puppet with her strings cut

Odessa Vernon twenty-four, emissary, daughter ""i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth" OPHELIA, ACT IV, SCENE V "

[odessavernon]

priamtaravella:

“More than I’d like it to.” He supposed it could’ve been worse though. He could’ve had her brother for a pen pal, or Castora, or Marcelo, or Roman. At least the universe had decided not to throw Roman Montague at him. This could have been a much worse encounter if it had. He didn’t want to think all the things that Odessa told him could easily have belonged to the young boss instead. Little details that formed a much more wholesome picture than “the enemy.” He shook his head. “Or they’ve long since stopped caring about what we do.” Priam chuckled at her joke, not entirely disagreeing with it, even if the matter of him having a soul was a bit questionable. Whether her jab at the Spades was a bait or not, he couldn’t tell, but he intended to find out. “And you’re not a Spade. There’s hope for us yet.”

Priam raised a brow at her challenge, more than happy to accept. He remembered most of their letters, remembered most of her idiosyncrasies because it was something normal, it was something fascinating. The tidbits about people that were usually considered boring were the things Priam enjoyed learning the most. Not to say he didn’t enjoy a good dark secret or two, of course, but…he liked the other parts too. Leading her to the bar, he ordered them each their favorite drink, an answer to her challenge. He took a seat and rested his elbow on the bar. Where did he even begin? “I should say thank you for your effort at the dinner. You did what no one else thought to do. And I’m sorry it didn’t go as you planned.”

“I can’t work out whether it’s a good or bad thing that there are now enough gangs to rank as enemies.” In her mind, she was inching towards bad. The city had hardly been big enough to split between two - and if the saying held true, then three was a crowd. The only option was to phase one out - to take their territory and their business, to smear their names until it had no meaning but historical. A horrible gut feeling in her stomach told her that it could end up being them. Although, strangely, the other side - the Capulets - were beginning to merge into that image. It was harder to hate them - now she knew there was a human among their ranks. “Not that you’re my enemy.” Offering up a quick smile, she felt the inexplicable need to clarify.

No, it was understandable. She didn’t want him to hate her.

Joining him at the bar, the smile that spread from her lips and across her face at his order was warm enough to melt even the thickest of ice. He had remembered. Strangely, she hadn’t believed he would - but with answer, the last inkling of doubt faded away, leaving her empty. She wondered what would replace it. At his words, she wafted a hand - filled with bitter disappointment that things didn’t go her way either. “Trust Faron to have a bullet-proof vest made of diamonds. You can’t say he doesn’t know how to spend his money.” Pausing, she sighed into her stance, still regretful she didn’t succeed. “Guess I’ll go for the head next time. Unless someone beats me to the draw - he’s making a lot of enemies.”

[odessavernon]

ramona-aguilar:

Eyes fixed on the tape she was fumbling with, the material strangely enough feeling rougher than usual between her fingertips, Ramona’s gaze only shut upwards once Odessa elaborated on whom she had had to face — as unsuccessfully as her, unfortunately — in that fateful night still so painfully present in a weary mind prone to insomnia and exaggerated revenge plots. “Don’t worry, mine was just as humiliating,” she offered with a languid roll of her eyes, earnestly so. In perfect honesty, defeat of any sort, especially when it came to physical fights, was to be considered humiliating in her book yet this one stung more than initially anticipated, a fact that enraged her on a regular basis. As though she was truly naive enough to think that an enemy might not be quite so bad after all after one civil exchange; as though she hadn’t known so much better for the vast majority of her life.

A vicious smile whipped the slate clean. Enemy remained enemy, opponent remained opponent and she only knew of one way to deal with them. “It won’t happen again under any circumstances, trust me. That we’ll ensure.” One fist had already been bandaged throughout their dialogue, the other being taken care of as she spoke. “Any particular weaknesses you think you might need to work on?”

There was solace to be found in knowing she hadn’t been the only one to lose. All her life, she had only ever wanted to be strong - now, she was desperately afraid of being perceived as weak, relegated to the backbenches of word spin once more, to be denied an active role in the war. She had earned this. She had suffered for this. And she wanted nothing more than to be someone who slipped a knife through the ribs of a Spade’s heart - she wasn’t even particular about which spade it was. “I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.” At every turn, the Spades had outwitted them, stolen from them - and dented their pride. Now, it was time for David to attack Goliath. It was time for the mountain to fall. “Guess I’m going to have to work on a witty victory phrase.” How she would smirk when Faron finally felt fear. How she would laugh when he watched his Kingdom fall to tatters. Limbered up, breath caught, Odessa turned to face her opponent, eyes scanning for any sign of a visual injury or weakness. Sometimes, it wasn’t about playing clean. Sometimes, you could take the dirty win. “Endurance.” She was fast. She was smart. But after making the first strike - she would fade. “So pound me. In a way that doesn’t sound totally sexual.” Despite the circumstances, a laugh fell from her lips. “You?”

[odessavernon]

tiberiuscapulets:

In truth, Tiberius had never truly settled his blinding hatred on Odessa Vernon. She, like many of the Montague loyalists managed to slip past his radar for their lack of relevancy. Such contempt was an exhausting thing to expend, and the Capulet captain learned long ago that directing his energies was the best thing to do for his state of mind. His grudges were saved for the Montague prince and his cronies. Marcelo, Bellamy, Hiran. They were by far more deserving for no reason other than the fact that they would die for Roman.·

But things had changed as they’d been thrust together with no other objective than to take down their mutual enemy. Who knew that would be all it took to bring the feuding families together? And they’d worked together. Worked well. Just the thought brought up images of Hea, the witch having spoken of fates and crossed strings. Perhaps…just perhaps,_ this_ was his and Odessa’s.

