blame circumstance ;

domenico (nico) chambers. 28. war's dominion.

[nicochambers]

edensadik​:

“good, good, i’m glad you remember. i’m just trying to cover all the bases. other than the obvious hypothermia, i need to make sure that you also don’t have a concussion. it must’ve been an awful fall,” she muses, waiting patiently for him to gather and rearrange his thoughts so that she can write the full report on his current state and hand it over to the wardens. “drink slowly, your body needs some time to absorb the heat,” she advises as she continues to hold the thermos bottle, providing only assistance in a dose that she’s certain won’t wound his pride or dignity. “i could also get you some tea if you wish, domenico.”

at the mention of ikki, she only nods, making a mental note for herself. “all right. i’ll be sure to tell the wardens. i’m certain that they’d want to know. they won’t let him get away with this,” the half-angel, half-nurse tries to reassure, but the very idea forces her to wonder just how powerful and forceful ikki is. he’s capable of vanquishing nico, that much she now knows, and yet she dares to forget such an alarming realization for a brief moment when she senses the warmth of his skin, the warmth that desperately keeps trying to fight through the many layers of tissue. 

“oh nico, no, no, of course not. please, you have no reason to be concerned. i made sure to check all the signs and trust me, you’ll be all right. you’re not going to lose anything. not on my watch,” she offers him a gentle smile, all brilliant and radiant, one that she usually reserves for those closest and dearest to her heart,  allowing her hand to slide down to his cheek. “i do, however, advise you to get tested for certain bacteria and viruses, since swimming in such waters carries a risk of picking up infections.”

concussion, eden says, and nico tries to remember the signs of one to see if he can help her decide, but that's hard. he can barely hold onto a thought for longer than a few seconds, let alone remember anything as substantial as the symptoms of a concussion. he's pretty sure confusion and dizziness are in there, and given how weak he currently feels, he could check those off. he's hoping he'll stay only with hypothermia, though. he'd rather not collect issues.

she says his full name, and in his current brain fog, it sounds foreign to hear it. he's worked so hard to condition everyone to call him nico, making the transition easier back in the day, when he still remembered that his name was once nicolas. here he is, grand old domenico. reduced to a shivering, shaking mess. "um. thank you. water's fine," he mumbles out, doing his best to comply to her advice and sipping his water slowly. the mention of ikki getting payback brings him some level of peace, at least, because he believes that, too. he knows nothing goes easily without payback in this world. ikki's mistake was not killing him.

he doesn't expect her reassurances to trample over his fear, as overwhelming as it feels, but she sounds sure of it. her words wash over him with much needed relief, something in his chest unwinding a fraction. the bright smile helps, too -- she reminds him of one of his little sisters. "yeah. thames is more gunk than water," he stutters out, and this is as close as he will get to a joke, but he thinks it's pretty commendable. her hand against his cold skin nearly burns in contrast, and he doesn't have it in him to offer a smile back, but his voice is earnest when he says, "thank you, eden."

[nicochambers]

WHERE: nico (and samir)'s place WHEN: march 2nd CLOSED for @ginervaricci​ 

Nico doesn't even know when this thing between them started. He doesn't know when it became so easy to have Ginerva over, and to feel so blissfully comfortable around her. It's just that -- easy. He doesn't know how much of that he can attribute to the fact that she's someone from the outside. So much of his life has been given to this war by now, all of his relationships so entangled in this endless cycle of worrying and lying and betraying, being with someone who's not affiliated with the gangs feels like a breath of fresh air. It feels like a glimpse of normalcy.

He shoots her a text because it's late, and he's lonely, and they haven't seen each other in a while. Part of asking her to come over is just dreading the silence of the ceiling above his bed staring back at him, but part of it is missing her, too. She has the kind of energy that easily fills up the space, brightens everything. Sometimes he feels like a leech for basking in it, something much colder and darker himself, risking dragging her down with him. Tonight, though, there's no space to feel like that. He wants easy, he wants the comfort that their relationship brings, he wants to pay for their pizza and take her to bed and not be aware of the outside world. 

