hydra

[nana-yamada]

fightthegods‌:

His mind has sharpened to a point. For the past decade, Eoin’s anger has been as intense as it has been chaotic. Anger for the sake of it; for the sake of survival; for the sake of violence. Because anger is so much better than grief. It’s certainly better than acceptance and submission. But his mind has sharpened to a point. Where once it was just his powers that was the weapon and everything surrounding it a liability at best, there’s direction now. It’s not his powers that are the weapon now; it’s his very anger.

So when he stands in front of what he’s determined to be Nana Yamada’s flat, there’s a calm in him that’s been absent for a decade. It’s a manner of being that no one in Chicago has seen from him before; if they feared the chaotic, feral animal lashing out mindlessly, they were smart to be terrified of the calm and calculated predator who knows exactly what he’s doing when he rips you in two. He doesn’t knock, but the door is opened regardless, and Eoin wouldn’t have expected less from the other person.

Their eyes connect as he moves into the apartment, gives it a cursory glance before he turns to face Nana taking out wine and two glasses. “Of course I know where you live,” he retorts, as though the idea that he doesn’t is simply absurd. Of course, it reveals that he’s probably been paying attention to Nana, which he has. Paranoia does that.

He doesn’t move to sit. He simply stands in the middle of their living room like a jungle cat perched to capture prey. “We need to talk, Nana.” The first time he’s ever addressed them without use of their code name.

Never before had they had a member of the King’s Collective to their house––Neve being the exception of course––and there was something oddly unnerving about it. It was almost intimate...exposing. Unlike the flawless facade they aspired to every day, their home was something far less polished. It was cozy and private, something separate than the expectations they put on themself in public. It was disconcerting that he knew where they lived. How he of all people found out was beyond them, a fact that caused anxiety to settle into the base of Nana’s throat

Despite their back being turned to him, they listened to his every step, awarding him undivided attention. There was something dangerous about him, something different than the last time they spoke, and the fact that he was here boded something. Whether that was positive or negative was yet to be seen. It only took a moment to locate the cork opener, from there they made quick work of the cork, pouring a glass of red wine for each of them. Nana had a feeling these conversation would take alcohol (most did). 

They took in his words, their mind reeling on why he would want to talk to them. It honestly surprised them that they didn’t know, after all Nana had never considered Eoin of any particular surprise. This though, this was a surprise.  Passing the glass to the man, they gestured towards the living room. Two stuffed chairs awaited them, Nana folded themself into one, finally acknowledging his words, “So speak.” 

[nana-yamada]

Location: Nana’s Apartment 

Time: January 7th, 2:00am

Status: Closed ( @fightthegods )

It was far too late for human interaction, was Nana’s first thought as they heard movement at their front door. A part of their mind rang with the fact that it was the witching hour for acts of violence though. They listened for the sound of a knock, but none came, just more vague shuffling. In just sweatpants and a tank top, they moved from the chair they had been lounging in, grabbing a gun from a kitchen drawer and tucking it into their waist band as they approached the door. With all the tension between the gangs, especially in the past week, such caution felt only natural. If it came to gunshots, Nana would be forced to move again, an idea that felt exhausting. A last resort then.

Casually, they unlocked and opened their door only to find “Eoin. What a delight.” Their tone conveyed the opposite sentiment, even as they opened their door wider to allow the man in. He was no threat to them, of that much they were sure. As they turned their back to him, walking back into the apartment, their mind was blank as they searched for a reason that he would be here, only for a greater question to emerge in their mind. “How do you know where I live?” Curiosity and bewilderment were hidden behind their natural reserved timbre, but notes still could be heard. “And what do you want?” They headed towards the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses as they questioned the man. 

[nana-yamada]

coffeecupsandquiet·:

Nothing Nana said was a surprise. Neither was their expression and demeanor. Everything that they said, everything that they did, it all was to be expected. And yet still, Jordan felt a sting of disappointment. Like he was being let down. Well, if he was, it was because of his childish optimism. Nana had done their job, and now it was up to Jordan to deal with how he felt about it.

Nana was right to sneer at him; he sounded foolish. He felt foolish. But the egg was on every King’s face who was unsettled by the violence, and he knew of at least a couple who were. Whether this was a criminal organization or not, pissing off mass amounts of your supporters wasn’t the way to climb any power ladders. But Jordan held his tongue as he often did, instead ignoring Nana’s quip.

But if there was anything that Jordan respected about this interaction, it was the way they looked out for Neve. At least in that, they were in agreement. “Of course,” he murmured, part apology, part filler for empty silence he wanted to leave Nana with. Because what was there to say? Jordan refused to throw himself under the bus taking petty shots, but he did give them assessing look.

No. Jordan might be a coward, he might be naive at times, and foolish in others, but at the end of the day, he refused to be the kind of tool Nana was. He might hide under the guise of loyalty, but it ran too shallow in his veins for him to understand the commitment there. And yet still he wondered if it was a flimsy excuse to rid himself of the guilt he felt listening to the Blackburn members gasp in horror. 

