#c4rdsharp

[empiriical]

@c4rdsharp / starter call !

there's no greater tell that berga's in a bad mood than when he comes stomping into the office below the coraggioso, utterly silent. he's unusually subdued, but anyone would be able to tell that he's fuming beneath the surface, even if the boisterous && loud voice that typically follows his presence is absent.

he sinks down onto a couch heavily, pressing the tips of his fingers together. pointedly, he doesn't meet luck's eyes.

"..."

he decides not to mention, for the moment, that he's just come back from breaking every bone in melvi's right hand, all with a grimace of a smile on his face.

"i don't like your boyfriend."

[closedcoffins]

@c4rdsharp / most written muses. ( #001 : "the rail tracer" --- claire stanfield. )

"Luck!!"

Claire's ever-enthusiastic voice carries loudly through the small room, probably quite a bit louder than Luck would like. He's usually a little more conscious of that kind of thing, but it's honestly been a while since he's seen any of his brothers, so he's just a little more unrestrained than usual.

"Wow, you look so put-together!" he comments, making himself comfortable immediately in the empty office he probably shouldn't have been able to get himself into. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I miss you guys every day. Well, even though I can manage to phone you guys pretty often, it's a lot different than seeing you in person. It's one thing to hear your voice, but it's another thing to actually see you in front of me, you know?"

He laughs, carrying on at about a mile a minute---Claire had prepared a lot of things to say all at once, and when it came down to it, he'd been unable to organize them before saying them. "Hey, are you still a hugger? I guess I was always more of one than you, but if it's alright with you, I'd like to hug my second-favorite brother. After Keith, obviously, but who'd just straight-up hug Keith like that, right? Hahaha."

[zeveth]

@c4rdsharp | start !

out from the darkness pocketed between a series of tall shelves that stood behind a long, wooden counter flashed eyes, catlike, when the bell rang at the door.

"can i help you?" the voice was low. she stepped out into the pale light cutting down from the window above, strange, an impression tempting toward inhuman, long-eared, smiling politely, mid-30s, 40s at most. she might have been blind, but for the way she looked this apparent young man up and down.

"well, i didn't expect to see you here. you're one of the gandors, aren't you?"

[c4rdshark]

@c4rdsharp​ / continued.

‘Nervous’ is a good way to put it. Firo actually can’t remember the last time a conversation with Luck had made him nervous. Even in 1936, it was probably worse for Luck than it was for him, what with the content of the conversation and all. He’d thought back then that Luck must have been nervous to say something and had just been glad he’d been someone Luck trusted enough to tell at all, but... It’s really different when you’re the one who’s got something to say, huh?

It’s not even like he thinks Luck would care, which is almost the worst part. Luck probably would just tell Firo he’s happy for him, but then it’d mean his worrying had been for nothing, and that’s honestly a little humiliating too.

“So, uh...” He taps his fingers restlessly, avoiding eye contact since he knows it’s gonna make things worse. “You know how I... Okay, no, that’s a pretty bad place to start. I’ve been thinkin’ about things lately.” He’s not normally the type to stumble this much, but he feels oddly embarrassed about saying something like this. Especially since... Well, it’s probably because it’s Luck that he’s so nervous to begin with. If it were Keith or Berga or even Claire, he might be able to get through this with a straight face.

“I think... I might be into guys too,” he admits, sheepish. “I mean, I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a couple years. And It’s---there’s just some things that made me realize that I’m not just into women, y’know? I just thought I should tell you, that’s all.”

[rhpsdys]

@c4rdsharp  ♪ ♪ ♪  plotted !

the day had started so well. the commute into manhattan had only taken half an hour, the audience at the coraggioso was just the right size, && today was an band show ; filling in on bass, you could hide in the back behind the towering instrument, && generally avoid the attention of the patrons.

when the set ended && the crowd dispersed, you'd lingered onstage, taking your time packing up. typically you leave the bass here, spared the hassle of taking it on the subway, so all that was left was storing it away in the closet && retrieving your violin.

that's when it'd happened. the sound of gunfire followed almost immediately by the appearance of a dozen or so strangers, far outnumbering the people left in the jazz hall — a handful of waitstaff && two of the gandors: berga's wife kalia, who had stuck around to give you a hand, && luck, supervising business upstairs tonight.

you'd acted instinctively, giving little thought to the consequences of your actions as you wrenched the violin from its case && raised it to your shoulder, plucking a single string that sent a soundwave so strong rippling through the room it might as well have been a blast of air, throwing six of the advancing gunmen back && away from yourself && kalia. another slash of your bow raised an invisible wall around the stage.

even when backup arrived from downstairs, there was no mistaking your contribution to the defenses, even going so far as to cast a levitation spell that tossed a few chairs at the fleeing gunmen, tripping them up as they clamored for the door.

