veleno;

Regina Regan Daly. 21. Capulet Captain. living in the current you create

[reginadaly-blog]

calina-s:

There’s a stutter of an exhaled laugh from Calina, much too quiet, even in the still night air, to carry very far. Not sharp enough for impact, when she is only amused by the familiarity of Regina’s words- the sense they make to the way she thinks. Even if the one place her head has never been is in the clouds. Her mother tried for years to get Calina to believe in hidden magic, left them both vulnerable by refusing to tether to solid ground. And so Calina has never had the chance for whimsy, for dreaming, even if she play pretends with the best of them. The stars though, she’ll allow that presumption. Is mesmerised by the idea of belonging somewhere, fastened safe against the black by name alone. It’s all she has.  Is inclined to believe that Regina doesn’t mean it as a threat anyway. Couldn’t attest to the other woman making threats, when surely her aggressive impulses lie in action and not words. Has heard tell of that at least. There’s no point in being fearful, for if Regina wanted her dead she wouldn’t warn of it.

It might be the most they’ve said to one another, in substance at least, veiled beneath their riddles and tacit opposition.  “I had a task to complete. And now that it’s done I find myself without direction.”

“It seems we are allied in this one matter, for however long it might last.” Redundant for either of them to commit to restraint, when neither have moved to do what they should, and neither of them can trust that the other wont. 

Still, it will hold for as long as it holds. The bridge beneath them having witnessed truces more extreme than this.  “You’re not obligated to anything, when neither of us are as we should be. Adequate excuse with the fog of war surrounding.” She lifts a hand and skims it through the air, as though her reference is obvious- no one can see very far ahead on this night, no one to tell what shapes form on the bridge from any vantage point but on it. Drops her hand to the wall as she asks of Catherine’s recovery.. “..It would be unfair to diminish what she did to the act of a sibling, when we both know that love isn’t inherent. Would you have done the same for her?” Has the decency to look away so her question seems less like a provocation, when all she is is curious. Protection isn’t something she’s familiar with, and yet she and Regina held something common between them that night. And this one, with the absence of wounds they should have suffered, at the very least. 

No matter what little time they spent together, Regina did not pretend like she knew Calina. Assumptions may have been incorrect, but they were not ones she banked on, not ones she held any expectations of. This woman was now supposed to be her enemy after she’d been told she was her ally mere days ago, both positions coming as a result of monumental events, ending in injury and suffering. Regina doubted it followed Calina; more likely, it was Faron’s orchestration, a creativity many in Verona may have doubted until this moment. Still, Calina was first painted as someone the Capulets should get to know for business purposes, and now they’d painted a target on her back.

Regina did not hate her. She did not feel so strongly towards anyone to hate them, and Calina was not special.

Her life did not matter to Regina, as well, but she was not stupid enough to believe she could kill a Spade at random suffer minimum consequences for her actions. It was never hard for Regina to take a life—it wasn’t like she felt remorse for them, after all—but she also preferred to keep her own, and knew there were deadly consequences for killing off such a high-ranking Spade without careful and extensive planning. She was not ruled by such an impulse, anyways; she felt nothing and was nothing. She was not her trigger finger. She was not the hint of a smile on her lips when a body fell to the ground. She was not the murderer of Calina, at least not tonight.

“You are without direction? Or is your entire party without direction?” asked Regina, doubting she would get an answer in the first place. Still, perhaps she could learn that they did not know how to wield the powerful weapons they sought, after all. Perhaps she would learn just how far into the future Calina’s boss made his plans. She, of course, did not get her hopes up.

Regina shrugged, leaning against the bricks behind her. “I do not care who finds me. I do not care what they think my purpose is up here, or what consequences they think I deserve. More importantly, I do not fear them.” This included the Spades, but Regina did not outright utter the name. She did not need to. Of course, she could likely have mentioned Grace by name, but again, the words did not have to be uttered, especially not as they spoke about Catherine.

“I do not love. I cannot love. I am grateful she did what she did; it makes her reputation look more favorable, though our other sister, not so much. I don’t know if I would do the same—I have never been in such a situation. I certainly owe her.” None of this was a secret to Regina; anyone who knew her could have predicted such an answer. What use was it to Calina, anyways? The middle Daly could not think the information useful.

[reginadaly-blog]

orionmassetti:

“Hm.“ Orion placed a napkin on the coffee table. Set his whiskey down, and ran his finger along the lip of the glass. “It seems Miss Grace has hoarded all the self-preservation in the family. You–Miss Regina. And the littlest Daly. I worry about the pair of you. Your kitten claws have been clipped. Yet here you are. Out in the open.“

He heard his name called. And Orion turned. Raised a hand at his old school friends lingering by the bar, signaling them to continue the next round without him.

“Allow me to buy you a drink, Miss Regina. You look decidedly more miserable than usual. And I’ve yet to do my act of charity for the day.”

Regina merely moved her eyes this time to gaze over at Orion, her expression blank. “Do not act as if I would not hesitate to pull the trigger on you or anyone else, signore. I do not care about Grace, though you’ve failed to observe that all attempts she’s made on my life have failed. It’s getting more irritating than threatening, and it makes her seem weak.” Besides, she was invisible in the open, or at least that’s what she’s used to being. Still, she fears nothing and no one, especially not the man before her.

Slowly, she sat up, still having to look up at her fellow Capulet. “I do not feel miserable,” she countered, “but if you insist, I’ll have whatever you suggest.”

[reginadaly-blog]

voidedhea:

Was something still dark even when it could not perpetuate its own darkness? Or was it only at the points where it could view the void-matter of itself in the mirror, where there were no holes or injuries sustained in the body in order for it to bleed out? Or even if it did bleed out, did it take someone witnessing the bloodied carnage to restore it? Such were the inconsistencies of being what Hea had thought was godlike and infallible. Of course, all of such things had been overthrown and even proven to be wrong. There was no need for blood, yet it was spilt. There were plenty of people to witness it as well. One of those who had chosen to witness it, whether it be through the sheer luck of attending the event or her uncanny ability to show up when the time is right ( when Hea was both god and human ) was Regina.

There were others Regina could have sought out, but it was Hea who she approached. And they could not dismiss the thought that, if the tables were turned ( and once, they had been ) that it would be much the same on their part. That they, too, would seek her out, would wish to orbit in the general direction, or vicinity, two solar-systems consisting of winking darkness and black holes pulling each other into their galaxies. It would be frightening if it was someone else. But in looking at Regina, there was little to fear. A small comfort, considering each shadow now looked as if it had a face, and every friend had an enemy’s name. And it mattered not how long the sort of feeling-comfort lasted; for it was there, regardless of its blinking.

