LOCATION: The Metropolitan Museum of Art
DATE: February 14th (before the shootings)
STATUS: Open
“Do you think they’ll notice that I didn’t leave a wedding gift?” Jason asked, his tone low as though he were trying to keep his question a secret. After all, what could someone possibly get two of the most influential people in New York with the salary he was making? A “thanks for getting me tossed in jail and never making an attempt to get me out or punish the person that got me in there in the first place, but it’s nice to see that the two of you are still going strong” card? That seemed far too specific for a Hallmark card and a little too bitter as well. Nursing the drink that he knew he wasn’t supposed to have in his hand, he sighed. “I’ll just tell them my presence was the gift, all things considered.”
“It’s not like they’re gonna count how many people came and how many gifts they got,” Sunny whispered right back out of the corner of her lips, not really imitating him for need of discretion, but just for the fun of it. Now that the remark was said though, she started to rethink it as something that they might actually do... you know, because they were rich people who invited other rich people who should have more than enough to buy classy wedding gifts. Unlike the awkward bums that the two of them were, probably sticking out like a sore thumb in the midst of all this - to Sunny’s opinion - unnecessary opulence. Arms crossed in front of her chest, fingers surreptitiously scratching at the scar on her forearm where the vestiges of her ordeal still presented itself for all the world to see before tugging at the ends of a dress she would love to set on fire the second she took it off at the end of the night, it was clear to anyone that Artemis wasn’t in the best of moods... that and she did tell everyone who gave her the time of day that she would honestly rather be anywhere else, seeing as the last thing she wanted was to be in the company of people who were responsible for her... mishap. Jason by her side was a soothing salve, a small comfort and a shoulder to lean on, quite literally too because her feet were aching from the heels she had had to sport, an article she wasn’t used to. “I told you we shouldn’t have come, it’s not like they really did want us to be here. After what they did to you? If they even try to talk you, I’m gonna... kick ‘em in the throat or... or something.”
It was entirely possible that he didn’t know how he was supposed to act in a situation like this because he’d never really had a close friend or a sibling, and it was just as likely that he didn’t know how to act because, well, he still wasn’t quite used to the more…dangerous side of being involved with a mob. But he still felt like a fool, sitting there, bringing wine to someone who rarely drank, someone who was literally sitting in a hospital bed. He managed a small ‘sorry,’ fidgeting with the end of his hoodie, trying to figure out the right thing to say. That had never been a problem around Sunny before, but then again, it’d been like that with Jason, too, before he was arrested. Now, Julian spent his days hiding away in his room or at the club, figuring it was better to not see them at all than say something insensitive.
He momentarily perked up at her words, both at the good news and the more interesting jello-talk that followed. Now this was something he talk about. “I guess you’d really have to eat just jello for like a month to find out, but it’s gotta be like that, though, right? Like, if you live on just jello, at some point you’re gonna shit jello? I bet someone’s already done a study on it already. Bet it’s awesome. Yeah.”
And after that, he just wasn’t sure what to say, so Julian rubbed at his nose, feeling it burn either from the cold or the white line he’d snorted just before he made his way here (it helped with the nerves). “So has Syrus…stopped by at all? He’s still mad, probably, right? About that whole thing.” Subtle, Julian. “You think that had anything to do with what happened to you?”
Telling herself that this sudden change in her temperament was the solitary reason that she was feeling this way about Julian was the only source of comfort Sunny felt she could hold on to during this conversation... because what kind of friend would she be if this was truly how she felt about him? If she was actually mad at him, for reasons she couldn’t even grasp, for something that wasn’t even his fault? Some small, petty part of her did wish that this had happened to anyone else but her, someone who had more at stake in this goddamn “war” than a small time dealer who, on most days, could barely remember the names of the heads of the other gangs, but even just thinking that caused a bubbling in her stomach, of guilt and shame and all the emotions that came with being beaten without even knowing that anyone would ever want to beat her. Now, she knew that if she allowed herself to voice out these concerns, talk to Julian about what was eating her up from the inside, he’d be able to give her something more reassuring... but hearing that sorry, watching him fumble and fall over his words? Clammed her up tight and tense.