Conversation drifts, an easy back and forth that's familiar between them, chat taking priority over whatever terribly trashy movie is playing on the TV. What matters is wasting time together, sharing the same blanket, sitting back on his bed. One of them mentions plans for next week, Nico is suddenly reminded of the holiday inching closer to them. Mother's day, such dreaded time. It's impossible not to feel the weight of his choices this time of year, like clockwork, his shoulders pulled down by regret and sorrow. Still, he puts on an easy smile when he asks, "what is your family doing for mother's day?" It's part of his act, pretending he's cool with it. Nicolas would be miserable, but Domenico has lost his parents so long ago that he's unaffected by such trivial holidays. Either way, he still genuinely likes hearing what other families are up to, at least, so he can live vicariously through people who actually get to hug their mother every once in a while. "Fun weekend planned? Tell me beforehand, so I don't accidentally interrupt any family dinners with a booty call." He's being facetious, for the most part. He wouldn't actually try to call someone up right on mother's day, he still has his decency left.

[nicochambers]

WHERE: some coffee shop xoxx WHEN: march 4th CLOSED for @oflightfeet​

Nico knows it's a gamble, to be walking around an area dangerously too close to FemEn, specially these days, when everyone's on edge. But there he is anyway, attentive eyes sweeping the streets at every turn he makes, searching for unwanted familiar faces. It's bright and busy enough that he knows he can push his luck -- no one's about to shoot him on sight with so many civilians around. 

And he may be conducting shady business, but it's not at War's orders. Does it make it better, or worse, that his motivation is purely personal and childishly petty? Ikki Nakamura, recently turned CEO and recently announced brand new boy toy of Rafael Femenias Jr, still has his favourite fucking rifle. He's pretty mad about it. He's sure the weapon isn't exactly at their place of work (and maybe it's already been discarded anyway), but still, he's been vulturing around the neighbourhood for the past couple of days in his spare time, hoping to get a glimpse of Ikki, perhaps in the hopes of learning the man's habits or schedule.

Today, he's a few blocks away, getting distracted by the window of a flower shop, when he catches sight of them in the reflection. The unmistakable hair, the way they walk, the familiarity of them -- he hates that his brain startles in recognition not a half-second after he sees their image. His feet move on their own accord. He doesn't have a plan, he doesn't have any words in his mind that he'd like to say. No grand motive, either. Nothing but a drive to meet them, to reach out, to enter the coffee shop and move until he's standing by their table.

"Hey." He hates that it's something like genuine concern that wraps around the empty greeting. He hates that he's not here with ulterior motives, he hates that it seems like he's not made of the hard stuff other people in this business are made of. He knows he can get things out of Wren, he knows he should be talking to them for that. But instead, he stands here, and feels just like he did that night at the truce anniversary. A little pathetic, and a little too soft. He knows he won't be invited to sit, but he thinks he'll feel even dumber if he just stays in place, so he slips into the seat across from them at the table. "Heard about the FemEn building." He remembers seeing that they work there now. "Everything alright?" At least he has it in him to deflect, instead of blurting out the are you okay that's hidden underneath that.

[nicochambers]

carmanxsadik​:

for: @nicochambers​​​ location: elite gym date: february 27, early morning

Carman’s mind is a minefield all its own when she closes her eyes at night. Each step she takes within her subconscious thoughts is precarious, tip toeing past unpleasant realities and dark fears in hopes of finding greener pastures ahead. In her mind’s eye, in the shadows, she sees Eden, always Eden, scared and angry. But she doesn’t know how to help –– how to tell her that she’d rather be on the receiving end of her anger and ire, than on the sidelines, watching her get hurt. That she’d rather be on the receiving end of all that, than standing over her grave. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you. 

In her mind’s eye, shrouded in darkness that swirls around him and creates a noose, she sees Saint, a target on his by back by virtue of his name, riddled with arrows, with injury and ruin as he tries to balance the weight of the world whilst trying keep hold of the shattered pieces of his heart. Let me help. Let me help. Let me help. She sees her father and her mother, their kingdom burned to ruin by her own mistakes. Everything they’ve loved, torn to pieces by her hands. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But they never hear her. And she’s left running after them, scrambling for a foothold as the landscape changes and shifts and the war that’s begun burns it all to the ground. 

So she’s left waking up in the middle of the night, not bothering to check the time as she puts on trainers, slips on leggings and a sweatshirt and heads out as Hugo watches her leave. She tells herself she’ll invest in an at-home-gym at some point in the future, but as she pulls into Elite’s carpark, she’s grateful for the spare set of keys she totes around. Still, despite the hour ( a quarter past two in the morning ), she’s surprised to find a light on when she pushes open the back door, and even more surprised to see someone going to town on some punching bag that looks like it’s seen better days. A hand goes to her bag, slung across her shoulders, with a knife easily accessible within the first zipper before they turn in the direction of the creaking door swinging shut behind her and she sees who it is. 