They once had thrived upon this idea of being known. Now, they wished to fade into the back of the hotel, perhaps into another dimension entirely. ( Would they grasp Regina’s hand and ask, in a whisper, for her to come, saying it would be such an honour to share nothingness? Well. Since it could not happen, there was no need to consider it. ) As apathetic as Regina appeared, then it was prudent Hea stated to themselves that they had started to switch places. Hea, seen as the figment of imaginary backgrounds; Regina, the forefront, the known face. Neither of them quite liked this predicament, but with how things continuously were going, there seemed to be no end to it as a development. At least they could endure – together.

At least together there were no expectations opposed to what already had been given. And there was a dark seepage of settling in their bones at that. At knowing that whatever it was she chose to say, it would be because she chose to say it, not for something else. Knowing that in responding to her, it would be Hea, and not the god. They needed nothing from one another – except for one another. Which was an even stranger conundrum that somehow did not play into the entire idea of asking for things or expecting things. Their brows furrowed deeper the further they attempted to explore it, attempted to wrestle down what was racing. This couldn’t be a commonplace circle of thought. I’m only here to see you. Astounding. “For once, I think there is little deeper things to explore. All of those have been rooted out from their dark spots and thrown into the sun to rot. There are suggestions that information has been fed to them in order for their power to rise, but where would such searches even begin? Does it matter?” 

It didn’t. Regina had even said so. “Yes, our lives continued. One stroke of misfortune larger than what has slashed against us, and we might not be so blessed the next time.” Was it a blessing? She was only there to see them. Their gaze was cutting. “If you had not come to see me, I would have found you instead. As I have before.” 

Regina could not define darkness, nor did she every try to. Some saw it as simply the absence of light, and yet as shadows cast themselves over a child’s chalk drawings on the pavement or one allowed darkness into their heart, people tended to imagine that the light was not absent at all. They acted as if it was still there, smothered by the darkness, so the dark could not simply be a place void of light to them. No, that would imply that darkness was tangible, more forceful than light (contrary to the popular messages of children’s media), or at least enough so that it could weaken it, smother it. To those people, by such a logic, the sun dd not willingly leave for the night, but rather it was pushed aside by the moon, and would fight until it won the battle to return the next morning. It sounded foolish, putting it like that. It gave the darkness more motivation than it may have had, personified it, animated it, complicated it.

Did the darkness want? Perhaps, thought Regina. Perhaps to exist, as all things did. While light and dark were not living creatures (as far as they knew), they existed as plainly as man, their presence gathering that attention without ever truly having to demand it. When darkness came to Regina, it was as if a neighbor knocked on her front door, inviting her to play. The darkness found a home in the void left by the soul Regina never had, and Regina invited it in, feeling filled with something, even if it was technically nothing after all. She wondered if it was the same for Hea, if the agreement was mutual or one force grabbed the other to form whatever bond she could not see. Hea was now that neighbor at her door, wondering if she was home, wondering if she could play, whether it had been as active as kidnapping the spades or as passive as sitting on a couch in the lobby of the Hotel Emelia, thinking of their past few days, but ultimately doing nothing. Regina, of course, would let them in.

Because, as much as she tried to deny emotion, Regina wanted. She had been raised to want, to take when she had the opportunity to. However, unlike Grace, Regina never demanded. She never cried out. Perhaps she hinted, perhaps the stared a bit too long, but it was all subtle, all quiet, and it all fell at her feet eventually. Regina learned things came to her grasp in due time; they always did. She would never have to demand or fight (though, she liked certain aspects of fighting, now), for she would have what she wanted soon enough. Now, there was no telling whether she wanted Hea, or they wanted her, or it was the darkness that wanted them both, pulling them together with invisible magnets. Regina did not exactly care which was the truth, regardless.

“Then people must only speak to those they trust, and those they know do not have friendly relations with the Spades. They seem to get on well, planning things without revealing a shred of evidence to the rest of Verona. One must beat them at their own game, or change the game entirely. Now, which will end up happening is beyond me. Perhaps beyond us.” She shrugged. “I doubt it does. Eventually, people will be forced to show their loyalties, even if they never had a side to begin with.” Regina was barely loyal, and she knew it put her in a position some Capulets may not be comfortable with, but she did not care what they thought. She did not care about the Capulets, only the fact that they put a gun in her hand. She did not care about the Montagues, only the fact that they were supposed to be on the other end of that gun. She did not care about the Spades, only the fact that they’d tried to take her life a few times, which was becoming quite annoying. The Witches, and more specifically, Hea? She did not know her stance, for once. She shouldn’t care about them, she knew how the pattern was supposed to fall, and yet it was not so easy to declare as it often was.

“It’s getting tiring, in my opinion. It also makes them seem weak, especially Grace, who cannot finish the job of killing her own sister, even after multiple attempts. But that is besides the point. Wounds will heal, we will continue on another day, at least.” Regina nodded. “We always seem to find each other. Perhaps we always will.”

[reginadaly-blog]

catherinedaly:

The lack of emotion in her sister’s words shouldn’t affect Catherine–as of late, it has not–but this time, it rubs her the wrong way. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that,”  she chides, head shaking. Times are too dire, relationships are too strained, and there is no time for Regina to speak flippantly about her own life. “It’s a game of cat and mouse, sorella, and you are not supposed to like it. Grace says she wants to rid herself of you, but you ignite a fire inside of her. If she loses you, she loses the spark.” And Grace Daly has never been the kind of woman to live life without some sort of spark. 

The onslaught of questions renders Catherine speechless for a moment, and then ashamed at the next. “Regina…” she begins, drawling out the middle Daly’s name in an attempt to buy herself some time. “I-I don’t wish Grace dead. I can’t.” They are not Cain and Abel; the littlest sister can’t even begin to dream of ever wishing that her Grace would wind up dead. “I know. I know she doesn’t care the way I care. Perhaps she doesn’t care at all.” I know you don’t either, not as I do. She takes in a breath, then continues, “But, that’s my sister. That is our sister, our own flesh and blood. WIshing her dead is like wishing the same fate upon myself.” Her bleeding heart cannot condone such violence, especially towards her own.

“Maybe we don’t do anything,” Cat muses softly. “It seems as though everything we do is worthless. Perhaps if we simply let them run as they do, we’ll lose our charm and they’ll leave.” She shrugs and scowls at her own words. She knows it’s not true, not plausible or realistic in any sense. “I just… It’s so exhausting. This–” she gestures to those still picking themselves from the basement floor, or working to help others, and then to her bleeding shoulder, “–is exhausting.” 