“That’s... that’s not possible, right? To just eat jello for a month? If I ever do try it, you know you have to be there to take videos of me so I can post it on Youtube under some stupid title and become Youtube famous.” She said the label as dryly and as sarcastically as she could, before raising her one good arm and striking a cheeky pose with it, a peace sign pressed against her eye and the cheesiest smile possible on her lips... then she remembered the IV... and the nurse who had glared at her for fidgeting so much... and stopped abruptly, frowning to herself. Right. Not much by way of jokes and antics for a while. That was perhaps the toughest part of all of this (or so she wanted to believe).
“Hmm... I think he did stop by? I might have been asleep. They keep making me sleep a lot, something about how it helps the healing process or something, but I mean... it’s not like he has to,” and she meant it; there was no expectation in her that Syrus should have to take time out of his busy schedule, after what had happened in the docks, for little old her. She was just his drug dealer who sometimes crossed the line and acted like she was more than, why bother? “I wanted to help out that night, and maybe if I had more to offer, he would’ve let me... and then I went and had this happen, I don’t... well, I don’t think he’s all that happy with me right now anyway.”
Last time (last time as in eight hours ago), he’d brought Sunny a flower basket from the lady with a bad mullet at the corner shop. He thought about showing up empty-handed but somehow, that didn’t feel right considering that there was still a very real possibility that the recent chain of events was his fault - something he was planning on investigating further, not that he knew how. So now, Julian found himself back in her hospital room with his bony fingers wrapped around a bottle of his favorite red wine.
“So…I guess I didn’t really think this through. I don’t’ know if you’re allowed to drink alcohol anytime soon, but the bottle’s pretty.” He mumbled, pulling up a chair and taking a seat beside the bed placing the wine bottle beside him on the floor. “…Are you feeling any better? Y’know. Better than you did yesterday?”
Maybe it was morally wrong to want to start a fight with someone who was just trying to make you feel better while you were stuck in a hospital bed from injuries sustained in a kidnapping by a rival gang... but that didn’t stop Sunny from imagining one anyway. Which was the most that she could do, in reality, considering that her leg was sealed and propped up, and she was expressly forbidden from getting on her feet and putting any weight on it. And that she also refused to say a word of her annoyance at Julian, preferring instead to either pretend to be asleep when he walked into the room or halfheartedly continuing conversations he started. She felt bad about it, but her emotions were her emotions, and she didn’t have the desire or the energy to expend right now to question them.
“You know I don’t drink a lot, Julian, and I dunno if being here is a good time to try and change that.” More than the way that Julian tiptoed around her like she was some fragile china that could break at the smallest gust of air, more than the nonsense gifts people left by her bed that she had no use for, it was the way that he acted guilty, almost as though he was expecting her to chastise him or blame him, like he was the one who’d been holding the knife plunge into her arm, her stomach. She got herself into this mess by not being careful or wary; aside from Julian encouraging her devil-may-care attitude with his own, she couldn’t possibly think what reason he was holding onto that would make him act so... not him. The version of him that she wanted to be around of right now, the happy, joking Julian that would make all of this seem like just a bad dream she had yet to wake up from. “I got a lot of sleep for the first time in a long time so... that’s fun, I guess. And I was pretty excited about the jello when I got here, but it turns out, even jello becomes shitty when you have it as hospital food... and nurses don’t like it when you ask them how much jello you need to eat before your poop turns into jello too.”
“no” often seemed to be the only word syrus was comfortable saying. case in point, sunny, who had been planting numerous hints that she wished to rejoin the drug scene but her body had yet to heal from the kidnapping and syrus was fairly certain her mind hadn’t either. now, emotions and mental issues were not syrus’ forte, but it only seemed logical that she would need more than a month to recover from the emotional damage of being kidnapped by an enemy gang. he had grown tired of gently telling her that she was suspended from her duties—gentleness was not another one of his strong suits and thus to fake it expended more energy than necessary. thus, he had called her into the office in order to flatly tell her that she was being forced into a period of mandatory recuperation.
this was not a time for formality, nor a time for him to chastise one of his people, and thus he opted out of settling into his seat at the far end of the table that lied squarely in the basement of club nyra. instead, syrus rested against the front of the wooden piece, hands taking the edge and one leg folded across the other as he waited for sunny to hobble down the (very few) steps. though, as he heard her descend it did strike him that perhaps meeting before the club had opened in the main arena was a better choice.