“Oh ––” Christ, of course it’s Nico. “I didn’t see any cars out front…” As in, she wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there, certainly not him. They’ve been able to get by the past month, without much incident. And if either of them recalls their dalliance weeks ago, neither addresses it directly. They skirt around the fact a work meeting turned into quite a different type of rendezvous entirely when Carman crossed a line Nico seemed all too willing to cross with her. A moment of grief, of need and desire and overwhelming emotion led to tangled limbs in tangled sheets that neither Carman nor Nico have since addressed. “I can go if you like.” He was there first, after all.

Sleep hasn't been coming easily. Ever since the Thames, ever since the Truce has broken, uneasiness sits heavily in the air. Perhaps those in the families have an easier way dealing with this, growing up as they did, surely hearing stories of times like these when the truce wasn't in place yet. Nico, on the other hand, has only ever known the precariously installed peace (if one could call it that) that everyone found themselves treading on top of. Declaring the world an actual war zone feels different.

For the first time since he's joined War, he starts to question a lot of things. They provide him with comfort, money enough to get him the roof over his head and the food he likes to eat, but that's not why he stays. Like a kindergartener offered golden stars for praise, he's been given promotions and climbed up the social ladder in a way that feels important. In a way that feels meaningful. But is it? Does any of this make sense, when they're all cut from the same cloth anyway? It's all rotten. If he's no better than the people from Pestilence, then maybe he's no better than Flora's drug dealer.

So he goes to the gym. He finds himself restless tonight again, and when none of his playlists seem to be hitting right, he figures leaving the flat is the only way out. And punching a bag until he tires himself out feels like a good way to make sure he passes out when he finally crashes back into bed.

It's a miracle he even hears the door creep open over the sound of bandaged knuckles throwing merciless punches, but he does. His hand goes straight to the handgun around his waist -- a ridiculous move, to train with a gun on him, but he's not about to be an idiot when he's all alone in this gym. Gun pointed up defensively, the second he sees Carman, he clicks the safety back on and lets the revolver twirl limply over his trigger finger with a sigh. "Fuck. Could've said hi or something," he complains, but there's no fire behind his words. He doesn't have it in him to let the brief scare linger. 

The sight of her here, when they're alone together, makes him uneasy. It feels ridiculous to assume they can't share a gym, so he's already shaking his head before she's even done offering to leave, but there's a clear heaviness in the air that he's not sure he's the only one feeling or not. He must be, he decides, so he pushes through it. They had a thing one time, it didn't mean anything, they could continue being professional now. He's not a schoolboy with a crush. "Don't worry about it. Plenty of room," he tucks the gun back into its holster before reaching over for the pile of his things on the ground near him, pulling his shirt back on. Obviously she's seen him in less, but suddenly, being shirtless feels like a little too much exposition. "Couldn't sleep either?"

[nataliadycr]

I Really Miss Wynonna Earp (20/~)

[merrittrps]

SHAMIER ANDERSON as adam └ Soulmates. S01E03 - Little Adventures (2020 -  )

[nicochambers]

samirkotecha​:

Samir had, he thought, been keeping a fairly solid and resolute lid on the dangerous, entangling threads of attachment. Some level was unavoidable, necessary even, giving him the relatability and garnering him the trust to work his resolute way deeper into the belly of the beast. He’d tell himself it was for the best when he’d feel that odd flash of camaraderie with the others on his team or with his roommate, even as the camaraderie started to sink past skin-deep with a distant tolling of warning in the back of Samir’s mind. He knew better than to get too close, or so Dhruvi tried to remind him on a regular basis, and so Samir tried to believe.

Unfortunately, it was difficult to ignore the pin-point prick of seemingly unavoidable and unbidden anger to know that not only had Nico gotten hurt, but so had Carman. Unavoidable but not inexplicable; Samir was worried, obviously, as he ought to be for the Dominion-Virtue pair he’d gotten to know as well as he had over the past few years. The anger, however, was new. It might be easy enough to blame on the raw, frayed nerves still fresh-cut in the scant hours that’d passed since Pestilence chose to broke the truce, but something in Samir knew better than that. Part of him was angry, just as another part of him was worried for how deep that anger had the potential to run.