Regina was not supposed to care about anything, but there was that very human instinct inside a woman many thought to be some other creature that wished to cling to life. Of course she wanted to preserve the breath in her lungs and the blood in her veins. However, she did not care about Grace. She did not care if her sister bested her, which could have been done with a simple verbal claim, but that no longer seemed enough for Grace. “I do not care about this game; I never signed up to participate in the first place. I am simply tired of this back and forth. She is more than capable of taking my life, and yet she fails every time she appears to try. It bores me, but it only makes her look weak, as well. Her own plan is backfiring on her. She should just give up.”

“You do not wish that upon the person who would not shed a tear if the same fate occurred to you? Or me? I don’t get love, so I do not get how you can love her like that. She nearly killed you, and yet you say you love her because it is how things are supposed to be. You do not have to love someone simply because of blood – surely I do not.” It was cruel to claim one does not love one’s own family, especially the members who have never done anything to harm her. However, Regina could not feel such a love, and could not even care enough to pretend she did (perhaps that saved some pain on its own, though). “I do not care whether Grace lives or dies. I would simply prefer her attempts on my life to decrease.”

Shaking her head, Regina disagreed with her sister. “You and I both know that it does not work like that. From a logical standpoint, there is no way they will leave now that they have a taste of the top.” They’ll likely only want more, especially if they are all as greedy as the one Daly in their ranks. “Surely we’ll have to wait, at the very least.” Regina shrugged, looking over at her younger sister. “Then rest. Once you are better, you’ll be needed.”

[reginadaly-blog]

date: May 13th location: Hotel Emelia status: Open

Hollow, still eyes stared up at the ceiling in the lobby of the Hotel Emelia as Regina laid against one of the ornate couches. She did not move, she did not blink, as if she were dead and the couch were her casket. It was an image Grace could only hope would come true, even as her arms folded in front of her, hands resting over one another atop her stomach. Truly, if it were not for the soft breaths making her chest rise and fall ever so slightly, one could have easily mistaken her for dead. She lied there, completely still, as if she were simultaneously part of this world and yet had never been, as if she were so alive she could not contain it in her movements and yet so dead her spirit could have been mobile somewhere else, haunting this hotel as she often had.

Truthfully, the ghost-like woman was merely bored, unable to haunt the grounds she inhabited. Too many familiar faces called this place their stomping grounds, no matter how temporary it would be. No longer could Regina waltz through the lounge or among strangers at the bar, knowing she was invisible even when she was present. Now, her face was much too familiar to the allies and former enemies that lurked about, thanks to the displacement of the Capulets and the newly-forged alliance between Verona’s two oldest mobs. She did not even care to think of how long this bond would last, though it might have helped a few more seconds pass. Fortunately, she did not need to think on anything, as someone came into her peripheral view, standing much too close and lingering a bit too long to simply be coincidentally there. Whether they wanted something or not was beyond her, for she did not even move her eyes from the ceiling to look at them or to speak to them, though she did speak after a moment. “Is there a reason you are here?”

[reginadaly-blog]

ofgoneril:

Date: April 28th Time: 10.48pm Location: Hotel Emilia Ballroom Status: Closed @reginadaly  

Blood, thick and luscious,formed a growing puddle around the fallen soldier, the life beginning to dim from his eyes. How naive Kai had been, how much of a fool he was - to think he could have a chance of smothering, silencing - and bettering - her. The pattern of the evening was becoming ever clearer. By the end of it, her side would be on top. It seemed only natural she should be the best upon them. But if she wanted to find a victory worth savouring, then she had to look closer to home - or in this case, the girl who had slept just down the hall, who had never been truly worthy of being considered her equal. Regan had remained hidden, pressed into the shadows, emerging only to tackle Tiberius. Seizing her chance, Grace lunged forward - bitterly angry that her steel made contact with the wrong sister, who proceeded to yell in pain. Her cries set the battlefield.

Almost spitting as she spoke, Grace raised her eyes to connect with Regina’s - accustomed to their emptiness. “Lucky me, guess I’ll get to watch two sisters fall tonight.”

At the time, Regina did not know the butterfly effect of her actions. Pulling Tiberius away from Roman and Bellamy was not a choice she cared to make, but one she knew had to be made if they wanted to keep the upper hand as Montague and Capulet worked side-by-side to contain the Spades. She would not have shed a tear if Tiberius had stopped the two Montagues from breathing then and there, though she may have wished to have gotten some sliver of the action before they fell, but that was not tonight’s objective. There would be many more opportunities to best the opposing mob, but with the Spades a common target—and its members freed from their confinement—Regina simply had to focus on business.

Unfortunately, when business ran in the family, the small act of separating her fellow captain from his enemies drew forth a different kind of monster. Once upon a time, the only danger it might have drawn would have been another Montague taking advantage of Regina’s occupied hands, but now, it drew forth Grace, and as Grace drew her weapon, Catherine was the one to fall, surprising Regina with her presence and her martyrdom. She looked up at her older sister from where her body crouched beside the younger one (perhaps the only time she’s ever looked up to Grace), one hand on Catherine’s arm, the other reading to her hip, fingers brushing the cool metal she could barely remove due to her position. Of course, she would not let it show to Grace, instead engaging her sister in the banter she apparently craved. “I don’t understand why you would consider your own fall lucky,” commented Regina. “One Daly will walk out of this place relatively unharmed, and you know I would not idly let you inflict physical pain upon me like this; I allowed that to go on long enough when we were children. We are no longer children. This is no longer a game.”

[reginadaly-blog]

nikolaiborisov:

“Well…have a seat anyway,” he said, giving the smallest of shrugs because anything more might make the nurses mad…again. Nikolai sat up in his bed, greeting Regina with an upbeat grin. Even if she was just here by accident, he was still happy to see her. She wasn’t just a familiar face, but a mission. That part would have to be put on hold, of course, considering their circumstances. He couldn’t make her whoop with laughter when they were both on the verge of doubling over at any minute. But being able to talk to her still had its perks, and there was a challenge held in his gaze. “Unless you’re too worried about getting in trouble.”

At the mention of neither of them being spared, he groaned and sunk back into his bed. “Nope. Looks like we’re both stuck in the same shithole.” Who would’ve thought an innocent looking dinner could spell so much trouble for him and his insides? He probably wouldn’t be able to eat chicken for weeks now. Or shrimp. Or whatever those tiny ass sandwiches were. All of it just…ruined. “This a normal day for you? This feels like a normal day for me.”

“The consequences of getting caught in your room do not matter to me,” responded Regina with a shrug as she otherwise silently made her way across the room to where Nikolai was forced to rest. The worst they could likely do was force her back to her own room, which wouldn’t be the worst punishment Regina could imagine. “I may have gotten where I am from following orders, but I do not exactly follow rules.” Taking a seat, Regina immediately drew her knees to her chest (for some reason, it made her nausea feel less severe) and peered over them at Nikolai. He was a far cry from the man she usually knew, energetic and, well, on fire, and trying to ignite the woman made of ice, which went about as well as one might expect.

