nadia salem

what doesn't kill me might make me kill you ;)

[nadiasalem]

apollothepark​: 

-

“It isn’t morning until there’s coffee.” Apollo said, shuffling his way into the kitchen. He was wearing one of Jaemin’s old shirts and Belladona could laugh all she wanted it was comfortable. Plus it smelled like Jae.

He eyed the fruit. Supposedly eating food they’d all prepared together was some sort of truce-building trust-fall shit, but as they’d already established not all of them were equally trustworthy. Though he guessed poisoning everyone all at once would be somewhat tiresome.

“Is there a plan for that?” He asked, nodding at the fruit. “I can make waffles.” Apollo did love a good waffle. There was a waffle iron around here somewhere, he’d seen it the other day. And the batter kept well enough for all the stragglers.

–

“Too true,” she said, taking another sip from her coffee. The caffeine was much needed; she hadn’t exactly had a restful sleep with the prospect of sharing a room with someone like Sacha Tarasov.  

Nadia shrugged some and set her mug down to pick up the knife again, grabbing a handful of strawberries to start slicing. “I hadn’t imagined it beyond much a purpose as some sort of fruit salad, but the plan can be waffles if you know how to make them.” She didn’t know how well the cupboards had been stocked, and if there wasn’t some sort of premade mix in there then she sure as hell didn’t know a recipe for making them from scratch off the top of her head.

[nadiasalem]

where - The Manor, the kitchens

when - 18 July 2021, early morning

who - open to any (2/3)

If there was anything that was a well known fact, it was that Nadia Salem was handy with a knife. It transferred decently to a kitchen but she couldn’t say that she was happy to be relegated to canteen duties at this bizarre pseudo ‘business retreat’ that the various gangs had been conscripted to. Surely booking out a staffed venue with neutral cooking parties would have provided a more trustworthy source of sustenance. The upper ranks surely had enough funds to hire staff for a day or two.  

But, she mused, making her way through the nth banana to fill a large bowl of assorted chopped fruits, the methodical rhythm of a metal blade thudding into a chopping board loud in the kitchen lit with early morning light, she did concede that she was glad to at least able to prepare most of her own meals. She was already hesitant as it was at the prospect of eating dinner prepared by the hands of others in a setting like this. Maybe she’d simply eat a larger lunch and stow away a few snacks. And at least the assignment had left her with ready access to knives. She felt quite ill at ease with not having her own strapped to her person as usual. Not for the first time the thought crossed her mind if she’d be able to get away with swiping a knife from the kitchen. The only thing that truly had her at pause was the presence of the security system affixed to the ceiling.

She flipped her blade around to the dull edge of the knife, and lifted the cutting board to scrape the pile of sliced bananas into the mixing bowl where it joined a piled of blueberries. Strawberries next, perhaps. She slide the knife through the stickers securing the top of the plastic container as she heard the slight squeak of the kitchen door swinging open. “Morning,” she said dispassionately, setting her knife down briefly to take a sip of the coffee she’d prepared for herself.  

[nadiasalem]

monicainpink​:

Professionalism was never Monica’s strong suit, but getting people to like her? She excelled, and while she wasn’t always healthy in the ways she’d wind those in her life around her finger, they seemed to never mind. At least, until they’d gotten tired of her shit. Things are different now, however. As a Power she’s only a step above those who have wings strapped to their backs. But with her surname matching that of Michaela’s and sharing hers and Victoria’s blood, she had an edge that those above her didn’t. She wasn’t stupid to think she could talk or act without consequence, no – but there was a venom deep seated beneath her tongue, waiting in the darkness as a constant reminder of who she was. 

So far, Monica hadn’t experienced much push back from those around her. Not that she expected to – she’d spent plenty of time before even joining Pestilence among their ranks, though as a Pinkett and nothing more. She knew their faces, their hardened lives, their favorite drinks. Nadia is a little different, though, and Monica wonders how long it will take to either get under her skin, or splay overtop of it in a manner of friendship created by proximity. 

