WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

I’ve got nothing left to prove ‘Cause I’ve got nothing left to lose See me bare my teeth for you

[misflung]

River Alexander van Rensselaer Masten, 28, has called Coronado home for all their life. As a professional stay-at-home son (this man does not have a job), their world is steeped in weighty, metallic credit cards, ultra-fine white powder encased in a gilded cigarette tin, and an expensive penthouse suite devoid of any personality. Often found bouncing from one place to another, overstaying his welcome until he’s kicked out, they move through life with Who Are You, Really? by Mikky Ekko in their ear.

Read his dossier here and DM me on Discord (@​​userhalimuyak) for plots!

[tjdelbosque]

It happens in a flash.

One minute, River's fist is flying towards his face. The next, that arm's twisted at an awkward angle behind his back, and his cheek is pressed flat against the tabletop.

If the speed of it surprises him, he isn't the only one. Teodósio blinks, trying to trace his thoughts back to that split second between action and reaction. He hates River. Hates that he succeeds where most others fail — provoking responses out of him seemingly at will; blind and reckless impulses that slip past all his normal checks and balances.

He releases the man's arm as if he's been burnt, easing back a step. "Get the fuck out of here, Masten... Difficult as it must be for you — go find somewhere you're wanted."

[misflung]

River’s shoulder throbs where it was twisted, but the pain only sharpens his focus, winds him up like a toy. He pushes himself up from the table, jaw clenched, pupils still blown wide. “Nah, I’m not done until your face matches how fucked up you are inside.” He rolls his shoulder, testing the joint, adrenaline and chemicals making him stupid-brave.

[ofprodigies]

“River, darling,” Aurélie drawls in that absent, airy way of the very wealthy. She leans forward and kisses them on both cheeks, all dazzling smiles as she takes another sip of her drink. The music pulses around them as she leans in closer. “Dammed by yet another existential crisis, are we?” A hand drifts up to pat the side of his face absently, and she internally laughs at her own joke. “Who was it who dumped you this time – Eleanora or your new therapist?”

[misflung]

River laughs dismissively. “You know I don’t believe in therapy.” He waves it away. “Why do you care, anyway? Being a vestigial del Bosque finally getting to you?”

[fablewrit]

There's a part of Elena that delights in seeing the shift. Not unlike the mock stiffness from moments ago—and equally unconvincing. Venom is met with a patronizing smile. "It’s important to believe ourselves so." Of course his father is useful—to the hand that feeds, to the image of democracy he helps uphold. Even if the Masten name can't be found on Del Bosque ledgers, politicians are commodities like anything else.

As the man in question appears beside River, she offers a barely perceptible inclination of her head. “Chancellor Masten.” A glance between father and son. Elena finds their coordinated attire only highlights their contrasts. "River was just telling me all about his interest in Sede Del Bosque." Her words, plausibly innocent, carry their own edge.

[misflung]

“Right, yeah, just tossing around some ideas. Brainstorming and whatnot.” River straightens even further—an impossible feat given he was already rigid in Elena’s presence, but his father’s arrival demands it. Of course, Kirk sees right through him. He claps River on the back of his neck in that particular way of his. “I do hope he’s not monopolizing too much of your valuable time, Elena. My son has quite the imagination when it comes to… ventures.” The pause makes it clear what he thinks of those ventures. He forces out a laugh like he finds his father’s comment amusing, masking his irritation. “Well, if nothing else, I can always provide entertainment value, right?” He keeps his tone light. The sarcasm would only dig his grave deeper. “River the entertainer,” Kirk says with practiced political warmth. “Always keeping things interesting.” They both chuckle, but it’s the kind of sound that has all the mechanics of laughter with none of the joy. “Anyway, it was wonderful catching up with you, Elena,” River says, desperate to extract himself from this public dismantling.

[gigilaboss]

There's this air about River that seems as daring as the knocked-down knight, his smile an avalanche of sharp teeth that suddenly spark in the night as he lightens up his smoke with his old-fashioned matches. Giulia knows River's parents, is around the same age as his mother. She knows he was a handful as a kid, and she knows he's his own mess of a man, so she doesn't pay much attention to his remarks. It's a bit as though, one wouldn't lose their energy drying out their clothes under a rainstorm, there are irremadiable things in life, and River Masten being a little shit is one of them. She tuts at his words, lets them flow. Fig cigarettes taste awful, what's next, apricot cigarillos? "Well no one forced you to take one if you hate menthols so much. And I'm not certain there's much sense in judging an entire family's worth on one person's taste in smoke, no?"