Samir realizes he’s let a little too long of a silence lapse between them, drawing in a slow breath of performative (and genuine) exhaustion as he flexes his hands where they hang, elbows propped on his knees. “I brought Zach back with me earlier, I think he’s mostly okay. Concussed and rattled, but should be fine.” His lips press into a thin line as he shakes his head. “Saw Rita, she’s fine. Was texting with Saint, he’s fine, too. Said he ‘impulsively shot a Pinkett in the shoulder’,” Samir added with a clear air of amusement. “Didn’t specify which. So, uh. I guess that’s a fucking thing.”

Samir looks tired, which is new, too. Have they ever let them see each other like this, in a state so fragile? They've surely been through a load of bullshit together by now, including training as Powers, the two and Carman giving sweat and blood to climb the ladder within the gang, but this is different. It's a kind of tired that really settles into his bones, Nico feels it. Hopelessness might be a better word for it.

Still, there's comforting familiarity in sitting here, exchanging small bits of information like sharing chips on their couch. A part of him is still scared, and feels overwhelmed and lost in all of this, but this feels like they're starting to pull themselves back together already. No doubt their Horseman at this point is already planning Pestilence and Famine's downfall. Revenge is a sweet promise at the end of a long, endless night. "Good. Sounds good," he offers a clumsy nod, muscles still too stiff to perform anything more grateful than that. The mention of a wounded Pinkett gets his eyebrows raising, curious hum leaving his throat. "Well, at least someone got a shot at them. Fucking hell. Dunno how they plan on ever leaving their houses again after this." He, personally, is ready to set up post near their places if Gabrielle wants a sniper for the occasion.

He sighs into the cold air of the room, lifting his head up to look around the boringly bright walls, and the stain on the ceiling that he's grown to know in the last twelve hours. He wishes he was back in his bed already. He leans over, bumps his shoulder against Samir's lightly, which is a bigger display of affection than either of them are used to seeing from him. "Go home. You look like shit. I'll catch you there once they let me out."

END.

[lockinspo]

“Was it really that hard to love me? Was it really that easy to leave me?”

— - (127/365) by (KJ)

[nicochambers]

oflightfeet​:

There are things that go unsaid between them. Wren knows that, because there are things they keep from Domenico and they’re cut from the same cloth in so many ways, that they can’t imagine that there’s no secrets kept in his chest too. They respect that. There are things that they want to entrust him with, one day, but not yet — patience has been a crucial ingredient in their relationship.

They wish they could repay him, for all the patience he’s granted them. They know it’s a lot. They know he doesn’t have to. Maybe that’s why they do — why they love him. For his quiet understanding and acceptance, the way he sees their flaws and still lets his fingertips dance over their face like he does now. It’s simple, it’s awfully simple, this entire moment; and yet Wren feels like they need to catch their breath as they’re in it. 

But then Wren’s eyes are soft as they move their gaze over his face and they start to think that it’s not for what he gives them that they love him, but just for who he is. Those warm eyes, the delicateness of thumb against their lip, the words that leave his own now. All the small puzzle pieces that make up Domenico Chambers, adored. Small kindnesses, long silences, all of it so very fragile. Wren is always afraid of things breaking, but their mind isn’t moving down that well-trodden path now. They’re simply looking at him, letting his soft touches ring through them and sitting with that warm knowledge.

“And I love you,” is their response to his I love your nonsense. Wren looks at him for a moment, quiet and eyes slightly widened. Their free hand reaches for the one he’s got dancing around their face, taking fingers into their own. As if they wish to say that it’s okay, that I’m sure, reassuring both Nico and themselves. And then they smile, placing a kiss on his lips, soft and certain and lingering.

They pull back, only to repeat those three words, “I love you.” Smile widens, and Wren lets out something of a laugh, as if they’re relieved, or giddy, or euphoric; as if they could rush into the street and yell it there, too. And Wren, for once, does not fear, does not fret about the possibility that he might not love them back. They just look at him, features laced with a warm certainty.

Right here, right now, Nico's happy. There are only a handful of times in his life in which he's felt like this -- warm, welcomed, safe. Right here, looking up at them, hearing the soft notes of whatever nonsense is playing, he belongs. And what a rare thing it is, in his life, to find any place where he feels belonging.