“Great news. Though, I’d imagine a bit of drama would do well with this crowd.” Monica follows Nadia with ease, the sounds from beyond their back walls a constant buzz and reminder of the energy that builds from just on the other side. “Mmm. Jaemin and I played a couple. I think we were quite believable.” The steady pulsating in her knees is a reminder from where she’d brushed the ground in her dramatics. “They called their security team, but it seemed as though all eyes were on us.” Monica climbs the steps just behind Nadia up to the observation area. “You wouldn’t believe what kind of actor he is, it was actually impressive.” 

“Like I said, the usual. Jealous boys and girls causing a tousle when their partner starts getting a little too familiar with others on the dance floor and of course the ones who have one too many to drink and make themselves a nuisance to be removed...” She waved a hand somewhat vaguely towards the crowds below. “The usual status quo. Your problem now, isn’t it? How’s things going since you took over?” The place was still standing and it wasn’t like their Yelp reviews had taken a concerning hit, so Nadia assumed things were going well despite the fact that she typically lingered in the ‘Staff Only’ areas and utilized back entrances instead of what the club was actually known for. She’d had her misgivings about her assignment in the void Priscilla had left behind, but perhaps Monica was worth her salt. Perhaps. TIme would tell

“Oh? Tell me more,” She smirks at that, the thought of her Dominion having to puppet through a charade of such content. “Curious. I’m sure he was just tickled about that. I’ll make certain to needle him for details when I feel like annoying him next.” Because while Jaemin was quite good at problem solving, the story Monica wove was certainly outside of the usual realm of things Jaemin needed to deal with usually. 

[nadiasalem]

[funnytwittertweets]

[muserhq]

“we’re all killers. we’ve all killed parts of ourselves to survive. we’ve all got blood on our hands. something somewhere had to die so we could stay alive.”

— if memories could bleed, if dreams could scream | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[nadiasalem]

fletchergrxy​: 

     He half expects her to turn around and hit him — and hell, he’d enjoy that too — only she answers with a perhaps, turning to face him. It isn’t a no and impatience sizzles with desire, browns dropping to her lips as he battles the urge to just kiss her right there, leaning in just a bit more as his body acts on its own. He can’t help it, eyes widening and brows lifting as she questions whether or not he’s the type to kiss and tell, a hand raising so his thumb can graze along her bottom lip, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “My entire business is built on not tellin’.” It’s the truth and Fletcher never likes letting people in more than they need, which includes who he sleeps with, the information only being passed on if he’s caught and someone else chirps to the rest of Pestilence. “As much as this mouth never runs outta gas, ‘m right there with ya, doll. So… mum’s th’word.” Even if he did have a loose tongue, he wagers he’d do just about anything Nadia wanted. It’s evident, the way his form follows hers in one way or another, and he’s never been sure if it’s because she’s the only person to ever save his life or because of something else. Something unattainable… out of his reach… and maybe that’s it all along. 

     First, she’s asking if he’ll kiss and tell, then she’s demanding he doesn’t get clingy, and now Fletcher chuckles, tickled delight brightening his features with a shake of his head. Another surge of want, one she amplifies when she takes him by the back of his neck, tugging him closer, and the sensation of her breath against his ear makes his jaw throb, teeth clenching as he forces himself to exercise some restraint. No fucking in the office. Which, of course, means that’s the first place he wants to; he wants her more, and he’s almost certain she’s the rough and tumble type, AKA exactly his. 

     When she moves away, Fletcher lets out a slow, imperceptible breath, gaze flickering after her as she begins dressing in her scrubs, and he’s disappointed he didn’t get to give her other outfit a better run. She’s cracked the door open and now he’s distracted, almost not registering her question at all, attention completely engrossed in every curve, of her eyes on him as she makes her inquiry, their bold intensity sending a shiver along his spine. She asks and he narrows his eyes, unable to tear them away from her as his brain works to string together her syllables. “Yeah,” he finally answers, mischief twirling around each word, “I drove.”  

