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$LAYYYTER
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@simone-montgomery
Simone Montgomery, 35, has called Coronado home for all their life. As an investigative journalist at the Clarion News Network and Coronado Current, their world is steeped in dirty fingernails, quiet words in quieter corners, and sea salt on the wind. Often found pouring over notes and cursing at smudges in wet ink, they move through life with Glory and Gore by Lorde in their ear.
Full bio to come. Task 1. Task 2.
“Milling?” Elena echoes with a hum, the word landing somewhere between amused and indifferent. She doesn't spare a glance as they move towards the bar, but there's a curve at the corner of her mouth. “That does sound like him.”
She lets the silence stretch between them, as if debating on offering further response. The question strikes her as trivial, almost disappointing—curiosity best reserved for the society pages, swathed in politeness. “He's away on business.” And then, a glance over her shoulder. “Or, he’s on a sporting trip. Or we're avoiding one another..." she’s not quite teasing, not quite not. “Depends who you read.”
At the bar, Elena does little more than nod to the bartender—she's used to being remembered, used to never having to bother with particulars. Two glasses of cirvo are poured and served without a word. Though she draws her own closer, she doesn't yet move to take a sip.
“When you received my mother's invitation,” now mirroring each other, her gaze slides back toward Simone with a pointed casualness. “Is this what you expected?”
Whether it's a joke or some, admittedly deserved, commentary on the unflattering side of her profession, it earns a soft breath of a laugh. ‘Out spelunking’ remains a personal favorite of hers. It was the excuse given a few events ago by a small, independent paper that’s somehow still avoided being scooped up by one of the larger media centers. Was it her favorite simply because the word is fun to say, or maybe because it could very well be true? After all, no one really ever looks like they go diving into caves for fun. Perhaps it’s both. Either way, Simone doesn’t mention it out loud.
Despite their quiet armistice, the silent agreement to use the blunt side of their sharpest weapons– they’ll never be friends. And cordial doesn’t have the same intimacy as friendly.
Though as a glass of something that smells better than anything she’s had before wordlessly appears before her, even she has to admit to being properly impressed. And honestly? A little smitten. Simone takes an appreciative sniff of the glass, giving it another approving expression before glancing up with a shrug. “In a way, yeah. I guess it is.” The words are careful, so as to not come off as an insult. “Everything associated with your family tends to ooze opulence, doesn’t it? I think everyone expected an event with direct ties to your legacy and how it shaped the island to be some sort of crowning achievement.”
She leans on one arm, fingers still wrapped around the simple glass. “But you’ve been to more of your mother’s events than I have.” A ghost of a smile rounds the words as she speaks them. “How do you think it compares so far?”
Sun and fucking stars, Andrea does not want to be having this conversation anymore. Can't she fuck off and bother literally anyone else? He's the youngest son, his status in the family is next to nothing, he's nearly positive that he wouldn't be invited if there was some family meeting to discuss upcoming business ventures. So, really, what does he know about Coronadan production of anything? He goes where he's told to go, smiles for the cameras, signs paperwork he's told to sign. He's like a fucking welcome mat, letting everyone walk over him – as if the del Bosques would have a welcome mat at the front door in any lifetime.
"If they're at risk of losing their homes, that seems, to me, like a fault of their own budgeting. Minimum wage was worked out to ensure that everyone in Coronado can survive on what they're paid. Perhaps tell them to take fewer luxury holidays if that's such a concern." People's income and how they spend it is none of his business. Perhaps they should have outlawed sports gambling a long time ago. Again, not his business. He has no desire to make or change any laws in Coronado.
"Miss Montgomery, if you'd like to ask questions about the prices of anything at this event, I suggest you speak with my mother. I'm simply here to celebrate the night and honor our new Premier." Let Luciana deal with all of this.
While the rage still exists at his flippant disregard for human life, she can't help the wickedly smug smile that slices her lips. And she laughs, mostly in disbelief. She's good, but she's rarely this lucky. "The people relying on the island's outdated minimum wage can't afford a single luxury spa treatment-- let alone a whole ass holiday." She spits the words quietly, passing her glass to wandering attendant with a grateful nod. Reaching into the folds of fabric at her side, she pulls our her phone, keeping it safely in her palm.