Someone should sell this, he thinks suddenly. They should put this feeling into capsules and sell it for a thousand pounds and he's pretty sure it'd be the cure for most things; it's cheesy enough that he's never saying that out loud, but it's true. This feeling right here, being in love with them, is healing. Their face beams down on him like sunlight, the soft curves and lines of every feature like a painting, or a dream, or something sacred, something he doesn't have a name for. The only name is Wren. It's them. They are engrained in the fabric of his history now, they claim possession over his heart, and he gives it to them, willing, eager. Keep it, he must've said, shoving the beating organ into the warmth of their palms, keep it, it's not mine anymore.

And then they say it. They say it back, to all the ways Nico has already said it to them before, but they say it first, as he's never said the words out loud. I love you, and he blinks, expression as schooled as always into something bland, something normal, but this time with a storm brewing in his chest.

I love you, they repeat it, and his lips that are still tingling with their kiss split into a blinding grin. "You do?" It's a rhetoric, as much as it's a hidden request, that they're being truthful, that they don't regret it, that they never stop saying it. He thinks this is the greatest thing he's ever heard. He thinks he could hear them say it all the time. He thinks he would give up listening to all the music in the world as long as he could hear them say those three words again and again and again.

"I love you," he responds, without the too, because that feels like he's saying it just because they are, and he's not. He squeezes their hand in his, matches their laughter with one of his own, and surges forward to kiss them again. It's hard to fit their mouths together in a way that matters when he's grinning so hard, but he still does, presses happy kisses against Wren's lips, lifts the upper half of his body onto an elbow so he can meet them better.

His hand sinks into their hair, and the only reason he pulls away again is to let his gaze wash over their features, taking in the mirrored joy he sees in them. This feels like relief. This feels like home. "I love you."

[nicochambers]

to >> nico: yeah

to >> nico: i did know

to >> nico: and if you're next question was i there, no i wasn't

to >> mitzi: hm

to >> mitzi: well. i'm glad you're fine.

[nicochambers]

crmnsdk​:

CARMAN’S ANSWERING GRIN IS BROAD, more genuinely amused that Nico has chosen to indulge the Virtue her little jokes instead of the usual dismissal; perhaps not every consequence of the previous night is so dire. “I thought I had made it very clear how willing I am to jump you in any number of locations,” she winks. A part of her wants to ask what had been different that day, why the dam of whatever tension they never spoke of had broke, but to ask would be to reveal her own weakness. That his could be something. She’d rather feel empty than hurt, so Carman doesn’t pose her query. Instead, she claps her hands delightedly that he’s brought food ( you shouldn’t, she wants to say, you shouldn’t be sweet to a scorpion who cannot change her nature ). “Domenico Chambers, are you sweet on me? I didn’t realize you cared,” she laughs, downplaying the gesture for herself more than anyone else. Mixing business and pleasure only resulted in complications – she’s seen the looks between Kashvi and Sol, the unique gravitation and distance they shared – and Carman had always chosen much simpler pursuits. She reaches for the dish he’s brought and inhales the fragrant scent of spices with undeniable pleasure before spooning the soup to her mouth.

“Didn’t seem like you won last night.” Her eyes flick over to him as he settles, observing his features shamelessly. He’s sitting close enough that she can make out the lines around his mouth that crease on those rare occasions when she’d caught a fleeting smile ( he looked good, when he smiled ). “How’d you end up looking like a wet cat at the safehouse?” The question implied beneath her more cheery inquiry is: who did this to you? Who must we destroy? She’s not sure how the other managed to trigger that protective urge Carman reserves most for Eden; perhaps it’s the camaraderie that grows when soldiers work side by side for long enough, sharing meals and drinks between planning and missions. She and Nico (and Samir) came up together in the last few years, once young enough to feel invincible, now old enough to calculate risk and reward more carefully. Carman’s head is a breath away from leaning against Nico’s shoulder…but the Virtue doesn’t lean. She simply inches nearer to press their sides together, grateful for the solidity of his presence and that unspoken rush of affection when he speaks his guilt aloud.

“Not your fault,” she says lightly, navigating the words they don’t say with ease. “I’ve been lax with training.” No more avoiding the gym over a night Nico clearly had little interest in repeating (or so she thinks) when there was war to be waged. “It’ll heal, but I should be staying still,” Carman acknowledges sourly, hoping in vain that he doesn’t realize that the real reason she asked him over was because she was lonely.

