Me, getting murdered: be gentle it’s my first time

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@rossijames
Me, getting murdered: be gentle it’s my first time
who: open to all @pantheonhqstarters where: central park?? or some park/outdoor setting, go wild
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 day - harsh, but romy could withstand it. she hadn’t lived in nevada so long for nothing, after all. even the kentucky heat of her childhood could be brutal, despite the lush forest canopy. on this monday afteroon she’d found a patch of shade beneath a crooked tree in the park, sitting cross-legged in the grass with a melting cherry popsicle in one hand and a copy of the national enquirer spread open in her lap. she was deep in an article about a woman who claimed to be in a committed relationship with an alien named vorlan. “hm,” she said, to no one in particular at first. then, after a moment, her eyes lifted toward someone else. “i don’t think folks are open-minded enough about interplanetary love.” her face didn’t change. no smile, no wink, like she’d been waiting all day to defend a woman from ohio and her extraterrestrial boyfriend. “reckon you’d ever date an alien?” she asked, letting the question hang there as if it were perfectly normal. “if you believe in them, i mean.” she glanced back down at the paper, thoughtful. “i drove the extraterrestrial highway once. saw the area 51 alien museum and stuff. sometimes thinkin’ about the stars is a good distraction from what’s goin’ on here on earth.”
For all his faults and judgements, of which there were many, Jamie never once passed up the rare opportunity to sit on a bench in Central Park with a genuine NYC dirty water dog. Which sounded far less glamorous than the coined LA street dog, but had the same general sentimentality. No amount of Wagyu steak could compare really. Mid-dog and peaceful reprieve, a woman's voice popped up from the background and without faze, he matched the conversation as if they'd been discussing it for hours. "I think you'd be a little stupid to not believe in them. What's that saying? There are more galaxies than grains of sand on every beach in the world? Believing we're alone is for people who failed statistics." That wasn't what she asked though. "You know, a buddy of mine wants to buy Area 51. So maybe he can introduce us and if I meet a nice alien worth taking home to my mother, I'll let you know." Not that he even knew her name, but Jamie had a feeling they could meet back at this very spot in three months by pure happenstance. "Think they have Alien Tinder and our planet's IP is blocked?"
Who: @troywindsor Where: jamie's penthouse
Technically the windows of a high rise, especially one as tall as his, weren't meant to open. Safety reasons, air pressure differentials, whatever the contractor had droned on about when Jamie hired them to make sure at least one could be cracked for this very purpose: exhaling cigarette smoke through a narrow crack into the already congested New York air. "You know, I remember a time when we used to be fun." Well, attempted fun in the wake of Troy's life imploding six years ago. Back when his oldest friend longed for little else beyond self-destruction and Jamie would've walked through fire if it meant keeping an eye on him through the drug spiral. "Now it's all overpriced dinners and bedtime at eleven. Either we're becoming old or you're becoming boring and I'm catching it by proximity."
"He could store his boxes right over there. Safekeeping for when he unpacks next week." An index finger pointed to the free corner of James' expansive office, locating the available real estate. The love-hate work relation, if she deigned to call it such, between the two men never ceased to entertain her. It’s the source of a genuine laugh bypassing her unconsciously, though with the pivot of topic returning to touch upon business, she was soon to sober and return to herself.
And there it was. One of many examples illustrating Jamie's superior ability to pinpoint the exact location of suppressed information, whether suppression was purposeful or not. In this case, it was the latter. Considering she’d shared most of her life openly, despite Jamie's title as her boss, there was nothing to hide now. Though her transparency hadn’t quashed the instinct that flickered in the back of her mind to shy away from the truth in the hypothetical, or rather unlikely, conflict of interest if anything resembling legal disputes against the Calloway's ever materialized.
Regardless, there was a familiarity with Jamie that had a way of breaking through her defense mechanism. It was a foreign concept she’s not encountered before outside the likes of the Calloway family themselves. And then, much to her horror, her boss came along and embedded himself as something Gianna only could verbally identify as cut from the same cloth - from the moment she’d met him. “Since I was a kid.” They’d provided the love of a father she’d missed, the attention and affection of a mother that was absent - against her will - and most importantly, it was the first place Gianna could identify as a family home. “After my dad passed,” those words continued to feel foreign in her mouth, “my mom was always working so the Calloways were - are - family to me. Dior was their youngest.”
"I would burn this office to the ground before I let him set foot in it. His suits are from JC Penny, Gianna." As if it were the crime of a century. Jamie so rarely considered himself a snob, which might have been his most acute blindspot, but skinny ties and polyester fashion were a piss poor reflection of not only Joey himself, but also the firm. It made them appear cheap in both compensation and image, both of which were blatantly false. Perhaps he'd make spending at least four digits on work attire a requirement of the associate's next return, whether or not HR would hang him by his shoelaces for it.