Regina shrugged, wondering what must have made poisoning a normal day for the arsonist – but, then again, Regina couldn’t say this was surprising for her, either. “Unfortunately, when you’re related to Grace, things like this tend to be nothing out of the ordinary.” Sure, as kids, Regina was more likely to be a victim to a leg shooting out to trip her as they played tag or some spit she was never aware made it into her drink, but she couldn’t exactly be shocked that her older sister would go to such lengths. “What makes this so normal for you?”

[reginadaly-blog]

voidedhea:

They should have known that she would find them eventually. Even when she wandered, never did she seem to wander too far; a myriad of all-encompassing shadows to trail the aching and tender candour of the light. Whilst there were others that Hea Min did not expect to see, it can’t be said that Regina was on that list, nor would she ever be. A pleasant surprise to come across her each time, but not surprising in the sense of being unwanted nor unexpected. It could even be said that, in the pivotal moment, there had been a darting glance, from one Daly sister to the one who proved herself to matter more, before the second-shot rang out. Before the unyielding and aggressive pain spread into their arm, before they bled far more than any god, whether it be fallen or not. The rest of them had been whitened out and reduced to rubble. That was the crime committed here; Hea not allowed to look for as long as they wished. For it meant that the agency of their choices had been removed from them entirely.

And so the darkness in them craved that closeness. It seemed impossible to continue additions to the list of things that could not be understood. Or, in the same sense, those which could have no explanation otherwise to their person. Yet even with the injuries of their siblings near them, a distinct scratching feeling had settled in the base of their spine, in a nigh unreachable place. No reaching hand nor squirming could be rid of it. The same kind of nagging which filled them at the point that they had thought their paper-trail for a particular business deal had been lost, even though it had been within their hands not even mere moments before. The irritation that comes with having misplaced something valuable, and not being sure of where to look for it, where to begin the search in the first place.

Even if there was no conscientious searching on their parts, perhaps it could be said that which was unconscious conducted the search instead. Whatever it might be, it had to be noted, and so it was, that when Regina entered ( and even far before she deigned it proper to announce she had entered, in her own sense of the word announce ) the irritation in their spine ceased. It expanded outward with such a degree of warmth and contentment, it embellished their next inhale. Their stomach, though it did not churn, seemed to condense itself into knots. There had been multiple people wounded this time. And the times before. The guilt – sometimes, it was there. The ideas that those who did not deserve it would meet an untimely end. And the chaos in them, how it would be rife with contempt if Regina was on that list.

Again. Because she had been once before, much to both of their chagrin. No, there was much to be pondered about this, and Hea was uncertain if they wanted to ponder it, unearth it and see what it all could mean. Two ghosts commiserating in the same room could result in quite a disturbing haunting; and Hea did not know if their hands were stable enough to support it. ( Did they want to? An even more disturbing question than the haunting itself. ) “There is not much to see,” they hedged. “You might have to look more intensely than usual.” Which might even be welcomed, as Hea did wish to be looked at without pity, stared into as they stare into others. It would be unparalleled. “There is, unfortunately, not much choice. Perhaps waiting is the better option presented; considering each time I have attempted action, it has been squelched under the couture heels of another.” 

If two entities of darkness were to combine, would the resulting darkness somehow become... darker? Or would the radius its boundaries simply spread further? Or perhaps the result was more like multiplying zero by itself: practically changing nothing, the darkness very much remaining as it was known. Regina did not know the answer, but the closer she came to learning it was directly related to the closer she became with Hea over time. She was drawn to darkness, pulled in by the invisible, wicked force similar to that which she had invited in long ago, drawn to lethal demeanors and mysterious gazes. It lead her through the Capulet ranks. It lead her to ally herself with Tiberius (mostly physically, but still). It drew her to Hea. It kept her returning to find their presence, no matter if she was looking for it or not. 

It made her eyes dart immediately to them when she found the target of the first shot. It was another witch who became the first victim, and yet Regina looked to Hea instead, and thus she became witness to the injury they then sustained next. Her life was not in danger. She was not motivated to draw her weapon on the person who fired the three shots (though, a Spade likely would have had another gun trained on Regina in a second if she had). But for a moment, a fleeting second gone faster than one could blink, she thought of it. That thought was swallowed by the black hole swirling within her, but it was there. The important thing was that it had occurred in the first place.

Perhaps it was because Hea was a similar creature, formed of similar dark matter. The magnetism urged Regina to draw that metal weapon upward. She could not, but the urge still flickered. Now, it did not matter. Now, Hea was still injured, Regina was still apathetic, and the pair found themselves only a few flights above where it had all taken place. At least the lobby had been clear that night when she surfaced, blood that was not hers slowly drying against her skin. Now, while it was filled with the hotel’s inhabitants, more of them were familiar than not, allies forced into the same exile. She did not like it, this feeling of being recognized and known in a space she once ghosted through.

Hea recognizing her was different. Hea’s presence was a one she preferred, one she approached with ease as they asked if she came to see a spectacle. No, she did not need to be entertained by them. She did not need anything, she believed. Regina simply wanted their presence for what it was, and the spoiled girl of her childhood was quite used to getting the things she barely acknowledged she wanted. “I see no need to; then we will start believing things deeper than they’re meant to be. I take things as they are. Like I said, I’m only here to see you.” She was not there to see the injury. She was not there to see some sort of facade, either the brave one people tended to put on in scenarios such as this or the broken one people wanted to see, if only to catch a glimpse of humanity in a god. “There is time, both to wait and to heal. I do not understand how they seem to be two steps ahead, what they might know, who they might know. I do not care. My life continued after that night—your life continued after that night—and that is what I can take away from it.”

[reginadaly-blog]

castora-aguilar:

The Hotel Emilia had been a safe place, extending its welcome to everyone in Verona, but it was not meant for this. No one ever thought it would be the refuge of the Capulets after what happened in the basement. Castora doubted that if she were a Capulet (once the worst of fates, now the second worst) she would camp out where their fall occurred. 

Castora still clung to the Montague name with pride; it was all she had and all she ever wanted. For it to become meaningless but a new and unwelcome change, but this Verona, too, was new, its seedy underbelly becoming a blackhole. 

Regina Daly was the best thing about this alliance. Uninhibited by dividing lines, they could be as lethal together as desired. Still, it was strange to sit beside her as Regina and Castora, not as Capulet and Montague. It was strange for them to be close enough to touch. Fire and Ice; Castora wondered if she would freeze or if Regina would burn should their hands come together.

