t scare him easily. But with Lorelai being out there...well, his job security wasn’t looking so good. Given that he couldn’t do anything for her for the time being, he focused on the next best objective; getting Gabriel somewhere safe. “We’re going to need to find a different way out. I suppose it wasn’t your people who set this off, was it?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

audroux‌:

“Your housemate most certainly is married to me.” Audric countered right off the bat. He remembered that stupid Craigslist ad he had tried to intercept, but his man was too late and apparently this man took it up. Or maybe this was Andrea’s new lover when she thought she was truly divorced. Was this why she was up his ass to sign the divorce papers? Who was she bullshitting here? He got increasingly agitated as he sat there. “Are we talking about the same woman..Well,.” He took a sharp breath and glanced at the butter knife. Tempted almost to throw it towards the man. It was the more simpler plan of eliminating someone close to Andrea, a situation that he didn’t like. 

“Andrea ‘Call me Andy; Shepherd. Missing her fucking ring finger, because she didn’t think she would get married. Let’s see, she’s a neat freak. You’d get more emotions from the face of a Lucky Charms cereal box. Diet consists of Scotch and Gummi Bears, except the ones that taste like pineapple. Hates those. Knows lots about art from her mother, whom was a curator. Fucking loves the Yankees. Treats her motorcycle and guns like her children, but will shoot first. Always. So no one can shoot her. Enjoys crossword puzzles. Enjoys midnight swims.  Enjoys jazz music surprisingly, plays the piano and the saxophone. Birthday is Halloween which means she’s a pain in the ass Scorpio. Keeps a baseball bat under her bed, so she can get the drop on someone before she probably reaches for her gun and shoots them.” Audric leaned back in the seat slightly still toying with the knife in his hands when his probing gaze turned back to Marcelo.

“So let’s try this again Fabio. Are you fucking my wife?”

Marcelo’s skepticism was hard to hide, eyeing the hostile gentleman warily. “...right. I’m sure she was a great fan of the attitude.“ He deadpanned, tensing ever so slightly as he felt danger lurking close by. This man was dangerous, but to what degree, the mercenary was uncertain. At the very least, it was enough to warrant a number of red flags going off in his mind, which was never a good sign. But as he rambled off miscellaneous facts about Andy, to a degree that even Marcelo could not follow, it seemed as though he was not only being truthful, but very much convinced that there was something going on between him and his housemate.

“Consider me corrected. You’ve clearly got it bad for her, if anything.” Yet his clear absence from any and all of his past conversations with Andy continued to bug him. It was something he would have to bring up with her at their next post-midnight meeting, in however many months it would be from now. Regardless, hearing that ridiculous erotica novel name again had him scowling even deeper, if possible. “Marcelo, actually. If you’re going to insult me, at least come up with something original. And frankly, I have no interest in your wife. Yes, she’s good-looking, but we’ve got our own...arrangement.“ Namely trying to politely avoid each other during working hours, but Marcelo had no inclination to tell him that. Instead, he leaned forward; a quiet challenge. “I suppose you’re here to threaten me, or something? You may have picked the wrong guy for that, amigo. I don’t scare easy.“

[marcelorrodriguez]

lorelaidegenhardt‌:

@marcelorrodriguez

The boy she was dancing with, was definitely, for sure, not her date. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t even really sure who her date was – or, for that matter, where he’d gone. They’d color coordinated, shown up together, and a minute later, they’d been drinking. And Lorelai had probably stayed at the bar longer than he had, and he’d vanished. Probably off with some chick that wasn’t her. And Lorelai Degenhardt did not mind one bit, because she was having the absolute time of her life. The Garden had been completely transformed. The various ballrooms all seemed to have a different kind of music, each for a different sort of age group. There was ballroom dancing for the classical snobs, and more upbeat music for the younger generation like Bunny Golighty’s friends. Lorelai wasn’t exactly Bunny Golighty’s friend – they’d kind of sort of grown together, in that weird my dad knows your dad way – but she was certainly grateful that the girl had managed to get some decent music playing throughout the otherwise selective playlists available for the night. 