“sunny,” he began upon her appearance into the room, “i trust you are healing well.” a paused stole the room before he continued, “but, i have called you here to inform you directly that you will not be continuing to supply as this process is taking place. you will still be paid and, if you wish it, be on the team, but i found it best to rid of this dance and instead tell you directly. once you heal, you may return to your duties.”
Everything itched. And it was easy enough to chalk the overwhelming sensation to the long leg brace that made her virtually immobile... or the arm cast and sling that now stopped her from shooting ironic finger guns at everyone after every sarcastic comment... or the stitches on her stomach... but maybe it was all this not doing anything but lie in bed and heal that had Sunny bursting at the seams. Who was she to pin so much blame on injuries sustained from a two night kidnapping anyway? Wasn’t that too much pressure to place on a - and here she would happily make mocking air quotes as she said it - “horrifically traumatizing experience”, as some people called it? It wasn’t even that bad, it’s not like she died which was a possibility... or died and was never found again, which was another possibility... and sure, for the past month, she’d been waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, forcing herself to get on her feet to check that her door was locked like it would even actually keep her safe from another attack, but the latter was a good habit to have picked up in the long run, so it wasn’t all terrible.
Point is, she was definitely not in denial and no, saying that she wasn’t in denial is not denial.
Being called into Club Nyra made her hopeful that Syrus finally changed his mind, but a mere step into the room and a glance at his face, and she knew she wouldn’t be hearing what she wanted. Never mind that her forehead was coated with a thin sheen of sweat from the short travel over or that she felt herself suddenly overcome with the temptation to break something (which would be a funny sight to behold, she knew, if she wasn’t the one who had to do it and ache all over while doing so), she needed Syrus to say yes. “Shit, no need to be so formal or anything,” she chuckled, dryly and obviously forced, choosing to lean heavily on her one good leg than sit, in the hopes that it would help her case. “Feels a little insulting that you might be implying this is about money, but I do have rent to pay, so whatever, give me dough... but don’t bench me. If I have to spend another week at home, I’ll go insane. I mean, I’m all caught up on Grey’s Anatomy, and I don’t even like Grey’s Anatomy! Sure, Katherine Heigl’s finally gone, but so is Sandra Oh! And George died so what’s the point anymore?! Seriously, Syrus, just-... just let me back out there, I’m fine.”
The scuffing of shoe on concrete, the distinct but quiet swish of metal on stone. It all seemed rather antiquated and unnecessary, but she’s more than aware the show is entirely for her benefit, tied up as she was to a chair in what she can only assume was the center of a large warehouse somewhere on the outskirts of the city. A guess - she had a hood draped over her head with the disgusting taste of cloth still stuck on her tongue, making gagging still a possibility in the back of her throat - but since whoever had taken her was dead set on following a cliché that seemed straight out of another Liam Neeson kidnapping movie that nobody in their right mind asked for, maybe it was a not-so-off-the-mark speculation.
A muffled sob is released, soft against the sharpness of all else (she can’t help it, she thinks, she’s terrified out of her skin, out of her mind, no matter how much she tries to convince herself this wasn’t as bad as it seemed to be, that this would all be over in a second, Syrus and everyone else would find her soon).
The moment the sound cuts through the air - the parting of her dry lips, the hot breath fighting against the rough wool pulled over her eyes and her face – the unsettling noises stop abruptly. She stiffens, spine straight and still, twists her head with the thought that she’d finally be able to catch a glimpse of the mastermind, only to remember that darkness was her world now, she could blink a million times in panic and the black would never change. More than the throbbing at the back of her head where a fist had been driven in to knock her out an hour ago (or was it hours ago? Man, being unconscious for that long was not good for her, she definitely needed to get that checked when she got out of here), the disorienting tactics were what truly dug beneath her skin and broke her down: the way that they had her alternating staring at bare concrete walls to the empty void of nothingness since she’d woken up, the comings and goings of people around without anything ever being done or said towards her (or was it just one person? She thought she should be able to tell by now, but aside from busying themselves around her, she could never pick up their breathing, their heartbeats, almost as though she was guarded by the devil himself, having no need for oxygen like the human that she was), the whispers that were exchanged just at the very limits of her hearing.