"But you know, it's actually sort of refreshing to hear someone from your family finally say the quiet part out loud." Simone meets his eyes as she resumes speaking, though what passes between them is something colder than ice. "With any luck, your family will feel the same way tomorrow morning when they read my overview of the party. And don't worry, your quote will be exact. I think it's important for the people to really grasp your out-of-touch distaste for them the way you intended it."
With a flash of teeth through her grin, she adds, "Have a wonderful rest of your night, Andrea." Before turning and walking away through the crowd, her fingers already typing at her phone.
"Yes, people have their reasons that they choose to vote for one candidate over another, that is typically how elections work." If she's implying election fraud, he knows as well as anyone that that isn't happening. Election intimidation, maybe, but that's none of his business. He won't bring up either; an implication is not an accusation, and he won't go defending his family when an accusation has not been put directly on the table, lest she exaggerate his reaction when recalling this conversation at a later point.
The tone shift nearly brings a furrow to his brow, though he doesn't actually comment on it; it's easier to let others talk, to let them fill the silence, even if the topic placed in front of them is as strange as this. What is she on about? "I think it's the cost of luxury." Not that she would know anything about that. "When a vineyard can only produce a certain amount of grapes per year, and there are more people that want the wines those grapes produce, the price of the wine goes up." Simple supply and demand, really, and the del Bosques are willing to pay more for the finer things in life than most - if not all - of the rest of the island would. "The finer things in life are worth the cost."
It’s a shame he doesn’t take her, completely and utterly ridiculous, bait. Just when she thought he could be fun, he plays what she assumes is the pretentious card in his deck: Mansplaining the ‘price of luxury’ to such a lowly form such as herself. What an asshole.
Simone glances at the party going on around them to keep from rolling her eyes. “This may surprise you,” Simone starts, just casually enough. “but economics is a required class for most majors nowadays.” And also fifteen years ago. And likely thirty years ago. And maybe, probably, even longer. In that she’ll admit that she’s no expert. “Worth the cost? I suppose it’s just so unfortunate that the hefty price of all that luxury isn’t shared with people who actually contribute to it's creation.” She takes a slow and intentional sip of her overpriced alcohol.
“I don’t know many of the field workers personally,” A careful admission, as that hard edge once again hits her tone. “But if this is local, Coronadian caviar– which I assume it is, given the theme of tonight– I do know most of the dock and factory workers that the two major suppliers employ. Do you know how many of them are at risk of losing the roof over their heads? How many of them work from sunrise to sunset, hoping to bring in enough fish to scoop eggs out of, or make enough tins that day to be able to just barely afford to feed their families?” The casual ease that made up her smile before dissolves into something sharper and filled with venom, but she doesn’t get loud. Worse, she stays deathly calm.
“Don’t presume it’s me who doesn’t understand the price your luxury demands, Mr. Del Bosque.”
“My responsibilities at the radio station keep me occupied,” she says plainly. “Surely, you understand—it’s quite the index of daily tasks. I have an endless list of people to talk to.” In the mirror’s reflection, Fumiko observes her. “No du Bois media tonight, then? Live news coverage and all that?”
Simone nods with an understanding chuckle. “People not in media never fully get all the intricacies that go into their entertainment, do they? And it's just you manning your radio station, right? Or, sorry, something like a skeleton crew, right?” Suddenly she's not sure she's remembering all the, admittedly lacking, information on the younger heiress.
“Nope.” She answers simply, without any real injury. “Not inside, anyway. Just a few outside covering the walk.” She reaches for one of the neatly folded towels between the sinks, and begins drying her hands. With a light shrug, adds, “One of the perks of being the host of the party and owning your own media company, I guess.”
"i can't say i blame you. they're not for everyone." she was pleased to see that simone looked well. she always wanted to hope that she wasn't under too much stress, working with her family. she knew from experience that they could be very difficult. "i am having fun, actually. but you know me... i might also be staying in my bubble."