She doesn't miss the disappointment she catches in his eyes as she finishes dressing, and smirks as she combs her fingers through her hair to twist the strands into a loose braid. Oh how she loves to tease, she muses, but the thought is swiftly followed on the recollection of the finger he'd dragged across her lip, the comparative heat it'd radiated to the cold of both the Thames and the subsequent trek of getting to the club soaking wet. In dry cloths she is much warmer, but there is a heat she craves, one deeper and not quite sated by the wash in hot water she'd given her hair. She has a shower at home with room for two, and there’s a particular draw of heat shared by the press of skin against skin and shared breaths that she hungers for. She wonders if the whole of his hands would feel just as warm against her skin.

"Good," she says, unceremoniously gathering her things into a pile inside a shopping bag, wet cloths, heels (because heels and scrubs is not an outfit that needs to exist and barefoot will do for the short journey home), the knives she had removed save for the one still strapped around her thigh beneath the scrubs. A few other things join the pile that perhaps she might be more organized about on any other day, but Nadia has her attentions on other things at the moment. She grabs the bag by the handles loosely and moves languidly towards the door stopping across from him just an arms reach away. "Feel like trading a ride for a ride?" She asks crassly, a curl of amusement on her lips as she backs towards the door.  

[nadiasalem]

m. pierce ⇄ n. salem

Milo: If there is a next time, I suggest taking the lead of your fellow Pestilence members and leave if you don't know what's going on to the exact detail.

Milo: You were told what you needed to know. I won't apologize if that is what you're looking for Salem. We had to keep this tight or it wouldn't work.

Milo: Glad you're okay. I was right outside, I didn't leave until Fazal came out injured. As far as you need to know, we had no clue it was going to happen and that's all you do know.

Milo: Everyone is accounted for and we even gained a new temporary member. I'm at the hospital if you want to stop by and do this face to face.

Nadia: Taking lead? Without knowing what to lead towards or away from? There are flaws in that but fine we'll do it that way 'next time', I'm sure that'll end up just dandy.

Nadia: Temporary member? Do I even want to know?

Nadia: I'm soaked in the muck of that damned river and gods knows how many contaminants that would bring into the wards. And frankly, me showing up like this to my place of work would be not ideal in many aspects.

Nadia: I assume you've got Jaemin on Fazal? I'll check in on him tomorrow and then we can have a chat when I've had a shower and I'm less irritated about everything.

[monicainpink-deactivated2022052]

with. – @nadiasalem​ where. – club PEST when. – june 19, midnight 

After she and Jaemin had split from the Studios, Monica made it imperative to her driver that she had to get back to PEST. While she hadn’t been directly involved in the distribution of Cupid to longtime patrons and members alike, she knew that the excitement was far from over. Being able to test her acting skills against Jaemin’s will to follow through with wherever Monica ended up had been fun, to say the least. Monica isn’t sure if it was supposed to be fun, and while she’d been a bit miffed that she’d been ordered to leave PEST in the first place, she found a way to resolve her feelings in the form of lying her ass off. 

She enters through a back door marked for secure entry only, made available to herself as well as any Pestilence members who needed quick and discreet access to the club. Dancing Queen pumps through the speakers, indicating that the party is far from over. There’s an excitement that, as Monica finds herself deep within the maze of back hallways, is hard to ignore. 

As much as she would love to be on the frontlines, she understands that appearance as a distraction on Death’s frontlines had been pertinent to the entire operation. Making herself out to be far more important than she actually was in order for the night to go smoothly, she approaches her office. There’s a familiar face out of the corner of her eye once she reaches the door, and Monica turns to see Nadia walking down the same hallway. “Nadia. How was tonight?” She wants to know everything, and while Nadia didn’t seem quite the type to frequent the dance floor in order to observe, she must know something. Taking up the managerial position with little to no experience apart from knowing the club like the back of her hand had been something Monica didn’t take lightly, and as much as she wanted to join her fellow Pestilence members out on the dance floor, she knows that responsibility has to come first. At least for now.