Pull yourself together! she shouts in the expanse of her mind, even as her heart races and her lungs heave in mild panic, an aching settling within her bones since her forearms are bound firmly to the arms of the chair, ropes cutting into flesh now the more that they trembled with anticipation; the demand echoes hopelessly as though the fifth time she hears it would be the time she finally gets herself to follow her own desperate reminder.
Until hands tear the hood from her head, roughly grab the back of the chair, spins it around with gritted effort to face… a masked man. Great. Just when it couldn’t be even more cliché.
Or hey, maybe a masked woman, what with equality and all. A masked someone. (Now is not the time to get into some of those internalized sexist expectations.)
If only her eyes weren’t puffed up either.
But she can see that they’re dressed casually, almost as though this was a part of their daily routine and not something straight out of a low budgeted torture movie made in a nondescript rural town. Maybe they were going to dinner and a movie after this, who was she to judge?
That smile, god, that smile. If she wasn’t already shaking, she would have noticed the shudder running down her spine. Deranged was really the only way to describe it, as though they were really, really, really anticipating what was about to happen. Despite all else, the foremost that she wanted to happen right now was to take the hood she’d just been wearing and shove it over their ski mask to hide those damn lips.
“I don't know anything,” is the first thing she tells them, not even bothering to try and make it sound convincing with the staunch stubbornness that was evident in their eyes. At least the claim makes the smile disappear, expression now grim and serious and marking the distinct change of the entire scenario.
And then they laugh and she could have sworn her soul jumped out of her body, turned to face her, somberly announced, “And this is how Sunny Yoo died” before drifting away completely, leaving her to this godforsaken place, in this godforsaken situation.
“Forgive me, but I don’t believe you.”
Well… shit. If honesty was the best policy, then why the fuck was she still here?
She heaves another great gasp, a sob, and her head droops against her chest, her body out of control with its tremors.
“It’s true,” she insists a minute of silence later, after swallowing a toxic mixture of bile and vomit and possibly her heart on the verge of bursting. “I don’t even know what this is about! Or who the hell you are! Are you Liam Neeson or Jason Statham? One minute I’m talking to a friend, the next I’m here. Whoever you think I am, I’m not. Whatever you think I know, I don’t. I’m a nobody. You’re wasting your time.” She hates herself for how cavalier her words come off, terror had her spilling jokes to compensate when it was the last thing she wanted; her voice finally cracks on the last few words because in all this time, they’d been static, but now they were crossing the room, inspecting instrument after instrument that clanged and clinked against each other in the perusal, none of which were visible to her from the distance. Maybe it’s her imagination, but when they lift one up in the palm of their gloved hand, she could have sworn the glint of it as it caught the light was enough to blind her.
Oh, if only.
“Is this about my brother? H-He’s… he’s on the straight and narrow now, I-I promise. He was never meant to… he never should’ve gotten into it… into any of it, but he did the time a-and, and, he got better, he’s trying, he’s trying, and t-trying to get to him through me isn’t gonna work, he doesn’t… fuck!”
She doesn’t see it.
In fact, she doesn’t even see them move back to her side of the room, what with the tears stinging her eyes now at the thought of Apollo and how they probably didn’t even know where she was, what had happened. (Hell, Apollo wouldn’t even think that anything was wrong until later, until someone from New Olympus told him, probably Julian, and that would only be until the gang itself figured out that she was gone.)
The fear, now fully taking over her body, makes the sting a thousand times worse, and her scream is so loud, it deafens even her. An ungodly sound and one that she never thought herself capable of producing.
