fuck a princess, i'm a king

@no-one-asks--any-questions-here

bow down and kiss on my ring

106 posts

TRIGGER WARNING: mental illness (depression, ptsd), suicide, death, eating disorders mention, cancer mention, addiction mention

HEY, i think i just saw KHADROMA ADLER-GRAVES walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the FORTY-FIVE YEAR OLD is working as the OWNER of THE MEAN-EYED CAT BAR and lives in STARGAZER VILLAS. given they are RELIABLE but RETICENT, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to KILLER QUEEN by QUEEN and you’ll know why they’re called THE FEMME FATALE. ☾ .⭒˚ dichen lachman. cis woman + she/her/hers. pansexual + capricorn.

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#boneyardintro #tw: mental illness #tw: depression #tw: ptsd #tw: suicide #tw: death #tw: ed mention #tw: addiction mention #tw: cancer mention

nxnbinarydracvla

He couldn't put into words how she was gawking at him, like he was sixteen again — not much had changed, he still wore racoon rings of black shadow around his eyes, an assortment of jewelry to cover over the scars that his self-loathing had incited, and the nausea that popped and crackled like soda pop in his stomach as the thought popped into his head that she might resent him for jumping the gun and revealing information she hadn't wanted to know. Moving on was harder when you watched the other person move faster, after all. The breath in his chest felt scarce, burned, even, and he was left wringing his fingers, tongue wetting his lips and averting his eyes to his feet, a mum nod answering her. Had he made it worse? Medications had never helped him — his thoughts continued to speed one after the other, or jumbled together in a heap, if he hadn't freshly smoked a joint to subdue them and listen to them one at a time. Did he contribute somehow? He'd run through every checklist of how he could have fucked up without ever realizing it, as he'd never be a whole person — close to it, but everybody could see the cracks, and wrox that ate away at him in those imperfections. Silence wasn't the answer, and yet, Cyrek was stuck on how to express himself, stumbling over his own feet when it was his mother he was talking to — maybe that was what Athanasia Pallas had afflicted her children with, perpetually unheard when she was a ravenous galaxy, yearning for the approval of a man who she could never have, not fully. ( If evil existed on this earth, then it was either of his fathers. Biological, adoptive, it didn't matter — he didn't stand a chance, whether he was raised by genetics or by a man who left him dangling from a rope. ) Somehow, it didn't matter that the only time Howard ever hit him was a palm to the cheek for edging toward expulsion or, worse, juvenile detention ( swiftly put to an end by Khadroma's concise threats and intervention, ) or that their verbal fights were a catastrophe to an angst-ridden teenager who was already convinced of his own paucity of being worth saving. It still felt like his fault, and every red cent for what his mother paid for his dealer was his guilt.

Mismatched orbs darted back to her when she moved closer, pulling away instinctively — force of habit that he'd only ever fully remedied in the arms of his lover — and sniffling audibly, more of a wonted sound of his defective nose than the moon's tears percolating against his waterline. "S' not your fault," he denied, stubborn to the bone, head shaking slightly, "I just... don't know nobody in my life that's made it work. Made it last." Sure, when he and Stella were walking hand-in-hand through new towns and cities, he'd occasionally descry an elderly couple, still clinging onto each other, and it filled him with hope. Optimism was a faulty switch for either of them, and he tried, he did, but impermanence was ugly and demanding when it was as if the rug was yanked out from under his two feet and he was free-falling through the liminal space of incertitude without parachute or a mattress at the bottom of it to catch him. It wasn't that he thought Stella wouldn't fight tooth-and-nail on his behalf — that was thoughtless, and nothing worth questioning — but whether there were different plans in store for them. She had toyed with the idea in the past that if her demons bettered her, she wanted to be left. His mother had his attention, despite his reluctance to make eye contact, already too exposed in the kitchen — no better than a deer out in the open of hunting season. It didn't go one ear and out the other, as he was so wont to do with the branding of mental illness stamped to his forehead, and he continued to idle and tug at the sleeves of his jumper, partially turned away from her, frowning. Of course, she was right — he and Stella had never hidden anything from each other, even when the wounds cut deep at their lowest of lows and tautological arguments that went nowhere, but bits and bobs had slipped through the cracks comprised of their own anxieties about being torn apart from each other. The truth was that those fears could become realized if they didn't actively partake in sharing them. "We're tryin' to get better at it," and his voice crept to a smaller octave as he said it, raising his dark eyes to meet hers, a frown besmirching his features, heart drumming in his throat before he allowed himself the confession of, "But what if we don't get it right? What if I'm not good enough at sayin' everythin'? I wanna be..."

No, the vocalist knew well that his wife already envisioned him as the perfect husband, and the delight she partook in their marriage was evident in the change of tempo in her stance, carrying their child with the utmost care and affection that she aspired they would bring their baby girl into the world with forever, but the past few months weren't lost on him. An eye-opening sequence of events, in fact, of the lengths that she would go to if it ensured that he was safe in her arms. However undeserving he felt of the unconditional love that she had dug her hands deep within her heart and soul to offer up a destitute boy from Meteora, Greece, he was ever grateful — and petrified he'd keep shooting himself in the foot like that and failing to return the favor because the concept of colors within his head were a monochromatic scale that skipped the neutral appeal of grey matter. Maybe it washed away when it splattered on the walls of Kurt's bedroom, instead. Cyrek couldn't be sure. "I could never leave her, and I know that. I don't wanna ever give her a reason to think she shouldn't 'ave married me, though. She's been through enough." Perplexity had soured him like a fruit past its expiration date, and he sniffled again, lifting his hands to wipe at his features. "I'd like that too," he mumbled when he had found his composure enough to speak again, despite the crack that poked a hole in the steadiness of his voice, and then his brows furrowed close together as she apologized. At first, he didn't know how to react. "How would you do that?" he croaked out in uncertain English, shifting his weight from one foot to another, and shaking his head subtly, and then he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and embracing her in a hug. He loomed over her, but it worked. A hand rubbed against her back, muffling against her shoulder, "'m sorry... σε αγαπώ."

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

She noticed how he pulled away and while it hurt her feelings, she didn't speak on it, nor did she insist that they touch. Because she knew that it wasn't personal. He'd always been averse to touch, ever since she'd first met him. It was a boundary that she respected. Still, she hated to see him so full of doubt and she hated even more that she was partially responsible for that doubt. Of course, she knew that leaving Howard had been the right call. Staying together would've only made everyone else even more miserable than they already were. And everything with Dusty... Well, she hadn't handled that the way she should have. After all, she also understand what it was like to never personally witness anyone sticking it out. Due to the KGB, she'd never gotten the chance to see her parents grow old--and looking back now, they wouldn't have anyways. Her mother would've gotten sick one way or another, with or without her father there. She supposed she had never really had any role models to look up to herself. With Howard, she'd had no choice but to be with him--he'd paid good money for her, after all. But she didn't regret that part of her life because without Howard, she wouldn't have been blessed with all of her wonderful children. And when it came to Dusty, she'd followed her heart and gone where love had lead her. At the time, she'd thought leaving the ugly truth out about everything with the mayor had been wise. She now knew that that was a mistake. Did Dusty regret not being honest with her? She couldn't be sure. To be fair, if she were in their shoes, she wouldn't have said anything either. But there wasn't much she could do about any of that now. And her guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders. But was that not the role of a mother? Weren't mothers supposed to take their children's burdens and take them on as their own? Wasn't being a mother a life of sacrifice? (Perhaps she ought to warn Stella about motherhood). But what if we don't get it right? What if I'm not good enough at sayin' everythin'? I wanna be...

She got the urge to try to take his hand again but instead, she started to wring her own two hands. "It's not about mentioning every little thing that you're thinking about at every second. If you have a moment of doubt--about anything, really, for just a second--you don't have to bare your soul and confess. But it's about being honest about the important things and being able to speak on how you feel without worrying that the other will judge you." She wanted to find a way to ease his fears--ironically, she couldn't be fully honest with him. And she knew that made her a hypocrite. But she figured she might as well try. "Dusty and I both lied to each other. About important things. They were lies that...the truth couldn't remedy. Learning the truth didn't...magically fix it. And I don't urge honesty as if I've never told a lie myself. Obviously, I have. But that was a mistake. And I wish I could take it back and make the right choice." She took a deep breath before she continued, trying to find the right words, wondering if they'd even really matter to Cyrek--not that he didn't want to hear them but she wasn't sure they'd actually sink in. "And there are things you can come back from. I'm not saying that you can never make a mistake. Mistakes happen. But... Cyrek, I let years go by before telling the truth. And by then, it was too late. So if you do make a mistake, which you will, because we all do, try your best to own up to it. The sooner the better. Because letting it fester never works."