“Forgive me for disturbing you; it seems it wasn’t necessary,” he said coolly, letting his eyes slide off of them. “Here is to new beginnings,” he said dryly, before he turned to take his leave.

A small part of them, a part they would forever deny having, felt a pang of remorse at their own words. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but one they had been feeling increasingly the more and more they became inadvertently wrapped in the conflict between Neve and Benjamin. There was something in his tone that made their steady gaze hitch a moment and look at him one more time, searching for something deeper. Some part of Nana recalled the many times they had seen Neve and Jordan whispering conspiratorially to each other, mischief written on both their faces leaving Nana with the feeling that trouble was coming and they were oddly ok with it––amused even. The two’s friendship, a kinship between their sister and her closest friend, pushed them to reach out. A hand curled around his shoulder as he turned to leave.

 “I’m not without sympathy.” Their face contradicted this statement, but in this moment their words rang more true than their expression. With a sigh they conceded, “It was not the choice I would have made.” That might be the most Nana could ever say about the incident without being openly treasonous towards Benjamin, a move they were far from prepared to make. “Perhaps, if you wish to speak of it more later there will be an opportunity.” 

They immediately regretted their words feeling as if they were now pressing into true conspiracy, but they had already spoken and it was too late to retract. Mentally they justified themself as just trying to keep a read on the situation, to know what was happening in Jordan’s mind, but even that mental revision felt blatantly false. Refocussing they continued with “For now we need to focus on the immediate issue.” A quick glanced at the soot stained glass of the conservatory made it clear what they meant. They then let him go, their finger retracting off his shoulder and back towards their side, leaving him free to leave.  

[cain-douglas]

OPEN

Date: Wednesday, January 1 Time: 12:00 PM Event: Post 3. The Riot Location: Near The House Status: Open

Damien doesn’t ask much of Cain beyond keeping his gang alive and in working order. Some days that’s easier said than done. This is one of the easier said days. Cain’s still whipped from the riot before. He’d managed about 8 hours of sleep and it still doesn’t feel like enough. He’s cranky and tired. He aches all over and no matter how much he eats, he still feels hungry. He doesn’t want to deal with anybody today but the fact of the matter is that less than 10 hours ago his gang was involved in a major fucking riot and there’s no doubt that a few of them sustained injuries that are going to need fixing soon before infection or blood loss or whatever set in and makes it even more hard for Cain to untangle in the long run. 

So he drags his ass down to his “clinic” which is really just a mostly sterile room Damien’s set up for him in a  back alley just a stone’s throw from the house, orders himself a truly insane number of street tacos, and sends out a mass text that the doctor is in but only for a limited time. Then it’s just a matter of setting up Netflix and waiting for the first of his patients to start wandering in.

[nana-yamada]

They woke up to a steady throbbing originating from the center of their forehead. Weary eyes looked down at their previously white and crisp pillow case, now dotted with blood where the cut on their forehead oozed during the night. Nana’s mind tried to conjure some sentence, some sort of coherent thoughts, but one word just kept echoing through their head: fuck. As they gradually got up, more aches and pains made themselves known, their ankle being of particular note. As much as it loathed them to ask for help, this would take a doctor’s knowledge. For whatever the idea of going to Dana, somebody of their own gang for something as embarrassing as being trampled, made their mind skip like a record before they finally dismissed the thought all together. 

They had learned of some back alley doctor, someone who wouldn’t ask questions, and that would do for now. Carefully, but quickly they went to the address they had learned about, and entered the room without knocking. Their eyes immediately caught sight of the doctor, a familiar face, and their mind quickly provided the reason why: Jem Family. Quickly, so not to even give them a minute to think otherwise, they asserted, “We don’t know each other and you haven’t seen me before, but I heard you could help me.” Like that all memories of who exactly Nana was and what they were involved in were wiped away. Instead some faceless person would take their place. 

[jacksonraemers]

date: december 31st location: navy pier status: @nana-yamada​

Damien’s plan had unfolded without a hitch, which was both fortunate, and terrifying. Lingering memories from the conservatory bubble to the surface — screams, breaking glass, the echo of powers being used. The chaos itself was thrilling; it was when petty burglary and mayhem drew to a deathly close that their heart would squeeze with regret. Any blood shed would stain their own palms, tonight, not Benjamin’s, and not Neve’s. But desperation had forced their hand, gripping that taser, into the throes. What good had the police ever done him? Not nearly as much as the mutants Jackson hoped could find unity against the backdrop of human brutality.

Lithe fingers had carefully slipped keys from the pocket of a ‘fellow’ officer, earlier, and they now hurried to locate the lock which it might fit. The first three had proven disappointing, and hope began to wither as they approached the fourth squad car with a sigh. “Come on.” They line the jagged metal with the lock, mentally pleading with the inanimate object, before pressing the key forward — click. Delighted, a grin twists Jackson’s lips as he tosses aside the door, clambering into the driver’s seat. But just as his finger hovers above the lock, three seconds from sealing the car shut with him safely inside, the passenger door swings on its hinges.