“No,” he corrects, “I know it’ll be easy, carina.” That smugness still was tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked her over. The brainy beauty to his brawn. Tiberius hadn’t thought about it, not since the day of the kidnapping, but he figured that they’d be rather suited complements to each other, with her being able to supplement in the areas he lacked in while he did the same for her.·“You may be. But I’d like to think you’re of biased opinion.”

She would have been hard pressed to admit it, but Odessa was having fun. Her entire life, she had been of the opinion that Tiberius Capulet was a stuck-up jack ass with an inflated sense of self, one which carried an edge as brutal as a daggers. In her mind, he had represented the worst of both halves - and was clearly someone to be avoided. Well now she was beginning to challenge those assumptions. No matter how short the alliance between Montague and Capulet might be, they may as well make the most of it. Soon enough, order would be restored. Some traditions are too hard to break. Blood, after all, called to blood.

Curling her lips into a smirk, or the closest they had ever been to them, Odessa pounded her fists together, clearly beckoning him forward. If she was going to go out bloody, let it be known that she had been brave. Sometimes, especially in a dog-eat-dog world like the one they inhabited, worth of character didn’t matter. But in the rare opportunities it was allowed to shine, it lit up the sky. And, after all, she had always wanted to shine. “Likewise. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who wasn’t half in love with himself - or his ego.” Men, it appeared, were born with an inflated sense of worth, never having to reminded of their place or their value. How she had always envied them for those privileges. How she had always sought to be like them. Now, she came the closest she ever would. “Remember, they do say that pride comes before fall.”

And then, as adrenaline coursed inside of her veins, she beckoned him forward with a single finger, the challenge issued.

[odessavernon]

valentina-rising:

It had felt like a curse as of late. The bone deep exhaustion that ran through her and yet with no inclination to sleep. Never quite able to fully sleep. Even now, moon high in the sky and there was no chance she’d rest any time soon. So, she wandered. Met with some of the others to try and figure what came next–what to do next. Read, walked the city, trained. It was on her way to that last one that she saw Odessa. Val had heard the woman was spending more and more evenings here, the motivation one she understood.

She glanced over, the surprise on the other’s face making it clear she was the first to interrupt. 

“Hey.” Her bag was dropped onto a chair, dark tendrils of hair pulled up and away off her neck as to not impede. 

“Sure. You been at it long?”

Mere weeks ago, Odessa might have shied away at this encounter. Valentina had always been an imposing figure, willful and wild - and utterly talented. How else did you explain her status as one of their youngest captains? But the new year had seen a shift in what had once been concrete. What had been true before was now a falsehood. An earthquake had struck, leaving devastation in its wake. But among the chaos, something new had emerged - hope. And in circumstances like this, Odessa couldn’t help but see the beauty. Huh, Maeve would have been proud. Grabbing her water bottle, swallowing half its contents and then tossing it aside again, Odessa jumped up and down on the balls of her feet, psyching herself up for what was bound to be an unfair fight. Oh well. “Every night this week. I’ll be damned if the Spades come out on top this time.”

[odessavernon]

nikolaiborisov:

Hmm. Interesting. For once it wasn’t Nikolai’s laugh that did the jarring. One minute the girl was this close to berating him, and the next she was laughing without a care. It prompted him to join in, to laugh along at the insanity of it all. This city was really hanging on by a thread. “Yeah, why make friends when you can just join a crime family, right?” He chuckled, shaking his head. He’d been more of a lone wolf for as long as he could remember, making acquaintances here and there when the opportunity presented itself. But he wasn’t about to sign his soul away for a city he probably wouldn’t be in for much longer. Soon enough he’d hop in his car and drive off into the sunset without a care for where he went next.

So at her question, he only shrugged. “Why not stick around? You guys are clearly on something, and I wouldn’t wanna miss anything good.” His eyes widened in excitement, a smile keeping his lips permanently upturned. He bounced his leg up and down, looking out at the too quiet city. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a place like Verona. Sure, everyone’s got crime and bad mojo, but this place is drowning in it. I’m more surprised you haven’t left, or, you know… died yet.” Play with the flames long enough, and it was only a matter of time before they consumed you whole. With both of their timers ticking down, he wondered which of them would be the first to go boom.

It had never occurred to Odessa, across her entire life, that she had a choice other than being in the Montague crime ring. Her father had been a treasured (or so she had thought) underboss, her brother a rising star among their ranks - and she had been on the outside, fighting to get in. Maybe it was the denial that had made her all the more thirstier. Perhaps it was something more fundamental, imprinted across her DNA.  All she knew was that without the Montagues, she would have been drowning - someones wife, an add-on, an afterthought. Constrained to normality, she would have been a rose dying on a vine. Instead, she was allowed to embrace her thorns. The idea of being a part of the thrill, without pledging your allegiance was, to her, inexplicable. “Sure, I mean, what worth does loyalty have these days?” Say what you might about each side, but at least they were dedicated. 

At his last comment, Odessa felt the easy smile that had appeared sour - and melt into a frown, her eyebrows explicitly knotted with irritation. When would everyone stop thinking of her as some docile child? “I’m not that easy to kill.” She replied, her voice lined with chills. And quite a few people had tried. Losses were one thing, but a permanent loss? A loss of life? It had never seemed within reach of her fingertips, a sort of fantasy to never be played out.  Trying to destract from her frustration, she kneaded at a second point. “You know, there’s a reason wolves are in packs. It’s the way they survive. The lone wolf always dies.”