As difficult as the conversation felt, she still couldn't help but smile when he talked about how much he loved his bride. She understood his anxieties and even though it probably didn't feel like it, she actually took them as a good sign. "Love, I know this may not help how you're feeling, but... All of these fears and questions that you have just prove how much you love Stella and how committed you are to making this work. I'd be concerned if you didn't care this much about trying to do everything you can to ensure that you two last. You need to trust yourself--you're wiser than you think. Really." And honestly, what higher compliment could you get from a Russian woman? She may be Americanized but her Ruski roots ran deep. She wished she could do more to comfort his fears but she knew that it would simply take time. How would you do that? The question warmed her heart. Giving him a sad smile, she didn't want to put her own personal doubts on him--after all, it was a parent's job to reassure their children, not the other way around. She wanted to choose her words carefully. "I just want to set a good example for you all. I want you to feel like you all can rely upon me." When he embraced her, she smiled and wrapped her arms around him in return. When he apologized, she shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, love. I love you, too. So much."

#i'm so sorry that this took me forever omg #god this makes me want to cry lol

Boris?

The sound of his voice curdled, every time — no one spoke it with softness, of course. That wasn't his path in life, had never been, and he made his peace with that long before it was chewed up and spat out and turned upside down by nearly everyone he crossed paths with. It was that festering, archaic ire that coiled deeper within, a big ball in his stomach that refused to be go quietly into the good night. He clutched his drink a little tighter, a subtle roll of the eyes. Then, he turned in his seat. If this was some contract that the Vitelli family set up in happenstance, a forgotten communication in the centrifuge of grief and metamorphosing trauma in the face of a stark change of hierarchy, then he would react accordingly — with swift and arrant annoyance. "What is it to you?" he asked pointedly, the Americanized accent never fully covering over the Russian roots — he'd done his best to perfect it over the years, picked up the slang well, but the informal grammatical cues and rough syllables didn't entirely stick the landing.

Impatiently, he stalled for an answer, cigarette whittling down in between his fingers where he sat, fingernails tapping against the countertop. His hands would have been preoccupied with a handful of peanuts and cracking them open, but he didn't care for them. Russet eyes zeroed in on the dark-haired woman in the black dress — disturbingly familiar, and yet, his memory couldn't prove to be the most reliable since he got out. That, or he didn't muster enough care to remember the names and faces that drifted through the fireworks storefront, especially during a period like Fourth of July. Reaching to tap ash against the tray, he let out a snort. "Speak quickly, places to be."

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

His gruffness was expected--he'd always been gruff, rough around the edges. To a certain degree, all Russians had a similar rough exterior, one that would melt away for their loved ones but otherwise, their guards remained high up. After all, you couldn't really grow up in Soviet Russia without ending up like that. Anyone on the street could be looking for information, just chomping at the bit for a chance to turn on you and run to the authorities in exchange for their own safety. It was hard to trust people. She knew that first hand, given that even now, she could still remember the day the police took her father away. Her mother hadn't bothered shedding a tear after the initial incident because she knew it wouldn't change anything. 'We have to keep going,' her mother had told her. So when her ex-husband looked at her with mistrusting eyes, she didn't blame him. It did make her sad, though.

What is it to you? Softening her features, she said "Just an old friend." She wondered if she truly did look that different. After all, she hadn't gone blonde until after she'd started her training. Back when they'd been married, her hair had been a similarly dark shade. Still, it had been decades and so much had happened to her--she could only assume the same for him. She heard his demands, to speak quickly, but she herself was in no rush. Not one her first love was sitting right here in front of her. Stepping just a bit closer, she said "Boris, it's me. Khadroma. May I join you?..." Part of her wanted to reach out and take his hand, let him know that it really was her--but he was clearly agitated so she decided against it. Besides, just because there'd once been no space between them didn't mean they still knew each other. Really, they were just two strangers in a bar. But maybe, if they talked, they could become reacquainted once more.

themayorandthequeen

Old Flames, New Neon

(Starter with @no-one-asks--any-questions-here)

The Las Vegas landscape is a high-elevation basin carved into the Mojave Desert, all parched earth and stubborn stone, a bowl of dust ringed by mountain ranges that claw their way past ten thousand feet. The soil is rocky and uncooperative, vegetation sparse and defiant, every living thing shaped by the understanding that survival here is an act of will. Uncle Pete used to say the mountains rose overnight, heaved up when a shooting star smashed into the earth. A greedy bastard must’ve wished for an oasis, he’d laugh, spitting into the dirt as if daring the land to argue back.

As Diana killed the engine of her car, she found she couldn’t entirely disagree with him.

That sleepy little town in the desert, once a garish mirage of neon and half-promises, had become her prize, finger steady on the trigger of her ambition. Las Vegas had always rewarded people like her: beautiful enough to distract and smart enough to close the deal while everyone else was still staring.

Her husband would be panicking soon. She could almost hear it already, the disbelieving chorus of ‘are you fucking crazy?’ when she went back home. Losing the bodyguards had been a delicate chore, a ballet of excuses and rerouted schedules. Finding a discreet car that couldn’t be traced back to her was harder still, and driving herself downtown felt deliciously reckless. All of it for this—too much risk just to speak to a woman she hadn’t heard from in nearly a decade.

Diana liked to joke that she was happy and married, just not happily married. It wasn’t entirely fair, but it made for a good line. She was self-aware enough to know her arrangement with her husband was unusual, but it worked. Who was going to argue with results? They were partners in every sense that mattered. They introduced each other to lovers the way other couples introduced business contacts, sometimes even overlapping, sometimes stepping aside with amused affection. Desire, to Diana, had always been something fluid, meant to be enjoyed, not possessed.

Roma had come into her life through a friend of a friend. Or maybe it had been her husband’s friend first. The details blurred together when Diana remembered lipstick-smudged smiles and the heat of shared vodka at three in the morning. What did it matter, really, whose orbit they’d started in, once they’d collided?

The Mean Eyed Cat was exactly the kind of bar Diana would’ve haunted when she was younger, much younger. Back during her biker phase on the pageant circuit, which she always clarified was not to be confused with her groupie phase. One of her exes had adored dive bars: places where the lights were low, the music hummed just loud enough to blur the edges of conversation, and nobody asked questions they didn’t want answers to. If Roma owned this place, Diana thought, then she probably loved it for the same reasons.

She sat in the car for a moment longer than necessary, the desert heat already creeping in through the windows. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. The updo Theo had meticulously crafted that morning was still immaculate, every pin holding fast. Thank fuck. One should never meet an ex looking like hell, not if you had a choice in the matter.

Purse. Gun. Lipstick.

She slipped inside.

The bar greeted her with a wash of cool air and the scent of alcohol and old wood. Her smile came easily, wide and practiced, but the focus behind it was razor sharp. She spotted Roma immediately behind the counter, the years having softened nothing that mattered. Strong lines, familiar posture, an ease that came only from building something with your own hands.

Heaven bless Mother Russia, Diana thought, and the beautiful women she sends into the world.

“Look at you,” Diana said, already giddy, heels clicking against the floor as she crossed the room and slid onto a stool in front of her former lover. “Time’s been kind, sweetheart.”

Commitment had never come naturally to her. Diana treated relationships like fireworks: brilliant, loud, meant to be admired while they lasted. She fell fast and burned hot, always assuming the end was inevitable, and so she rarely built expectations that stretched too far into the future. It kept things clean. Honest. If she really examined it, she’d stayed with Roma longer than almost anyone—two full years—because Roma had been genuinely kind, because she’d loved her children fiercely and without apology. It was almost an honor to think the same feelings had been extended to her for a moment in the wide expanse of time. Diana flirted with everyone and everything, but she was never cruel about it. She never offered forever when she didn’t mean it. No false promises. No broken contracts.

She wouldn’t have opposed being friends. But eight years of silence had said more than words ever could.

“Lovely place! It’s such a shame I wasn’t invited to the opening,” Diana added, feigning a pout as she crossed her legs, fabric splitting open over her thigh. “Will I at least get a drink for old time’s sake?”

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Roma was behind the bar wiping down glasses, humming to whatever song had just been punched in at the jukebox, some old song from the sixties. She'd been picking up extra shifts for a few months now, partially to get out of her empty house and partially to help out Stella. She already knew that Cy worried about his wife and she didn't want her daughter-in-law to overwork herself, especially now that she was nearing the end of her pregnancy. Her back was turned to the door but when she heard the woman's voice, it was unmistakable. She didn't have to turn and look to know that Diana had finally made her way down to the bar. She was surprised it hadn't happened earlier, honestly.