Briefly, they consider shifting into another officer to save themselves the trouble of explaining why they’re in a squad car, but quickly decide against it. He’d probably fare better as a mutant  than as a cop after the charade from earlier, anyway. Frantically, Jackson weighs his options. The likelihood of a firearm in the glove compartment was high. They hadn’t started the car yet either, which left a jagged piece of metal caught between their fingers to wield, just in case. But all planning ceases as dark strands fall into focus, familiar hues cast down in their direction — “Nana?”

[nana-yamada]

Nana had their own reasons for being down at the pier that night and they were far from the bewildering need to slowly freeze to death while staring at explosions in the sky. They wished they could claim some master plan, some higher reason to why they would subject themself to this small torture, but no. Nana broke. Nana was weak. All it took was Neve asking once (once) with her pleading tone for Nana to agree and follow their sister down to the celebrations. Their wool coat provided some level of comfort, the weight both familiar and the warmth steady, but a biting breeze blew off the water through the shifting crowd, sharp and cutting agains their cheeks. 

Neve slipped away in favor of some other distraction leaving Nana alone, bored and tired of this whole event. Such thoughts rapidly changed as the previously joyous crowd grew frantic, screams and shouts piercing into the air along with the cracking of fireworks exploding above them. Neve was their first though, she had moved in that direction. They pushed against the flow of the crowd, moving towards the violence and chaos, blood rushing and pumping. Flames roared around them, an eery reminder of the another stage burning down as flames licked upwards towards the sky. As they surged forward, a single person against a swarm of moving bodies, a single misstep had them slammed to the cold concrete. 

Their bare fingers pushed against the grainy ground, arms pushing down as they tried to get the leverage needed to get up, only for a foot to crash down upon them. An ankle moved the wrong direction, a face pounded to the ground until blood ran down their forehead into their eye, feet pounding over and over until they mentally screamed at all around them that this location was a danger, that it must be avoided at all costs. Not all obeyed, caught up in their own swells of emotions, but enough did that Nana could scramble up. A part of them still ached to find Neve, to make sure she escaped this mess, but one step proved that that would be a near impossible task. Shit their mind provided as their eyes scanned around looking for an escape. To their left they noticed a man entering a cop car––perfect. They could convince whoever, whether through their ability or other means, to help them and get them out of here.

Quick, but staggered, steps moved them away from the action and towards the car. They wrenched the door open, swinging into the passenger seat before finally looking at the driver. Words caught on their tongue as they stared at Jackson fucking Raemers. They ground out one word, a command, “Drive.” Their eyes were locked onto him, but a gut instinct told them that they were safe. Jackson wouldn’t hurt them, even if it was just for Neve’s sake. 

[nevekaplan]

Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude. 

A moodboard for Neve Kaplan and Nana Yamada @nana-yamada

[nana-yamada]

coffeecupsandquiet‌:

Nana’s response wasn’t exactly a surprise, but Jordan still felt himself exhaling as though he had taken a hit. Less so because he felt betrayed, but more so because he was disenchanted. If Jordan was thinking about believing all of the “my gang is my family” sewage, he certainly wouldn’t be now. He was sure it showed on his face, but he found he didn’t care.

Bullies. That’s all they were. But Jordan wasn’t so naive that he didn’t understand what was at stake when running a criminal organization. Still, he couldn’t help but see the pain and the shock in Isaac’s face and feeling… wrong. Jordan forced the hand that was beginning to curl up to relax. “No. I suppose you would be then, wouldn’t you?” he asked rhetorically, before he sighed. 

“What, pray tell, was stopping you, or Benjamin, or anyone who had a clue, from telling at least the rest of us what was going on?” he asked directly. He could’ve dawdled around the subject for longer, but the frustration he felt, the disgust at the association with such a cold murder, it itched at a moral side of him he forgot he even had. “And do not patronize me, nor the rest of us. A murder unexplained in cold blood sits ill on anyone’s shoulders,” he said coolly, before he let his eyes drift off into the uneasy scene in the main room.

“Did Neve know?” he finally asked quietly, his fingers finding his cuff links absently.

Nana let out their own sigh. It was times like these they craved a cigarette, the feeling of warmth whispering in their lungs and smoke passing across their lips. A sensation that at least felt like something more than bone deep exhaustion. Instead weariness sat like a cloak on their shoulders, never more so than tonight, as they watched their sister’s (their sister’s) remaining happiness and comfort shatter into shards, scattering across the floor to not be found again. Now this child was looking up at them, tone not accusatory but not devoid of blame. 