Simone hums, both glad that her friend seems to be genuinely happy, and also in thought. "I've been keeping to my bubble, though with what I've written about most of the people here.. It's not that surprising I guess." Her smile curls with mischief and she leans in a little closer. "What do you say we burst our bubbles?" The orchestra begins a new piece and Simone holds out her hand, palm up. "Want to dance, Ange?"
There's no point to this debate. Whether or not they'd be having this party if Cervantes hadn't won the election is irrelevant; he had. Why do they invite stupid journalists to these parties? The line of questioning is tiring him. "The people had their say. If Coronadans didn't want Premier Cervantes, they wouldn't have voted for him." Democracy prevails. People still love the del Bosques. That's what matters to his family.
Not that it matters to Andrea who the Premier is, it won't earn him any favors. "The point of the Premier is to have the ear of the people. If he didn't care about what his voters have to say, if he doesn't have their best interests in mind, I'd hope Coronadans would be smart enough to vote for anyone else, no matter who my family endorses." Andrea isn't one for politics. This conversation is more Elena's speed, though she'd likely be less kind about her answers.
"The antevenas and perlacéa are excellent, aren't they?" She probably hasn't had anything this luxurious in her life. She ought to savor it. Who knows how long a person stays on an invite list on this island?
"That's my hope also, every election. And yet.." She shrugs, letting the sentence drop. "There are other reasons people make the votes that they do, hm? Money, influence.. a strong disregard for any life other than your own. So many reasons."
Despite her negging, Simone is acutely aware that this is not the Del Bosque that's truly willing to play ball. And unfortunately it's become very apparent that Andrea has none of the answers she's looking for. Just the same script as his siblings likely do-- though he lacks some of the same grace.
And maybe that's why she doesn't simply walk away. The defensive edge to every thinly veiled insult towards his family, the desperate attempts to change the topic. The way he tries to remind her that she's not on the same playing field, like it's something that should matter to her. Who knew this party would turn out to be fun.
"Sure. Who doesn't like bubbles. Honestly I expect nothing less, given the rumors about the budget for this little party. It's a weird thing to think about, isn't it?" She speaks like suddenly they're friends, just gabbing away. "Why fermented grapes and thinly sliced vegetables and deli meat go for so much these days." She looks into her own glass of sweet bubbly liquid for emphasis. "Do you think it's like that one coffee that comes out of a big cat's butt? Are these butt grapes?"
She lets out a little delighted laugh and shakes her head, “All the credit goes to my mom, seriously—all the pastries and soups and sandwiches are all her—I just follow the recipes and do my due diligence in researching how much caffeine people need to function each day.” Josephine’s smile stretches a little wider at the memory of her mother, but she waves it away with her hand and asks, “So, what’ll you do, then? Since you’re a guest guest? Schmooze? Mingle? Look for a future billionaire spouse?”
The laugh that practically bubbles out of Josephine only causes Simone's own mood to lift. Unsurprising given that Josephine is, as far as she can tell, a being made of pure delight wrapped in espresso and vanilla. She wants to tell her that all the love and care that she puts into everything here doesn't come from a recipe book, no matter how cherished-- but, well. Once again, Josephine deflects all topics about herself.
"Tempting as finding a future billionaire spouse sounds," She starts, though the thought causes a snort to interrupt. "I think I'll probably just end up working anyway." It's hard not to go looking for a scoop, especially given who the other attendees are. "I haven't had a night out that wasn't about a lead or a story in forever. I don't think I remember how." It's a joke, but there's a sad truth in the way her voice softens with the confession.
[Georgia]: You know, Sim, every once in a blue moon my husband makes these kinds of jokes and that's how I know he's getting old... We're getting old.
[Georgia]: What's your excuse??
[Georgia]: I'll ask Angie to take you out more.
[Simone]: Replied to "What's your excuse?" An excellent and well rounded sense of humor, obviously. Is that not at least 15% of the reason I'm kept on the payroll?