[odessavernon]

lucreciafalco:

The spit lands atop her cheek, and she’s absolutely revolted. How dare this mere girl, this lamb in a city filled with ravenous lions, attempt to not only take down one of the best, but also manage to be wholly disrespectful during the process–during the fight. “Really?” She asks to no one, reaching up and wiping away the Montague’s outburst from her face as her other hand tightens its grasp around her throat. “Big mistake,” a slap follows her words, and it’s harsh and cruel and cracks through the night’s silence like a fresh whip to a horse’s back. It’s satisfying, merely the sound. In fact, Lucrecia is not even concerned with the amount of damage that is done, and instead revels in the stumbling idiocy of the princess, one who clearly bit off far more than she could ever chew. She watches her as one watches a small child, fascinated by their incompetence and marveling at their ridiculous rationale.

Don’t hesitate now. You know what has to be done.

Of course, she thinks. Of course the girl would blame Lucrecia, despite the fact that she threw the first punch. People who start what they cannot bear to finish always do this; they’re always incapable of taking any real responsibility. It’s a sign of weakness if she has ever seen one, and regardless of how strong Odessa Vernon claimed to be, all the Capulet could see was weakness–everywhere she turned, whenever her eyes fall to Montagues alike. “You’re all disgusting,” and this time she spits, taking two steps to her left and lunging for the emissary where she stands. “Careless and immature and vile little creatures,” her hand lands in the girl’s chestnut curls, and she twists her fingers in tightly before yanking as hard as she can to send the girl flying back. “Vermin, if you ask me,” and with that she lands a fist to the girl’s face. If nothing else, they will have matching wounds.

My flesh will be stained purple tomorrow. Bruises will mark her skin, a war wound of sorts, but not one borne with pride. There will only be frustration, anger that she failed to cripple her target and fulfill her duty towards Roman. How odd it feels, to be talking about tomorrow. Only moments ago, she was egging her opponent to end her life, to smite her from this world - and spark new hatred into the bond between Capulet and Montague. Maybe she has enough sense to see that. Or maybe she intends to kill my slowly. Either way, pain drowns out nearly every other thought in her mind - shattering her bones, but not her spirit. They can never break my spirit. My skin might not be as tough as it could be, but my soul is iron. It has had no choice but to be.

On the ground, Odessa crawls, trying to regain her balance - or at least, remain conscious. Her world is spinning. And it all seems rather beautiful. All around, she can see stars. Somewhere, she knows that’s not normal - a sign of danger, one meaning run. But she can’t quite bring herself to care. Oh shit. Oh well. Her elbows buckle as she tries to sit up, her chin making contact with cobblestones. Not good enough. It is that voice she chooses to listen to, trying again. This time, she manages to sit. “No one did.” Her words are stutters - and she knows they are dangerous, but she doesn’t want to seem broken. Pride can be a bitch. “I guess not every soldier has a steel punch - and not every emissary is useless.” 

And I suppose I might be neither.

[odessavernon]

tiberiuscapulets:

He and Lucrecia had had their time in the ring that morning. So why did Tiberius find his way back there? He’d managed to somehow forget his boxing gloves. And those things had seen him through some times – good and bad – it’s why he had to return to retrieve them. It’d been so late when he remembered, that he was sure the gym would have been closed, or at least deserted like it had been at the crack of dawn. But he’d been wrong.

Finding his gloves, sitting lonely to the side where he’d tucked them before, he grabbed them, only to take a few steps near the ring to sate his curiosity. He’d heard the scuffling, the movements, he knew someone else was there, likely getting their own aggressions out, but he hadn’t quite expected it to be a female here alone. And he definitely didn’t expect it to be Odessa Vernon.

“Well well well,” he says in turn, a slightly taunting lilt to his voice, arms crossing over his chest. He hadn’t intended to get right back into the fight, but he’d be a liar if he said his interest wasn’t piqued by her question, “I’m not sure our playing fields are leveled.”

There had been a time - up until very recently - when she had hated Tiberius Capulet with all of her heart. It hadn’t even been a well informed hatred, based off nothing more than general assumptions and the surname he wore like a badge of pride. He had belonged to the opposing side, their paths had rarely crossed - and that had been enough for both of them. Oddly enough, it had taken a kidnapping - and then the triumph of a mutual enemy - to melt the ice - and now, her feelings verged on something uncertain.

She had even pondered how they might have been a perfect match - partners in crime, side by side - in another life, where their fates had been different. Had the stars given them a second chance? Or was that simply nothing more than delusion? A dreamer would have gone for the former option. Odessa preferred the latter - and responded as such, preparing to offer him up her all.

“You think it’ll be easy?” The answer, logically, was yes. He had been fighting half his life, she only a few months. He was stronger, made up of steel and brute force. But she was faster - and, she liked to think, smarter too. “I’m cleverer than you.”

[odessavernon]

ramona-aguilar:

Another sleepless night. One could confidently claim it had become routine for her by now: wrapping herself in familiar linen, curtains drawn closed to block out the faint light of street lamps battling the nocturnal darkness, eyes fixated on the nearest wall, the ceiling, a dark abyss called space beyond it. She had tried it all, to no avail, her nightly trip to the gym hence a mission that could not, under any circumstances fail for it could serve two different purposes she would both appreciate — exercise would either wear her out enough to finally fall prey to sleep’s cruel hand or, at the very least, it would prepare her for the oncoming battle as opposed to allowing her to waste away wide awake in bed, useless and defeated.

Company she had not bargained for but once she realised that said company happened to be Odessa, Ramona nodded without further ado. 

“With pleasure. Anything to score me less bruises and more brutal hits next time.” A brief acknowledgement of her fight with Calina, void of any particular emotion, though at the time she had been boiling with the fierce hatred of a woman protecting her blood.