Lorelai could waltz, and salsa, and all of that – but it wasn’t exactly drunk off your ass kind of dancing. This dance, on the other hand, was. The strangers arms were wrapped around her waist, and as he twirled her and they ground – the classy kind, of course – on each other, he’d been sneaking kisses on her neck and trailing his fingers lower and lower as the beat thrummed. It was exhilarating – Lorelai turned to press her chest against his, but when she did so, she caught sight of unmistakable hair. 

“Oh, hell no.” Her partner looked a bit puzzled. She didn’t bother apologizing as she slipped from his hold, pausing only to take a champagne fluke from a waiter’s trey. Locking eyes with her body gaurd, she knocked it back, set it down, and promptly shot him a bird. A second later, and she was thrusting herself farther into the crowd, a devious, drunken giggle bubbling in her throat. 

That’s right. Screw the man. She was damn tired of burly men dealing out her father’s orders. If he was going to try to drag her out of here, he was going to have to work for it. She didn’t look this good to go home before it was even midnight. 

Marcelo was on edge. Everywhere he looked, vaguely familiar faces appeared out of the crowd of the elite. Killers, mercenaries, mafia men, they were all here that night, baring their teeth at one another and shaking hands with too tight a grip. He knew many of them, whether it had been from serving as a former client or because he had nearly been on the receiving end of their bullets, and it didn’t settle well with him one bit. In every room he went to, the underlying tension between the powerful mafias was unmistakable. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped and turned the overdone soiree into a bloodbath; Marcelo would have bet on it.

And there was Lorelai Degenhardt, oblivious to everything. She was out there now, dancing with some no name trust fund brat who thought he had a snowball’s chance in hell with her. Unlikely, given how she had already gone through two or three other partners in the span of the past hour. Each one, if he was being honest, was marginally worse than the last, and his mood kept souring with each flirtatious smile she shot their way. The first few prospects he had managed to scare away by standing close enough, but with each drink, they were getting bolder, and therefore far more annoying to deal with. It was even worse with the socialite herself. 

When she finally noticed him (though he had been shadowing her for most of the night save a few interruptions), Marcelo scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he stared her down. “You’re not getting rid of me, princesa, we’ve been over this.“ As clever as she thought she was, running away from him into the throngs of drunken guests, Marcelo was an expert at tracking people. Even under the flashing lights and sweat-slicked bodies of the many dancers on the floor, he could have been able to spot her anywhere. There was no other woman more eye-catching, or more fucking irritating than her.

The bodyguard cut through the crowd, deftly avoiding elbows to the gut and heels unintentionally aimed at his feet. She was quick, he would give her that, but he was quicker. Crushed among the guests, he shot a hand out for Lorelai’s wrist, pulling her closer before she could get away again. His other hand went to her waist, knowing fully well she would try to twist away from him if he gave her the opportunity. “Lorelai, enough.” He growled, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You can’t keep running from me forever. You need to stay close.”

[marcelorrodriguez]

a-shepherd‌:

She was terribly, horribly bored. As it turned out, there were still a few favors she owed out there, and that’s how she found herself at one Bunny Goliathy’s ostentatious birthday, doing the work of a deputy and helping keep an eye on all the alleged felons that were crawling through the crowd.

You’d think this was exciting for the Marshal, who was always itching for the opportunity to slither closer to the underbelly of the beast that was New York, but after the initial scope Andy felt she had a rather decent handle on the event. Nothing had blown up, no guns were pulled, and though the petting zoo was certain to make things interesting SHOULD shit hit the fan, there was surprisingly little pandemonium. 

She was in the midst of examining the champagne flute she’d managed to swipe from one of the wandering servers when her gaze stumbled upon Marcelo. He was at the other end of the room and hadn’t quite noticed her yet - and perhaps the only reason she had noticed him was because he was practically attached to some small blonde thing that was considerably louder than him. But as she wondered what exactly her roommate was doing here, Andy felt the blood in her veins turn to ice as paranoia crept through her. Here was a possibility she’d never considered before: maybe Marcelo wasn’t a model. 