Nico averts his gaze from the wink, the same way he has from her exposed shoulder, even if the amused tug of his lips betrays his façade. Maybe there's something there, in the way he always tries to be too serious around her, the way he pretends her advances don't fan over a raging fire somewhere in the pit of his stomach. (Maybe it's something to do with the power he's not ready to admit she could have over him.) But tonight, of all nights, he has concrete reason to be difficult. He'd have no trouble showing her a good time if it weren't for the fear of hurting her -- and the google search on the way here had been severely inconclusive on whether or not an orgasm could help with the body's healing process. "Don't get too comfortable. It's just so you'll have leftovers for the next two days, so you don't need to make Samir your personal delivery man slave," he reasons, a lie to give them both something else to believe in. He knows things between them are not that simple.

The question has him humming, buying himself some time to respond, his eyes focused on the telly. He's hardly paying attention to the game, but it feels like it'll be easier to tell the story if his eyes are somewhere else."Got pushed off the bridge, into the Thames," he explains, simplified, emotionless. Just another day, just another near-death experience. Nothing to write home about. "Ikki Nakamura. Famine's dominion." He knows that's what she's asking, and he knows what her question means. "He'll get what's coming for him soon enough." He adds, for both of their sakes. A reassurance that she doesn't need to go out of her way for any type of revenge -- all in its due time. Once they've all licked their wounds for long enough, they'll turn this around, he's sure of it.

She presses herself to his side, and his eyes flicker back to her, gaze warm as he studies her features. When it comes to missions, he can read Carman's mind with the ease and precision of someone reading a book, always anticipating her movements, always staying in sync. But this is newer territory. They've been friends for years, of course, but it feels different now. He reciprocates her closeness by letting his hand rest on her leg -- close to her knee, because he's still trying very hard not to be a pervert here, thank you very much. "Well, clearly I need some more training, too. We can work on that," granted, there's a higher chance of them getting distracted if they train together, but he's not pointing that out. There's a pause and his voice lowers then, his eyes still on her because he wants to know if she'll be honest. He won't hold it against her if she's not. "Are you okay? Besides the leg."

[nicochambers]

samirkotecha​:

‘Fell into the fucking Thames.’ Samir’s eyebrows arch towards his hairline as he makes a point not to consider the details. They’d been at the bank of the river, but something about the way Nico says it suggests much more severity than taking a quick dip. He doesn’t think it sounds funny at all, but Nico can probably read that well enough in the concern on his face. “Ikki. Okay,” Samir echoes, as if taking notes – but he knows who Ikki Nakamura is.

“We’ll get you a new favourite rifle,” Samir says, and almost smiles at how ridiculous that sounds. Like Nico is a kid that lost his blanket at the shops and they’ll have to find him another. “And some new hands.” This he also tries to play off with an air of comedy, but he can hear the trepidation in his friend’s words. Samir nods towards the lump of blankets he assumes to be Nico’s hands. “They’ll be okay.” He doesn’t know why he comes off sounding so confident. Maybe he just wants to be, for Nico’s sake. “We’ll just put you through a hundred rehabilitory – is that a word? – hours of FIFA as physical therapy. Right as rain.”

Samir isn’t used to seeing Nico so concerned. Vulnerable, even. It’s a state they hide from each other, if either is even willing to admit they have it. For all the messed-up shit the two of them are put through on a weekly or even daily basis, there’s an escapist normalcy in the time they do end up spending together. Acknowledging anything other than that feels… strange. But here, tonight, they don’t exactly have a choice.

Samir clears his throat and tries to change the subject anyway. “How’s everyone doing, that you know of? We have any casualties, or… you seen Carman?”

Maybe it's hysteria, but Samir's comment does get Nico to let out a chuckle. It lasts for a second, a half-snort that shakes his shoulders in a startle, but it's still worth for putting him a better mood. He's still terrified of losing his hands, it's still overwhelming to think of how he can't bend his fingers right. But he's not used to opening up to Samir, he's not used to talking much at all, and it's easier to pull himself back to their usual banter than to dwell any longer on his woes.

"Fifa sounds fucking nice right about now. I could use a win," he says, and the fact that he always beats Samir in that game is clearly implied. He wonders when he'll be good to go home. He never thought he'd miss that stupid flat as much as he does now, his every muscle aching to sink into his bed, or take an impromptu nap on their shared couch, or even dig through their shared fridge for some snacks, anything familiar. He just wants to stop staring at the bland walls around him right now.

At the question, Nico hums, nodding along. His memory may still be faulty, but asking about people was one of the first things he did. "Saw Carman. Shot in the leg, I think, but she seemed okay," he's too tired to hide the relief in his voice. "Haven't checked the casualties, but I think a few. I know Eden's fine, too. And you? Seen anyone?"