The blade, sharpened to a point, comes out of nowhere, and only until it was lodged to the hilt in her arm, into the wood of the chair, does she realize the extent of the mess that she was now in. It had been hidden in the sleeve of their shirt, the choosing merely an act to distract her, but now there was no stalling or play or delay in their job. It comes down and plunges through flesh, muscle and sinew - it hits bone and drives her forearm into the chair it's bound against. The shock comes and then the agony.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. No arteries, no major blood vessels, you should still be able to have this heal and be fully functional,” what, now they were able to read minds too? Was it that obvious that she was worried she would never be able to use her arm again? “Not unless I twist this which, given how it’s lodged between your bones, should cause a fair amount of damage. And if I pull it out now, there’s a strong possibility that you’ll just bleed out on my floor and I’ll have to spend the rest of the night cleaning that up, so if it’s alright with you, I think I’ll just leave that to you for safe keeping for now.”
The tears are flowing freely now, a mixture of it and sweat from her brow dripping to the blood drenching her arm, pooling at her feet. She dared not make even the slightest movements, convinced now that the smallest shift would cause the knife to cut her wide open. She wanted to cry out for Apollo, for Dionysus, for Morpheus, for someone, anyone, even her damn mother, just please stop the pain, it hurts too much…
A brutish tapping on her knee brought her back to reality, quelling the scream that still threatened to rage on. The face of the other moves closer to her, close enough that their noses almost touch and the iris of their eyes bore holes into her own. Dark and pulsating with something that she can only describe as deadly and devilish, convincing her that no matter what she said, how she replied, they would keep on plunging blade after blade into her body. And only because they enjoyed it, she can see that much from the smile that now graced their face, all teeth and gums, reveling in the chaos they caused. If she wasn’t strong enough to stop herself from screaming, perhaps she could stop herself from speaking... and with what little energy she had left quickly draining from her body, even if she wanted to spill, she wouldn’t even be able to.
Maybe the least that she could do was to not betray Syrus before she died horribly at the hands of this fucking maniac. Sounds reasonable enough.
He’d lost track of what time it was by now. All he had known when he left the apartment was that he was in need of something to keep his mind occupied. Too long without those distractions, and he’d find himself lingering back on the memories of prison - or worse, the temptation that laid around every corner. Perhaps it’d be easier to try and sleep it off, blissful ignorance to everything - but insomnia seemed to come easier to him instead. As he passed the dimly lit bodega on the corner for the fourth time, he tossed his cold cup of coffee out, before taking a deep breath and standing under the streetlight. He wasn’t sure where to go now, if he should keep walking or just back - and what an ironic metaphor to how he felt in life.
Avi was debating on whether it was worth it to get another cup of coffee as he noticed a figure coming towards the shop as well. Avi tilted his head as he saw them approaching, hands fishing around in his back pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. Even as he spoke to the other person, he still felt the prickliness of anxiety under his skin, trembling and bubbling underneath. Realizing that his lighter was in his other coat, he groaned. “You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter, would you?” he started, fingering through the open carton of cigarettes, trying to pull one out - before noticing that he was completely out of those as well. He swore under his breath, raking his hand through his hair, before laughing hollowly. “Fuck. Cigarette and a lighter, by chance? I’ll owe you one next time I see you, whenever that might be.”
“Y’know I don’t don’t smoke, Av.”
A twinkle in her eye, a playful lilt in her voice, but the shakiness of the smile that she (operative word) tried to conjure up for the two of them said more about the state of their relationship right now than any amount of words could ever do. Theirs was a siblingship that thrived in the quiet spaces, the little pauses and breaths in between statements, the unsaid that was all too obvious but still never given attention to; Sunny could direct her eyes to his and find there the multitudes that she would never be privy to, which was why she did her best, in the time since he’d been back, to avoid letting her gaze linger for too long, too deep. A fear had settled within her that what she would see then would be unrecognizable, an Avi that was right at the edge of her fingertips but never within her grasp, and such a prospect was... she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t even bear to consider it.
So a joke then, a gentle nudging, a subtle reminder of ‘you still remember these habits, you still remember details about me, my dear brother, don’t you?’ that would hurt should the answer be no. It was easy to forgive him the little things when the bigger things had tried to sever their bond and hadn’t. Truth be told, it was easy for Sunny to forgive him everything... and maybe he didn’t like that, maybe that’s why there was a distance, an awkwardness, an apprehension that stung. “I’m down to buy you some though, if you’ll go on a walk with me. If you want to. If you’re not busy. If not that’s also fine, I don’t mind, maybe some other time when you’re free or whatever...” It wasn’t like her to stumble over her words, but then again, it wasn’t like him to sound so empty and look just as much. Reaching over and flicking some locks of his hair behind his shoulders with her fingers, she actively resisted the urge to keep her hand in that close a proximity, rest it on his arm, maybe even take his own just like they used to when they were little kids and she would stare up at him, wide eyed and waiting to be stolen away.