Despite the fact that a temporary peace accord had been put in place - and that the lines between Montague and Capulet were blurrier than they ever had been before, a knot of tension inside of Odessa unraveled when her eyes settled upon a familiar figure - albeit one Odessa could not claim to know well. In the days before she had truly joined the ranks, she had only ever been able to glance over at Ramona (usually, she had noticed arm in arm with Castora and Valentina, their own iron-born ladies club) and wistfully sigh and crave the sort of kinship and acceptance they had. These days she didn’t exactly have membership, but they weren’t strangers either. It was almost empowering, she mused, to have her here. And who better to learn from than those you admire?

Removing her boxing gloves and wrapping bandages around her knuckles, Odessa cast a glance over her shoulder as Ramona stepped into the ring. “Don’t tell me I’m not the only one who got my ass kicked last time?” That made her feel a little less nervous too - to know they were in the same boat. “Mine was by one of their emissaries...the one who’s the famous model? Very humiliating.” Odessa should have crushed her. Instead, they were evenly matched. Beauty and brawl. “I’m determined not to let that happen again. This time, they’re pulp.”

[odessavernon]

nikolaiborisov:

Now this face he remembered. The girl in a losing battle, the one he’d made the horrible mistake of trying to help. He remembered watching her and the other girl duke it out, ready to jump in at the perfect moment once it presented itself because why not? His opportunity was foiled, obviously, but hey, at least he tried to liven things up. “Okay, one, you’re welcome. If I’d used any of them, Miss Grateful, then we’d all be scattered across that floor in a lot of different places,” he said, chuckling as he crossed his legs at the ankle. “I could’ve poured some gasoline on you guys, but I don’t think anyone would’ve appreciated that either.” Fire was a fickle mistress who was very hard to control. He would’ve been pounded harder than he was this time.

“And second, it’s not my fault some dude decided to give me a shiner.” Such false advertising that was. It most certainly did not shine. “You were losing, I decided to put my two cents in this time, see if I could tip the scales a bit, and I got this.” He pointed dramatically to the ice pack and what it covered. “I swear. I don’t do anything, and I get hospitalized from poisoning. I do something, and still, it’s just not enough.” He shook his head. “You guys are a fucking mess.”

Whether it was the words themselves, the way in which they were expressed or the sentiment that lay behind it all, it was enough to spark amusement inside of Odessa, brought to life by the way of laughter, something that felt odd and strange, as if the emotion of happiness belonged to another girl, a million lifetimes away. But God, it felt good. Perhaps, if given half the chance, she could laugh her way into becoming someone else. Was that a fate she would embrace? The jury was still out on that one. “I guess that’s the price you pay for neutrality.” She retorted, shrugging her shoulders. “There’s no one to watch your back.” Even in their lowest moments, when ruin had seemed imminent, the Montagues had each other. It was the reason they had made it out alive. Some of them, anyway.

“Why do you stick around then?” Surprised by the genuine curiousness in which she spoke, Odessa studied him carefully. Witches aside, she had always struggled to understand those who chose the middle path. Why put your neck in the middle of a war if you weren’t going to pick a side? With him, she guessed it had something to do with its chaos. And she wasn’t sure if that was terrifying or something beautiful.

[odessavernon]

pavelsmischief:

See, the world was dipping further into chaos second by second. And he, oh, in one way he reveled in it. In another, he remained at attention, for he himself was on the edge of a cliff. A wrong word, and he could be shot. A wrong move, and his autobiography could end on dismal terms.

        ( of course, he probably already made a wrong move.               an instinctive one that shouldn’t have been instinctive.                                                                                   was it worth it? was any of it worth it? )

The past few days had involved sliding to and from the shadows, keeping himself ever-present while also fucking slippery. No one was able to pin him down unless he allowed it; it was safer and smarter that way. Especially now.

But there were times he needed to push at those limits, as he had always done before, and following a ( former ) point of contact? Absolutely enticing.

He waited for some time after she had entered the building, texting contacts and clients ( a number that had been dwindling further and further until it was a mere trickle ). Oh, but when he entered, it was with a wicked smile and a glint to his gaze.

                        what fun, what fun

“You think you can handle me?” he called back, slipping under the rope and launching to his feet. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“I think the only way to get better is by fighting people better than you.” Her mind, quick and sharp, relayed itself to her tongue as she shot back a comment, eyeing him closely as he stepped into the ring, searching for any sign of injury from the confrontation just a few nights before. Any weakness had to seized upon. Some battles were won with mind as well as matter. Drawing an unfortunate blank, Odessa steeled herself, preparing for defeat. This was a dog eat dog world and a free-lance fighter didn’t get to the top of their game through flattery alone. You needed steel to back that up.

Swallowing her nerves, Odessa circled her opponent, determined to take the initiative. Even if it didn’t pay off, she could give herself credit for bravery. A kick came up - making contact, although not nearly knocking the dent she might have liked. Retreating, Odessa decided to distract him instead. “So. How does someone whose loyalty can be bought navigate these new waters?” The Spades might have held the power, but the Capulets and Montagues - united - had the numbers. That had its own power too.

[odessavernon]

priamtaravella:

The world felt like it’d stopped spinning. Confirmation. Why couldn’t he have been seeing things? Why couldn’t it be a wrong assumption? Priam nodded, slow and reluctant, to acknowledge that he heard and understood her, that he believed she had no reason to make this up. He hadn’t divulged his life secrets, but if she lied to him about all of this, then he would know soon enough anyway. Priam couldn’t help but smile a little at her own assumption. You’re not the obvious penpal type. “I never expected you, either. I didn’t think it would be anyone we knew.” A civilian. A stranger. That he expected. That he prepared for. But someone from not only one of the mob groups, but the enemy? He knew the universe had a twisted sense of humor, and it crossed his mind at least a night or two before that it was a possibility, but even this was a particularly cruel twist.