Jordan wasn’t dumb and yet to Nana these questions felt inane. Why did they not tell anybody? It was simple: Benjamin had told them not to. Now they were dealing with the fallout of that choice, of his choices that they had passively accepted. Looking upon the destruction, the devastation, a part of them mourned with the rest of the gang, wanted to lash out or shut down like many of the others, but they couldn’t. “Benjamin wanted the shock, and so nobody else minus those directly involved were told.” 

Another far deeper and more cloying breath left them, “The murder was explained. The person was a spy and thus they were killed.” Bitingly they added, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but we’re a gang, not some club to play around in. The King’s Collective has always hurt people, we’ll almost certainly do it again, so stop playing naive. You’re smarter than that.” 

Nana wouldn’t betray anything about Neve without her permission, so they simply replied, “If you want to know about Neve, you’ll have to ask her.” As an immediate afterthought they added, “Not tonight though––let her rest for at least a night.” 

[nana-yamada]

fightthegods·:

I have total confidence in you. The sardonic snort is ripped from Eoin before he has a mind to stop him; perhaps if he’d been a more caring person, or more politically-minded, he would’ve thought of what consequences might befall him, considering this is, technically, his superior. But he’s neither, so the thought doesn’t even so much as register with him. Instead, he takes another sip and continues to glower in resentment at the fact that he even has to be here. What possible use would they have for him here?

He could be out right now, beating the shit out of someone in the basement of the Cornerstone. The whiskey in the glass swirls gently as Eoin gives it a few rotating motions, and in a blink the glass is empty, contents emptied in his throat. “This is bullshit, you know,” he says, eyes narrowing as his nose scrunches in annoyance. Turning his hand, Eoin holds the glass in his palm on its side, watching as it dissolves into goop slowly; petty, perhaps, but it’s what Nana brings out in him. They gave him an order — behave — but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to toe the line like a child.

Lifting his gaze to their face, there’s a hint of smug pride in his eyes as he shakes the goop off his palm. Below their feet, the ground hisses in angry protest, but Eoin ignores it. “Are we concluded?”

Nana had little time to care about such minor things as respect for hierarchy and all that, they’d been spit in the face before with nary a flinch, and while something like that would be punished, a pathetic snort was nothing. They cared about results and control, and such an show did not lesson the effect of their words. Eoin was clearly listening and for now that was enough. More so, most could only wish for Eoin to listen to such an extent and so Nana felt a certain pride even as they openly dismissed their words.

At his next words they let out their own sardonic laugh, “Probably––most things are really, but that doesn’t make it unimportant.” Despite the unruly nature of his ability, coupled with his less than polished personality, there was something undeniably beautiful about the destruction he wrought. The glass now stringy slipped between his fingers to the floor, coiling into a new shape as it touched the cold tile below. Sometimes Nana longed to be able to create such tangible destruction, to feel power and poison rushing from their finger tips rather than their lips, but it was not to be. 

They look at him directly once more, looking into his eyes for any sign of future potential problem. Finding little besides misplaced pride they nodded, “We are.”  There was nothing more here for Nana to gain, and a lot to lose, so they took their win and gracefully left. Chances were Benjamin would need them again soon, so they best be off anyways.

[nana-yamada]

deimosmeansdread‌:

Derek’s skin is hot to the touch, almost scalding, but at the sight of Nana’s fingers on him he flinches back, turns it all off. All these years later, and the instinct to not hurt them is still ground into his bones. It’s not like the instinct to not hurt a child, or a loved one, or even himself. His relationship to Nana is unique to anyone else he’s encountered, a dangerous viper he never quite befriended, never quite felt affection for, but has always respected. For a time, they existed as an extension of his own work, his own livelihood, and the memory of that connection— that partnership, tenuous as it may have been, yet working in the face of great danger and high stakes and all that adrenaline— doesn’t fade easy. The two of them have been through so much together, damn it. 

Still, he barely knows Nana, and he definitely doesn’t trust them. They shouldn’t have power over him, but as he looks at their hand, curled around his cooling skin, he knows reality isn’t quite that simple.

There’s a part of him, under the surface of calm he is trying to keep, that writhes like an animal in a trap at Nana’s touch. “Motherfucker,” he hisses, fighting back the heart in his throat, the memories rising up like bile. Nana’s calculated, cool gaze, taking and taking, unwinding people’s minds like spools of thread. And Derek, hovering just barely on their right side, their good side, only as long as it benefited them. But that alliance is long ended, with Derek going to the Jems and Nana joining the Kings. And Derek’s actions tonight, well— they haven’t been to the benefit of the King’s Collective.

He snarls and tries to yank from their grip, the feral fear in him rearing up. The flames over Nana’s shoulder reflect in the dark parts of his eyes. “Yeah, your party fucking sucks.” Then, lower: “Let me go, Yamada.”