She wondered if the blonde had made her way down her because Roma had recently visited City Hall. The two hadn't spoken in ages, though the mother had been thinking a lot about her old flame lately, mostly due to the fact that someone had been attempting to blackmail her over the affair, which, frankly, had been ages ago now. When they'd gone their separate ways, they'd sworn each other to secrecy. Roma wasn't the only one who'd be hurt if the truth came out--aside from her family facing blowback, it wouldn't help with the rumors that had already been circulating for years about the city's corruption. It was practically an unspoken secret. And the mayor doing a citizen a favor because they were in bed together would not be a good look. So she doubted that it was actually Diana that was behind the blackmail--but who else could possibly know about that?

So the fact that the woman was now here was spooky, almost, as if she'd been able to sense that Roma had been thinking about her. Lovely place! It's such a shame I wasn't invited to the opening. Smirking, Khadroma turned around, her game-face on, and said "You've never needed an invitation before--nothing's stopped you from coming by before. So what's different now?" To be clear, it's not as if Roma had wanted Diana to stop by. Truth be told, ever since she'd split with Howard, split with Diana, and married Dusty, she'd wanted to forget that part of her old life. It was easier that way--or at least, that's what she'd thought at the time. Of course, hindsight was twenty-twenty and now, she'd wished she'd been honest with Dusty about...everything, really. But it was too late now. And besides, they'd moved on.

Will I at least get a drink for old time's sake? "Of course," she said--she was willing to talk. In fact, Roma didn't really harbor any ill-will towards Diana. After all, she'd helped save her son. But with everything going on, she was finding it difficult to trust anyone these days. "Pick your poison."

#tw: pregnancy mention #tw: alcohol mention

with: @no-one-asks--any-questions-here where: the riviera casino and hotel when: january 7th, 1997

He wasn't a big fan of being told to go fetch and not to shit where he ate, and it was auspice alone that the prospective future godfather of the family regarded him with a similar conglomerate of respect that Augustu Vitelli had. Not that it was deserving. Far from the sort, actually. As loyal as he could be, there was a ferocity of independence that was inseparable from his spirit. Since he was young, his parents had once said that he was something that could not be contained. From where he hailed, most were proud, but few weren't constrained by fear to suffer in silence. The ex-militia pyrotechnics expert hopped from one meal ticket to the next, the affinity for nature's wildest that embodied his equally unruly personality weaponized for his survival. Anymore, that was what his days and months and years were framed as — survival. It defined everything within his body language when he left the booth where he'd met with Francisco, weaving through stragglers sucking on nicotine by the cloud, feigning ignorance to bingos lighting up and ringing out, and he only paid mind to his surroundings long enough to seek out the bar near the entrance. The drink at the booth had scarcely watered down the agitation that was ever present, and he ordered a glass of vodka.

As he was lingering there, his russet eyes meandered thoughtlessly. Surveying his surroundings came as second nature to him, all these years hypervigilant of the target that could be put on his head when he was overexposed in the middle of nowhere — everything was still painted with shades of red that represented enemies, as far as he was concerned. Their faces and names had become less congruent with time, and alcohol, of course. The lines had become narrower since the last year before his honorable discharge had closed out his services, and he was the sole person left — a rat stuffed so indiscreetly within the inner workings, paranoid thoughts conflating and confusing the intentions of people who he thought were once on his side — when the dust settled and he was left to lick his wounds, he thought it made sense, at last. There was no one on his side. Not since he left home, or perhaps, well before that — when she first walked out of his life and with it, she seemed to take with her the last soul he could trust.

She was a ghost that followed him anywhere, and everywhere. There weren't many faces he regretted in his time acting as a human weapon, more than a person, except the ghouls of the other five in his unit ( even the rat. Especially the rat. What was his name again? He couldn't recall it, nothing except the code name. ) There was ever a twinge within him when her face passed him, however — all sharp features, carrying herself short of royalty. Today, it was different, and yet he didn't budge from where he stood when she passed; before, she never appeared any older, just as wily and free-spirited, and a haughty glint in her eye that didn't despair, even when she announced her departure. Khadroma figured she'd be back one day. Time had told the truth, that no one ever fed them anything short of lies. Boris didn't look for long, minding the sleek of the sticky wood underneath his hands at the bar, the scent of carcinogens and stale slices of lime squeezed to hell on the opposite side of the bar. The acrid burn when the sip of his drink washed down the back of his throat. In fact, he pretended to ignore it all, at least until the ghost sauntered right up to the bar and ordered a drink herself.

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Truth be told, seeking out the help of the Vitellis was a new personal low for the siren. Her loyalty ran deep and she didn't like the idea of crossing over enemy lines--but if it meant that she could get to the bottom of this blackmailing situation and protect her family, it was worth it. So she'd swallowed her pride and headed down to the casino--she hadn't been here since the poker night last spring, back when she'd danced with Dusty and they'd conjured up their plans for Thailand. It was hard to think that that had all happened less than a year ago because it felt as if an entire lifetime had passed since then. Given her unconventional trajectory in life, the woman often felt like she'd lived many different lifetimes, so many within her brief forty-three years.

When she stepped into the casino, she already knew what she was going to order before she'd even gotten to the bar. It was what she always ordered: vodka on the rocks. Stoli, to be exact. Stoli wasn't actually Russian but instead, Latvian. But back in the day, that's what she'd grown up drinking, given that Latvia was then a part of the Soviet Union. Like any other Russian mother out there, Roma's mother insisted it was the cure for everything--and to be honest, it really was. Even now, whenever one of her kids complained about a headache, she suggested a shot of vodka to help clear it and more often than not, it worked like a charm.

With everything going on in her life: the chaos in the town, the baby shower coming up next month, and her reconnecting with the mayor, things felt as if they were off-balance. The mother was craving some sort of stability and it was her hope that the Vitellis could provide it. She hadn't actually arranged a meeting with anyone--given everything that was currently going on within the family, that would be rather difficult. Instead, she was planning on making tracks and striking up a natural conversation with someone that might point her in the right direction. Besides, if things went sideways, it was easier to walk away from that. If she made an 'official' meeting with someone in the Vitelli family, if she could even get that kind of face time, then they'd know exactly what she was seeking out and they may take advantage of that fact. She wasn't willing to risk that.

"Can I please get a double vodka on the rocks?" she asked as she sat down at the bar, her voice silky smooth. She had her best 'sexy damsel in distress' look on, something she'd learned from her sparrow days: soft curls, red lip, subtle eyes, and a black dress with heels to match. Not too formal but certainly not casual. It was the sort of look that got people's attention and made their eyes linger out of curiosity. That was the whole point. Someone curious was more likely to actually listen. So when she glanced down the bar, waiting for her drink, she felt as if time stopped still when her eyes landed on a gruff man whose eyes were tired and hands weathered. It was if she'd been transported to another world, a stranger in front of her, yet someone she knew like the back of her hand (or at least, the she knew the memory she had of him). She couldn't help but stare, certain her eyes were somehow playing tricks on her. It couldn't be. It was just someone that looked like him but it wasn't actually him. How was that even possible?... Yet, she couldn't help but utter his name. "Boris?..." she said, her voice just loud enough to reach down the bar, if it really was him, if this stranger registered that name. If he looked up, it had to be him...right?

nxnbinarydracvla

with: @no-one-asks--any-questions-here where: skratch records when: february 20th, 1997

Finally, Cyrek could be sedentary without being interrupted by the three pairs of grubby hands belonging to his young daughters and the scampering of a bunny rampant around the store without the makeshift enclosure that kept it mostly in line. The gift opening wasn't the greatest excitement of the universe, and by now, his exuberance had largely been spent having his arse handed to him in game after game of pacifier pong, mostly with Fallon and occasionally with another party guest, and trying to cheat a few points out of it by the knocking the cups over. The zealousness had ebbed away from his expression and defaulted to staggered torpidity, chewing on his fingernails while Stella opened the last few gifts until he felt a hand brush up against his shoulder. His mismatched eyes lifted from his spot, a smile treading lightly on his features. It wasn't like he thought that Khadroma would hold their emotionally fueled conversation at Hanukkah against them. Much the opposite, in fact. "Hey. I'm happy you're here." A hand rested over hers, squeezing gently. "First time for everythin', right?" The mirth he partook in his first-ever baby shower was self-evident, and it was hopefully the only one. ( At least, he would loathe to go through another tragedy that upended carefully procured baby items that were no longer easy and wonderful to look at. ) But he knew it must be plenty awkward for her and her soon-to-be divorcee to be in the same room for the first time again, no less witnessing hand-holding with another person. "Will you sit with me while she finishes unwrappin' the presents?"

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

So far, the day had caused Khadroma quite the array of emotions, though the most prominent one was undoubtedly the feeling of genuine joy. She couldn't be happier for Cyrek and Stella and she was excited for them to enter this new chapter. It was something she could really relate to, actually--after all, when she and Dusty had gotten married, they inherited a lot of children that weren't their own, though they'd cared for her children as if they had been their own. However, it was quite the joyous occasion when they'd learned they'd been having a child of their very own, Leo. To be clear, sharing the same blood had nothing to do with the bond between a parent and a child--however, it was still really special to have a child of your own, a child that came from the both of you. Even though their relationship had ended, they'd always be connected with their son. And even so, she wondered if maybe someday, they could actually be friends.