She can't really smoke one of her cigars in public, can she? She takes a long drag and points at his pockets. "What do you smoke then?" She imagines him smoking a long vogue, or a badly rolled joint. Or a crack pipe, no in-between.

[misflung]

“Oh, forgive me—I thought you cared about the minutiae. Since you’re all tastemakers, right? Or is that just reserved for the more influential del Bosques?” His tone is sarcastic, glib, maybe even taunting. River knows he’s playing with fire being this brazen with a del Bosque, but he wants something real from this conversation—not rehearsed pleasantries or another adult writing him off. To Giulia’s second question, he raises a matte black cigarette packet between two fingers like a magician revealing a card. “Fig, because my mother likes keeping traditions alive, no matter how pointless they are. That’s how much of a mama’s boy I am, I guess.” He could be lying. He pockets the cigarettes and takes another drag. “I know more than you think I do about this stuff. I just don’t always participate because I can’t stomach bullshit 24/7.”

[tjdelbosque]

A beat. A look of contemplation. "Next time, Masten. I left my disinfectant at home."

[misflung]

River mulls it over, dismisses the thought with a head shake, then lunges with a right hook aimed at Teo’s face—all energy and no skill.

[covetme]

"for what it's worth, i don't think you're an asshole, though i'm certain that you'll try your best to prove me wrong," deaf to any warnings that a reasonable mind could conjure, she decides to embrace all the foolishness that he may throw at her feet just to prove a point, a silver gauntlet of defiance or a rose, bereft of petals yet with all its thorns. "but to answer your question, yes, i'm quite sure that something could be arranged. tell me, what did you do with the painting that i gave you?"

[misflung]

River taps his temple. “You’re finally getting the hang of it.” He pauses, wondering for a moment if it means anything that they’re both calling out his persona. “It’s in my apartment. I wanna give it to my girlfriend—if she’ll still have me.” He shrugs. “That’s how it works, right? Expensive art as relationship repair?

[brxndished]

For a moment, she just looks at him. Really looks - like she’s taking note of all the ways he’s the same, all the ways he hasn’t changed since the night she’d stood alone at that ribbon-cutting, smiling for photographs with her heart in her throat while he was facedown on her couch in a haze of powder and liquor. Seven months, and the image is still raw enough to sting.

“Apologize?” she repeats, the word clipped, almost amused. “River, you didn’t just miss a dinner reservation. You didn’t forget to call me back. You humiliated me. You made me stand there alone at one of the most important moments of my life and pretend it didn’t matter that the man I loved couldn’t even stay conscious for me despite knowing what that night meant.”

Her voice doesn’t rise, but the steel in it is undeniable. She leans back, as if to put space between them that the table alone can’t manage. “So unless that apology comes with a time machine…” She exhales softly, eyes flicking away for just a heartbeat before returning to him. “I don’t know what good it does me to hear it now.”

[misflung]

He’s a fucking joke. There’s no doubt about that. But hope suctions onto him like a barnacle. No, like a parasite. He’s a boy—not a man, a goddamn boy—who keeps being given second-third-fourth-fifth chances, time and again, and he does absolutely fuck all with his endless fresh starts. He blames his parents for spoiling him—he’d tell you that he should’ve been raised with more discipline, for his own sake. But that would be more pathetic than simply owning up to the fact that he’s a shell of a person of his own accord. River offers no defense against her verbal onslaught. He knows he deserves it. The only armor he has is his composure. You made me stand there alone at one of the most important moments of my life and pretend it didn’t matter that the man I loved couldn’t even stay conscious for me despite knowing what that night meant. He remembers it. He remembers it all. How twisted and cruel, and very fitting—for most of his memories to be a blur except the night he’d failed her. Rocco gave him something new that night. Tsunami, its name was. A blue fleck-smattered white powder that promised mild psychedelic effects… on top of being a pretty strong stimulant and an empathogen. By the evening, River was basically crawling to Nora’s apartment. He wanted to check in and tell her he needed time to cool off. He’d still intended to make it to the opening, but when he arrived, Nora was gone. He collapsed on the couch for what he thought would be a quick nap, phone clutched to his chest with an alarm set to call her. Instead, he slept and sweltered through the entire night. “I…” he begins, but his voice falters as soon as he opens his mouth. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps even soft. “Nora, I’m sorry, all right? I really am so fucking sorry.” It’s more than just her hurt, too. He knows that. It’s the tabloids that spread rumors of them being broken up (false), or him cheating on her (false), or him being spotted on a yacht that same afternoon partying (true). Those problems ripple into her family, and most of them already don’t like him much. “Just… just tell me what I have to do to make this right.” River slowly faces her with wounded earnestness, pupils normal for once, features unguarded.