So Andy was bored no more. 

She’d pulled out her phone, and in about ten minutes had signed up for Instagram ( ‘andyshep’ boring really, and as to be expected) and found his account (accidentally hit the ‘follow; button and then immediately hit ‘unfollow.’) She’d done a preliminary search of the man when she’d accepted his roommate application, made sure all of social media handles came out clean, but now, for the first time, she was scrutinizing it - as if she expected to find something incriminating in one of the pictures of those perfect abs .What was a model’s instagram supposed to look like? 

It was around then he’d noticed her too and managed to saunter over. She quickly stuffed her phone away. 

“Andy.” She corrected his greeting. ‘Andrea’ was a thing her late mother and former husband were allowed and the count ended about there. Her given name warranted a level of emotional intimacy that Mr. Rodriguez, whose eyelashes were most likely like brambles if you took a step too close, hadn’t quite earned. In truth, it was an allowance that her Craigslist roommate would probably never earn and Andy was losing no sleep over it. 

‘Didn’t strike you as the type to enjoy these kinds of parties‘

“Oh, I don’t.” She joked in the dry way that she did, clocking his tone and matching it. “My band’s playing the event and I’m here for the free drinks.” 

For a second she’d considered going with: ‘I’m here to get my ex-husband to sign the divorce papers he apparently never did.’ But decided that was a can of worms she didn’t want to open just yet. Perhaps there was a part of her that was enchanted with the idea of her striking up fresh chapter, away from Audric, and perhaps that was why she scrutinized Marcelo’s Instagram page so closely - was this new life she’d constructed for herself already threatening to fall apart?

“You clean up nice.” She pointed at the drink. “What’s your poison for tonight?” 

The bodyguard had nothing against Andrea as a person. If anything, he very much preferred their odd sidestepping of one another around the house when they just so happened to be home at the same time. But he had never been exactly truthful with her when it came to the interview to get the room in her house. “Andy.” He repeated calmly, eyes flickering over to Lorelai and her not-very-much-of-a-date and considering whether he could afford a distraction. Given her current preoccupation with the free champagne, he supposed it wouldn’t be too much cause for concern just yet.

He tilted his head at the mention of a band playing, realizing belatedly that this was her idea of a joke. Marcelo almost grinned at her, though the motion felt stiff to him. “Oh yes, that one you like to blast across the house, yes?” He tossed back, his tone as deadpanned as ever. The only sounds that ever seemed to echo in their home was that of rustling papers or someone washing dishes, if even that. “They’re good on vinyl but much better live.“ 

At the mention of his appearance, he looked down at the suit a moment, giving a half-hearted shrug. “Well, it’s kind a prerequisite in my line of work, but thanks anyway. You’re not too bad yourself.’” It had been fortunate that he had managed to find a well-tailored suit at the last minute. A few quick shots added to his somewhat obscure instagram (@m_rodriguez), with a careful avoidance of his face and he had hoped that Andrea would have remained none the wiser about it. He hadn’t expected to actually see her in person, but Marcelo was glad to have been prepared. “You could always give the modelling gig a shot, if you ever grow bored of policework.”

Marcelo looked down at his drink a moment, swirling the contents in contemplation. It was probably strange, to be avoiding alcohol at an event like this given his ‘occupation’. A full lie would have been too obvious, so he opted to twist the truth a bit. “Ginger ale, actually. I’m a designated driver for that one.“ He pointed to Lorelai, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as she continued to blatantly ignore him. “You could say we’re...acquainted. I just wanted to make sure she wouldn’t get into too much trouble.” There. Enough of the truth to hopefully pass her test. “Did you come with anyone tonight? Or did you ditch them at the door?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

audroux‌:

@marcelorrodriguez

Audric had been keeping his eyes and attention on many things that evening. The elusive diamonds were something that could propel his plan to overturn Nathan quicker than he had anticipated. However, there was an irritable itch at the back of his neck in the guise of his wife and the stranger she seemed to be speaking with. He didn’t know the man as Cole, which quickly turned the key to his jealousy. He knew he didn’t sign the papers, and that meant in his mind that Andrea was still his. He knew that she had put out  an advertisement for a roommate on Craigslist. Hell, he had almost had one of the soldiers unwittingly take it to keep his eyes on her .