For a moment pain laced across their palm, making spiderwebs of scalding agony flare up before the skin they were clutching cooled. This was the reaction Nana was betting on, their old bond that was more ghost than reality at this point, but stayed his hand none-the-less. Nana looked into his eyes with an intensity they rarely allowed themself to show, history making the stare that much more meaningful as the old cobwebs of the past were burnt away in their reunion. There was no love, no affection, no camaraderie even, and yet there was an undeniable and lingering sense of partnership. 

Any assumption Nana had that they still knew Derek though had long since passed, but more dangerously they knew his past and he knew theirs. An unspoken ability to maim the other was always left in the air during every interaction. If I go down I’m taking you with me might as well been the motto for their current relationship. Now though there was the immediate danger of the conservatory being nothing more than ash and debris come morning, forcing them to push past any past vendettas and fears and create results. 

Like spider’s silk the words left their lips, weaving together and master piece in which their prey was trapped, “Damien is still in that building, not to mention all the other members of the Jem family.” The lingering implication of what would happen if Derek didn’t act was left unsaid, but the roar of flames would not let it be forgotten. 

[coffeecupsandquiet]

Where: Main Room

When: Shortly After Murder 

Who: @nana-yamada​

To think he’d be approaching Nana again on the same night in any capacity other than to remind her that he existed was almost laughable. Again, Nana made it very clear that they don’t exactly extend the friendliest of faces, but Jordan didn’t either. It was part of the reason why he really didn’t mind them. 

But that was before Benjamin shocked not only him, but he was sure plenty of other King’s members. Jordan hated being caught by surprise. He tried to make it his personal goal to understand exactly what was going one, but here, he was the one missing out. From where Jordan was sitting, Nana had one step inside and one step outside of the door. Both showing loyalty to both Benjamin and Neve. Jordan didn’t want to think about the possibility of Neve leaving him out of the loop, but Nana was much easier to fathom. 

He approached them as calmly as before, although this time without a glass. His nerves were still tingling from his fight with Isaac, but he forced himself to be calm and placid. “Nana,” he said, dipping his head just a touch. Respect; he wasn’t here to fight. But he followed it up with a cool once over. “Surprised by the turn of events?” he asked dryly, arching one eyebrow. As usual, they were tucked away not so out of sight that people could forget they were there, but enough that no one would be listening.

[nana-yamada]

Few things were simple when it came to the position of underboss. There was no room for public dissent or disagreement; rather, both boss and underboss must be of a singular mind and that most often meant Nana publicly agreeing with Ben. Behind closed doors there was more of a give and take between the two, but in front of the general members of the King’s there was only ever a unified front. It was not so unlike parenting. Still, their thoughts remained their own and conflict stirred in their chest as they watched the fallout of Benjamin’s theatrics play out...especially the pain they had caused Neve. 

Such violence wasn’t foreign to Nana and honesty, neither was throwing away an entire alliance in a dramatic power play. These things were part of life in a gang and thus were something Nana had long made peace with. On the other hand, after one look at Neve’s crumbling visage, a feel of such outrage screamed in their chest, clawing at their throat to be released onto Benjamin. To damn him for what he had done to their sister, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead they settled, throat tight and fists clenched, as they mentally started sorting through the fallout of that night. It was then that Jordan approached them, respectful but still demanding in his own way.

Without hesitation they answered, “No–I would be rather bad at my job if I had been.” They had been part of the proceedings from capture to bang and to pretend otherwise would be an obvious lie that he could spot miles away. If he was about to try and get Nana to admit to any hesitations or disagreements with the leadership of the gang, this was not the time or place. Even if nobody could hear, Abigail could listening in her own way, or some other ability might give them away. Besides, Neve may trust this boy, but Nana had no reason to. With just as dry of tone, they dug bluntly, “You know this though, so what are you attempting to get at?” 

[nana-yamada]

fightthegods·:

What is it about this person that can temper Eoin’s usual destructive anger and disregard into foot-stomping pouting? If anyone else had said what they just did, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that their head would’ve already been separated from their body. But not with Nana. There’s something about them and it infuriates Eoin.

Regardless, however, he folds his arms, glass tucked into the crook of his elbow, and glares ahead of himself as he accepts the scolding. Was it deserved? Not if you ask Eoin. He’s being about as good and mild as a gathering such as this allows him to be, and yet… He lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat as he glances sideways at Nana. “Whatever,” he mutters. The words may sound dismissive and rude to others, but the fact that he submits at all speaks volumes of respect.

Looking back towards the space, Eoin finally raises the glass to his lips and takes a sip. He’d initially decided he wasn’t going to accept, but there’s no winning from Nana, and alcohol might help well enough. The burn down his throat is almost enough to loosen the perpetual tension in his body, speaking of a life of suspicion and vigilance. “He makes it difficult,” he finally says, still looking out towards the people milling about. Another sip. “He won’t fucking leave me alone, makes you just want to—” A growl of frustration finishes his sentence for him, and for a moment, he feels the urge to throw something, but it fades as quickly as it arrived.