However, things still felt pretty fresh and even though she'd reconnected with Boris, her first husband, it wasn't something that she'd really talked about with anyone just yet. So when Dusty walked in, hand-in-hand with Fallon, she'd felt a little blindsided. She'd known about them for a while now--Cyrek had told her about what Stella had seen on Halloween during the first night of Hannukah, back in December. Seeing them together didn't...sting, per se, but it was still rather awkward. So any time she felt uncertain, she just tried to remember what was most important, which was Cyrek and Stella.

As Stella opened up the last of her gifts, she approached her son and placed her hand on his shoulder, finding a seat next to him. It had been a long time since she'd seen him this happy and she hoped it stayed that way as long as possible. It was a joyous time in their lives. Hey. I'm happy you're here. First time for everythin', right? Chuckling, she nodded, looking over at Stella. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. She's radiant, you know. She's glowing--you can tell how excited she is." She also knew that Stella was nervous--but who wouldn't be? Even though she'd already been a mother for years when Leo had arrived, she'd still been scared as hell to actually bring a life into this world. It was terrifying. But it was also incredible. "Her mom really did a great job with all of these games!" She could tell that Stella's mom was more than happy to arrange all of the games, her sheer excitement about becoming a grandma evident to everyone she spoke to. Roma couldn't blame her. Especially after you lose one child, everything else suddenly becomes even more precious and sacred.

#tw: pregnancy #tw: death mention

She prepares herself for the woman's entrance, the call warning her beforehand, making her aware. She remains behind the desk until the moment she arrives, spine straight, hands folded with deliberate calm, as if this meeting were just another line item on a long agenda. In truth, she has been thinking about it for days. About timing and risk. About how easily women like Roma get crushed in this city for the sins of men who never seem to fall.

Antonia studies Khadroma, noticing the tension in the way she holds herself, in her coat and sunglasses, and holds a hand out to shake, polite and respectful. The woman is guarded, ready to bolt or strike. Antonia recognizes the posture immediately -- she's worn it herself too many times.

“Mrs. Adler-Graves. I'm glad you could make time,” she says, not unkind, not warm. There’s a small part of her that understands exactly what Khadroma must think -- that this is a trap, blackmail always leaves a residue; once you’ve been targeted, every knock feels like a threat. No, this is not what she wants.

Antonia sits, takes a moment to look over the papers in front of her. The room breathes for a moment, and she finally meets her gaze. “I want to be very clear about something before we go any further,” she continues, eyes steady, expression unreadable. “If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be sitting here. I don't play with my food.” She keeps herself steady, not crowding or intimidating. She wants to help, and she wants the benefits for herself in the process. "It seems, Mrs. Khadroma, that we have a point of connection right here in City Hall. Are you willing to speak with me about this?"

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Khadroma was fully ready to do whatever she might need to do to protect her family. After all, there could be no other reason that she'd been summoned to city hall than to face her blackmailer in the flesh--right?... What else was she supposed to think?

When the stranger addressed her as Mrs. Adler-Graves, she'd almost corrected her but what was the point? It was still legally her name and honestly, it'd taken so much work to get it hyphenated, was it really worth changing it back? Finally taking off her sunglasses so they could look at one another, she kept her poker face on. "What is this about?" she asked. She'd rather just cut straight to the case. It was less painful that way (or so she told herself).

I want to be very clear about something before we go any further. If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be sitting here. I don't play with my food. The woman's words were so blunt and seemingly honest that they did disarm her just a bit. She could appreciate someone who wasn't interested in playing games. So when Ms. Hart said that they had a common interest to discuss, she was a bit intrigued. Perhaps this wasn't the trap that she'd thought it was. Giving a slow nod, she said "I think I am. What connection do we share? Enlighten me."

zuzanna wouldn't know why the other looked at her strangely but she would shrug it off. it was las vegas - a lot of people could take a lot of other people wrong and she wouldn't escalate it. still, she sat down and sighed. "i'm going to be a massive fucking stereotype on this one but vodka - my family's polish, so-" the woman shrugged. she'd grown up there but at this point in her life, she used distancing language - why? perhaps it was because she'd not seen her eldest sibling to give her a good talking to but maybe the illusion of trying to be something she wasn't was just failing. two ex-fiancés... one of them dead; zuzanna didn't have a good track record with relationships and they'd been a mess ever since her first boyfriend, her first fiancé - that had ended so badly it had scared her of getting close to people. she'd had a great relationship since - she had been the issue... it was too much. "prefer to drink out."

it wasn't like she actually had a problem - she didn't - but seeing someone she loved dead like that in her early years had really set her back. this wasn't to say she never enjoyed a drink in her own company, it just meant that there were never ending goal post shifts. the drink wasn't his demise but because she'd been doing it heavily and not stopped him, she'd felt responsible. "god..." zuzanna sighed. "i'll probably have one or two... you know when your brain does that thing and you're like... maybe i should see a therapist or something? yeah, reached that."

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Roma couldn't help but break into a smile when the blonde woman said that she was Polish. For a moment, she wondered if she should go out on a limb and reveal her own origins. It was a risk--after all, Polish weren't always too fond of Russians and for good reason. But Khadroma so badly wished that people understood that just because the government was corrupt didn't mean the people were. So she decided why not? "I take it, then, you want Luksusowa?" It was maybe the only Polish vodka they had behind the bar. After all, traditionally, Roma was a Stoli gal or nothing. "On the rocks or straight?" she asked, preparing the glass. "And you don't have to tell me about stereotypes--I'm Russian. And I drink vodka or nothing," she chuckled as she handed over the glass. Hopefully, that would go over at least semi-well.

I'll probably have one or two... You know when your brain does that thing and you're like... Maybe I should see a therapist or something? Yeah, reached that. Honestly, the dark-haired woman wasn't too sure how to respond to this. She could definitely relate to the sentiment, for sure. But after what her children had been through, she saw the benefits of things like therapy, and even medication, if it was a good fit. It was much better than riding it out with your 'coping skills.' Khadroma knew that better than anyone. Nodding, she said "I do know the feeling, believe me. But sometimes, it is worth it to check those sorts of things out, just to see how you might like it. But what do I know?" She certainly wasn't trying to tell other people how to live their lives, that was for sure.

THE SMILE THAT GRACED HER CHEEKS came naturally, mostly due to the idea that it had only been years ago where she would have found it impossible to be locked in a discussion surrounding motherhood and actually have something to contribute that wasn't her total failure when it seemed to come to the topic. The fact that she was carrying her own first while wrapped in such a conversation topic with her husband's mother would've been entirely out of reach from even her wildest dreams at one point, and yet, here she was sat as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I'd like that. And y'know, I guess I should let you in on there possibly being some chocolates hidden around the bar--feel free to help yourself to 'em, just don't go letting anyone see you. I've already gone out of the way of scaring the shit out of everyone from ever tryna touch my candy reserves." Not that it took much: Cyrek lacked a sweet tooth, and Fallon and Iris weren't in the business of pissing her off any time soon. "Think Cy was gonna fly it by you 'bout us coming over for dinner, or you coming to our place as long as you don't mind a crowded table." Then again, they made it work with her own mother regularly, mostly because it was easy to pay her in food and dinners for how often the three girls would be dropped at her doorstep with short notice, especially if immediate matters with the Cats cropped up that needed to be handled. (Not that her mother ever expected payment, as Stella herself was sure having their daughters over was as much of a favor to her as it was to the couple, but she deserved something.) "Fuck insurance, just tryna get that stuff handled at the new place is a mess." Mostly because it was a mess of a space when they started renting it--the only reason the couple could afford to rent it. "We've gotten pretty handy with spackle 'cause of it, though, we could try with the bar. Might not come out looking the prettiest, exactly, but some evidence of bullets in the walls kinda perfect the atmosphere, don't they?" Any blasé mirth she had been naturally sporting for the conversation slipped right off of her face when narrowed eyes roved over her, knowing that even if she tried to cover her ass with a lie, it would inevitably be found out as untruthful in a few weeks when the newly married couple made their grand (intentional) announcement. "Oh, fuck, he's gonna kill me." Dropping a piece of candy onto the table, there was a pause before her voice dropped in volume, as if anyone could overhear at such a crowded event, though the excitement was still palpable in her tone. "I wasn't tryna to go telling, but I'm dumb fuckin' excited it that I'm being shit at hiding it: I'm pregnant. We weren't tellin' anyone just yet to be safe, 'specially after last time, but we've known for a bit now. Cy's so not gonna let it slide I already managed to spill it-" To his own mother, nonetheless. And yet even such details as this, she wouldn't try to keep from him, already thinking of how she would break the news on her own slip up. "But you should go congratulate him. I know he's excited just...nervous, too."

