no net ensnares me

robin walker palmer. host at the dunbar nightclub. written by bonnie for moblandhq

[rcbinpalmer]

〈 janelle monaé / thirty-nine / she/they 〉 see ROBIN PALMER ( NÉE WALKER ) over there? they have quite a reputation for being COLD-HEARTED. some would beg to differ & say that they’re more STEADFAST. rumor has it they are HOST OF THE DUNBAR & COUSIN OF THE HEAD for the WALKER SYNDICATE. the THIRTY-NINE year old has been around los angeles for HER ENTIRE LIFE. just keep an eye on them — in this city, everyone’s hiding something & it’s only a matter of time before their true colors shine through.   

biography below! | psd credits [x] [x]

Name: Robin Palmer (née Walker)

Age / DOB: Thirty-nine / January 29, 1908

Gender: Nonbinary

Pronouns: She and/or they

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship status: Widowed

Occupation: Host at the Dunbar nightclub

Being born to their infamous clan is and always has been an immense source of pride for Robin Walker. A cousin of the family's illustrious head, they were born and raised in Los Angeles - her family earlier to move west than other relatives. From the start it was clear that Robin was a free spirit, knowing the way to charm and earn affection from whoever they wanted. A vibrant personality earned her many friends and admirers, but she maintained a fiercely independent streak.

From the moment her extended family became entrenched in the city, Robin was immediately tied into the business. It became all too easy to be absorbed in the glitz and games that they ran, and it has more or less been Robin's calling for all of their adult life. She has especially found a home as a long time host at the Dunbar, managing guests and keeping all attendees satisfied. She also knows how to pinpoint friends and foes when it comes to the less savory operations, doing it all with a friendly but knowing smile. She cares deeply about the staff at the Dunbar, a second family, and works hard to ensure they're taken care of.

Recent years have dimmed Robin's once very vibrant shine. There's no denying that years of being surrounded by violence have taken a toll, despite their denials of the fact. The painful loss of her husband, Elijah, who had died overseas at the tail end of the War, has also caused Robin to grow increasingly more isolated and distant from what they once held dear. A sense of cold loneliness has seeped in, leaving only a fraction of the warmth that Robin once showed. Yet a determination and loyalty to the family remains, a steadfast desire to help them all get ahead as the world continues to spin.

[rcbinpalmer]

@justmahemfolks (olivia moore), at the hollywood race track

Robin couldn't pretend she fully understood all that had unfolded with Olivia's abrupt departure. All she knew was that the young woman had been glued to Zion's hip, until suddenly she was nowhere to be found. It was the seeming lack of loyalty that left a sour taste in Robin's mouth, as someone who valued it more than most any other trait. There was no room for error, in their mind. You were either for or against.

Maybe it was just the warm weather, or maybe the bustle of the track, but Robin was at least feeling more diplomatic than they had lately. Sliding into place beside Liv against the track railing, their dark eyes were not quite as sharp as they could have been. "I like that color on you," she said simply. "You look like you're doing well. What is it you're doing now, exactly? Must be something that agrees with you."

[violentcnds]

the thing about the race track was that everyone's eyes were always on something else. that was the point, wasn't it? the moguls with their cigars and cocktails, the starlets draped in silk and diamonds, the bookies scribbling odds like gospel, and the rich owners showing off their derby horses and jockeys.

kentaro didn't look as though he belonged. his jacket hung loose, his collar crooked, and there was a smear along his jaw that might've been blood or just the shadow of a fight he hadn't finished. he smelled faintly of whiskey and smoke, undercut with something harsher, like the bitter trace of a high he was chasing too far. he hadn't slept in two, maybe three days. the hours blurred, nights hollowed out by regret and a stomach turned sour from what he couldn't forget. he felt delirious.

kentaro lingered near peripherals of the track, half in shadow beneath the awning, his eyes moving restlessly to the boxes above, the betting windows, the shifting crowd along the trackside. not hunting. not even casing. just watching like a man who expected a bullet to come flying out of the stands.

“these people are always smiling, always shaking hands. thinking no one sees what’s underneath.” his jaw tightened, and he looked down at the cigarette, thumb rubbing the paper. he was muttering low, more to himself than anyone else, but the words slid out just clear enough to get caught by whoever lingered close. “there’s nothing but rot here.”