This stranger had his blood boiling and his knuckles twitching with anticipation. Just like the mob he was the Underboss, he stepped back into the crowd. Away from the rest of his crew, apart from the NYPD that knew him as Cole. Until he had found the perfect moment to pounce. After his wife had exited the picture. Audric approached the table drink in hand, and his overwhelming irritation echoed with the audible ding of the glass on the table.

Dark eyes narrow at the man to his left. Hands move to twirl one of the butter knives not collected by the servers. “Hello.” He finally spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes move to make sure Andrea isn’t going to pop up like a wild Pokemon in the grass. Once he’s almost certain she isn’t, he speaks again. “Mind telling me what is the deal between you and my wife?”  Casually applying the pressure of his thumb against the tiny teeth of the knife in his hands. 

Andrea’s interrogation had, quite understandably, worn Marcelo out to an uncomfortable degree. If there was one thing to be said about his housemate, she was one hell of a persistant detective when something bugged her. It was an admirable trait given her line of work; he just didn’t appreciate it much when it was directed at him. Despite having survived a number of intense combat situations in the past, the sigh of relief when she was well out of earshot was something that he felt was well-deserved.

And then somebody else showed up. God dammit.

This gentleman, whose sour mood seemed even worse than his somehow, was not someone Marcelo recognized, so the very fact that he had made himself at home at his table was already enough to raise eyebrows. The bodyguard had thought he was doing a fairly good job with the ‘fuck off’ aura, but apparently it wasn’t good enough. “...Hello?“ It came out as more of a question than a greeting. The confusion only escalated when the accusation was shot his way by his housemate’s...husband? 

“You must be mistaken, amigo. My housemate isn’t married.” Of course, he had never bothered to ask either, but the idea seemed surreal. Still, given that this was a man with a butter knife in his hand, it seemed as though he at least believed whatever it was he was saying. “I’ve been living with Andy for months now. She’s never mentioned you whatsoever. You sure we’re talking about the same woman here?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

gabrielvbeaumont‌:

( &&. @marcelorrodriguez )

As loathe as Gabriel was to be here this evening, even among the rare few he had the privilege of considering his friends or, at the very least, pleasant company, he knew it would only be a small matter of time before Damien became distracted with other people and he could manage to sneak out and away to his hotel room. There was a fascinating documentary on the rise and fall of the Russian Empire he’d noted the Garden currently had available for rent, and Gabriel had every intention to take advantage of the amenities offered by the five-star hotel.

He’d spotted a familiar face among the crowd, likely as sour at the prospect of being dragged to the social event as he was, and so–finishing his glass of red wine–Gabriel abandoned his glass in favor of making his way across the room, to where he’d spotted a familiar mop of dark, unruly hair.

“So, they’ve managed to leash you for the evening,” he said smoothly, a whisper of a smirk just barely gracing his features. “Have you sold your soul to the bourgeoisie at last, Monsieur Rodriguez?”

American parties were so boring. The way that food was laid out so neatly, far too sweet and mild for his liking, the way the orchestra played slow, droning songs, even the way that the socialites spoke with one another, all barbed words and fake smiled irritated Marcelo. For an event that, as Lorelai had repeatedly mentioned, was supposed to be the event of the year, it was nothing compared to Carnaval. How was this supposed to bring a year’s worth of gossip, or whatever it was his charge was interested in? 

All it did was give him a feeling of homesickness.