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

She let out a small chuckle when Stella mentioned that she'd hidden chocolates around the bar, yet she was kind enough to offer up part of her stash to Khadroma. The mother wasn't planning on eating them, of course, but she appreciated her daughter-in-law's kindness and she hoped that she didn't feel obligated to share just because Roma was her mother-in-law. She liked to believe that she wasn't too overbearing in the role, as mother-in-laws so often were. "That's very kind of you, thank you," she smiled. When Stella mentioned the idea of making family dinners a more common occurrence, her happiness at the suggestion shone through. "I would love that," she said. She knew that eventually, she'd need to tell the kids about her and Dusty separating. After all, if and when they came over to the house to have dinner and her partner was missing, there'd be questions. But at least for tonight, she was trying her best to ignore that fact. She laughed when Stella suggested that bullet holes actually really went with the atmosphere of the dive bar. It's not like Roma was under any false pretenses about the establishment that she was running. She'd put her blood, sweat, and tears into that dump but best believe, it was still subpar at best. However, it wasn't the worst dive bar in Vegas, either, and she held onto that little scrap of pride. "You know, maybe you're right--but I should just keep 'em that way. It'd be cheaper, that's for sure."

When the young woman confirmed what Khadroma had suspected, she couldn't help but let a giant ass grin overtake her countenance. Now the candy, the sweet tooth, the new random love for Laffy Taffies was all making sense. I wasn't tryna' go telling, but I'm dumb fuckin' excited it that I'm being shit at hiding it: I'm pregnant. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, her excitement palpable. This was a big deal for the couple and for multiple reasons. This was their first child together--she remembered back when she and Dusty had found out that they were pregnant with Leo and how overjoyed they'd been. But even more so, after having suffered through such a heartbreaking miscarriage not too long ago, she understood why the couple had (tried) to wait to tell people and at the same time, she also understood the sheer excitement. "Congratulations!" she beamed, reaching over and squeezing Stella's hand before pulling her into a gentle hug. Roma wasn't the biggest hugger but this news called for it. "I'm so happy for you two!" You should go congratulate him. I know he's excited, just...nervous, too. Nodding with understanding, she said "Stella, don't worry--it's my fault, I practically made you tell me." Of course, she hadn't but she didn't mind telling Cyrek that on the off-chance that he was upset at the secret being revealed prematurely. "My lips are sealed--you two can tell the family when you're ready." Suddenly, all the sadness she'd been feeling these past few weeks was melting away and instead, turning into unadulterated joy and excitement about having another grandchild.

#tw: gun mention #just in case #tw: pregnancy #tw: miscarriage mention

'I've got bullet holes in my bar'. It wasn't that he'd forgotten, exactly. It would be hard to, when he'd been haunting the place more than usual without the excuse of actual cactus cat business to distract him. No, it had simply been so far down on the list of things that had happened in the last month, had required so little attention from him that it had all but faded into background noise. "Could always put the bullets back in, if you've still got em. Really add to the ambience of the place." He shook his head, not even trying to pretend that the suggestion was anything but tongue in cheek. "Seen worse on bar walls."

There were few things that were as enjoyable as being right and Alvaro was certain that he was right about more than just the scrapbooking. The Adler matriarch had a hell of a poker face, he'd give her that, but gamblers were his bread and butter — being able to spot a smile that was a little too placid or a laugh that was a little too even was as much a skill as spotting obvious tells. 'No, no one could ever get sick of looking at that face' that, at least, he was inclined to believe was truth, even if it wasn't the reassurance she seemed to think it was. He knew from experience sometimes that could be part of the problem. Fingers drummed against the envelope, the debt collector the first to break eye contact as he moved to tuck it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Mhm." It's a loaded sound, a lack of commentary that's was still rife with both doubt and pity. "Semester did start back not too long ago, maybe I was over thinking." While curiosity made him want to press the matter, he was smart enough to know when to ease off. Khadroma didn't owe him anything but she did control how much he paid for drinks at his preferred drinking spot. A man had to have priorities.

The question caught him off guard, a laugh escaping before he'd had time to wonder if she was being polite or vindictive by asking. "Yeah, nothing says hot date like a few busted ribs." Not that he couldn't have leveraged the myriad of injuries into attention, but he was too old and too good for pity dates. "Doubt I could manage without it getting back to you before long anyway." There didn't seem to be any entertainment in the city that the Cats didn't have a hand in, after all- and that was when they weren't making house visits, dropping children on you or holding full scale weddings. And he'd thought a motorcycle club would be more hands off than a commune. "Been focusing on work." Then, considering how she'd reacted on learning that she had something that might be related to his work, he elaborated "At the museum. Halloween's coming up."

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

For the briefest of moments, she felt a genuine smile cross her lips, giving a small chuckle to Alvaro's suggestion, which was clearly in jest. Yet, at the same time, she figured that that wasn't such a bad idea after all--it was the Mean-Eyed Cat Bar, after all, not the Nice-Eyed Cat Bar. But of course, she couldn't actually do that--and even if she actually wanted to, she was pretty sure that wouldn't be 'up-to-code.' "I'll put it in the suggestion box," she chuckled.

It wasn't until Alvaro had started prying that she felt her walls start to rise again. Perhaps she was just overly paranoid--that'd be pretty fair for someone who was getting blackmailed. However, that didn't mean that there was a shadow lurking in every corner. Maybe she was just overthinking it. Still, she wouldn't put blackmail past Alvaro--not a chance. What if he was the one behind it? What if that's why he was asking? Maybe I was overthinking. "Yeah, I guess so," she said, her voice a little colder this time. Frankly, she didn't like people prying into her private life when things were normal, let alone when she was now under siege. She wasn't stupid--she wasn't interested in getting on the man's bad side. But still, she had to protect what little dignity she felt like she had left.

She could tell that he hadn't been expecting that question and she secretly hoped it made him feel just a little uncomfortable, as if she were trying to peer into his life a little too much all of a sudden. Because that's how she was feeling--exposed. Been focusing on work. Perhaps, she'd been a little overzealous. She still wanted him on her side, after all. "Well, you know you're always welcome at the bar after a long day's work," she said with a gracious smile. No need to end this run-in on a sour note.

#tw: gun mention #just in case

nxnbinarydracvla

Anxiety-induced nightmares about this place taunted him for years after Kurt's passing — in the kitchen with the off-white appliances that didn't match the rest of the house, and the light that flickered from the inside of the fridge when someone propped it open at night. It was a night not unlike this one, otherwise destined to be festive, that after the fingers had stretched over the clock and the Adler siblings had filled their stomachs and went off to bed, he'd descend for a midnight snack and come to find Kurt standing there, scouring the refrigerator for milk and chasing the nasty satisfaction of swigging it directly from the carton. But the milk poured out through his blood-stained blonde hair, and the hole that had chewed through the back of his head, collapsing into a white puddle against the floor. No matter how many times his name was said, his brother didn't turn around. He'd wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, mouth arid from how he'd mumble it in his sleep, and the terrors drove him further away from the sparse evenings he already spent in his adolescent bed, thanks to Howard Adler. In his mind, he'd prefer to sleep beneath the underpass without a blanket, surrounded by what he figured was all that remained of him — needles, lint, and pocket change — instead of toss and turn from the same dream. A fate that could not, would not, be altered.

Standing there was no different, except he was awake in his own bad dream, clutching a plate until his knuckles changed seasons from honeydew to wan. His throat refused to swallow, and his world was unbalanced. The inadequacy was neverending, but especially so when he landed himself on the skimming side of a bullet that he was tiring of, these days. Really, the now-eldest foster son's role in her interpersonal life was inconsequential, perhaps, he rationally was aware of that — except, there was a stubborn hounding in the back of his mind, instilled in the voice of her first husband himself, that refused it. The burden of his unwanted existence had always crested on the edge of unbearable, pliant flesh of his tongue caught between his teeth behind the fortitude of his mouth, waiting, idling. Cyrek didn't dare to meet her eyes, dubious that he could stomach her heart breaking all over the kitchen in front of him, and he had nothing to clean up the mess with. Fractals of glass were nipping at the corners of his eyes.