[rcbinpalmer]

"Very poetic," Robin mused before they could entirely stop themselves. In a way, it all reminded them of the club, more focus on people watching than what was actually happening. At least here, there was no focus required on service; just a freedom to observe everything around them. In truth, she couldn't resist the same idea that Kentaro had voiced aloud.

It always unsettled her, being too close to anyone attached to other syndicates. She'd be a fool not to at least recognize the players who mattered most. At least, here in public, there was a certain sense of safety, and perhaps even if Robin recognized others, they might not know Robin.

"You could say that about anywhere in Los Angeles. All shiny and... gilded until you scratch the surface." Sipping from a soda bottle, Robin leaned against a nearby post. "I only hope you don't mean the stands themselves. If there's rot there, I think we're all in trouble."

[rcbinpalmer]

Robin Palmer at the Hollywood Derby

[fclsehearted]

featuring: open where: the dunbar

The music hit just right tonight. Something slow, rich, dripping with brass and smoke. The kind of sound that curled through the air like a promise—half-sin, half-sacrament. From his perch near the end of the bar, Zion Walker let it wash over him, one arm slung across the back of the leather booth like he owned the whole damn world. Technically, he just managed this corner of it. But The Dunbar pulsed with the kind of life that made a man feel bigger than he was.

Central Avenue glittered outside, but in here, the real stars were on the floor. A velvet haze hung over everything: cigarette trails, perfume, sweat, ambition. Couples twirled under the golden light. Men in tailored suits shook hands over deals worth dying for. A woman laughed like she meant it. Somewhere behind it all, the underground poker room murmured with tension.

Zion sipped something dark and neat from a cut-glass tumbler, ring tapping lightly against the side. “A little slow for a Saturday,” he commented, smug facetiousness oozing with each word. He wore a suit tonight—sharkskin gray, crisp shirt open at the collar, no tie. Decadent. Intentional. He dressed like a man with nowhere to be but everywhere to rule. His smile was lazy. His eyes were not.

It was a good night. Which meant he didn’t trust it one bit. His gaze swept the room again. Familiar faces. New ones, too. Some trying not to look his way. Some looking too hard. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he lit a cigarette, exhaled a slow curl of smoke, a smirk unfurling as he did so, he turned to the person closest to him "If tonight gets any prettier, I might just fall in love."

[rcbinpalmer]

"I'd like to see more, but that's just me." Robin was the type who could never be quite satisfied. Even with all the music and chatter, there was always room for improvement. We could squeeze another table in there. Expand the cocktail menu. It wasn't her place as host to be suggesting changes, but her mind still whirled. In a way, it was a relief from the noise in their own mind, to be able to focus on what was going on in the busy, smoky club.

Lips pursed, they glanced back at Zion, who looked so comfortable. Robin envied that, really, but wondered how much of it was true. After all, if she could project an air of ease, then why couldn't he?

Sliding into the booth across from him, Robin reached out for the cigarette that Zion had just lit, a bit impatient. They didn't smoke, officially, but stealing cigarettes for a puff or two had become a habit. "I was thinking about maybe doing a samba night," she proposed, unable to help talking business. "Could be fun. Play like we're Carmen Miranda. Hell, if we play our cards right, we could get Carmen Miranda herself."

[ovrdrivess]

grand central market was buzzing with activity. stevie had no direction in mind this morning - she knew she had to be over at club eden later on - but she had time to kill. the smell of freshly baked bread wafted over to her from a couple of stalls over. if she could bottle that smell, she would.

distracted for a moment, she dug into her pocket, looking to see how much cash she had on her. enough for a loaf or two, she hoped. she started to walk over to the bakery stall, admittedly not looking where she was going before she set off. the body that crashed into her managed to hit her directly in the stomach, which got a pained groan out of her. "jeez." she couldn't exactly cuss them out about not looking where they were going because she hadn't been looking where she was going. so, instead, she made a joke out of it. "you pack a real punch, anyone ever told you that?"

[rcbinpalmer]

"Sure. I've been told that." Robin gave a thin smile, staggering to a stop after the collision. The face was familiar, but that was no surprise, given how many people she had seen in her time. With a huff, they leaned down to gather the produce that had tumbled away under one of the nearby stalls. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm always in a hurry everywhere I'm trying to go. My husband used to say I could run down a cable car if I put my mind to it..." She trailed off, finally looking up at Stevie. "I didn't cause any damage, did I?"

[yeris]

HIDDEN FIGURES (2016) dir. theodore nelfi