[nadiasalem]

For all that Nadia has assisted on the pharmaceutical side of things in many of Pestilence’s forays into drug trade, illicit and otherwise, she can’t say that she’s all too inclined to imbibe in the substances they peddle in the shadows. Despite the rare occasion she smokes a joint in the comfort and security of her own home, she can’t find it in herself to indulge in the wider range substances that impair the mind in the public of all places. Regardless of whether or not there was a truce in place to temper the dangers of her allegiances, giving up her awareness and tight control of her mental faculties was something that her instincts rebelled against down to her bones. 

Most affected both her so-called ‘day’ and ‘night jobs’ in both mind and body, and she wasn’t about to leave herself vulnerable to a point where she couldn’t hold nor aim a gun or scalpel if the situation called for it. Something as simple as a mark of malpractice or a target that got away because she couldn’t hold a gun or knife steady--if she was forced to contend with failure it would be with a clear mind or not at all.

Even though she’d taken a sample of Cupid at one point, it had been in the safety of her home, and it had been for a purely objective experience after it had passed through key trials in its manufacturing. She supposed many might consider that viewpoint no fun, but Nadia didn’t particularly consider that her brand of fun. And Nadia didn’t particularly care what others thought. Anyone who tested her otherwise would simply learn the benefit of a clear head coupled with the efficacy of limbs you were fully in control of via the pointy end of her blades. Now that was fun.

Besides, a clear head was all but necessary to keep an eye on PEST from various removed vantage points the night of Cupid’s launch. The night was a complicated orchestra of many moving parts, and so far it had seemingly gone smoothly, with Uriel and his undead cronies none the wiser. She’s almost disappointed that she’s not out causing a little chaos with the others, to keep their eyes away from PEST, but she supposes there’s some merit in not playing all of your valuable cards out at once. Besides, if some uppity Deathlings wanted to take a leaf out of War’s books and attack the club should worst come to worst, she’d rather be in house to deal with that personally. She did not particularly want to see their work in all but rebuilding PEST be undone and necessitate a second closure and renovation. One shooting alone was already enough to mar the club’s reputation. She wasn’t sure it could withstand another of the same caliber.  

She’s using one of the back hallways to get from one point to another, and though the route is longer, it beats having to weave through hot, sweaty, blissed out patrons to get where she’d prefer to keep an eye on things. She didn’t, however, expect to see the newest Pinkett in residence and newfound manager of the club so soon. 

“Monica,” she says simply, giving the younger woman a half smile with a tilt of her head to follow, not pausing in her stride to keep going towards her destination, which in this case was a small tucked away staircase to an observation point higher up where one could keep an eye on things with a birds eye view of the crowds below. If the Pinkett wanted to talk she would have to come along for the chat. “So far so good. No drama beyond the normal. I understand you, however, had a task to cause nothing but. I take it you were successful?”

[recaption]

[monicainpink-deactivated2022052]

in all our glory; shall we fall, it would be not without a blade ran into our backs; 

[nadiasalem]

milo-pierce​:

-

“Didn’t know ya could drink on duty, guess ya learn something new everyday.” Milo didn’t know much about the military to be fair, it was never in his field of interests. He’d studied the history of war and such, but that was the extent of it. “I’m jealous, I was up bright and early for meetings. I feel like I didn’t even sleep.” Hence the large amount of caffeine intake he’d had. Currently he considered doing a line or two just to get through the rest of the day but he needed some of the coffee to wear off first. Otherwise he was positive, if he had a heart, it would explode. The drink would help settle the caffeine buzz. He took another pull from the glass and licked his lips.

Milo nodded to her question. “I believe so, I haven’t heard any different.” He took another drink from the glass. “Monica is taking over.” Which is what he assumed Nadia was getting at since Priscilla was incapable of managing the place any longer. A good thing since she was a dirty ass rat who would have let Death in to stick them all full of syringes while they weren’t looking. Hence why she was no longer in the land of the living. “Why, you planning to stick around and dance all night?” He’d be there, watching and making sure the product was getting distributed. Perhaps selling some himself if the lower ranks were struggling. Occasionally he liked to join the fray of the average drug dealer again, but most times he preferred to stick with the bigger clientele he worked so hard to get. 

“How are things going at the hospital?”