He lets out another sigh, and this time closes his eyes, dropping his head back. "Can’t you issue a, a restraining order against him?” He sounds so whiny, doesn’t he? Eoin ejects a huff of air through his nose, another expression of his frustration, but this time aimed at himself. “Whatever, I can deal with it.”

There was no blatant acceptance of Nana’s orders––no cheerful nods or reassuring statements––but this assured Nana more than anything else. Anything as blatant as that would be a lie; something said to temporarily placate before Eoin continued on as before. A begrudging whatever meant that something they said had landed, that Eoin was listening and bowed slightly to them despite his own unwillingness. A small trickle of pride dripped down their spine, making their already confident posture all the more sure. 

This sensation only grew when he took a sip, another minor demonstration of acquiescence that only worked to cement Nana’s own control of the situation. The words that tumble out of Eoin’s mouth next remind them somewhat of a rambling child, tired of their sibling bothering them. A small part of Nana wants to laugh at the absurdity of their position while another equally wonders when they became a parent of sort, forced to regulate minor squabbles between children. Still, there was little they could disagree with, so they just nodded sagely and conceded, “Lenox does have a way of needling people” especially you was left unsaid, “so I’m not completely without sympathy. It is a merely a matter of time and place.”

At this Nana cannot resist an ungraceful snort, “I will talk to him, but I control his actions no more than I control yours.” Now they truly felt like a parent, an unwilling role thrust upon them in situations like these, but one they will suffer through for the betterment of the King’s. With no inflection to their tone they finish, “I have total confidence in you.” 

[nana-yamada]

nevekaplan·:

It all came down to Neve being unable to do her job. If she was able to do the one thing she was trained to do, the entire night could have been avoided. This wasn’t any normal job where she would use her power to get the information needed. She was tasked with getting another person to tell on their boss. And had happened? Someone had died because of her, half of The Conservatory was burnt to the ground, and any trust between gangs was long forgotten. 

It was all her fault. 

Neve follows the motions, sits next to Nana throughout the night while avoiding eye contact with any of the other King’s members. She’s positive that there were whispers about her passed behind hands but doesn’t bother to think about them. Her only concentration is solely the pattern on the wood desk in front of her. Ben spends hours talking about logistics and their next moves and fishes for any intel someone might have gathered. It’s only when she follows Nana out of the building and to the street, hand grasping onto their own does she come crashing down to reality. 

She doesn’t speak until they’re settled in the backseat of the taxi, eyes staring at the passing buildings. “Do you blame me too?” The words are barely above a whisper, almost washed out by the music coming through the speakers. The disappointment is evident in her voice, dragging down whatever positive affirmation should arise. Nana was someone Neve always sought to impress, forever chasing the idealized older sibling she never had, and to publicly disappoint them was a hit to everything she cared about. 

Nana’s eyes flickered sideways, taking in the wrecked visage of Neve. The woman looked empty....gutted really. It was if somebody had reached into her chest scooped out whatever piece of hope rested there. The word dropped from Nana’s lips without thinking, a response born of impulse and supported by firm belief: “No.” Their eyebrows pinched together, sorrow lining their face as they looked at Neve, even as her eyes were firmly trained out the window. Nana’s hand reached up to cup their sister’s cheek, thumb brushing over the woman’s cheekbone softly, before turning her head so Nana could make direct eye contact with her. Firmly, the stated as fact, “This is not your fault.” 

The taxi pulled to the side, stopping next to the sidewalk. Nana pulled out some bills from their clutch and passed them forward to the driver, before helping Neve out of the taxi and into the building before them. Their arm was wrapped around Neve’s shoulder as they refused to let go of their sibling for even a moment. For too long Nana has been surrounded by those who used them for their own ends, but not Neve. She was the younger sister that Nana could have never dreamed of; she almost single handedly taught them what love should look like and now Nana would be damned if they let Ben’s theatrics lead Neve to ruin. 

Nana slid the key into the lock––the key Neve had given them years before in a show of trust, making them one of the few who had access to her apartment––and jiggled it around before the door opened. Closing the door, the turned and took Neve’s hands into theirs. “Sleep for now, things will look brighter in the morning....I promise.” They squeezed Neve’s hands again in an attempt for reassurance, physical support always proving easier to give than verbal support. “I’ll be with you the entire night.”

[nana-yamada]

fightthegods·:

“There was no attempt,” Eoin replies, and it’s as simple as that. The attempt was to not kill him, and he’s succeeded at that thus far. If he’d had truly set his mind to it, Lenox would already be dead and Eoin wouldn’t even think twice about it. Nana’s words betrays their intentions regardless, and he can’t help but narrow his eyes at them. Even with the whiskey poured, oscillating gently within the confines of the glass at every minute movement, Eoin doesn’t accept the offer with a sip.