“When ancient grudge gives way to new ‘unity,’ how much can we really do until orders come flooding in?” Castora responded, turning her head to meet Regina’s eyes. “I’m not adverse to speeding things up - it can’t get worse than this.” Famous last words, she thought, eyes flicking towards the sky as a hand made the cross. 

For the first time, the Capulets and Montagues were forced to see each other as people. They were forced to acknowledge each other as more than just an affiliation and a title, forced to see a name, a face, a use, an ally in this world. Perhaps it was easiest for Regina to see Castora for who she was, rather than what she was, because she’d never cared much about the titles in the first place. She was indifferent to the Montagues when the world told her she should hate them. She was indifferent to them now, but her gun would now be aimed along with theirs, instead of against theirs.

There was nothing negative to working with Castora, as far as Regina saw it. If the kidnapping was evidence of anything, it was that they worked well together. Now, the alliance forged (or forced, rather) between Verona’s two greatest powers could only serve to warn the city’s inhabitants just how deadly these two mobs were, and, more specifically, these two women. Just the thought of the destruction they could cause should send shivers down one’s spine, or perhaps regret, if one were a Spade.

Fire and ice no longer opposing one another, instead combined to rain down their extremes across Verona.

“Not much, especially since it’s not clear who is causing the shots.” Sure, Roman and Tiberius shook hands, but Regina doubted one would submit to the other. And how would Juliana play into this? Sure, she was grieving at the tragic news at the time, but she was higher ranked than her cousin. Should her voice not ring out in this? Could it? “But I’m sure they’ll forgive us—if not praise us—for getting a head start. What is it you crave tonight?”

[reginadaly-blog]

calina-s:

“It’s good then that it’s a beacon of false promises and not one of hope. I’d much rather look to the stars, but even they have their failings.”  Much too late to be on the bridge, too little visibility to allow for her purpose. And yet she had found herself with very little choice, a ritual that Faron had carried out in her stead for two days already- and while she could excuse her absence then through no fault of her own, on this night she wasn’t confined to a cage. Unless you counted one of her own making.  She had been trying to see the flower’s path along the river, but there was less chance of that than there was of her being thrown in after it.  At least when the voice arrived, the suspect for her drowning was Regina. And while she wasn’t so foolish as to imagine the woman incapable, she also wasn’t blind to the sporadic nature of her motivation- this Daly not easily inflamed to anger. 

“It’s awfully late for an aimless walk, or is this your intended destination?” by which she supposes she means to ask if Regina has failed to heed the warning, is ignoring it, or simply plans on ridding the city of at least one Spade tonight. Perhaps the obvious choice of target. Calina shouldn’t be on this bridge, even if she is obscured by the fog. It’s not a matter of power, but a wonder of how many value pride more than their lives- and value hers only in the message.  There’s nothing to be done now, and she might not have made a different choice with hindsight. She simply didn’t have time in the day to make the journey, not with progress still to be made, complications to be squared away, and certainly not with recoveries to monitor. 

The shame of it all is the ease with which she converses- even with someone so quiet and calm as Regina -and the fact that it’s a luxury to her. She didn’t grow up with siblings, didn’t have anyone at all except her mother. And after she was gone the only words Calina got to say were those that people paid to hear. Then there was Faron, and if she believed in God, which she indicatively did not, she would thank God every day for him- for the chance to speak to someone who didn’t listen to only what he wanted to hear. So, the shame really should be that she has been so isolated, and not that she is desperate for friends in the face of such absurdity. Not that she is genuine in this one intention every time she speaks to those that would claim her an enemy. 

“Do you intend to stay?”

Hope. It was not something Regina clung to, it was not something she had. She took things as they were,saw things as they could be seen, and refused to bet all her chips on one outcome just because she wished it would happen. She could see the Spades falling, as she still did not believe in this immense amount of power they tried to flash around, instead seeing it as a facade. Still, she knew when a threat was a threat, and Regina was not so empty-headed as to go about hoping they’d win this war when they were already two steps behind. 

“Then your head is in the clouds. It leaves your neck much too vulnerable.” This was not a threat from Regina, ominous as her voice may have sounded, but rather an observation. Those who kept their heads looking to the stars, to this light that they would never reach, tended to expose the most tender of flesh for others to exploit. While they were not close, Regina could not help but be reminded she’d seen the outcome of such stargazers in knowing Maeve—ironically, it was the Spades who took advantage of that.

She had no intention on killing Calina; she hadn’t even expected to encounter the other woman. Their encounters had never been hostile, nor had they ever been particularly unpleasant, but Regina doubted she could count on those to set the course for whatever future encounters she would have with Calina, not anymore. She never knew the adviser’s true motivations, she never even tried to, but now that she was active—or at least complicit—in removing the Capulets from their throne, from their homes, Regina could only assume the worst, and could only safeguard herself against it.

Of course, Regina Daly was not afraid, hence why she stood still on the bridge to confess her night’s plans. “It’s only late to those who believe it’s too late, or those who fear what the night brings. I had no intended destination, nor did I plan on staying anywhere for too long.” Time did not matter to Regina; perhaps her biggest flaw was believing she had so much of it to spare, forgetting that mortality for even a fleeting moment. “I suppose I can—or maybe I’m even obligated to ask you the same question. This space is not as safe as it used to be.”

[reginadaly-blog]

pavelsmischief:

DATE: may 3rd TIME: 11:32 pm LOCATION: hotel emelia CLOSED: @reginadaly

For once, Pavel Lam was quiet among the streets of Verona.

There existed no echoes of his laughter, no brief shots of him scaling buildings and flying through the air. It wasn’t as if he disappeared; some did share a glance with him, perhaps he winked if they were blessed. But the city was vacant of his ever-constant presence. 

It was as if he himself was a Montague or Capulet, hiding from the city in shame.

Oh, but it was only him being cautious. Contrary to the popular rumors, he was aware of when to take a step back and strategize. Survival depended on not only instinct, but the ability to understand beyond the surface of what was seen, and Pavel had learned that lesson the hard way long ago. There was a reason he was good at the shit he did.

So he kept to himself, popping into view from time to time. And tonight was supposed to be a visit, for he wanted to witness himself how the witches had fallen from grace. But plans were thwarted, as they usually were, when he caught sight of a familiar face.

Changing trajectory, he slid beside the younger girl, fingertips barely grazing her arm. “Regina Daly. It’s been far too long, hasn’t it?”

Regina did not enjoy being at the Hotel Emelia at a time like this. Well, truthfully, there was little enjoyment she got out of being in the hotel in general, but the circumstances of a stay now took away what the building used to mean to her. It was a place she could lurk and go unnoticed, a place she could waltz among faces that looked at her and yet saw right through her. Perhaps she could haunt the life she was assigned to take, if applicable. Perhaps she could simply sit in silence as a ghost.