“Oh, well, we found our ways to have fun. We weren’t always out in the field.” Taking advantage of a full bar when they had one to plunder. Cheap beer when they couldn’t. Playing darts with knives. Gambling with with the contents of care packages with not a dime in sight. She chases the lump that starts to swell in her throat away with a long drink from her glass. It was not the time be maudlin about her boys. She allowed herself one day a year to think of them in truth and today was not that day. Those unwanted feelings would remain locked away deep down until their time and that was that. “Sounds like this new rank of yours comes with a lot of politicking and bureaucracy, if you ask me. I don’t quite envy that.”

The topic of the Pinkett cousin is an intriguing one that has her eyes narrowing. Curious. “Huh. Monica? That’s ...interesting. Didn’t think her to be the management type. ” She tilts her head in thought for a moment, eyes drifting towards the empty dance floor for a moment. If her memory was to be believed, Monica often stuck to Iniya and Mitzi’s company. Nadia knew she’d spent a lot of time both on the floor as an attendee and a dealer even in recent times - but she wondered if the younger woman had it in her to manage a club of Pest’s size in full. She hadn’t exactly been fully read in to Pestilence’s operations for very long as far as she knew, but it appeared they were trusting her with the maintenance of one of their biggest cash crops. She hoped it was for the skill needed to run a club and not just due to the privilege of the Pinkett name. 

Nadia shakes her head at the prospect of staying at the club when it truly comes alive. “No, not tonight. I need to stop by the labs to check on that project Jaemin and I are working on. Almost done. Just a few more weeks of trials, I think.” It’d been a bit difficult between their own busy shifts at the hospital and operating under extra measures to keep the project under lock and key from Uriel’s snoopy nose, but they’d made a fair amount of head way. Cupid was well on its way to being Pestilence’s saving grace, assuming they could continue keeping it secret until it was ready. 

“Oh, you know, just fine and dandy until some med student has the balls to comment ‘Oh seems like a slow night tonight’ in the middle of night shift. ...Idiots,” she rolls her eyes and drinks the last of her beer, setting the glass to the edge of the table.  

[nadiasalem]

who: @emilbecker​​

where: Pale Horse Media 

when: 24 June 2021

Playing nice and professional isn't exactly her favorite thing. It’s one thing, putting on a false, empathetic smile for her patients at the hospital, but having to having to do so with the time locking lens of PR? There’s no slip ups to be had with that, the presence of cameras and recorders to document things. The media is a beast that can twist the slightest slip up to contort it to fit a synthetic narrative for their own means. The means by which Pestilence was granted this interview and the interview itself are nauseating and by the time the endless feed of question after question, platitude after platitude comes to a close, Nadia’s cheeks almost hurt from having to carry the gruesome weight of a demure, business professional smile. Sure, Nadia likes a bit wordplay, but surely someone else better suited for this sort of PR stunt would have been better suited. 

And fuck, that’s not even counting the supposed photoshoot that’s yet to follow. 

They’re on break now while the photographer finishes up their preparations, and while Nadia pours herself a cup of coffee at the refreshment bar, she can’t help but wish she’d followed through on the fleeting thought she’d had that morning to smuggle in a flask of anything in her purse to spike her coffee with.  It’d sure make tolerating a shared space with one Emil Becker easier. For the hours that she’s already been there, there’s something stilted about their interactions that Nadia knows even a child would find hard to miss. She knows why she doesn’t want to be there. But she wonders just for what reason a television personality would have to mirror her own thinly veiled misgivings. It’s curious and Nadia wants to find out why.

“So tell, Emil Becker,” she calls over her shoulder, dumping two sugars into her cup. “How long until this second round of torture commences?” 

[nadiasalem]

m. pierce ⇄ n. salem

[Milo looks down at his phone and sighs]

Milo: I believe Death's precious little ship just sunk to the bottom of the Thames.

Milo: Swearing to god is overrated.

Milo: What, Nadia, what are you going to do? I would love to hear it.