But while Marcelo was perfectly fine with spending the rest of the evening sulking, counting down the minutes until he could put an end to Lorelai’s socializing and go home, it seemed that fate decided to toss him a bone. The bodyguard didn’t smile exactly, when he heard Gabriel’s approach, but his dour expression did become mildly less so, and that was a significant improvement for him. “Not by choice. Class wars don’t pay rent very well, I’ve discovered. Babysitting however, is quite lucrative depending on who the kid is.“ He shrugged half-heartedly, glancing over at his friend and occasional contractor. 

“But what brought you here? This place isn’t what I would call your...aesthetic.” No, when it came to Gabriel, there were always layers of subtext involved. It was one of the reasons why he was so interesting to work for, on the odd occasion the Corsicans needed outside help. Even without formal schooling, Marcelo knew that he was the sort who enjoyed finding meaning behind the many art pieces he kept and traded in, no matter how esoteric it was for the mercenary’s comprehension. “You must admit that this place is lacking, yes?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

 @a-shepherd

Marcelo wasn’t the sort to enjoy high-class parties. If anything, the gross displays of opulence combined with the uncomfortable number of trust fund babies made his trigger finger itch in nervous anticipation. Of course, he hadn’t imagined he could keep the Degenhardt heiress from every social event, but at the very least he had hoped that this was one that her father would have been more likely to decline. Much to his misfortune, that wasn’t the case.

And so he was stuck in an uncomfortable suit, sipping soda and remaining painfully sober while his ward flitted about looking to make a scene. His eyes drifted past the designer gowns and pin-striped suits, memorizing faces as they passed for future reference. A few he recognized from his other occupation, which only served to irritate him further. He knew a number of them to be more than capable of causing some serious trouble at the party, but so long as they stayed away for Lorelai, there were no reasons for him to engage with them socially. The fact they were there at all, however...that was something of concern.

Yet in the midst of his surveillance, he spotted his housemate among the sea of vaguely-familiar faces. Marcelo nearly choked on his drink in surprise, a cold feeling of dread coiling up in the pit of his stomach at the sight of her. Of course, of course she had to be there too. Why the fuck should he have expected anything else? 

The bodyguard considered his options briefly before reluctantly approaching. It was far better to be the aggressor in this case, lest she hound him for the rest of the night. “Andrea.” He said curtly, raising his half-empty glass in greeting. “Didn’t strike you as the type to enjoy these kinds of parties. What brings you here?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

TDR Event #1 - A Star is Born - Marcelo’s Outfit

Much to Marcelo’s annoyance, Lorelai Degenhardt was one of the expected guests at the Golightly party, which meant that he would have to go by default as part of his work. The bodyguard is not out to impress anyone tonight, his sole mission to make sure the ambassador’s daughter doesn’t make a colossal fool out of herself in a crowd of hundreds. Regardless, he has put some of his modest savings away into a decent suit for the occasion, as it is far easier to blend in by looking good at these sorts of events.

[marcelorrodriguez]

a-shepherd‌:

She had plenty of home invasion nightmares about her parent’s estate (technically hers now. She was still getting used to the possessive.) but none of them began like this. Those always started off with a dark night and her being accosted by some killer that had been living on one of the floors or wings they never went to. Andy remembers not too long ago, how she’d walked home to find the front door ajar and the lights on. Her heart had seized with fear, not for herself, but for her roommate. The panic set almost instantaneously and though she’d spent spent plenty of years in a field that required a cool head in such situations, it didn’t mean she didn’t feel things like anxiety and fear. She went around New York picking too many fights for her to expect there there to be no repercussions. When it was just her, she could buckle down on the front porch with just a shotgun. 

Life, Andrea decided, became so much more complicated when you had something to protect. 

In the end, the front door fiasco was just former roommate forgetting to close the door behind him. He’d even passed out before he could charge his cellphone - thus missing her frantic phone calls-

Anyway, that was the reason he was her former roommate. 