They both seemed to be standing in a state of uncertainty, unable to move forward or backward with wherever their relationship stood. Where did they go from here? Were they still enemies? Were they still friends? Were they ever either? No, no he was overthinking this now. There was no forgetting this revelation, but they just had to take it one step at a time. She’d shot Faron, after all. At least for now, maybe they could be a little of both. “Can I buy you a drink?” The question sounded weird even as he asked it, but he couldn’t think of anything better to do. He couldn’t think of a better step to take. The bar was just next to them, and while he wasn’t much of a drinker, he wouldn’t mind a glass or two after this. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“I guess the universe appreciates dramatic irony.” What could be more cliched than this? Two enemies, two individuals on opposing sides, brought together in the most unlikely manner, forced to understand that the opposition had both a heart and soul - and that in another life, they could have been connected in the most traditional and human of ways. Tilting her head towards the ceiling, as if she had eyes that could see pass its cracks and gaze into the open sky itself, Odessa shook her head a little in disbelief. “Whoever is up there, we must be giving them a pretty good show.” It seemed silly, but sometimes, that was the only explanation when something happened. You could only put it down to a weird sort of fate, a type that belonged on the Truman Show. “Oh well, at least you’re not a Spade. There’s a soul in there somewhere.” Her lips twisted, an odd joke,

Can I buy you a drink? Surprise registered across her face. Out of all the words she expected to leave his lips, they had not been among them. She had expected him to walk away, to cut her off and remove any presence she had ever held in his life. But I never would have done that - and if this has proved anything, it is that we are more alike than I think. Thus, she was hardly surprised when she inclined her head to a nod, granting permission. “Sure. If you can remember my favourite.” She had told him once that, in one of their early letters. I wonder if he remembers. Folding her lips into a smile, she made it clear that her challenge was a jest - not to be taken seriously. But, nonetheless, she hoped he did know.

[odessavernon]

Date: May 6th Time: 2am Location: Local Gym, boxing ring Status: Open

Punch. Faron. Kick. Calina. Push. Lillian. One by one, the Spades fell, or at least, they did in her imagination. It was a beautiful image - and one she hoped would materialize soon. The natural order of things was imbalanced - and their city was in the clutches of another party, near strangers whose greedy hands had grabbed what was not rightfully theirs. The world had to kick back - and she intended to be in the vanguard, at the front of the charge. For too long, she had been falling flat on her ass, losing to people who didn’t sling a gun across their back and march to the tune of war. Fighting Lillian? It was a form of humiliation. Now it was her turn to fight back - to be better, stronger. 

Hence, the nights spent boxing in the ring.

Usually left alone, Odessa raised her head in surprise at the entrance of someone else, eyes scanning across the room as they approached the ring. Emboldened, she called out towards them. 

“You want to spar?”

[odessavernon]

nikolaiborisov:

Date: April 30th Time: 6:35 am Location: random street on previously neutral territory Status: Open

At least he wasn’t in the hospital again.

The early morning sky was full of pinks and blues when he planted his ass on the step of an unopened shop, holding an ice pack to his temple. He’d even gotten a few hours of sleep the past couple nights and everything was still fucking sore. What a horrible, no good, very bad time.

What was going on with Verona, anyway? He was being told to kidnap people, those people were put in cages, weapons were for sale, and goddamn shit storms happened every other week since he’d arrived. Nikolai would say it was high time he got the hell out if he wasn’t so damn curious about what the hell they were all smoking. Not that he hadn’t mostly had a blast so far, but they either knew how to have the best parties, were batshit crazy, or a mixture of both. Both, he thought. They’re probably both.

“I’ve been away from my toys for too long,” he groaned, leaning back on the upper step to relax more. There was nothing like a good fire to calm the nerves and warm his insides. Maybe he’d go blow up a car or something when he felt better. That’d be nice.

The voice and face behind the figure at her side was hardly one cut from a cloth of familiarity. Until tonight, she had scarcely known who they were - simply another anonymous face among a growing crowd, most of which she would now label with the term ally. But could someone truly be an ally if you didn’t trust them? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps time would tell. Or it would stick a dagger in her back. One of the two. At least her answer would be clear.

Turning towards him with a skeptical - and somewhat judgmental - gaze, Odessa chewed on her lip, pondering her answer. Somehow, she doubted that the toys he spoke of were child appropriate. Everyone in this city carried a deadly edge - all their bloody fury and storms of rage. “You could have used one or two when I was in the middle of fighting Lillian. Instead you watched.”

[odessavernon]

tiberiuscapulets:

calina-s:

lucreciafalco:

“Move in,” she whispers, her left index finger pressing into the small device aptly hidden in her ear and secured behind raven tresses, and it’s discreet—the order—masked as a casual turn of her head as she pretends to rummage within her bag. Deciding it’s better to actually bring something back, she frees a cigarette from its box and a lighter, igniting the end as she turns back to Calina, eyes fixated on the enemy turned friend—friend turned mission. “Before we go inside,” she gives the woman a faint smile, apologizing for the disgusting habit, but she isn’t that sorry once the smoke fills her lungs and the nicotine soars through her bloodstream.

“I was thinking drinks first, and then,” she pauses to take another drag, arm crossing over her chest to prop up the hand holding the cigarette between polished fingers, “dinner at our favorite spot. And…” she pauses once more, but only to lean in closer to the Spade as if she has a salacious secret to share, “I may or may not have told them it was your birthday simply for the free chocolate cake,” she says with a wink, and it is true; she had made a reservation for the both of them at 11PM sharp, and she’d told the hostess it was a celebration despite Lucrecia knowing they’d never arrive. But it was a nice thought, a hopeful idea that per some random act of the universe, the two women would make it through the evening without either ending up hurt, but they both know—at least Lucrecia knows—that is a pipe dream.