“Did I ever tell you I really like this look on you?”
She was cast in a colorful glow from Club Nyra’s lights, sweat drying on her skin as the cool air seemed to wrap her in its embrace. She could bolster through any thought, any image that crowded her mind and threatened to destroy her; however, even she needed to breathe, regroup and recharge, and there was nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with giving herself time.
( after all, like so many others in this world, it wasn’t as if she had much of it left. tick, tock, that second hand moved closer and closer to the end. )
Vera sucked in a breath, slowly exhaled, and then sucked in another, until the action could become a second-hand thought. Fingers around wrists, she pressed her nails into her skin, a reminder they were no longer bound. She was no longer trapped. She was okay.
A shuffle of feet, a sliding of the gaze. Peering through her lashes, she removed her hand from her wrist in exchange of running it through her hair. A smile on her lips, a tilt of her head. “And what can I do for you tonight, darling?”
“Wait... what? Are you... offering... something...?”
Though she despised the uncertainty that hung on every word that passed her lips, Sunny could not bring herself to be anything but: the other had caught her much too much off guard, glass of Coke clamped tightly in her frozen hand and eyebrows threatening to surpass her forehead in distance and height. Tonight’s visit to Club Nyra had been mostly because... well, the apartment was too empty: Julian was here working the rest of the night, Apollo was somewhere, no word on their destination when they’d left her to her devices that afternoon, Marcus was potentially on a job or some other from their boss; being alone was such a terrible predicament to be in when one was feeling listless, energy requiring an outlet she could not determine. There wasn’t even any managing to make it halfway through the second episode of Sense8′s second season before she was jumping to her feet again, blanket wrapped around her cast to her bedroom floor in reckless abandon, only managing to grab her coat and slam the door on the way out.
Did it make for a good image that she was biking her way to a club? Probably not, but thankfully she had an in with the owner and slipped in through the back, nodding her greetings at familiar faces. What was she going to do here anyway? Get drunk? Watch the dancers? Or even - the thought scared her more than anything else at the moment - dance herself? Fuck that. Company was desirable, sure, but it seemed the one that had stumbled upon her wasn’t really... aware. Vera was known to her, they had bonded on more than one occasion, not as well and deep as she had the others among their ranks, but she sense no ill will from the other and so considered her a friend nevertheless. No wonder she held the moniker that she did too, the smallest of her actions alone, as she presented them to Sunny now, clearly could have turned anyone else putty into her hands.
“Vera, you’re beautiful and I love you, you know I do... but if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to die. Right here. In this club. In front you.”
On an average day, there was no way in hell Marco would have ever taken a New York City subway, finding the collection of people who took the subway to be an inferior type of people, ones he hadn’t found himself mixing with in many years since being plucked from the streets they run under by Cronus. Though the memories of his childhood still flooded his mind most nights as he slept, humility and gratitude washed over him every day as he woke next to a woman who was nothing more than magnificent, reminding him of the empire he now controlled and the power that he held. But he still regarded himself as superior, having come from nothing to owning one of the most powerful empires in the world, the feeling of his name being recognized world wide and striking fear within the minds of others gave him the greatest rush no drug ever could. And as Marco entered the subway, finding himself on a crowded car, his disposition turned rather sour as he walked on, looking for a seat. Having no luck, Marco opted for a pole, gripping his hand around the cool metal of the train as it pulled away, his eyes scanning the train for anything noteworthy.
While her typical choice of transportation came in the form of her beloved skateboard, trying to make it as a far as she needed to today with only her legs to carry her wasn’t exactly a prospect she found particularly endearing. Which was ironic, given how much she prided herself on her legs and the lengths they’ve carried her through, athletic competition or not, but between the rushing guy who had accidentally elbowed her this morning without so much as an apology or a look back, causing her to drop her breakfast bagel on the street, and the two girls who had given her such a stink eye when she was handing over their product in simultaneous exchange for the payment. All in all, it had not been a good day, and Sunny was just ready to drop her ass on a subway seat and let it take her to wherever the fuck it wanted to until she felt ready take on the world and its shittiness all over again.