The new one, the one that had been here for a few months, certainly hadn’t done anything as stupid. One might even say Andy found his company pleasant… even if the whole model thing made her eyes want to roll right out of her head. She absolutely judged that career choice but the short frame of time during which she had to fill the empty spot in her house meant that it was either him or some college drop out that was going to do nothing short of make meth in bathroom if her deductions were correct (she was a U.S. marshal. Her deductions were usually correct.) 

So here Andrea was, living with a model. There were days when the bitter, petty side of her soul hoped her ex-husband somehow heard about it.  

She was in the living room that night, case files spread out, with her own mind and body pouring over them. Her phone, which had been playing early years Pat Benatar had lost its juice an hour ago and now sat on time out, plugged into the wall charging. 

“Hey,” she said after snapping to attention and then remembering there was, indeed another person living in this house. Shoulders down, but guard still up - that never went down. “Yeah. Late night, I guess. You’re fine, I was just - ”

She waved her hands around towards the pile of work as if that was enough of an explanation.  

Mr. Rodriguez was, apparently, night owl too. Andy’s insomnia kept her up, but she hadn’t expected him to share that with her. A short jab about beauty sleep sat on the back of her tongue but it died there too. The three to four months of camaraderie they’d struck up meant that Mr. Rodriguez was spared it. In many ways that was true friendship from Andy. 

Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes the marshal took one last look at the photo that had held her attention for the better part of the last hour and sat up a little straighter. Fuck it. 

“Hey…” She repeated, pulling his attention now. “Can I borrow you for a second? You’ve seen a true crime show before, right?  Like… Law and Order. Buzzfeed’s true crime series. Anything…?”  

Again, model. She kept it simple. She just wanted a second pair of eyes, here, in the dead of night. Andy flipped the photo in hand up towards him so that he could see it from her spot on the floor. This was against protocol of course, but fuck it. It was 3 in the morning. Some protocol could go out the window.

“Does that look like suicide to you, Mr. Rodriguez?”

Neither he, nor his housemate talked much. In fact, talking really wasn’t their thing. Marcelo couldn’t blame her, given that she was in some sort of law enforcement and he had gone for the most asanine, yet technically true excuse as a professional model. He had already accepted money to stand around and make the room ‘more appealing’ for some art show or another after all. That was basically modeling, wasn’t it? It was hardly his fault that she seemed to believe him outright.

Marcelo paused regardless as she addressed him, surrounded by piles of papers and photos of varying levels of violence displayed as clear as day before them. His eyes darted down to the case she seemed to be working on and nodded slowly. “Yeah. I, uh, I get it.“ It was like staying up at night long after his shift for the watch had ended, consumed by thoughts that something out there was waiting for him to shut his eyes in order to take him by surprise. The annoyance of realizing that it was nothing but a lizard scurrying under the dense forest growth, or a monkey tapping against the wood of a log to gather insects. The U.S. Marshall before him looked very much the same as those soldiers, staring out angrily, ready to pounce with no target in sight.

His brow furrowed at the mention of watching a true crime show, (Law and Order? What was that?) but nodded nonetheless, since it seemed to be the reaction she wanted out of him. “I know the ones. What about them?” The question had barely slipped past him before a photo was abruptly shoved into his face. A few unpleasant Portuguese curses nearly rose up, until the image itself caught his attention. “...A suicide, you say?”

He took the photo from her with care, sidestepping her sprawling mess to get closer to a source of light. Marcelo looked at it closely, studying the positioning of the body, the way the rope was tied around their neck, and the layout of the room. The longer he looked, the more he started to frown, perplexed. “...But that can’t be right. The ceiling’s too low...” The mercenary mumbled to himself, looking around him for other photos. He spotted the one he needed on the table, placing the photo side by side as he considered them together. 