However, with the place crawling with Capulets and Montagues, Regina could no longer hide in plain sight. Too many people knew her face and name and reputation - not because she made an impression, but because they had to. Allies had to know who was on their side, enemies had to know who to watch out for. With the line between these sides blurred by the blood the Spades had smeared across it, too many familiar faces were forced into Regina’s space, her own face becoming more familiar to the walls of the hotel by the day.

She wasn’t exactly a fan.

Yet another person who knew her presence too well sat beside her, and he was one who would gladly shout it from the rooftops, to her misfortune. “Pavel Lam,” she replied politely, nodding as she barely turned her head to look at him. “It depends on what you define as too long. You move quicker through time than I do. To what do I owe this visit?”

[reginadaly-blog]

catherinedaly:

It happened quickly and without thought–her, taking the knife in Regina’s stead. And the sharp cry she let out seemed to precede even more, seemed to warn of even worse attacks. As Catherine sank to the floor and her two siblings fought, she worked to build the strength to pull the knife from her body. When she pulled, she screamed through clenched teeth, but her sounds were muffled by three distinct gunshots that would leave both Montagues and Capulets silent, in awe. Regina’s head snapped towards the source. Grace got away. The Spades got away, leaving loss and chaos in their wake.

She sits cross-legged on the basement floor, one hand pressed firmly against her wound and the other holding her sister’s. She watches through sad blue eyes as people try to make sense of what happened just hours ago. How do we rebuild?

Regina’s soft voice catches her attention, and she looks to her instead. Catherine laughs in spite of the situation, though the sound is so different than warm and hearty. It’s forced, tight, and riddled with pain. “How lucky I am.” But she doesn’t feel lucky; she doesn’t feel anything other than a sharp throbbing in her shoulder and a sense of emptiness, of dread. Her head lolls forward as she takes in a breath, and then another. She bides her time, absorbs all that has happened. “Better me than you,” she says, slightly flippant as she sits upright once more. "Had you been down, Grace surely would have come to finish you off.“ And a part of Cat feels like Grace would have done the same to her in the small window of time between the knifing and the shooting of the three, had Regina not charged after her.

"Thank you,” Catherine murmurs, wincing as she tries to shift her position, “for sparing her, by the way.” It feels traitorous, thanking Regina for allowing a Spade to live, but Grace is family and was her sister before she was a Capulet; she was her sister before she was a Spade, and she would still be her sister long after both mobs dissipate. Whether the middle Daly did it on purpose or accident, she doesn’t care. Her family’s children–no matter how strained and dysfunctional they are–remain in tact and alive, with all three hearts beating. She squeezes Regina’s hand and offers a weak smile with little merit.

“I really thought we had them this time.”

Regina could not begin to comprehend what caused Catherine’s legs to push her body in the way of Grace’s knife. She could not understand why her sister had willingly shoved her flesh towards the threat of a blade that intended to kill the middle Daly, knowing it could have done worse than simply wound the younger one but risking such a chance. Regina did not know love, not even that which was supposed to be forged between siblings. She did not love Catherine. She did not love Grace. Truthfully, the only reason she appeared to favor her younger sister over her older one is because the former was not actively trying to kill her. Thus, she could not reason why Catherine seemed to love her, regardless. She could not decipher why Catherine would willingly take that knife for her. She did not dwell on it long, however.

“At this point, she should have just gotten on with it,” remarked Regina, barely meaning the words she spoke. “I’m bored of this game she is trying to play. Either vanish into the night with your allies or kill me and prove a point no one else needs you to make in the first place. A stab wound here and a poisoning there is only sending a message that she is too weak to finish the job, in my opinion.” Of course, Regina did not want to die, nor did she enjoy her life being threatened at every possible moment she saw her older sister. Still, this game of constantly putting her life in danger but never taking it was uncomfortable, and Grace would either have to remove herself or carry out the threat she’d been dishing out all this time. Something in Regina told her neither would happen.

“Why are you thanking me? Do you not wish her dead? She certainly wishes me dead, and your life is worth nothing to her - if you are injured in the fray, such as tonight, she does not shed a tear.” After all, had the circumstances allowed her to pull her gun free and the Witches to remain in perfect health, she may have not spared her sister. Regina would not have thought about the consequences, only the beautiful shade of red she could paint the room with, the familiar thud of a body falling, status going along with it. Only she did not free her gun, the Witches’ fates had distracted everyone in the room, and Grace and Regina both lived another day.

“They are not to be underestimated anymore. Even certainty must be questioned. I’m not sure what we are to do next.”

[reginadaly-blog]

@tiberiuscapulets

Many would think the Capulet captain to be an impulsive, bullheaded goon, too blinded by his anger to see the things that were laid out before him. And perhaps sometimes that could be said of his character. But there was one particular thing he was never caught unaware of. Regina, while Capulet aligned, would always look out for herself. Probably sell him and the rest to the highest bidders if the opportunity arose. Her convictions came in the same measurements as her emotions did. Short and shallow, if existent at all. So when the Capulets were evicted, cast away like Verona’s garbage, he half expected that her loyalty would switch like that of her sister’s. After all, the Spades were the powerhouses now, they held the proverbial keys to their city – they could give her whatever she wanted now. 

And yet…here she was, with him, in the back alley of Hotel Emelia. 

“Why do you have me out here, Daly?” Is his response to her observation. Because Tiberius didn’t want to acknowledge how right she had been. Ever since that fateful night, he’d been on edge – rightfully so. Upon being demoted from Verona’s elite, there came a plethora of dangers and discomforts, the first of which being that he was treated like a commoner, the second, being that there was now an even larger target residing on his back. The people didn’t hold back their reservations about him now. Tugging the leather of his jacket closer as a particularly chill passed them by, he plucked the cigarette that had been hanging from the corner of his mouth out, exhaling into the wind. “If only he was touchable. I’m beginning to think the man is immortal. Probably sold his soul to the devil in exchange for a cannoli. Or what’s that cake they eat in–” his hand waves flippantly in gesture to wherever it is Faron and his lot are from. Russia, Ukraine, Czech-whatever, he didn’t know. “–over there.Baklava or some shit?”

The reasons she pleged her loyalty to the Capulets may seem confusing to some, especially now that their empire had been stolen, not even a crumb of their magnificent feast left behind for them to salvage. Regina had joined in legacy, in knowing her father made business deals with Cosimo while she was uninterested in learning to take over such a trade. She knew she would stay the moment she felt cold metal in her palm, knew she owed them more than just the tasks she would have to perform when she felt the first projectile fire from the barrel of the gun they had bestowed her with. Regina could not cut a tie so easily, it seemed, as she was bound by the darkness and chaos that grew inside her, the same elements she believed she controlled. Besides, the captain still did not believe the Spades had any better to offer her, not with her bloodthirsty sister waiting to get her hands around the middle child's neck. While the alliance with the Montagues may have seemed disastrous to those who could hold such a hatred for the other side, the apathetic woman in the alley did not see this as a negative. There was more power to seize, and more importantly, more lives that desperately needed to be taken.