She turns her head back for a split second, eyes searching quickly for the black van Tiberius and Odessa were driving, and the moment she does, it feels as if a thick lead brick sinks to the bottom of her stomach as opposed to the usual rush of adrenaline and euphoria normally accompanying a task such as this. An engine roars and tires squeal in the distance, and she knows it is them—she knows it’s time.

Before we go inside. It’s disconcerting how quickly alarm bells ring, worse still that they are of concern that Lucrecia might want to discuss something that will surely place the evening in decline. There are plenty of topics between them that remain unspoken for that very reason - because, even as they’re supposed to be on the same side, they must be willing to detach from work if they’re to remain friendly. Calina’s somewhat of an expert at it, or the illusion of it, for she’d be very lacking for company if she could only spend time with those with goals to match her own. She stalls, turns, is even relieved to see the cause of the words, relaxes to lean back against the wall a few steps away - careful to avoid the smoke.

“Well, no one’s waiting up. Although you’re more than welcome to the cake, and you can even have the wish. I’m going to deal more with the drinking portion of the night.” She looks to Lucrecia, hand out to bump her on the arm, “You really know how to treat a girl.” Only to notice Lucrecia’s looking away, imagines it’s the tires she heard. Still nothing seems amiss, the noise all too familiar from St. Petersburg, only registering because it calls Lucrecia’s attention. “Did you quit?” a change in direction as she gestures to the cigarette instead, returns to folded arms. “Maybe you’re just sneaky, but I didn’t know you smoked.” The van nears and still she’s paying attention to all the wrong things, focus numbed by other considerations and a lack of admission - after all, she’s just as angry about the fashion show as everyone else, even if her reasons are entirely different.

I’m ready when you are.

The Vernon girl must’ve been ready hours ago if that was the case. To dish out this kind of payback on the Spades was all the Capulet captain could think about. But he was forced to wait, forced into holding his position until the timing was right. And that’s when he heard it, Lucrecia’s low, smoky voice slipping in through the ear piece they had all agreed to wear, to help with easy communication. Move in, was the command, and Tiberius’ fingers curled and uncurled in almost giddy anticipation. Lucrecia was stalling, the conversation between the women continuing to carry on outside the club’s doors. It seemed everyone was in on the particular joke but the Spade woman, that there had never been any intentions of them stepping foot in The Tempest that night. 

“I’m going for the grab,” Tiberius informs Odessa, and points to the drivers seat, silently instructing she occupy the seat he was once in, “Once she and Lucrecia are in, you drive.” 

The van creeps just those few feet closer before coming to a halt before the women, Tiberius hidden behind the door, hands pressing to it eagerly. Everything after that happens in a flash – the door rips open, the black sack in his hands shoved over her head, she begins her fight then. Unable to see, she strikes and scratches at whatever she can reach, and he hisses, her nails having dug into his skin through the long sleeves of his shirt. Her body’s wriggling, thrashing violently to free herself from his grasp. He only tightens his grip then, so hard he knows she’ll bruise, but they can’t lose her, not when the Witches were counting on them. Lucrecia pushes, and he pulls, rough in the way he manhandles her into the van and tosses her to the hard floor. His hand hits at the drivers seat twice, the signal that Odessa should go, go, go. 

And just like that, Capulet and Montague moved as one. Odessa scarcely recognised that the two people, who were, for all intents and purposes, on her side, were technically members of the enemy. In this moment, they were all made equal - eyes trained forward towards a common goal. Soon, it would be over - but for the moment it was a glimpse into what a different life might have liked like, when the two sides would work in tandem. A little bittersweet, if she was being honest. Tiberius seemed like one hell of  a sparring partner - now that she knew he didn’t kill her Father. And Lucrecia? She was one hell of a woman. In a different life, she might have been  sort of mentor. 

Although she objected from being relegated from the action on sheer principle, Odessa accepted Tiberius’s order without complaint, recognising that he was the old hand when it came to these situations. He had a hundred fights to her three - and they only had one shot at kidnap. Should Calina escape, the whole setup would be a disaster. And no one wanted to risk the wrath of the witches - not now they had shown what could truly happen when they flexed their muscles. Nodding at his instructions, Odessa slid into the drivers seat as soon as he hopped out, foot on the clutch ready to depart. From the wing mirror, she watched the kidnapping unfold with baited breath - desperately hoping.

A mere few minutes later - and Calina was secure. As the back doors slammed, Odessa stepped on the pedal - pulling away in a hurry (but not so much so that the Police, although corrupt, would try to stop them). One eye on her fellow kidnappers and their captive in the back, she kept her second on the road making sharp turns along ancient roads towards the hotel. “We’ll be there in five minutes.” Or less, if she ran a few red lights. Descending into silence, Odessa sighed under her breath, seeking to break the uneasiness that had fallen. “No one hurt?” It seemed polite, after all, to ask.