Dusty wasn't unfaithful. His shoulders sagged, but barely. For his wife, it would be an invisible weight off her shoulders, and she didn't need more with the physical one that was snowballing at a steady pace for the life fermenting inside of her. The punk couldn't bring the answer to self-soothe his soul, though, no hesitance found before he was digging for alternate avenues. The veiled reasons as to why they were not together anymore. What Dustin could have uncovered about him that was as awful and horrendous to stomach as it was for Howard. The trouble he made in recent years wasn't the kind that Khadroma needed to intervene; he could take care of himself, or entrust that any of the bikers surrounding him would. "Oh... sorry." What was he apologizing for? Well, telling her now sounded like a useless admission — he looked like an asshole for rubbing salt directly into the open wound of the divorce. Biting on his lower lip, he turned his back to her, busying himself with putting the serving plates away, if slower than usual as the chores of helping the family had already run his energy reserves thin. It's just sad. There was a cinch in his heart, akin to fabric sticking to furniture and yanking oneself back with it. His mother didn't deserve to have her heart bruised, endlessly. A selfish part of him was riddled with the anxieties that it could ever be his marriage, attempting to tithe his thoughts to the comforting words exchanged with Stella after he'd spilled his guts below the underpass. Things in our past that we couldn't move on from. "What if I'm... lookin' at myself in a few years?"

He'd be deranged not to acknowledge that he and Stella still had plenty of ghosts haunting them that had to be laid to rest. The work didn't happen overnight. If two people as picture perfect and serene as the union between Khadroma and Dustin had been could be shattered, then what of his own? The insecurity that his past could chase his doting wife, expecting their first child together, away from him made his stomach toss and turn and twist itself into knots. Finally, slim fingertips graced the door of the cabinet and pushed it shut, forcing himself to face her, clearing his throat. "I wish you weren't here alone all the time, y'know. Maybe Stella and I should come 'round and help more. Have dinner with you. I dunno. We do it with her mum all the time." Resting his hands on his hips, unsure of where else to put them, or do with himself, he nodded. "I can put the babka back in the oven for a mite. Warm it up."

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Truth be told, she didn't want to be having this conversation. She knew that she couldn't provide her son with the answers he wanted and while she hated having to be dishonest, she knew that it was for the best. She couldn't let her past mistakes harm her children any more than they already had. She wouldn't let that happen. As Cyrek stood there, listening to her answer, for just a moment, she felt that she was looking at her teenage son and not the person he'd grown up to be--he seemed awkward and unsure, waiting for her response, maybe scared of what she might say next. She felt a pang in her heart. Oh... sorry. Shaking her head, she said "No, no, don't apologize--it's okay. You didn't know." She thought about mentioning that she was starting to see someone as well but what good what that really do? He'd just have more questions (understandably so) and now didn't really feel like a great time to introduce someone new to the kids. They were just getting used to the idea of another divorce, after all. And it killed her that this was her second divorce. It wasn't the fact that her marriage was over. That broke her heart, of course, but she hated having to put her children through that again. Like so many marriages at the beginning, that hadn't been the plan. Yet, she still knew that it was the best for their family in the long run, even if it didn't feel like it right now. Her heart broke most for Leo--this wasn't fair to any of her children but everyone else was an adult and could understand to some degree what was happening. But what questions would Leo have for her in just a few short years? And how was she supposed to answer them?

What if I'm... lookin' at myself in a few years? His words made her stop loading the dishwasher and turn back around to look at him. She felt the guilt rip through her like a knife--it was her fault, her failures, that were now sewing doubt in Cy's mind about his own marriage. She knew she needed to pull herself together. Now is not the time for self-loathing, she told herself. She knew she couldn't get so wrapped up in her own self-blame that she risk not being able to be there for her children. Shaking her head, she took a step closer to Cyrek and reached for his hand. "That's not going to happen, baby. I'm sorry that I haven't always set the best example for you and your siblings. I know I waited...far too long to leave Howard and I know that he was cruel. And I'm so sorry for that." Sure, her first husband had never laid a physical hand on any of them but his words cut deep enough to make up for it. "But just because things haven't worked out the way I've wanted them to doesn't mean that that's your fate. You and Stella love each other, yes, but more than that, you trust each other." Giving a small shake of her head, she was hellbent on giving him some sort of answer as to what happened. "If I could offer you one piece of advice, advice that I wish that I'd followed--don't hold back from Stella. Don't...hide away parts of yourself. Dusty and I both did that. Not on purpose, but... It still happened. And it's what inevitably drove us apart." Her hazel eyes meeting his mismatched orbs, she said "And it's not easy. It's hard. It's hard not to be guarded and... Afraid of people seeing all of you. But it's not worth it, pretending like it's not there..." She supposed that was as best as she could explain it. "I'd never seen so much love between two people until you and Stella. That girl would walk through fire for you. And I'm certain you'd do the same for her."

I wish you weren't here alone all the time, y'know. Maybe Stella and I should come 'round and help more. Have dinner with you. I dunno. We do it with her mum all the time. She gave a sad smile--sad that he was obviously so worried about her but happy because he was so full of concern and love for his family. He'd been that way since the day she'd met him--at first, it was with his own biological siblings but as he'd warmed up to the Adler family, he'd become just as devoted to them as if they were his own flesh and blood, which, as far as Roma was concerned, they were. "I'd really like that. You know I always love your company." She gave a nod when he mentioned putting the babka in the oven. "I'm sorry if I've let you down," she said, the words sort of slipping out. "I know you're worried. And I won't pretend that I'm not hurting. I am. But having you all around the table helps more than you know. I'm not okay right now but I know that I will be." She was strong. She'd done this before and she could do it again. She didn't want to pretend as if she were infallible--there was no need to lie. But she wasn't helpless either. And frankly, she'd been through much worse. The guilt weighed on her heavily. It always had. But at this rate, she was starting to doubt if there was any mother out there that didn't feel guilt. And as she stood there, the question crossed her mind, about whether or not she should warn Stella about that beforehand or let her find out on her own--then again, it wouldn't make the feeling any less crushing either way, would it?

#ouch #this is breaking my heart

open starter: status open @boneyardstarters at the mean eyed cat bar

zuzanna knew she needed to get out of her own head a little pit and whilst she did have several unopened vodka bottles in her apartment, she would much rather go out and drink a not so pleasant one at the expense of her sanity. it had never been her issue per se but her past continued to feel dirty to her because she still blamed herself after all these years. it had never been her problem but everything became her problem - if she felt bored and unfulfilled, she needed to remind herself of the alternatives. when it came down to it, zuzanna had always neen an accountant, a book keeper and her other career would have never taken off the way it did if she hadn't been smart about it. to some, it would have been a shock to learn that the woman that approached the bar used to sing, jump and scream in front of thousands of people at a time but she did and she absolutely loved it. zuzanna made her way up to the bar and nodded. as much as she had loved it, she'd loved another a lot more and felt she couldn't continue without him. so now she had her boring corporate life out in a desert and went for her runs like clockwork. "vegas- it's so weird when you actually live here." hen parties, stag do's, birthdays... the list went on and on and so would the sights throughout the night. "still, can't complain. what do you recommend? for drinks?"

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Roma had been closing the bar more often than usual these past few weeks--really, anytime that Dusty had Leo and there wasn't a family function, she found herself wiping down the bar into the wee hours of the night. She didn't really mind, plus she was trying to give Stella a break now that she was expecting--she needed her rest. She preferred to be at the bar instead of in her big, empty house. Champagne problems, for sure (who would have guessed?), but that didn't make it any less lonely. She'd been closing someone's tab when the stranger arrived at the bar so her back was to the patrons, making sure she chose the correct bill. What do you recommend? For drinks? She let out a chuckle as she turned around--and when she turned around, just for a moment, she stopped, before forcing a smile onto her lips. She recognized the woman. Roma didn't know her but she knew who she was. It was Zuzanna Dybala, Ziv's ex-fiancé. She recognized her from the engagement announcement, all those years ago--not to mention that she and her old almost-partner had reconnected recently. What are the fucking odds? Still, she held onto the fact that the woman didn't know who she was. Or at least, she shouldn't. She felt comfort in her anonymity. She was just another bartender, one of thousands in Vegas.

Shrugging, she said "Well, that kind of depends on what you like--sweet? Sour? Vodka? Whiskey? What are you in the mood for?" Vodka was always a tried and true but not everyone agreed with Khadroma on that one.

#tw: alcohol #tw: pregnancy mention

location: antonia hart's office at city hall

date: december 27, 1996

@thoroughfxre

When Khadroma had first received Antonia Hart's invitation, she was certain that she'd finally found the person who'd been targeting her and her family. While it didn't make sense to her that they'd reveal their identity so quickly, it also didn't shock her. After all, they were the ones blackmailing her--who cares if she knew who they were or not? Still, Antonia Hart. She seemed too good for that. Then again, anyone can surprise you.

When she arrived at City Hall, she dawned a large pair of sunglasses and her best fur coat. She made sure that she held her head high, even though that was the last place she wanted to be. Someone was sure to get word to the mayor immediately. But it was worth the risk--she thought that she might just have an opportunity to shut this down. It was best not to negotiate with terrorists but Antonia seemed relatively agreeable, at least on the outside. Perhaps she could be swayed.