[Simone]: Replied to "I'll ask Angie to take you out more." Don't tempt me with a good time! We can swap jokes.
[Simone]: Seriously though, you know you'll be the first to know if I sniff out anything worthwhile here. I need to keep a log somehow.
[Simone]: They wouldn't let me take my recorder inside 😒
setting: somewhere at the event yk, with @simone-montgomery
“At last…” Rafael appears with a gracious smile, as if he’d been waiting for her. “We finally meet again. Simone,” he says, like it’s an ordinary name he’d taken the time to remember, and offers his hand. Nearby, there’s a man with a camera, waiting for the perfect moment. “Thank you for coming. How far you’ve come.”
He says her name with all the warmth of a televised fire-- pretty to hear, but offering nothing of substance to stave off the ice quickly filling her veins.
"Rafael." She manages to keep the venom out of her voice, adopting her role in this performance they'd quietly agreed upon half her lifetime ago. "You say that as if you haven't declined every other opportunity to 'meet again' over the years." She replies, her tone still light, her resolve unyielding. "I must say, I was surprised to receive the invitation. Do I have you or your wife to thank for that?"
Coronado Eterna I, for @simone-montgomery.
It doesn't take much to glean at what Simone is doing, because she doesn't make much effort to be subtle about it; she is, in many ways, more overt than any of his own children—no less fiery than them, however. He manages to pull her aside after her conversation with Elena, head bent, brow drawn, expression stern. "Simone," he murmurs, voice low, "I know you mean well. But a little more tact would do us all some good."
The scowl on his face and soft warning in his voice stirred something deep within her as she allowed herself to be lead away from the bar. Unfortunately for them both, that something was from the 'worst' of her teenage years. Something guilty and defiant and self-righteous. At least she's self-aware enough to not blame the liquor. No, this shit's been permanently ingrained in her bones since she was about fifteen.
"More tact?" Simone repeats, incredulous. "Dom, this is the first time years that can't just run away from confrontation and you want to.. what? Play nice?" It's an effort to dial back the sneer at the idea. "And just let this opportunity pass us by?"
"You are rather infamous yourself," Elena smiles as though the pair were trading compliments. "If a touch insistent."
Free press? Is that what they're calling Du Bois funded strong-arming these days?
"I hope I'm not cooperating now." A laugh—almost real. It's oddly refreshing to be met with someone who can acknowledge the blood in the water. Montgomery may not be here to work, but it's clear she is trying to figure out who’s still bleeding. "Though, I don't see a badge... And we both know how important it is to be transparent about these things."
And then, more assumption than invitation. "You'll join me at the bar? I'm partial to something stronger than perlacéa."
Infamous. Insistent. She'd been called much worse over her lifetime, and some part of her knows that she likely hasn't heard the worst of them yet. But at least no one would ever call her cowardly. Simone returns all of her phone calls-- no matter how she feels about the voice on the other end.
She almost sighs, but manages to make it out to be more of an unsurprised snort. "Transparency is important.." A click of her tongue is the only sign of any deeper emotion. "..so in the interest of being as transparent as a glass house--" A pause, to let the implication settle in the slim space between them. "Rest assured, Elena. Anything you say to me tonight is officially off the record." Much as it pains her to admit. But there's nothing to do about it now. Not with both her camera and her recorder under lock and key at the coat check.
The smile still on her lips curves slightly at the confession, a bit of genuine respect seeping in. "I am too." The wine cocktail was all sweetness and bubbles and uncomplicated. Perfect for this group, she'd thought while sipping her first glass. Manifesting a light mood, no doubt.
Not about to lose track of the Del Bosque's heiress, she adds a pleasant but firm, "After you, I insist." Her gaze drifts down the length of Elena's dark slip of a dress as she follows her, lifting just before it's improper not to. "I assume your husband is milling around here somewhere?"
“A special correspondent on behalf of the Clarion News Network, I assume?” Yet again, Fumiko’s eyes conduct a critical assessment of her. “Aren’t you a bit overdressed for the occasion?”