[odessavernon]

tiberiuscapulets:

calina-s:

lucreciafalco:

MARTINIS WITH A SIDE OF BETRAYAL

DATE: Wednesday, April 26th TIME: 9:47 PM LOCATION: Around the corner from Tempest STATUS: Closed to @calina-s, @tiberiuscapulets & @odessavernon

The cobblestone is wet with rain from an early evening storm. Spring showers, she thinks as their strides begin to match, heels clacking in sync with one another as they huddle together under a black umbrella. One leather encased hand grips the handle while the other clings to Calina’s forearm, and on any other night, this would be normal: two friends headed out for a drink, perhaps looking to get into a little trouble if the night was kind, but tonight a cloud hangs over the emissary’s head, one fueled by rage and peppered with conflict of the internal variety. Orders are orders, but Lucrecia considers the woman on her arm a friend, not someone she would attack in any other circumstance, and yet—

“Tempest first, yes?” She breaks the tension of her own making with a nudge to the woman’s shoulder and a small warm smile, “and then we can see where the night takes us.”

Extending a hand, she reaches out in search for more rain drops, but the air is dry-humid, even-and so she drops her arm from Calina’s to bring the umbrella down and wraps it up quickly. “I think we—and our hair, thank god—are safe from rain for the moment.”

“I trust you. Tempest it is.” In truth she hasn’t been very good company on their journey so far. Although it’s been over three weeks, she’s still in a rather lackluster mood from dealing with everyone who allowed a bullet to target Faron, herself especially. The irony being that the thought of being more vigilant is distracting her from being vigilant. She might have noticed something unusual in Lucrecia’s demeanour if she were less invested in covering her own inner turmoil. Regrettably the rain has covered the need for excessive conversation, haste and the avoidance of puddles capturing focus.  It’s no wonder it has taken longer than necessary to realise the rain has stopped.  “I love the rain, but it’s not a good look on me.” 

They’ve only moved a few steps when Calina yelps, she’s trying to warn Lucrecia of the danger too but can’t quite remember the word she’s looking for. She extends her hand instead so that the overflowing gutter leaks over her palm in a sluice. Just because cold water dripped down her collar doesn’t mean Lucrecia should suffer similarly. It makes her a little more alert at least, just not in the way she needs.  “You’re safe at least.”

Tiberius was well versed on the plan, on the mission, the Witches had entrusted to them. Lucrecia and the Vernon daughter were to be his allies, Calina Sokolova – their target. They needed to capture and bring her to them. It was all so perfectly…tame. So dreadfully anticlimactic of a task, to the Capulet captain. For a man who had revenge and slaughter on the brain since he had been released from the hospital, he wanted a head on a stake to have, he wanted blood with which he could paint a grand canvas with. A mere kidnapping seemed juvenile. It wasn’t enough. But perhaps he was jumping the gun, judging far too quickly – for he didn’t truly know what kind of magic tricks the Witches had up their sleeves for when the Spades were captured. 

The tires of the van crept slowly to a halt at the corner. Once the tidbit slipped that Lucrecia and the other woman were beginning to grow something of a bond, it was decided that she be the bait, to lure the other to The Tempest under false pretense. That was where Tiberius and Odessa waited. His leg bounced in impatience and agitation, fingers curling and tightening around the steering wheel before he dips down in his chair. Dark eyes look out into the night, peering through rain-spattered windows. For a while, it seemed like they’d been waiting forever, but then he saw them, heels clacking in rapid staccato as they huddled beneath an umbrella. A devious curve twisted at the Capulet’s lips as he turned to Odessa.

“There they go. Look sharp.” 

Nervously, Odessa tapped her foot, bouncing it from side. Each second felt like an hour and each minute was beginning to feel like a lifetime. Casting a gaze to her left, she wondered if her companion (they made the most unlikely of allies) felt the same - or whether he was an old hand at this. The question was burning on her lips, but she eventually decided against expressing it. It was easier to keep their heads down and keep conversation to a minimum. When the day was over, they would still be on opposing sides. Being drawn together for this one mission didn’t mean - couldn’t mean - anything. And, given her most recent attack on Lucrecia (or, she mused, failed attack), she deduced that it never would.

Despite her slight apprehension, excitement tingled through her bones, electrifying her nerves ends. This was justice in its purest form. The Spades would soon be humbled - reminded that they were mere mortals, not Gods. And then - and only then - could their Empire begin to decay. Following the line of Tiberius’s speech, Odessa’s eyes sharpened in on their target - side by side with the cunning woman who would stick the knife in her back. Or the liquid in her drink. Thinking of Maeve, Odessa’s lips curled into a smile. Poetry, even when brutal, possessed beauty. “I’m ready when you are.” She whispered, voice kept quiet to avoid detection. “So far, so good.” Was it bad of her to wish that the plan would go awry? So that she could step in and get a punch of her own? Perhaps. “Right on time, too.”

[odessavernon]

lucreciafalco:

That’ll leave a pretty mark…

She laughs and its cruel, mocking in its tone despite the force of the blow that lands on her cheek. It is hard enough to push Lucrecia stumbling back, clumsily clutching at her face, but if the girl had been trained and if she knew how to hold her own in a fight—to never start something you’re incapable of finishing—it is quite possible her fist could have caused irreparable damage. And she’s right, it’ll leave a mark for the days to come, but it will not compare to the fate Odessa has just sealed for herself. 

It isn’t personal. It is now.

Raising her arm to the fresh welt just beneath her eye, she presses two fingers into the skin gently and winces at the immediate pain, but she knows better than to wallow in the hurt by now; it is far more prudent to let it fuel an already raging fire. And it isn’t until then, when she returns her gaze to the woman who deems it necessary to attack in the middle of the street—how desperate, how careless—that she remembered how much she loved the fight, and oh, how she had wasted so much time feeling sad. 

She’d forgotten how easy it was to give into the anger, to let it guide her. She could have done without the blow to her head, regardless of it surprisingly knocking some sense into her, but perhaps Lucrecia will thank the Vernon girl after she lays her out.