He'd never grieved anyone before. Not really, at least. Troy was lost mentally for awhile, and Jamie felt saddened over the death of his close friend's family, but that main connection still remained one text away amidst it all. His father's death was perhaps the closest example, although it had been little more than a passing remark from his mother upon finding out, void of tears and spectacle. While an innate curiosity about the man would always remain, Jamie never once considered going to the funeral. Not merely to spare the man's legitimate family of the scandal, but simply because they had no true relationship beyond a paycheck. Hush money as it were.
So no, he couldn't empathize with Gianna's situation. But every fibre of his being longed to erase the shadows from her expression, or at least ease them to a degree that didn't claw at the nape of his spine. The decision then was sudden, abrupt, as he stood from his chair. "I want to show you something." His chin dipped with a nod towards the door. If anyone had an issue with the pair skipping out for a few hours, they could address him directly and find themselves on the receiving end of his slow burning ire. "Let's go."
"Joey never gets the foam right." One hand gestured towards the coffee that sat before her. Madison's cappuccino was, objectively, excellent. Under normal circumstances she'd have been on her second within the first ten minutes through the door. It was no wonder Jamie thought Gianna was better suited anywhere but here. As though to repudiate that concern, her fingers settled around the looped handle, lifting the cup to her lips for a sip before her gaze met Jamie's with steadiness.
"Nice way to tell me I look like shit. You have such a way with words, you know." There's a uptick at one corner of her mouth to imply the joke before her features smoothed into solemnity. Regardless, she appreciated the offer wholeheartedly. "This is the only place I need to be." A deliberate answer. One that came punctuated by a definitive shake of her head. She knew how it looked counterproductive with that thousand mile stare, the untouched coffee - yet there was no version of herself in existence that would sit within the belly of grief and remain shackled there any further. No version that wouldn't claw out of the so called trenches, regardless of what entailed. "Several people." Parroted back to convey drawing her conclusion. She was here and she was ready and it would remain so. "Anything directed towards the Calloway family?"
He scoffed quietly. "Joey never gets anything right. That's why he's packing his desk right now." And would be rehired by end of week just to do it again on the next full moon or whenever Jamie felt particularly aggrieved by his presence. Which was often. Most of the bull pen associates and a smattering of paralegals were hardly worth a second glance, even the other junior lawyers who reported to his peers held minimal interest, but he pinpointed Gianna from the moment she arrived. Staked a claim as her mentor before anyone else could catch a glimpse of her exceptionally rare talent and instincts. Kindred spirits really, she reminded the senior partner of a younger version of himself.
"I know." His own expression settled into a playful arrogance before trailing across her face and still disliking the uncharacteristic melancholy he saw there. If Gianna wanted to work amidst her own issues then James held absolutely no intention of preventing her from doing so. Which meant diving straight in. "Nothing specific for them, no. They would make an easy litigation target after what happened at The Nines, but considering their loss... Well, no one wants to be that distasteful. Yet." Only a matter of time before the public's sympathetic crooning wore off and opportunistic vultures began to circle in search of their next paycheck. Normally he'd be one, more than happy to stretch the bounds of morality for the right price point, but it seemed low even for him. And then the pieces clicked sharply into place. "You know them. The Calloways."
It could be a kidnapping. A chance to steal Charlie Windsor straight off the street if it were anybody else. Between The McLaren, the offer for burgers, and the sunglasses on Jamie’s face that Charlie already decided he’d steal before the day was over, it was practically the perfect set up. “Alright, now we’re talking.” A grin pulled at his mouth as he slid into the passenger seat. “You ever think about Area 51?” He suddenly asked as he then turned to Jamie. “I wanna buy it.” The whole thing. “But only if they let me keep one of the little green dudes.” He paused, considering the idea. “Wanna make one my butler and call it Stretch.” His lips pressed together in thought before adding. “Or Eddie.” The name was still up in the air.
Too easy. They were, in fact, going for burgers at a premiere restaurant, but James also wanted to lure Charlie into visiting a luxury arcade he'd recently purchased for the hell of it. Work, responsibilities, they could all wait if eighteen rounds of Skee-Ball were ahead of them. "Easy solution," he shrugged as they pulled away from the curb and immersed into New York traffic, "you need two green dudes." Stretch as butler, Eddie as chauffeur. They made booster seats and shoe lifts now, a martian could learn. "They probably have so many anyway, what's a couple traded between you and the US government?"