When she was finally ushered back to meet the woman, she was as cold as ice. There was no way she was going to let her guard down--not here, not now. Taking her seat across from Ms. Hart, Khadroma waited until the door shut to start talking. "I got your message that you wanted to see me."

#antonia #toni #hope this is okay <3 #closed starter

location: a small diner in henderson, nv

date: mid-october

@forgottendclls

It had been a long month--and it was only half-way over. In just a few short weeks, so much change had occurred in her life and now, she was preparing to go through her second divorce. But it's what had to happen in order to keep her family safe and out of danger. So what could she do? What other choice was there than to simply accept the cards she'd been dealt and the corner that she'd backed herself into? For the past week now, she'd either been drowning in her own guilt or trying to come to terms with the current situation. Neither were easy. So when Verity invited her to lunch, she couldn't have been more grateful.

She'd made the short drive out to Henderson, to a hole-in-the-wall rinky-dink diner they liked to meet at. Verity was able to keep a low profile there. The two had become unlikely friends when they'd run into each other at a chapel a while back. In talking, they'd come to learn they had more in common than they originally thought. And Khadroma recognized her. She knew who she was the moment she saw her. She blamed it on the observation skills that had been drilled into her as a young woman during her training, the ability to catch every detail. It's a skill that certainly came in handy.

Sitting down at the booth across from the woman, Roma let out a sigh and said "You have no idea how much I need this lunch--or maybe you did. If you told me you were psychic, I'd believe you." Her words were followed with a chuckle of self-pity. The dark-haired woman wasn't one to whine but she figured she'd get a pass just this once.

#verity #let me know if this is okay <3 #closed starter

She seemed shell-shocked, if on edge, and quite frankly, the actor couldn't blame her — years had passed since they had once lived and loved and let go, seasons had changed, and they had a failed engagement, to top it off. Life had a funny way of knitting itself into an irreparable ball. They'd certainly be lying if they said that some of the turns it had taken made a lick of sense. But as they had always been taught, they moved through trials and tribulations with the grace instilled in them, and their public image to maintain. The change of scenery hadn't come out of want, either, as it were happenstance — they were looking for opportunity in their career, a safe place to fold their wings as the acting portion was nearing its curtain call. The endurance of their physique didn't wish to upkeep the rigorist lifestyle of a full bill of showtimes and hundreds of hours submitted to rehearsals. It was their passion, of course, but they could find an adjacent space in the world of theatre to accompany them if they played their cards and their investments properly with the Weiss family.

Their hand left her arm, respecting her space — it was merely their own astoundment that had bartered popping her bubble, as it were. Sol-ip bowed slightly, a show of veneration for the dark-haired woman standing regally before them. "In the flesh and in one piece." For the most part, that is. The contention of their accident was no secret. The actor, and many others, could have sued the theatre for negligence of building upkeep, but it seemed like a frivolous hassle that only spurned on the trauma that they had already suffered, and their wounded ego. Broadcasting the totality of their injuries, compared to what the paparazzi had already weaseled around HIPPA for, was not in the best interest of their mental health. Although the busybody rarely had time for themselves and maintaining their vanity, they were the unabashed number one priority to they, themselves, and I.

The cloud of disbelief had dispersed, the hard lines of their countenance softening, admiring her from the arm's length that had stagnated between them. Sol-ip was someone of few words, and flowery compliments seemed too ill-fitting of this reunion of theirs. "I am. Not just on business, this time. I've moved here recently. Los Angeles was losing some of the sparkle from all their bright lights, therefore I traded them for a new one, I suppose," they explained as succinctly as they could manage, inflection of mirth flirting with cordiality. Before, they would have wed at one of those little, rinky-dink chapels for lovers blinded by whirlwind romances, as the mail-order programme instructed. "It's not been long, I've only rearranged my new living space from looking like I live out of boxes." Their arrival hadn't cleared of dust for them to establish new revenue, and their name on a playbill, but it would soon enough with the holiday bustle. "I've only now gotten out of a rehearsal," they started after a pause, gesturing their arm, "I hear Jeff's Joe is nice. If you have time for coffee."

Part of them teemed with a subtle trepidation that she would turn them down flat, an absurd wrinkling of anxiety to have when Khadroma held no obligation toward the actor now. "If not, perhaps we can take a rain check," they suggested, the corner of their mouth quirking with the ghost of a smile, not half as machinated as it would have been otherwise.

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

As they spoke, she tried to gather her bearings and wipe the look of shock off of her face. After all, she wasn't usually one for surprises. However, this surprise was...unexpected but...welcomed. Of course, she knew she needed to be practical. Just because she'd serendipitously run in to someone she'd once planned on spending her life with didn't mean that things were to just fall in place. Life didn't work that way. And she was meeting with her fucking divorce attorney later. Still, she couldn't help but feel the edges of her mouth tug into the smallest of smiles. In the flesh and in one piece. She'd heard of their accident, of course--though, she'd just heard enough to know that it was bad. She hadn't dared reach out. That would've been inappropriate. And why bother? They'd clearly moved on. Except...now they were here, standing before her. And they were just as handsome as ever.

I am. Not just on business, this time. I've moved here recently. Los Angeles was losing some of the sparkle from all their bright lights, therefore I traded them for a new one, I suppose. Realizing it was her turn to talk, she smiled and said "Oh, that's wonderful. Welcome back. They've put up a few more hotels since then but it's still good old Sin City." Her words felt too formal, almost, but she didn't want to make any presumptions. It's not been long, I've only rearranged my new living space from looking like I live out of boxes. Letting out a small chuckle, she said "Moving can be so tedious--but worth it, once you get everything all figured out." Her words had sounded more cryptic than she'd meant for them to. "I'm glad that you're back in town," she said, trying to silently push herself to be a little less polished. If they were the person that she remembered them to be, they'd forgive her for her bluntness.

When they mentioned rehearsal, she opened her mouth to ask what show they were currently in but she stopped when they offered her their arm and presented them with a smooth invitation for coffee. She hesitated for a millisecond--was this really happening? There couldn't be much harm in a cup of coffee (besides, her insides were already beginning to feel jittery, as if a million little butterflies were itching to break out). And besides, it's not like she was seeing anyone. There was no bad blood between her and Dusty. So what was the harm? Not wanting to waste another moment, she linked her arm with theirs and smiled "Coffee sounds great."

#ohhhh i'm so excited

nxnbinarydracvla

Cyrek had spent the brunt of the final day of Chanukah, and the subsequent big feast, darting his eyes in the direction of his foster mother across the table. There was always a weight behind his namesake, reasons for outrunning it not so fervidly skin-deep or rooted in the daunting backdrop of religion as the residual poison of poor luck seeping into the cracks. As he awkwardly took a place beside her, standing within arm's length and loitering, unsure what to do with his hands before ultimately making himself useful with stowing dishes into the washer in preparation for the Chanukah desserts, he frowned to himself, mentally performing somersaults and pensively searching every square inch of his mind for means with which to have a jumping-off point. What the fuck was he supposed to say? Sorry, mum, I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that history repeats itself with your favorite problem child — He'd never know the extent she had already sought after his well-being, only the fight that brewed between her and Howard, resonant voices through the walls when the man elected to be his foster father proclaimed no junkie was a son of his, acid churning the back of his esophagus and eyes still burning whenever he thought that, even in death, his elder brother could not disappoint, for getting his blood and his brain matter on the walls like free wallpaper — but their middle adoptive son didn't make the cut of integrity for swaddling his firstborn daughter and acknowledging he had a problem, that he didn't want to die again.

"Um..."

He fumbled after his words, rising from stocking a heavy saucepan for heating the mixture for challah in, fingernails peckish against the palms of his hands as he worked up courage that rarely deserted him. "My wife saw... somethin' at Halloween. With Dusty." Generously, he decided to leave the name of his wife's best friend out of it, as... well, he didn't really know what to do with that, or what it would do for her, beyond rub salt in a wound she may have already discovered. "He was... kissin' someone, but it wasn't you." Initially, after the news sunk in, he wanted to storm to the family home and rip the bandaid right off, allow for his anger to fly without any kind of verbal constraint. Only, in the weeks to follow that he had waited, the news that made its rounds throughout the Adler family created bubbles of anxiety in his stomach, not unlike the nauseating spells that were predecessors to vomiting for him. "Is... that why you're gettin' a divorce? Or..."

Futile desperation impounded him to another bout of silence, digits quaking mid-air, proclamations and reasoning dead within his throat. The punk dropped his hands against his sides, black and blonde curls strewn across his features, and instead, a breath eased through his nose and back out again. "Nevermind, it's kinda... dumb, I dunno." Even he could grasp the scattered insecurities that would pop into his head were irrational, the older he became, but it didn't stop the sharp point to the weapons that they carried with them from jabbing him right in the tender spaces between the chambers of his heart and causing it to clench up in despair. "Why don't I help you, um, put out dessert for everybody... Does anythin' need to be warmed up, mum?"