“Well,” she starts, taking a side-step to her left in an effort to force Odessa into the exact position she wants her in, “let’s make it personal then, shall we?” And then she lunges for her, arms wildly outstretched until they clasp onto her shoulders, and with a small, swift push, she sends the girl into the brick wall behind her. She lands with a rough thud to her back, but Lucrecia doesn’t give her time to breathe and instead closes the distance between them with a tight grip of her hand to the girl’s throat. 

Ever since she began fighting, there has been loss after loss. The Montagues lie in tatters, decimated by their efforts, struggling against a tidal wave that threatens to drown them all. She shot Faron - only for him to bounce back, protected by gilded elegance and riches. Her joint efforts with Valentina counted for little in the end. And now - she finds herself on the verge of defeat, brought to her knees by a Capulet - and an emissary at that. Bitterness tastes familiar on her tongue as she gathers saliva in her mouth, figuring she has nothing to lose by spitting at her now captor. The moment is satisfying - but she’s duly punished when the hand tightens against her neck, oxygen a commodity that becomes harder to reach.

There’s little point in struggling. Logically, she knows that. She has a far better chance of surviving if she keeps her body completely still, trying her best to reduce the stress on her muscles and their demand for air. Despite that, she can feel her chest heave and up and down as it begins to struggle - the first signs of panic creeping into her bones. So perhaps it isn’t logic that fuels her next words - but a whim or a guess. It’s a reasonable one. It takes one thing to fight - but another to become a killer. Maybe Lucrecia hasn’t crossed over to a side that dark yet. Her words are a croak as she speaks, loud enough only to grace the ears in front of her. “Don’t hesitate now. You know what has to be done.” The options are plain and simple - kill her, knock her out or let her go. The path is laid out in front. Which fork will her opponent choose?

She has had her losses. She knows how to bear them. At least she fought - until the end, bitter it may be.

[odessavernon]

lucreciafalco:

A victory. That is what it is supposed to be. For both of us, for all of us, for none of us. Lucrecia could count on one hand how many of her fellow Capulets adhered to this new regime, this kingdom stolen in the night by a mere thief who dares to call himself her king. If he were any other man, and this were any other time, perhaps she’d look up to him. He takes what he wants, seizes any and all opportunities that lay before him. Are his methods fair? Of course not, no great leader’s ever are. Just ask Damiano. Would Lucrecia do the same to further her own ambitions? Absolutely. But he’s made an enemy of her, and that’s a grudge she will never let go. 

Grief had crippled her for too long, of that she was positive. And perhaps that is what pushed her into enemy territory that night, a walk through the streets of a city that bleeds more often than it should. Lucrecia had never been one to seek out trouble, to look for an enemy where there aren’t any, but yet another attack on her people had awakened a dormant predator and filled her with a thirst for blood—for vengeance. But it was no excuse to smugly walk these streets, to let her guard down and venture the city thinking she was safe. 

Her wake up call from complacency comes in the form of a blow to her head, violent and dealt with an anger she was all too familiar with. A slight ring sounded within her ears and the background noise of the street faded into nothingness, but thankfully, it was momentary. And all the strike to her head elicited was a stumble forward and a few choice words for her attacker.  “You best hope that was an accident.” She hissed through gritted teeth, one hand raising up to cup the now tender back of her neck. But as she turned to face them, to face her, onyx curls come into view, as disheveled and wild as the look in her eye. 

Odessa. 

With a flick of her tongue, a small groan of admonishment escaped her. But it was clear this was meant to be an attack, not a battle of wits. She came here, probably followed Lucrecia in hope that she would be an easy target; she prided herself on only appearing as one for it always comes as such a delicious surprise when they discover she is not. But fine. The girl wants to play, she wants to fight, then fight they will. Lucrecia obliged the girl’s taste for revenge in the form of a fist to her jaw. It was quick, unexpected, satisfying.  “C’mon, princess,” she taunted, tossing her bag to the pavement and taking a tentative step back, “don’t stop now.”

Princess. It’s an old taunt, one checkered with time, resentment and bitterness. The title Princess belongs to a girl trapped up in an ivory tower, waiting for Prince Charming to defeat the dragon and liberate her, so that they may live happily ever after. As if every woman’s happy ending was in the arms of a stranger, nothing more than a prop in his story. It never occured to those heroines to take matters into their own hands. Or that, perhaps, the dragon was merely protecting them from the outside world - from all the princes who would steal them and claim them as their own. For the first twenty four years of her life, Odessa had been that princess, a lamb led to the slaughter, never truly alive until her guard fell upon his sword. Now, she liked to imagine herself to be the dragon. 

And what did such beasts do? They struck. 

With renewed anger pulsing through her veins, it is instinct more than strategy that pushes her forward, gives her cause to raise her fists and lunge forward, ready to strike. Had she been wiser, more seasoned, she might have known to give up - to see a worthy opponent where one stands and move onto easier pickings. But pride is not a fickle creature - and like father like daughter, in Odessa it is bursting at the seams. They circle each other, two giants of the animal kingdom, two woman who have more in common than they think they do - and in another world, Odessa might have used speech instead of fists. But this is not that world. And these are desperate times. So she presses forward, momentarily excited to feel her fist make contact - a beautiful face waiting to be unstitched. 

After all, you should never deal out what you yourself cannot take.

She isn’t immune to pain - and now, she can even relish in it. “Sorry about the face. That’ll leave a pretty mark tomorrow.” The words are foreign in her mouth - they belong to taunting gapes of fighters and those with a crude tongue, not her polished perfection. Like the blood leaking into her mouth, it feels fresh. It almost feels nice. “And as I’m sure you know, it isn’t personal.” Is that true? Isn’t war the most intimate of things?

And it’s then that the tide turns - and not in her favour.