A grunt escapes him instead, and if this was anyone else, not someone with mental powers that would poke holes in an already fragmented memory — at best — Eoin would’ve moved closer, into their personal space, as an instinctive challenge and a gesture towards intimidation. But he doesn’t. He appreciates what little he has left of a mind triturated by drugs over the past ten years, and doesn’t care to aggrevate the one person who could make him lose it all. Eoin, disloyal and perhaps feral as he is, operates firmly on the selfish law of self-preservation.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from speaking his mind. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, tone blunt and unceremonious. He gestures with the hand holding onto the glass of whiskey, but his eyes bore into that of Nana’s. “Checkin’ up on me.” Eoin snorts, but there’s no humour behind it; the sound is as acidic as his very blood. “I don’t need checkin’ up on. I can not-kill people just fine on my own.”

Their lip curled up just the slightest in amusement, even as they scolded him with no real heat, “Don’t act a child because it suits you. You understand my meaning.” Nana turned so they were standing next to the man as opposed to in front of them; they felt far more comfortable with their back to the wall and their eyes on the room. Even as they felt his stare attempting to burrow under their skin, they don’t meet his eyes. There was frankly no need, there was nothing in there for Nana to decipher, no code to unravel.

Nana made it their business to know the members of the King’s Collective: what they wanted and desired, why they acted the way they did, and what buttons did and did not need to be pressed to get them to cooperate. This was their job as underboss and they did it well. Perhaps even took pride in it. Some members were a constantly unwinding coil that Nana could only hope to keep up with, but others were more like Eoin. He was readable and by extension rather predictable. 

They returned his bluntness with their own form of candor, “It is.” Nana’s sentences weren’t poetic or beautiful, they weren’t honeyed and sweet, but they served their purpose. They tilted their glass, letting the liquid swish in neat circles, before taking another small sip. “I hope you understand that not killing a fellow King’s member is a rather low bar to meet at such an important event.” Their eyes finally shift away from the room and meet Eoin’s, “If not, I’m here to remind you that while you’re welcome to strangle Lenox all you want on your own time, right here and right now you play nice. That means no petty squabbles over imagined slights and minor annoyances.” Point made, they look away, back towards the room.

[nana-yamada]

Location: Garfield Conservatory Date: November 16th, morning Status: Closed ( @nevekaplan​​ )

Nana watched Neve’s face throughout the evening, how it morphed and twisted into a shattered visage of sorrow. Perhaps many would reconcile that an event like this was inevitable; that such a public display of power and the shattering of the tentative peace was always going to happen, but that would be deterministic and by extension false. Nana knew better; they knew different events could have occurred, influencing events into something where this night didn’t end with such a...well, bang. It was clear that Neve, at least in part, felt as if she should shouldered some of the blame for why the night became what it did. Nana was used to death, they had played their part for long enough to be directly involved in quite a few, but Neve was gentler...better. 

The fallout of the Benjamin’s action was extreme. The Conservatory was still standing but badly burnt, the alliance was effectively shattered, and injuries occurred on all sides. Nana was lucky to escape with just a burnt palm, a gift from their confrontation with Derek and a small price to pay to reign in his flames. As the chaos died down, and the just the King’s remained the hallowed halls of their home, Benjamin drew them together to plan and to rebuild. The number of King’s members slowly dwindled as night turned to dawn, each dismissed as they were no longer needed, eventually leaving just Nana, Neve, and Benjamin until even they too were told to go home. 

Nana took in the sunken eyes of their sister, the exhausted slope of her lips, and reached wordlessly to grab their hand, squeezing it gently in solidarity. With an uncharacteristically gentle voice, they murmured, “Let’s go home.” Sleep would be needed before anything else and it was something both were surely lacking. The sun’s first rays were just piercing the skyline, casting the city in a hazy, warm light. Nana reached out their hand, signaling a taxi to take the two to Neve’s apartment. 

[nana-yamada]

Location: Garfield Conservatory Date: November 15th, 10:32 Status: Closed ( @deimosmeansdread​ )

Nana didn’t even flinch, didn’t even look, as Benjamin pulled out the gun and pulled the trigger. They just casually walked to the side of the room, grabbing a glass of champagne and taking a sip as the noise in the room skyrocketed with shouts of horror, surprise, anger, and a variety of other unidentifiable emotions. They let the waves of feeling roll over them, a small sliver of satisfaction piercing into their heart. Some dark part of them reveled in this chaos, this absurd show of vengeance. 

A small spark of light grew in the corner of their vision and without even a moment’s thought they knew the source: Deimos. In this moment Derek was truly proving himself aptly named, becoming the personification of terror and dread as fire bloomed around him. Tsk, tsk, tsk, now that wouldn’t do at all. Setting down their flute, they quickly matched pace with the man’s fleeing steps, paralleling his escape even as he attempted to become lost in the crowd. If anybody understood Derek’s destructive capabilities it would be Nana. They had seen them in action enough times to know the havoc and ruin the man could wreck, and they had no plans to let their home be consumed by flame and brimstone. 