[silasmasse]

Silas steps in with broom and dustpan in hand, clapping a hand on Ricky's shoulder—as if to say 'leave this to me.' Frankly, he's had enough of rich kids throwing sellos at their messes and expecting them to disappear. That, and he thinks he might get a kick out of this. "Ever used one of these before?"

[misflung]

River jerks his head toward the voice, blinking slowly as his foggy brain works to decode the words. After a long moment, comprehension strikes. He snaps both fingers and points like he’s cracked the code. “That one thing looks like a shovel.”

[misflung]

“Aurélie. Wow. Still existing, I see. Very brave of you.” (@ofprodigies)

[misflung]

He purses his lips and whistles—sharp, mocking, like a bomb falling. “This shithole’s definitely getting nuked when the culture police come knocking, right?” (@dira-gowda)

[misflung]

“You still hanging with me is basically psychological warfare against Tati at this point. Respect.” (@glittergab)

[misflung]

“Got any more priceless art to hand out to random assholes lately?” (@covetme)

[misflung]

“Oh, fuck, shit—” CRASH. River’s arm, the waiter’s tray, glasses on the floor. “—fuck, sorry, I’ll, uh… I’ll cover that. How much?” (@silasmasse)

[misflung]

“Just throw the fucking punch, man.” River clicks his tongue, his voice dripping with mockery. “Stop teasing me with a good time.” (@tjdelbosque)

[brxndished]

Eleanora lifts her overpriced glass of corvélis, finishing the last sip as the man she’d been entertaining rises from the table and drifts toward the exit. Around her, Carbon Beach Club begins to swell with patrons - wealthy vacationers eager to claim a view of Coronado’s fabled sunset spilling molten colors across the water. Born and raised on the island, Nora never let the spectacle pass without notice. It's still enough to catch her breath.

Her gaze lingers on the horizon until movement draws it back, someone sliding into the chair across from her. The recognition is instant, her stomach tightening before her heart has the chance to sink.

“River.” Her voice is cool, her glass set aside with practiced precision. “I was just leaving. What do you want?”

The last time she’d seen him had been a month ago at that over-produced travesty the Del Bosques called a party - another hollow celebration of their latest political violation. Their dance had been… fun, if she were honest, fun enough that she caught herself thinking of him for the rest of the evening. But sobriety brought clarity, and with it, the reminder: she was still furious. Six months of silence following what he'd done to her, and not even a shadow of an apology. @misflung

[misflung]

“To talk to you.” He’s blunt like that—always has been, and probably always will be. It’s for the best, too, since he’s not exactly a wordsmith. Never been one to sweet-talk in a way that’s sincere. Especially when it comes to people like Nora—someone he has a very intimate relationship with. Their relationship has the fragility of an atom bomb. River is an atom bomb. He won’t say he’d been looking for her all night. Won’t say he’s asked multiple ‘friend groups,’ not-so-subtly figuring out where she could be. He doesn’t know what it is about her, or what he’s doing exactly. But he loves the feeling of the push and pull, even more so when it’s her. He sleeps well in her softness. “I never got to apologize for what happened that night.”

[glittergab]

GRETA: partying topless or the cultural censorship plot

GRETA: bc technically yes to both

[misflung]

RIVER: Censorship? RIVER: Damn you make it sound legit RIVER: Fuck it let’s ball RIVER: But you’re gonna cover me if shit goes sideways RIVER: Can’t leave me out to dry alone if the paps get involved RIVER: Need to maintain a semi-good boy image for a while