"It was too loud in there," stated Regina, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. While she enjoyed the idea of being amongst a crowd, it was different when the crowd consisted entirely of familiar faces. She was too familiar to them to become invisible, to fade into a background as she would have if the lobby were filled with its usual unsuspecting patrons. Also, her voice had never exactly raised itself above the rest, and it seemed like too much effort to try when the streets surrounding the building were nearly empty and the night was refreshingly cool. "He's simply lucky, is my guess. But luck runs out. As does time." Ironically, the middle Daly still believed she had plenty to bide. "Would you sell your soul to the Devil for a cannoli, hm?"

[unhclytrinity]

Date: 03/05. Location: Hotel Emelia.  Time: 23:00. Status: Open.

It should not have been Hea Min who was shot. And their vision relived those last moments, the moment that the shots rang out, how it rattled in their eardrums like cursed church bells. Even now, the cuckoo clock in the lobby of the hotel gonged out its triumph of the passing hours. It would be much easier to be little more than a church or a clock. To have one purpose. To not be held accountable for errors and mistakes, to only bear witness. It seemed as though the time of distance had grown into a stalemate. It seemed as though neutrality could no longer don a mask of plaster and walk amongst the people unnoticed. 

               Their hand ached. Their strength waned. Fresh after a shower, they breathed into the back of the recliner-chair, and although it was not cold, there was too much of a definite chill to be ignored. The chill that oftentimes followed the death-rattle. Someone had died. Again. More people would, before the Spades were stopped. And when they thought that there was some kind of headway, some kind of progress – then they were shoved backwards, off of the balcony and laughed at, turned into something foolish. 

Bandages encased their knuckles all the way up the base of their wrist. It was a terrifying thing, a cast-plate of their wound to stare at, and the wetness of their hair did not make them feel as it usually would: clean, bright, full of answers. Instead, Hea was all smokiness, all turbulence in the echoes of the shadowed light. They chilled easily; a risk of infection was high, said those – confounded doctors. There’d been a blood transfusion. There wasn’t much movement on the horizon for them for some time. People needed to be cared for – 

                                 Things needed to be done – and they could do nothing.

They glanced up as someone passed through the lobby. Even if they hadn’t been noticed before the stark nature of their stare never failed to catch attention. “Have you come to see a fate who is tangled in their own strings? There are more beautiful things to see.” And there was a pause. It might be said that Hea was the ghost and this was their purgatory. 

           “Or have you come for answers.” Not a question. Directed at something standing in the corner of the room. “Perhaps I don’t have them.”

[reginadaly-blog]

Perhaps there should have been a fourth gunshot joining the fire that rang out in the basement. After all, Regina began to mobilize, her hand over her own weapon as she looked up at Grace from her crouched position on the ground beside Catherine, thinking her sister's failed attempt could at least bring Regina some fun for the night. She did not care about Grace's life enough to take it out of something such as vengence, but she did enjoy taking lives in general. However, the eldest Daly walked the streets of Verona once more, and again without a scratch—or at least not one bestowed upon her by her own blood—thanks, in part, to the Witches. Of course, one could not blame the trio for such a thing, but it was the shots fired at the most notoriously mysterious figures of the darker side of Verona that distracted Regina from her task, that had her hand hovering over the metal tucked away in her wasteband while her intended target slipped away to live another day.

It was Hea who, perhaps, was the greatest distraction. While Regina almost admired the Witches from afar and found what little interest she could hold piqued by their mystery and darkness, she had only grown so close with Hea. Without proper knowledge of the Witches, it wasn't wise to assume there was some leader of the three, or even what specific role one held, though they were all different from one another. However, it also happened to be something about Hea which drew Regina in the most, something intangible and something too complex for Regina to ever care enough to devote her time to figuring out. All she knew was that there was some sort of force pointing her in the direction of Hea Min, and with the promise of that darkness she simply could not get enough of, Regina followed.

Though, she did not seek the Witch out tonight. The captain had been wandering the hotel, not wishing to sleep and refusing to simply sit in the isolation of the room she'd been staying in (it was best to stay in a place where Grace didn't have such easy access to her bed, at least for a few days). Of course, Regina was not social, but simply found herself in her element among crowds, where she could be undetected, invisible, a ghost in her own right. She'd passed through the bar, haunting eyes glancing at those who chatted by small tables or tried to get the bartender's attention, not a soul noticing her. As it should be. But as much as she did not care about the room or the people in it, Regina did prefer a room that was much less stuffy, and sought out a moment in the lobby.

It was there she encountered them. She had no issue approaching Hea, of course. They'd had more than a few encounters, whether they were private or the two ghostly figures made themselves invisible to the social environment around them, and tonight would be no different, figured the captain. Sitting on the nearest surface facing Hea, Regina gave the shrug she always did, one that stated their assumption was not quite correct. "No, I came to see you." Unexpected, of course, but she was simply there for Hea, not the product of a war gone out of the hands of all involved. "I'm simply waiting to see how this all plays out. No doubt you are doing the same as you recover, no?"

[reginadaly-blog]

@alexanderrallis

She was good at this game, exceptionally so. What a waste of a woman. In good time, the Capulets would ruin her, and her talents would be squandered on the mediocre ambitions of a mediocre mob. Pity. She’d’ve made a fine Montague. But she wasn’t a Montague, she was a Capulet, and she was in his way. A pity indeed.

 “Per amor di Dio, Daly,” he hissed, “you can have a round of drinks on Roman’s dime if it’ll get you off my back and out of my hair.” He expected her to bite back, to return the favor of slander in her own stoic way, but her fangs, to his surprise, remained sheathed, and no bite ever came. Frustrated, he snapped his fingers in front of her face thrice, grumbling, “Earth to Daly.” She was preoccupied, evidently, with the cards in her hands, and Alexander, curious, lowered his head and drew nearer to her, inspecting whatsoever had snagged Regina’s not-so-easily-snagged interest.

“Ticket stubs?” he asked, brows furrowed. “Daly, what the fuck do y—” Oh. His confusion was cured by the sight of the man’s room key, and the missing puzzle pieces of their little conundrum fell into place thereafter. His target, it seemed, was her target, and her assignment, it seemed, was his assignment. How…unfortunate? Fortunate? The Capulets and the Montagues seldom shared interests, and Alexander wasn’t entirely certain how he was meant to navigate these waters. There wasn’t exactly protocol detailing how to pair up with an enemy and play murder. He’d worked alongside a Capulet once before, with Massetti, but the circumstances were very different then; that was pleasure (torture), not business (homicide), and that was Orion Massetti, not Regina Daly. Orion was dear to Alexander; Regina was not. And this was business, not pleasure.