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Khadroma had made many decisions in her life and she understood that she'd have to live the weight of those decisions for as long as she lived and while she didn't always like being secretive, she knew that she was right in her choices. Sure, being reticent had come back to bite her, her current relationship being a clear casualty of the unspoken truths that she'd kept from her partner. Perhaps there were things that she could have and should have been more forthcoming about with Dusty, though she could say the same for them as well. She couldn't have been able to accurately guess their secret if she'd tried. Perhaps, they didn't know each other nearly as well as they thought they did. Or maybe it was born from Roma's inherent need to keep everyone at a sort of arm's-length from her, lest she realize too late that she was compromised and she had to make a quick escape. Even though her life didn't really require that kind of vigilance anymore, and hadn't for a long time, it was still difficult to unlearn it.

And while she didn't want to keep her distance from her children, she also knew that she had a duty to protect them. And that's why she knew that Cyrek could never learn about what she'd done to ensure his safety all those years ago. Being honest wasn't worth the guilt and pain that it would cause her son. So it was better to keep the truth concealed. When they'd decided to go their separate ways, she requested that Dusty never utter a word about it to the kids, not even Leo, years from now, when he'd somehow be able to understand what all of it meant. No one could know.

However. she was expecting her son to eventually approach her about the divorce--she was certain he was worried about her. She could feel his eyes on her at dinner, stealing glances, perhaps trying to figure out what she was thinking when she wasn't looking. Honestly, she was just thankful that he'd given her some time to process everything before he came with this questions--however, when he finally spoke, he had not a question but a seeming revelation. My wife saw... somethin' at Halloween. With Dusty. The words themselves sounded ominous and she wasn't sure what Cyrek was trying to tell her. Turning to face him, her brows knitted, she said "Saw something?" To be fair, a lot of people saw a lot of things at Halloween, with the skeletons and all. But this didn't sound scary. It sounded...personal. He was... kissin' someone, but it wasn't you. Her eyes squinted a bit, as if trying to picture it, trying to parse out exactly what he was saying.

She'd be lying if she said that she was surprised. After all, by the time Halloween had rolled around, they'd already decided to go their separate ways and had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for almost a month, just waiting until after the festivities of Halloween to finally break the news to the older children. And now, in mid-December, she was also privately in the process of possibly moving on, given her run-in with Sol-ip Boo the other week. They were both allowed to move on. However, she also couldn't possibly guess who they might've been kissing at Halloween. Had they really moved on so quickly? She wasn't offended or hurt, just...taken aback. But they had the right to do whatever they wanted, just as she did. They'd both made their decisions and come to an amicable agreement. There was no bad blood between the two of them. Although given that they hadn't told the kids until after Halloween, it made sense that Cy now suspected that they'd split because Dusty was cheating on her. And so now she had a decision to make. Part of her considered letting Cyrek believe that they had cheated, for just a moment--it'd be an easy explanation for sure. She certainly couldn't tell him the real reason, not just for her sake but also for Dusty's. She'd promised them that she'd take their secret to her grave. No one would ever know, especially not Leo. However, Dustin hadn't been unfaithful and that'd be unfair to let any of the children think otherwise. Dusty was a good person and a great father. Nothing could change that and she didn't want to sully their reputation to their family. It'd be wrong and selfish.

Is... that why you're gettin' a divorce? Or... She placed the dish that was currently in her hand in the dishwasher before turning back to him. Shaking her head, she said "There's a lot of reasons we decided to get a divorce but that's not one of them. Dusty wasn't unfaithful." She supposed they could have been but that was against their character, not to mention that the secret they had been keeping really had nothing on infidelity so there would've been no reason to lie. When he dismissed his own worries, she shook her head. "I don't blame you for being curious and I suppose I should've given more of an explanation when I told you all last month, but... It's not like last time, with Howard. This divorce is not bitter or angry. Really, if anything, it's just sad. But there's no fighting, no custody battle--we've agreed to have joint custody of Leo so that's already all worked out." She knew he still wanted some sort of explanation but she honestly was at a loss of what to say. "There were just some things in our past--both of us--that we couldn't move on from. And so we decided that this was the best decision. Dusty is free to be with whomever they choose."

She could see the thoughts swirling around behind Cyrek's eyes, all his thoughts and questions. She couldn't blame him for that, though it was clear he was trying to decide whether to ask more or not with the way he'd diverted the topic of conversation to dessert. "Uh, I've got the jelly donuts out already--those don't need to be heated up, though. We've also got Babka and I made Medovik as well."

#oops what a shocker this got super long

with: @no-one-asks--any-questions-here where: outside the local theatre when: present-day, early evening

"...Khadroma?"

They thought their eyes to be deceiving them; there didn't seem to be another answer, or way about it. The night had already hugged the skies when they managed to step out of the theatre, letting the last person lock up behind them, and stood still on the street corner to breathe the musky city air polluted by business waste and gasoline, eyes wistful of their surroundings as always and a hand subtly massaging the stump of limb left above their prosthetic that was agitated with the rushing around and arduous hours of rehearsing, a mere couple days away from opening up the holiday production. It was a rinky-dink, dilapidated theatre, but it still drew in the tourism — Sol-ip dreamed of something with a little more opulence, like the cinema a couple blocks away with its blinking neon lights and the large display cases of the latest releases. Lovely maroon cushioning the seats, tailored suits greeting patrons at the entrance, and a snack vendor that didn't only procure the trade of stale, days-old popcorn. Lost in the reverie of their personal daydream, they were pulled out of it by wisps of dark locks, and a familiar face — a ghost that haunted their past. A hand reached out to catch her, as if it would instead float right through her. Because she was only that, a ghost.

Until she really did stop, and they were sure it was her. Older, but as pulchritudinous as the bride-to-be that she might have been. The actor idled, their brain stuttering into slow motion. Last they'd heard, she was married to someone else. "It's me. Sol-ip Boo."

no-one-asks--any-questions-here

Roma was out running some errands, a seemingly never-ending trek. She’d dropped Leo off at Dusty’s, she’d picked up a few must-haves from the pharmacy, handled a shipment at the bar, and she had just enough time to grab a cup of coffee before she went to meet with her divorce attorney in a few hours. Her eyes were on her shoes, trying not to think about how much of a mess her life currently was. The holiday season was in full swing and she was celebrating her first Hanukkah and Christmas without Dusty by her side after many, many years. She’d barely even heard her name in passing and it wasn’t until she felt a hand on her arm that she stopped walking. Her first instinct was to pull back, her guard immediately up—after all, in her previous line of work, being grabbed by the arm was an immediate cause for alarm. It wasn’t until her eyes met the stranger’s that she realized they weren’t a stranger at all. For just a moment, she thought she might be hallucinating—maybe she really was fucking losing it. But then they spoke. It’s me. Sol-ip Boo.

It was as if time stood still, everything around the two of them frozen in time. As the seconds ticked by, she knew she probably looked foolish with her mouth half-open in shock but she couldn’t find the words she meant to say. Eventually, she managed “Boo? Is it.. Is it really you?” Even now, she wasn’t truly sure that what she was seeing—who she was seeing—was actually real. She hadn’t seen them in years. The last time she’d seen their name, it’d been for their engagement announcement. She remembered how her heart had sank as she read the notice, right before Howard had asked her to pass the eggs. She’d had to hide her disappointment under the façade of being a doting wife to her wretched husband, to the man that had outbid someone that could’ve been the love of her life.

She remembered every moment she’d spent with them. She’d been so nervous, going to meet the person who would become her partner via the mail order bride company she’d signed up for (it certainly wasn’t her first choice but it was the only way out of Russia so she’d taken it). When they’d first met, they’d been nothing but kind and gentle and welcoming to her. They’d spent a month basically courting her, giving her time to warm up to them. And by the time the month was over, she was contented to be with them for the rest of her days. As silly as it sounded, she felt herself falling for them. So when the company contacted her and explained that Sol-ip had been outbid and that she’d actually be marrying someone else, she watched the life she was so close to slip through her fingers. Instead, she’d ended up with a domineering husband that had a sharp tongue and a quick temper.

At this point in her life, Khadroma was quite aware of the fact that she wouldn’t have been blessed with all of her beautiful children if Howard hadn’t outbid her almost-partner. And she most likely wouldn’t have Leo, either. She was grateful for everything that had happened and she knew why it all had to happen that way. But she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t think about what could have been on occasion, when her mind wandered and she started to think about all of the doors she’d walked through to get where she was.

And now, here Sol-ip Boo was in front of her, as clear as day. What could she say, after all this time? No words seemed good enough, nor did she have any idea what was happening in their life. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if they were happily married. After all, they were a catch. Anyone would be foolish to not see that. “I didn’t realize you were back in town,” she finally said.

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