[he locks the phone and paces the floor waiting for updates on those injured and those he hadn't heard from yet]

Nadia: And may the rust bucket stay there

Nadia: Well for starters, next time an already dicey event is supposed to overrun by our other supposed enemies I'd appreciate a little heads up

Nadia: If you want me on the sidelines you need to actually put me there and not in the middle of crossfire with not a clue what's going on

Nadia: Also fyi, blowing up ships? Old MILITARY ones at that? Fuel floats on water. That shit can burn for literal days and the wounds that it can cause? Do you remember Thomas Ackerman?

Nadia: Loved going for a swim tonight with that risk at hand

Nadia: Is anyone of ours unaccounted for?

[nadiasalem]

fletchergrxy​: 

     Nadia’s first question is lost under the sound of running water and Fletcher catches glimpses of tanned skin on the edge of his vision as she bends to wash her hair. Even if she hadn’t essentially saved his life, there’s something about his Virtue that makes it hard to deny her, Fletcher netted by her orbit, surrendering his usual combativeness with a desire to impress; to prove he’s worth the rank he possesses, a vital component that can climb higher — if he only wants it. Ever since the truce broke, he does, ambition long ignored rioting against the crumbling structure that threatens to pin him down. And Nadia… well, Fletcher will do practically anything she asks, and he’d be a shameful liar if he said it had nothing to do with her looks, cunning intelligence kindling them with a brighter glow. He’s shallow — all bits of him with more depth intentionally buried by his hand — and he knows it, because Fletcher Gray embraces his flaws. They’ve always been the most dependable presence in his life.

     “I guess Uriel doesn’t like a leash,” he responds nonchalantly, taking a harsh pull from his cigarette, the cotton in the filter warming and flattening as he tugs the blanket off the back of the cushion, rising to his feet. “Found his dog wandering about. Took him with.” He explains vaguely, brown irises coaxed down the length of her spine as he approaches, hovering close behind her as he leans past to drop his cigarette in the sink, the remaining water in the basin soaking into the paper and drowning out the ember. Fletcher holds the blanket up by two corners, opening it up with the intention to drape it over her shoulders, but pauses to speak instead, the fabric a thin shield between them. “Y’know… if I were a smarter man, I might think you’re comin’ on t’me.” She hadn’t kicked him out immediately, kept conversation going as she stood virtually naked in front of him, and now, an invitation to come closer; Fletcher knows Nadia too well and the woman is nothing if not deliberate. He brings the blanket closer, his knuckle glancing gently against her bicep, though he doesn’t cover her yet, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I’m real good for blowin’ off steam.” 

She listens first, the soft steps of his shoes against the floor amidst the drops of water she squeezes from her hair, the droplets hitting the metal basin with a patter. The steps stop and she watches as an ember sputters to a halt. The tone in the air shifts at the almost fleeting touch on her arm, the drop to his voice.

“Perhaps,” Nadia says, turning slowly to face him. “It depends really,” she says flicking her gaze down before meeting his gaze, her eyes curious yet calculating. “Are you the type to kiss and tell?” She asks plainly, reaching to grab the blanket, wrapping it around her damp curls to carefully dab at the moisture. “I don’t particularly like gossip of the more personal nature.” Violence, her lack of supposed morality -- she didn’t quite mind those. Loved to fuel those gossip mills even, but well, she didn’t particularly care to tolerate anything else. Fletcher has proven time and again that he’d do what she’d ask of him without fail, and she hoped she wouldn’t disappoint her in this. 

“I don’t mind a outlet to blow off steam if you can mind your tongue when it matters.” Perhaps use it in better ways. “If you can manage that and not get too clingy with expectations, well.” She shrugs then,  and drapes the blanket over one of her shoulders. “Oh, before I forget,” she tacks on, taking half step closer. It’s easy then, to reach up with a slender hand and trail her fingers up the side of his neck until she has a hand at the back of his neck. She pulls just so lightly, to bring him close enough to whisper in his ear, “I don’t fuck in my office.” 

And with that she pulls away with a grin and slides off to the side towards her desk where she’d set out a spare pair of clean, dry scrubs. A far cry different to the outfit she’d been wearing earlier. Nadia draped the throw across the back of her chair and started pulling on her top. “So tell me, did you drive?” 