Following the path Derek was trying to take out they identified a chokepoint. Speeding up they darted in front of the man, face like steel as they bodily blocked him from escaping, hand tightening around his wrist. It was a gamble, but a calculated one. They needed Derek to stop the destruction already taking place, or at the very least prevent him from causing more. Flames could be notoriously difficult to control, more so to fully dissipate, but perhaps with the proper motivation they could get him to stop. The trick was, he needed to actually listen to them and not incinerate them on the spot. “I hope you’re not leaving yet.” 

[nana-yamada]

 fightthegods·:

Throughout the event, Eoin has been well aware of watchful eyes on him, something you learn to tune into when you’re a closet-mutant living the majority of your life on hostile streets. After a few social incidents that Eoin would much rather sooner forget, much of the event has passed by with no one talking to him, achieved by an expression that conveyed doing so would mean pain. His nerves — or rather his patience — has been padded by the weed he’d managed to smoke away from prying eyes, or as far as he knows anyway, and the line of mephedrone he snorted just thirty minutes before Nana addresses him with two glasses in hand.

The tension normally squaring his shoulders is mostly gone, but he still eyes the underboss as one of the glasses is passed to him. Eoin takes it, not with intent rather than just as a reflex of being handed something, and glancing at the bottle they raise, it takes him a solid three seconds to register their intention with it. He grunts in sudden understanding, absent-mindedly rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“No one wants to die,” he mutters — finally — in response, glancing past Nana to two people he doesn’t recognise, undoubtedly from either of the other groups, in a heated conversation. His eyes snap back to his underboss as his free hand tugs the tie around his neck even looser; if he’d looked somewhat presentable when this whole thing started, it had quickly deteriorated over the course of it, until now, where he looked like a delinquent in a stolen, ill-fitting suit — which is about the truth.

Even though he holds the glass up for pouring, Eoin keeps his eyes firmly on Nana. Anyone else would’ve called it a lack of respect, the obvious mistrust and suspicion on his face, the lack of deference, almost daring them to try anything. For Eoin, it isn’t a lack of respect that makes him keep his eyes glued to them. No, it’s that he does respect them; he respects that they are dangerous, and considering he isn’t aware of their intentions for him yet, he’s not about to relax in their presence and trust.

“What do you want?” he asks, tone rough and impertinent, but direct and to the point. Eoin isn’t the kind of person to waste words on pleasantries or decorum, which often makes him come across as rude. Most would know that it would be in your best interest to at least pretend when you were addressing a supposed superior. Alas, social self-preservation is not a concept Eoin is familiar with, or was ever made familiar with, and it shows. 

Their long fingers curled around the bottle’s stopper, careful of their nails as Nana would hate to break one. With a firm grip they lightly twisted the stopper until a pop was heard and the glass bottle was open. They tilted the container, amber liquid slipping down the neck into the crystal glass below. First, Eoin’s glass, then their own. They felt his eyes trained on them, but refused to react to the intense stare, honestly quite used to it. If every bit of scrutiny left them quaking or if they became uncomfortable under observation, they would have never even made it past childhood. 

His almost solemn declaration made them lightly snort in amusement, a philosopher in the making, they mentally mused. Perhaps no one wants to die, but these floors will taste blood before the night is over. Their eyes follow his, landing on the bickering duo. Not Kings, so nothing Nana has to moderate unless the situation escalates; then again, they can’t have petty infighting escalate and ruin Benjamin’s big surprise. The duo break apart, separating to different sides of the room before Nana feels the need to step in. Disappointment curls around their neck, a chocker of sorts resting above their heart and in their throat. A part of them longed to use their abilities, to assert control over such insignificant pieces, but thus far they had no reason to and so they waited. 

Turning back towards Eoin, they raised their glass in an almost ironic toast, a small amount of mirth in their eyes and a quirk in their lips. Nana took a long sip, the whiskey burning down their throat, before finally settling warm in their stomach. Their trained eyes could read the tension in their body, making his muscles tense and turning his gaze into speculation. A small bead of satisfaction sat comfortably in Nana. Even if the two were of similar heigh, Nana was all long lines and lean muscles, making it so Eoin’s body mass easily overtook theirs; yet, one offering of whiskey and the power that was coiled just under his skin tensed in preparation of attack. 

It was an easy question with no simple answer for Nana wanted many things, but for now they simply settled with, “No attempting to kill Lenox.” It was simply bad form to actively choke another member of your gang in front of all to see. The King’s Collective must appear as one; a cohesive unit that functioned on a higher level than the riffraff that made up the other gangs. Whether that was the truth or not mattered little, what mattered is what people believed. A lesson first learned through their mother and then perfected with their ability.

“It is not as though I don’t understand the desire,” they leveled, “but of all nights tonight is not the one to follow through on such urges.” Eoin would never listen to a full ban on brutality, and thus it would be pointless to try and place one, but if he could just pick the right moment for such an outburst Nana’s life would be much simpler. 

[nana-yamada]

the king’s collective: hydra

nothing beside remains. round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away