Elena, standing at her counter with a pot of coffee in her hands, gave James a look of flash-horror and surprise as he skated through her front door in a way reminiscent of a certain 90s sitcom. The expression quickly fell to a flat look of annoyance as she poured her coffee and returned the carafe to its warmer. "It was not like that, you fucking loser," she said with an eyeroll, but the venom in her voice was countered by the smile she tried to suppress. She took a sip of her coffee, brow furrowed as she gingerly touched the spot on her head where they'd cleaned the wound and sent her on her way. No shaving necessary, but it did make trying to sleep comfortably a bit of a challenge. "I can't do my hair," she said finally, frown still in place. "So I'm stuck in here." Not entirely the truth, of course, but a fine excuse to hole up in the only place she truly felt safe. "What are you up to aside from threatening to shave cats? Or whatever."
"It sounded like that." At least to him and that was the only excuse necessary to come waltzing into the home belonging to one of his oldest friends. "Explain no further. Nobody in this room is going to judge you for placing vanity above becoming a public spectacle." Amongst other perks, it was precisely why Jamie chose a career path that allowed him to spend a majority of his time indoors and away from any element that might harm his own appearance. Hair, suit, whatever. Though a similar mentality hardly worked out for Elena it seemed. "Okay first... I would never shave a cat. I'm not deranged or suicidal." Obviously. "Anyway, I'm just making charitable weekend rounds to check on the miserable, lonely, and depressed. Starting with you, then I think I'll head to the orphanage. Maybe end with a stroll through one of those state-run elder care facilities." Now he was teasing.
@giannarossi
PAUL ANTHONY KELLY as John F. Kennedy Jr. Love Story 1.04 "I Love You"
Paul Anthony Widziszewski-Kelly
with ─ @rossijames
location ─ whitlock & harren / jamesons offices
It had been seven days since she'd set foot in this building. Since she'd last sat at her own desk, since she'd been anyone other than the version of herself that came prior to her life without Dior's daily presence. She'd stared absently at the climbing numbers flashing on the screen of the elevator, watching them from somewhere slightly outside of her consciousness.
That feeling had been the running theme nearly the entirety of her week. Certainly a constant through the commute to arrive here. It threaded itself into how she'd gotten dressed, how she'd navigated through the subway, how she'd walked into the glass paneled firm on muscle memory alone as her feet carried her straight to James' office.
His space looked the same, but in striking contrast, she likely didn't. Especially as she took the seat across from him silently rather than throwing a joking insult or sarcastic retort his way. This time, there was only one place her mind landed. "Has anyone contacted you about the fires?"
"Several people." Lawsuits, countersuits, a variety of potential bites crossed his desk over the last week and none of them appeared particularly compelling. Or, more importantly, worth his time and resources. Great tips to send over to the mob’s little PR attack dog they kept on retainer, probably best not to call her that in front of Troy though. “Waiting on someone in particular?” He couldn’t fathom what big name sat on her wishlist of clients, and then, as his head tilted slightly to examine the dissociation written all over her, Jamie wondered if it was a personal inquiry.
"You don't have to be here. If you need more time..." He'd lie to the other partners, make up some alternate reason for her absence. Say that he sent her to Bora fucking Bora on a wellness retreat. Which he still could if she needed it, whatever was necessary to work through the issue and return to regular functionality. “You’re clearly still in the trenches. I mean you haven’t even touched the coffee I had the intern make for you.” His gaze pivoted to the abandoned cup at her side and back again. “Madison, not Joey. God forbid.” That and he’d fired Joey at precisely nine in the morning upon overhearing him ask someone else in the bullpen for their number. Just a harassment suit waiting to happen really, and Jamie loathed seeing those beady little eyes around the place. Win-win in his book.
Atomic Blonde (2017, dir. David Leitch)
@dadivosos
Who: @charliewindsor Where: does it matter
The McLaren came to a slow coast beside the familiar silhouette, rumbling in protest as it practically idled whilst Jamie made a show of waving to his friend. "Burgers," he mouthed through the window before popping open the passenger door. "There's a new place on fifth, I reserved it for the afternoon so we can try everything on the menu." Not a table, the entire restaurant. Did he have better ways to spend his exceptionally limited time in light of recent events? Yes, but none of them involved Charlie. Moot point.
Who: @noxmourners (elena) Where: her house
Almost immediately upon receiving the call about her involvement in one of the lethal fires dotted around the city, James practically burned a hole through the firm’s expensive tile on his way to the elevator. Barked a little at his driver too when they hit traffic, and for that he did feel a smidge guilty. Perhaps a nice Memorial Day bonus to smooth it over. “All right, what's the damage?" His voice rang out upon opening the front door of her home and meandering around the space he knew almost as well as his own. In two seconds, his figure rounded the corner and came to an abrupt, if not mildly dramatic, halt at the sight of her. "Oh, not bad. From the way you described it, I thought they shaved your head like a cat pre-surgery."