What was he to do, then, with business to conduct and Regina Daly, who was not dear to him, but who also was not a subject of his contempt, in his way? His eyes returned to the room key in her hand. She was good at this game, exceptionally so. He was impressed, truly, and so rarely was he impressed anymore. “Porca miseria,” he mumbled under his breath. He was already going to hell for murder, and drink, and sex, and violence, and adultery, and lust, and gluttony, and greed; why not add blasphemy to the tally of his sins? “Seems we’ve finally got something in common,” he drawled. The Montague hothead and the Capulet ice princess brought together in the name of assassination. A modern-day fairytale. “Perhaps we ought to…collaborate on this one. You know—two heads and all that.” He bowed marginally, his lips close enough to her ear to whisper things that should only ever be whispered privately, never publicly. “I’ll even let you pull the trigger,” he entreated, voice inviting, low, full of promise. 

One could only wonder how the Montague captain would take it if he learned he'd donated a small sum to pay for Regina's drinks for an evening, though Regina wasn't sure what he would think. Their relationship was odd; there were obvious tensions he held when they spoke in the classic meeting of Montague and Capulet, and yet a slight familiarity of childhood, of knowing he had been of help to her when they were young, of knowing he had the upper hand in some point in the past, even if age and Regina's disinterest in school were the real factors at play at that time. However, Roman was not here, and therefore of no concern to the Capulet captain. What forced itself to be present in her thoughts, though she did not wish to care, was Alexander's nose in her business, trying to put together pieces of a puzzle she was apathetic about solving in the first place. Hollow eyes still holding something soft to match her delicate appearance did not even look at the man as she focused on the task at hand, ears slightly pink from the warmth of the hallway tried to tune out the words he thought aloud, at least until things became more apparent to the both of them.

They had the same mark. Interesting, but not so interesting as to make Regina care anymore than she already did (which was very little and only because there was some pleasure involved). "It appears we do. Is it coincidence, this assignment, or is Fate testing something?" Loyalty, perhaps. Dedication. To the mob or to the task at hand. To perform the task or back away from it each had their negative consequences, one could venture. Of course, the answer made no difference to Regina. She had a job to do, and she would get it done. If Alexander wished to witness, then so be it. It likely wouldn't be anything he hadn't seen before in some capacity.

And join her he shall, it seemed. While others may shiver at the thought of a wolf such as the Montague adviser coming so close to them, teeth so close to their flesh, Regia did not move an inch before the promises dancing in a low breath reached her ear. Such a promise was almost intoxicating, causing Regina to tilt her head back ever so slightly, basking in such a moment as much as someone like Regina could. But there was still time to bide, still plans to carry out. She moved to pass Alexander to make her way to the elevators, but not before her hand slipped over his in an attempt to transfer the wallet. "Be a dear and return this, would you? Then, join me upstairs, if you're still up to the task."

[reginadaly-blog]

date: May 3rd location: Alleyway near the Hotel Emelia status: Closed @tiberiuscapulets

The air was damp with the rain that had passed through earlier that evening, but it seemed to wash away nothing, this time. The elements were inevetable, as was the passage of time, and they all had the ability to wipe the lingering pollutants, tangible or not, from Verona. Blood could be washed off cobblestone, secrets could be carried away by a night’s heavy wind, time could sweep old wounds to a forgotten place. This aftermath, however, left a tough stain across the whole of the city, especially on the hotel and the Capulet properties (which, she supposed, could no longer be addressed as such). It would take more than time or rain or wind to remove this stain – some may argue it could not be removed at all. They would claim it could only be covered up by a larger one.

And what a large stain Spade blood would make.

Of course, Regina did not care about a cause, herself, but bloodshed was something she could not stay away from. There was also the inevitable thought that it could one day boil down to her life or Grace’s, and she certainly wouldn’t allow her sister to take such a thing from her. Finally, there was that ever-growing darkness in her, seeing the chaos bubbling at the sight of Montague and Capulet joining forces, and that darkness would be damned if it let her hand sit idle.

It was not difficult to seek out the darkness she was so easily drawn to, especially that in Tiberius. She could never seem to keep away from a man so enticingly deadly, and Regina certainly didn’t want to. Cool air brushed against her neck as she looked up at him, back to the bricks of a hotel filled with more blood than most guests would be comfortable with. “You’re quite tense,” she observed, though it was obvious that was an understatement. “You should sooner burst a vein of Faron’s, rather than your own, if you ask me.”

[reginadaly-blog]

date: April 30th location: Hotel Emelia status: Closed @catherinedaly

It was mere minutes into the new day, but the final hours of the old one were still so obviously present in the hotel. Blood did not clean itself from the basement floors in the blink of an eye. Wounds did not heal on the victims mere minutes after they had been cast (and not all wounds cast were physical); Catherine’s certainly didn’t. Regina sat on the floor beside her sister as the clock ticked on, as others awaited transportation to the hospital or simply grieved when they knew their bodies were not stable enough to carry their broken selves home. The middle Daly, of course, was neither of these two groups. She was not terribly injured, save for some expected bruising, and she was certainly not broken or even affected by the emotions that ran high tonight, even as the door seemed to be closing in her face. However, she knew what she had to do.

She was good at murder, at deaths that dragged on like a poor sailor out to sea, one who would not be known for a grand exit, but rather a forgettable one, a simple one. She was good at haunting, and yet being unseen. She was good at showing how insignificant the world was to her, and how little she cared (and seemingly through her, as the world cared) for the lives she took. The Spades wanted to take such a pleasant thing from her grasp. The spoiled Regina had never had anything stolen from her; she was not about to get used to it.

And yet, in part, her own sister had a hand in it. How she could have turned and killed Grace without a second thought echoed in the darkness of her mind as she peered down at the woman who may have hindered the completion of such a deed. Her gun was not so easily accessable when Regina tended to her wounded sister. Mistake. Her attenton had been snapped, like everyone else’s, to the Witches, instead of making three gunshots into four. Mistake. However, Regina could not dwell on such things. Had Catherine not been there, Regina would have been wounded, and perhaps even worse. Had the gunshots not stolen everyone’s attention, Grace may have come for her next. She was alive and could still grasp her gun, and that was enough for Regina.

Which is why she owed her younger sister, whose hand she lazily clutched as they sit on the floor. At least she could understand when a debt was owed, though she could not repay it with strong emotions. Looking down at the fair soldier, Regina sighed quietly. “For what it’s worth, at least that isn’t life-threatening.”