But even that was denied her, groaning loudly enough that a group of teens looked her way, a laugh on their faces until she scowled and moved to the other end of their train, holding her skateboard in one hand and the other holding unto the pole as lazily as she could. It had only moved a stop or two before someone came walking past her, only briefly catching her attention with how upscale he seemed to be amidst the graffiti laden, chipped seats carrying interior of their transportation. Still, there was some kind of unwritten rule against talking to people one didn’t know on the train that Sunny was more than happy to follow... except for when someone ended up brushing their fingers over hers before somewhat gripping over it, making her jump a little on the unexpected contact and her head swivel to the person in question.
Ah. Mr. Fancy Man.
“You know, the nice thing to do would be to buy a girl dinner first and then you make a move for her hand,” she commented, eyebrows raising pointedly at how his fingers still touched her own on the pole without his having noticed. “Doesn’t really seem like too much to ask for.”
‘prompts:
1) things you said at 1 am
2) things you said through your teeth
3) things you said too quietly
4) things you said over the phone
5) things you didn’t say at all
6) things you said under the stars and in the grass
7) things you said while we were driving
8) things you said when you were crying
9) things you said when I was crying
10) things you said that made me feel like shit
11) things you said when you were drunk
12) things you said when you thought I was asleep
13) things you said at the kitchen table
14)things you said after you kissed me
15) things you said with too many miles between us
16) things you said with no space between us
17) things you said that I wish you hadn’t
18) things you said when you were scared
19) things you said when we were the happiest we ever were
20) things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear
21) things you said when we were on top of the world
22) things you said after it was over
23) things you said on the streetcar at 1 am
24) things you said with clenched fists
25) things you said in the back seat of a cab
26) things you said sitting still
27) things you said on the phone at 4 am
28) things you said but not out loud
29) things you said in the backyard at night
30) things you said on the highway
31) things you said while I cried in your arms
32) things you said I wouldn’t understand
33) things you said at the back of the theatre
34) things you said in your sleep
35) things you said that made me feel real
36) things you said you’ll never forget
37) things you said with the tv on mute
38)things you said while holding my hand’
39) things you said when we first met
40) things you said when you met my parents
41) things you said you loved about me
42) things you said when you asked me to marry you
43) things you said in our vows
44) things you said before you kissed me
45) things you said on new year’s eve
46) things you said when you kissed me goodnight
47) things you said in a hotel room
48) things you said on our honeymoon
49) things you said when we were 18
50) things you said when we were 70
51) things you said as we danced in our socks
52) things you said with my lips on your neck
53) things you said in the dark
54) things you always meant to say but never got the chance
55) things you said under your breath
56) things you said in the spur of the moment
57) things you said when no one else was around
58) things you were afraid to say
59) things you said after we fell in love
60) things you said [make your own]
the ones with single quotes aren’t mine, but the rest are. great story and fic prompts
reblog if you want your followers to send you a number and pairing to write a fic about
In their world, Julian was constantly surrounded by people who were loud, angry, violent - people who stood out and stepped over others to survive but Sunny, she shone in his eyes in a completely different way. He’d be the first one to admit that it’d been an unexpected burden when Frankie was first arrested, the sudden responsibility - though it wasn’t like Sunny ever demanded it - that he’d felt had made him feel like he was drowning at times. But in a lot of ways, she’d taken care of him, too, and he was thankful that it’d brought the two of them so close. Thankful that he was one of the few who got to see Sunny do a terrifyingly passable Southern accent. “Aw, that’s not fair. You know I suck at doing accents.” He said, after a brief consideration of responding with a Southern accent of his own. But he wanted to leave the party with at least an ounce of dignity left. “And I’ll kick your ass if you ever get a sugar daddy.”