[nicochambers]

kashvis​:

Kashvi doesn’t know the first thing about hypothermia, in all truth. She’s starting to wonder if there’s more she should do, but then keeps coming to the conclusion that the best thing to do is get Nico to the safe house as soon as possible. Eyes flick from the road to him still, afraid that he might succumb to the cold and fall asleep. And every now and then, she catches her own reflection in the rear view mirror and quickly redirects her eyes. 

“Yeah, I doubt he’ll make that mistake again.” The times of going out unarmed were over. Not that there were many days that Kashvi went out without a weapon, anyway. She shakes thoughts of hypothetical futures, focusing on her goal. “I guess when you’ve got such brute strength, you’re inclined to rely on it.” She could not say the same; she knows how to throw a punch, but Kashvi relies on technique and quickness in stead. For Nico, she thinks it’s the same. Who is he, without his guns? 

Domenico’s words go unanswered for a moment as Kashvi mulls them over. A comment about Gabrielle Warden isn’t the only shitty mother in their circles any more is swallowed ( as she knows better than to speak ill about their Horseman, especially moments after she had been attacked ). Kashvi grips her steering wheel a bit tighter.

“It does seem like she’s signed her own daughter’s death warrants. What I keep thinking about too, is that if she had wanted to assassinate Rafael and Gabrielle, why not make certain that they’d be killed?” Kashvi frowns in her driver’s seat, head shaking. Pestilence had skilled killers among their ranks, why not utilise them? Unless Michaela had wanted to just maim — but that seems weak, and she does not seem like the one to choose the weaker option. “This just makes her daughters look incapable.” She starts to shake her head, then feels a pounding pain and stops. “I don’t know. Fucking hell, Nico.”

x

Hell, they've taken quite the hit, haven't they? Nico doesn't know how the other gangs are faring, he doesn't exactly remember much right now; it feels like entire chunks of his brain are shutting down by now, lights out to preserve energy, and pulling back any scenes from tonight is impossible other than one or two flashes and the moment with Ikki on the bridge.

Still, it's starting to dawn on him, that this may have been quite the fucking hit. Of course, he knows their horseman took a blow, but he almost died, Kashvi got a broken nose -- what else? Carman, Samir, Zach, Eden, were they all okay? That's too many names to ask about, and he doubts Kashvi will know much anyway, so he keeps his concerns to himself and wills himself to remember asking once he reaches the safe house. If sleep doesn't take him before that. Lord, he's tired.

His eyes flutter shut, exhaustion threatening to overtake, and for some reason, the image of his mother pops up behind his eyelids. It's more vivid than anything he's been able to conjure up in the past five years. He wonders if he's dying, and thinks it wouldn't be too bad to go if he's seeing her. He jerks himself awake and grips the gun in his hand tighter.

"Yeah. Yeah, feels fucking lame," he mutters, squeezing his arms closer to himself, feeling like any little movement sends shocks of ice cold air to his skin. "Fucking death wish. 'S what she has." That's not a very useful comment to add to the conversation (has he said that already?), but hopefully Kashvi will forgive him this time.

[nicochambers]

zhangrita​:

So far they’ve been making generally easy conversation, Rita doing a bit more of the heavy lifting but that was typical with Nico. She was enjoying their vague plotting as they finished up a lunch that might not be completely ruined thanks to his help. As Rita was lining forks up perfectly with knives, Nico shocked her with his unfinished comment, his assumption that this living arrangement between Remus and her meant they were getting back together. Did the rest of War think this too? Surely not any of the ones who’d stayed here last night, forced to sit through awkward dinner, witnessing Rita and Remus retire to separate bedrooms at the end of the night. 

“Er, no,” came her replied to unasked question. Now it was her turn to be tight lipped. Rita was sorry to disappoint if that’s what everyone thought, but a reconciliation didn’t seem possible after what she’d done ( the guilt rising up inside her ). Her focus remained trained on the table while her hands made tiny movements to put the final touches on the table though it was already set. “Yep, lots of adapting to our new world, we’ll all come out on top soon enough.”