[nadiasalem]

parkxjaemin​: 

“What’s the phrase? Don’t push your luck?” He retorts with an easy smile. Smiling when Nadia pointed out what he chooses to ignore is usually for the best. Under any other circumstance, her methods would’ve been abhorrent to Jaemin, but in a gang, in the midst of war with the others, he can only choose to see her as an asset and a trusted partner. Maybe it says more about him than he’d like but Jaemin ignores that too. From the moment he stepped through Pestilence’s pearly gates, he knew what was in store for him on the other side. He can’t claim ignorance. Jaemin went in with both eyes open, both eyes trained on Apollo. He might regret some situations, he might push some from his mind and memory, but he can’t claim innocence anymore. It’s why he works so hard to do good when he can. To help those who can’t help themselves, to operate with precision and care. He may not have as much blood on his hands as Nadia, but he is no longer clean. He hasn’t been for a while.

Jaemin casts a sidelong glance at Nadia, eyes drifting to the sharp file and then back to her face. “Well, let’s cross that bridge if we get to it.” He doesn’t particularly like issuing orders that brought others to harm, but in the case of this woman, they’d needed information and Nadia had been more than effective in procuring it. Scoffing at the mention of trusting Death’s word, Jaemin crosses his arms, gaze drawn to the rehearsal on stage, wrapping up. “If anyone gives an inkling of being disloyal…let me know.” Before telling Milo or Victoria. It goes unsaid. It’s not that he’d keep it a secret but Jaemin would like to talk to them. Would want to make sure they weren’t sentencing someone to death for common fears rather than sentiments of sedition.

“Whatever’s happened…we are still here. Pestilence is still strong, contrary to popular belief.” They may have taken some hits of late but the fact that they were still standing was testament to their fortitude. “Ricardo was a loss no doubt but he wasn’t a Seraphim. He wasn’t Victoria.” It seemed that even the formidable War had suffered a seemingly bigger loss to their structure than Pestilence had. Losing a Virtue or Dominion was no small thing, but losing a Seraphim and heir was a blow you couldn’t recover from so easily. “I think they’re finishing up,” he notes after a beat, nodding in the direction of the door. “Busy day ahead?”

Nadia considers Jaemin’s words for a moment, before granting him a single, slow nod. "I'll keep that in mind." And she will, because for the ones that seem like they've got no choice, ones that might be stuck between a rock and a hard place due to one hasty decision made in a moment of desperation, Jaemin’s their best option. She’d let him do what he did best. He did have the better moral compass out of the two of them after all. However, for the ones that seemed like they were only in it for the power trip? For the sedition and deceit they wore like a cloak? Those were dangerous. Those were the ones that she might go higher up the chain instead of granting them the more than merciful chance that Jaemin might give them. She’d do what she did best. And that had nothing to do with mercy.  Nadia wasn’t exactly known for being merciful.

The medic rolls her neck back against the chair with a grimace at the reminder of the tasks that were still before her for the rest of the day. Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet, stretching her arms out before her briefly before letting the tension in her shoulders slack. "Loathe as I am to admit, I should be on my way -- I have the unfortunate task to go make sure the kiddies are traumatized and all that rot." She shoots him a grin before adjusting her scarf so it sits properly at her neck, slow footsteps trailing towards the stairs that lead up the mezzanine to the nearest exit. She paused with an exaggerated tap of a finger to her lips. 

“Sorry, did I say ‘are’? I truly did mean to say ‘aren’t’.” She gives a petulant pout of her lips for a brief moment before letting it morph into her usual grin. “I’ll be sure to send the criers to you, shall?” She wasn’t exactly good at the whole comforting thing. If an angel started crying on her it wasn’t exactly a situation she could fix with her knives, scalpel, fists, gun or otherwise. It wouldn’t be the first time her words alone had sent someone in a tizzy. She did love to needle and unnerve with some wordplay. Unfortunately there were few that seemed to enjoy it as much as her, the cowards. 

[thenordroom]

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