Julian only barely managed to keep the drink from splashing all over his face as he was punched just as the cup was lifting to his face, instead letting out an ungraceful hrmmmph! and rubbing his arm where the punch had landed. “Shut up, I’ve seen people in bikinis before. I’ve got seven years on you. That’s at least seven more years of seeing bikinis, so. I got you beat,” he mumbled, scrunching up his nose as he felt Sunny’s hand on his stomach, feeling a bit insecure about it though Sunny had seen - mostly accidentally - his naked form more than once before. “They’re all pretty. I mean, look at them. We’re surrounded by celebrities and rich people. I just don’t really think I fit in that well and I don’t really feel like bringing anyone home if anyone even wants to come home with me, and we haven’t even cleaned in a million years…” He shook his head, tossing off his cup to the side once he was done with it and walking through the crowd, feeling a little more confident with Sunny by his side.
“Fuck, you’re right. You should’ve told Syrus - we could’ve bought a little booth to sell burgers from. Can you imagine him in a tiny Kiss the Cook apron? I’d literally kill to see that. But then he probably would’ve been like, I have an image to upkeep, young padawan,” he said, straightening his back and doing his best possible Syrus impression which ended up sounding a little more like an impression of Alfred from Batman and Robin. “Next time, I guess. But for now, how about we get ourselves a couple more drinks, huh? And I will buy the burgers on our way back home tonight.”
The sound that came out of her lips at his complaint wasn’t even a laugh, it was a straight up cackle, complete with the devil-may-care throwing back of her head and the dramatic closing of her eyes that made the couple next to them throw furtive looks before hurriedly scurrying away, fear evident in their faces. Sunny didn’t care, no, she wasn’t here to make connections or potential allies, she barely even knew half the people who were present and the ones that she did were the people that she came here with. It was all in the matter of her enjoyment and being able to put on accents - here she remembered that time she’d imitated the voice of the twin little girls in The Shining in the middle of the night - was one of the things that, at least with Julian, never failed to fill her with mirth. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders loosely, she gave him a sloppy and resounding kiss on the cheek, her lips puckered to exaggeration. “M’sorry, hunny, better luck next time.” All her response to his protest though was to throw a meaningful look at a passing guy, biting down on her lip as he did, but only one step towards her, and she was already switching gears, rolling her eyes, waving him away before turning her back to him, facing Julian fully. “Why not? Are you offering to be my sugar daddy? A girl’s got to make a living, Juju.”
How contradictory a mindset to consider his insecurity so unbecoming when she too had doubts of her own? Sunny could easily talk people up, inflate their egos until they were just the right size, but when it came to herself, what worries she did have never even came to the surface. What did it matter that there were dozens of others here that caught people’s attentions more, it at least saved her the bother of communicating her lack of interest, right? It wasn’t as though she’d worn this bikini specifically to reel them in. “... are you saying you’ve been looking at almost naked women since you were a baby, Julian Saif?! I bet you had Playboys stuffed under your mattress, didn’t you, you naughty little boy?” she nudged his side, wiggling her eyebrows and positively grinning like a loon. What she could offer though was a welcome distraction, a joke or two, a change of topic, anything to run his mind off the need to compare himself to the people around them. “Speak for yourself, I clean up. I even cleaned Marcus’ place and we all know that has an expiration date of like one week, a week and half tops. D’you want me to go around, start talking you up? We can go to both extremes and see if that works, you know, sort of balance it out so they don’t pick up that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Like... okay, I’ll tell them that you’ve got a massive dick, right, but you don’t know how to use it or it never gets as hard as it should, huh? That sounds like it could work, not like your hypothetical dick.”
Sunny took a deep breath as he listened to Julian’s impression, ending up with a shake of her head and a look that said ‘oh, you tried... and you failed’. “What, is Syrus secretly Neo from the Matrix? What were you even trying to do there?” Not that it made the mental image of Syrus in an apron any less enjoyable, but now it came with the addition of Neo’s iconic glasses and trenchcoat, which... well, if the New Olympus boss could only read her mind, he would probably not be amused. “Anyway, I doubt Syrus would be down for that, this is a fancy schmancy party after all, I’m surprised I was even let in... or maybe that was because they kind of enjoyed that pat down a little more than they should have.” Sunny pumped her fist into the air in triumph, a soft ‘Yes!’ followed by a quick ‘This is why I love you’ whispered to Julian’s ear as finally, they reached the bar.
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