"Not this time, unfortunately." She responds with a disappointed sigh, seemingly unbothered by or oblivious to the obvious scrutinization being leveled at her as she rinses the soap from her hands. "Though I know, I know. I'm not usually one for dressing up." Even when she is a on assignment as a special correspondent. "Hard to chase a lead in lace." Tonight, she is simply an unwitting guest. A true fish out of water.
Simone offers an unintentionally tight smile in the mirror, a true attempt at alleviating whatever mood the woman is in. "Have you ever been a model? Or thought about it?"
"Better taste than mine, that I can say with full confidence." He doesn't enjoy praising his mother, but he's used to it; he can do the deed with an unwavering smile on his face despite the hatred he carries for her, thanks to many, many years of practice.
The food, however, he can praise with no hesitation, no malice in his heart. "I've been here a few times myself; I can genuinely say it's some of the best food I've ever had. Just wait until you try the trout."
Her next words catch him off guard, but he doesn't show that on his face; of course a journalist would come into this event acting like his family is rewarding the continued loyalty of the people. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, he dips his head down, gives it a little shake. "Miss Montgomery," she never told him to call her anything but, "I can assure you that's not the case; we're celebrating Coronado, we're celebrating endurance, grit, moving forward. No matter who holds the Premiership, we would be celebrating them with the same open arms and gratitude as we are for Premier Cervantes tonight." If my grandmother had wheels, she would be a bike.
What a good little bird. Simone thinks, barely registering his actual squawking. It's a tell for most people, so she has no qualms with applying it here, that once eye contact is broken the truth is shoved to the side. Parroting whatever's been told to him by whoever's got the keys to the cage. A second-notch PR team, she's sure. Not as good as Tatiana, but good enough to stay out of trouble with most journalists and media figure heads.
Most. But not all. There were still a few others, like herself, who refused to let his family fall through the cracks of justice and accountability.
"Of course, of course. I'm sure that's true." There's a viciousness to her tone, a slight sneer to her smile. They both know she doesn't believe that. They also both know that there's no proof otherwise. "Anyway, I suppose we'll never know, right? Your family's pick won. Which means you still have a friend in the highest of places." The thinly veiled accusation is said like it's something exciting. Like there was a need to find him a bright side. "That must be a very special feeling. There's certainly very few who have ever felt it."
Text 📱: Georgia ⇄ Simone
[Georgia]: If you don't start giving me some good dirt on tonight, I will scream!
[Georgia]: 🗣️
[Simone]: Sent 1 Image
(image description: dark, moist potting soil inside of a plain black outdoor plant pot. The five leaves in the top left corner of the pot are consistent with the potted plants kept by the door of the building. On top of the soil is a thin layer of white fungus, commonly caused by overwatering.)
[Simone]: I think the mold means the dirt is good, right?
EVENT STARTER (PART 1) for @simone-montgomery !!
"simone! it's so good to see you!" the more familiar faces she saw, the more bearable the event became. the last thing she needed was to be trapped somewhere floundering. "have you tried the jalabrisas?"
"Angie!" She smiled, her last drink helping her to match Angie's enthusiasm-- and relief. "I have, though I think the yellow stuff isn't for me." Peppers have never been her favorite texture, cooked or raw.
"You look lovely, as always. Are you having fun?" Translation: is anyone in need of a roundhouse kick to the face? There's a very serious part of her that hopes that's a yes.
Well she certainly takes her chances where she can, Elena thinks, not without irritation. There’s no sign of it on her face as she breaks away from her previous conversation, turning smoothly toward the source of the interruption.
“Simone Montgomery." She inclines her head slightly, a smile on her lips. “I won't deny that we are notoriously hard to reach.”
"Infamously so." She agrees with an easy smile. With her target in sight, Simone ignores the suites and the silks that had been vying for Elena's attention as they stutter away. Though she doesn't react the slight headshakes and pointed glares, her voice stays carefully casual and just below the din.
There'll be no scene here. Not tonight.
"Interesting, wouldn't you say? Given that so many people seem to think you've got a very cooperative relationship with the free press."