She moved back to the stove to see what progress had been made. “Wow, that looks really good. Thanks Nico.” Her hand clapped him on the shoulder as she breathed in the delicious aroma of the tomato risotto. Only a faint trace of char remained, Rita could only hope it wouldn’t ruin the overall taste. “I won’t blame you if you want to eat a second lunch afterwards.”

x

Nico takes note of her short answer, and figures he shouldn't press. He's not one for gossip, anyway. He'll admit that a part of him does wish to understand what is happening between Remus and Rita, but it's been years of seeing the Wardens up close now, and it's been years since he's officially given up trying to fully understand them. Families are complicated, he supposes. He's not one to talk.

He nods at her gratefulness, and musters up the energy to offer a smile. "Of course. It was mostly you." He won't take all of her credit, after all, she did her best. And he's sure it might taste a little bit bitter, but it does smell pretty great so far. Her offer of a second lunch doesn't go without a good-humoured psh and the appearance of a rare joke from him as he says, "I'll make sure to put it on your tab if I do."

END.

[nicochambers]

edensadik​:

it was inglorious at best, eden’s turbulent and short academic journey, a journey that like many others ended with her taking a detour and finding herself somewhere entirely new, far away from the borders of that which she called familiar. but this is something different for the entire notion of helping others feels so much like catching up with an old friend over a round of drinks; compassion is a friend, tall but timid, with trembling hands but a honeyed voice, a friend who smiles more than they should without knowing why, living with the belief that someone shall at least smile back. 

she begins to recall her early university days, the never-ending psychology classes and the first aid training that she attended almost every week for five months in a row that weren’t a part of her program, but something that she simply chose on a whim — another consecutive pattern in eden’s life. so was it just a coincide? or perhaps fate? one of life’s many cruel tricks? some didn’t take it seriously at all, others found themselves graduating with top marks and building successful medical careers, but what about her? where is she now? nowhere, somewhere. in between. who is she? no one. so she recalls and so she mourns, pictures the the life she could’ve lived. 

snapping out from her reverie, she realizes that she’s still making rounds and observing the injured when she approaches dazed nico, reaching for one of the thermos bottles filled with warm water. “of course, here you go, warm water is better for you. it’ll help you recover faster,” she advises and brings the bottle closer to his mouth without expecting him to move. “do you know where you are? do you remember what happened to you or how you fell into the river? i hope you don’t mind me asking because those are some fundamental questions. they’ll help me determine your current state and whether or not you’ll need any other medical assistance.” 

she presses her palm lightly against his forehead, each action and word accompanied by a modest smile and it’s almost humorous how the wardens at last need her assistance; for hands accustomed to holding pistols will never be as warm as hers. “you’re doing good, nico. i can tell. you’ll be be back to your old ways in no time.”

The thought of drinking a thermos of warm water on any other day would feel repulsive, probably, unless it was accompanied by several bags of tea. Today, however, he's ecstatic when she brings him the bottle. It feels warm against his hands when he catches it -- not because the thermos is actually heated on the outside, but because his hands are so frozen solid that even an ice cube might radiate warmth against his skin. And catching it is an overstatement, useless hands barely adding any hold as Eden brings it up for him. Dignity, he thinks. That's what they add.

The water inside his mouth feels hot, and it burns a trail of comfort down his throat. "I'm at the headquarters," he stutters out again, words broken and spoken through a lot more teeth chattering. Eden asks a lot of questions, it's hard to keep up. He blocks out everything she said after river, busy trying to process the questions still, but he gets the gist of what she's saying.

"Ikki. I got pushed," he finally manages to say. He remembers what happened vividly, but describing it in full words might be a bit harder now, with how hard he's shaking. Her hand presses against his forehead and he closes his eyes, allowing himself the moment of sheer exhaustion. "Am I--" a cough interrupts, the feeling of knives up his throat, before he can speak again. "Am I gonna lose anything?" The question is mumbled out past gritted teeth, his eyes blinking back open to her. He can't feel his feet. His hands. He's not even positive he still has legs at all, and maybe he already lost all his fingers and just hasn't noticed it. He just wants to know. 

[nicochambers]

to >> nico: yeah, 100% better than dead

to >> nico: would have been a bit hard to reply to you if that was the case

to >> nico: is this a conversation we're going to have over text?

to >> mitzi: so you knew

to >> mitzi: figured

[nicochambers]

to >> nico: hi

to >> nico: i'm fine...tired i suppose

to >> nico: are you okay?

to >> nico: i really hope you're okay

to >> mitzi: tired is good. beats dead

to >> mitzi: i'm glad you're okay

to >> mitzi: i'm fine, i guess

to >> mitzi: did you know? that this would all go down?