At last, he shook his head, looking up at Andrea. “It’s not. The bruising is wrong, and the broken neck? You can’t get that from the height of that room. Whoever they are, they didn’t die by hanging, but it does look professional. My guess? There was a hit on them.” Marcelo concluded, briefly realizing how out of the norm it would appear for someone like him to have such knowledge. “I get home late. Law and Order is usually the only thing on. I guess some things stuck.” He lied smoothly, shrugging his large shoulders. “Who is this anyway? Some case you’re working on?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

lorelaidegenhardt‌:

Feeling quite proud of herself for that creative little insult, the man immediately moved to the back of her mind. If he did his job like the rest of them did, he would just follow behind her and end up where ever she wanted to go. Not – and she wouldn’t stress that word enough – where she was told. Where she wanted to go. So when his thuggish hand closed around her arm and stopped her in her tracks? She could only blink. She had to hand it to her dad. This guy – as pretty as he was – was by far the boldest of her guards so far. They hadn’t dared touch her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d slept with two of them. But that was because she’d given them the OK. As brutish – and tall, and dark, and handsome – as this guy was, he didn’t get special privileges just because he thought he was hot shit. 

The motion has caused her to jerk slightly, the heel of her bootie wobbling ever so slightly as she steadied herself. Her eyebrows knitted together, because, well – she was generally stumped for a moment. Who the hell was this guy? Who did he think he was? She had to hand it to her dad. As pretty as he was, he was by far the boldest of her guards so far. The others  hadn’t dared touch her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d slept with two of them. But that was because she’d given them the OK. Not the other way around. As brutish – and tall, and dark, and handsome – as this guy was, he didn’t get special privileges just because he thought he was hot shit. 

“Um, paws off, creep.” She told him, finally blinking out of her momentary lapse. She jerked her arm free, a stubborn hand moving to her hip. “My father doesn’t get a say in what I do, or where I go, m’kay? He’s across the world. Grüße aus Deutschland! Or is your hair too thick for you to hear properly? Get with the picture, or get lost. I have things to do.”

The bodyguard felt the way she wobbled on impractically high heels as he stopped her in her tracks, but if her profile was any indication, his fight was far from over with her. He would have smiled at her outrage, had he not felt the telltale signs of a migraine already forming.  “And that’s where you’re incorrect, princessa. I got specific instructions from your father to make sure you stay out of trouble, and last time I checked, I’m not on your payroll.” It was rude, excessively sarcastic even, but she hadn’t given him any reason for politeness since he had arrived. 

“Look, if you have a problem with this, take it up with him. I don’t get paid to deal with your daddy issues. I’ll carry you back if I have to.” It was far from an empty threat. Marcelo had faced far worse horrors than some sorority princess type from the big city. “I can hear just fine, thank you very much. I just don’t speak colonizer. Now are you going to behave like a proper adult or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

[marcelorrodriguez]

dravennappo‌:

“No these waivers stop botched jobs from happening. People are more careful when they see what can happen to them if they mess up. Plus if any police come sniffing around, I just move up my annual shred day.” Draven smiled as he took the pen.  He sat back and let him look through all the papers. Usually the people came in here just signed them and left, he appreciated him taking the time to read things over. 

“Worrying about the small details is my job because often the small details are what are going to fuck you over if you ignore them.” 

Despite himself, the mercenary grinned, amused by the lawyer’s tactics. “Then it makes more sense. I was wondering why I wasn’t just emailed a contract, but I suppose some things require a hard copy, yes?“ It was more reassuring, to know that the slick tactics would ensure his anonymity as much as he could get away with. While not all of the conditioning made sense, or was particulary relevant to him, it was clear that Draven was a man who took his job seriously, and that was something worth respecting. 

“You’re a funny man, Draven Nappo, to protect an organization with paper alone.” Marcelo said, finally picking up a pen and scrawling his initials on the dotted line. It wouldn’t matter if he was tied to it or not- no member of law enforcement would be able to track his steps anyway. But if it meant a few month’s worth of rent, then he would leave this temporary trace behind. “I do hope you have something more substantial to protect you against more...hands-on clients, yes? I would offer my services, if I was not otherwise preoccupied.”