&& in short, that's how, once the dust has settled, you find yourself sitting at a table stained with a fresh blood splatter, across from luck gandor.

"..."

you look down at the violin, which is resting on the table between you, then up at him.

"i'm guessing you won't believe me if i tell you i'm just that good a musician?"

[zorkaya-moved]

@c4rdsharp​

Years have passed since Zarina last stepped onto the soil of Yokohama, this port city didn’t change as much as she expected it to change in the last couple of years. How long ago did this maiden in white descended here? Even before the infamous Dragon Head Conflict, even before the previous boss of Port Mafia have gone full insane. What a fun time it was to hear about, the people she stationed here under her own rule have partially died and only some remained alive, still reporting from the inside of Port Mafia and the shadows of Yokohama. 

Under the name of Anna Akhmatova - the hitman and the hunter, a beast of Russia - she would travel the streets of this small yet big city, a paradox in its own way. She loved this city, it always had something fun happening here and she indulged in each story like it was the five star meal presented to her, the one who was chained by the contract between her and the ‘limitation’. As of now, she is dressed in another white dress with a small purse over her shoulder with a golden chain while her hair braided in a thick yet loose braid over her shoulder with a golden leaf crown. She is the embodiment of ethereal beauty, her white dress won’t be tainted by the droplets of blood and dirt - she is the beast of winter, the one who had never let her target escape. This color - this pristine white - was a symbolism of divinity combined with white, the opposite of what Port Mafia wore in colors. 

She was known as the gem collector, as a woman of charms, as blank state that could become whatever one wished for her to become. A maiden of purity, a maiden of temptation, a maiden of destruction. No information about her past, no information about her [truth] and no information about her birthright. Akin to snow, the mystery covered her entire being aside from the spoils of war: the swift disposition of orders, the quick and clean finish, the ability to lead when she was told to do so. Many would think of her as nothing but a tool, so be it. It was better than for fools to be prepared for any of her moves, she had freedom in having the world think she’s a tool in the hands of Russian underworld... and now Port Mafia. The beast in chains gifted to Yokohama in order to catch Dostoevsky, but how safe it was to give the beast to another organization? Only time will tell. 

It seemed that the proof of her [chained] self was enough to send her to another syndicate working with Port Mafia. A smaller family with its own territory. She knew of their struggles, the Gandor family wasn’t that hard to let slip by after all the hardships it went through, especially with such a young capo. A fun story, it was indeed a fun story she wanted to witness with her own eyes. What kind of young man would lead this script? What kind of performance should she give to become a part of this spectacle? After all, tonight she is here to investigate and to learn, to meet and to become acquainted so the future won’t cause troubles in her job... along with her side jobs. 

His face isn’t hard to find. The photo and the description were enough for her golden gaze to find the one who was supposed to act as her ‘supervisor’ ([leash holder, prison guard]). Mori must’ve spoken about how he must not let the silver-haired woman out of his sight until she proves to be a truly trustworthy and valuable tool as she was told to be. Anna (Zarina) waves her hand at the man, approaching right away in a more hurried manner as if she was nervous to be late. 

“Thank you for making your time for me, Mr. Gandor. Anna Akhmatova at your service,” she offers him a polite bow, her smile charming and friendly as she continues. “I believe Boss told you that I am to follow you today for work, yes? I was told to give you one of these.” Without hesitation, she took out a black metallic ring. Her [chain], her [limitation], her [leash]. “I’m sure you will not need it, but this is a security measure created specifically to hold me obedient. Boss holds all others. It works well, you can test it but it only allows two commands a day.” She spoke so calmly, the dehumanization from the Russian underworld seemed to make her accept this so easily to the one who looks at her from the side without knowing the truth of the inside. 

The silver-haired maiden remains soft and mellow, her friendly smile is beautiful and so is her outfit, but how she speaks the words she does.

[empiriical]

@c4rdsharp / starter call.

"i gotta hand it to you, luck gandor," ladd says, getting up from his table && joining the youngest gandor capo at his spot near the door, where he's been casting a sharp-eyed gaze over the room. "this is a good business you've got going here." his toe taps against the floor rhythmically, though it's hard to say if it's to the music, or due to his own hyperactivity. "this place really swings. those're your in-laws up there, right?" he gestures grandly to the stage. "great stuff. say, thanks for the invite, i'm glad i stuck around."

in reality, it was less of an invitation, && more that ladd decided to loiter at the coraggioso following a meeting earlier that afternoon, && no one had thought to suggest he head home instead. now that he's a few drinks in, he's feeling chatty...er than usual.

"do you dance?" the question is asked more as an invitation than out of pure curiosity, && he sticks out his right hand to accompany it. the crowd's thinned enough that there's adequate room to move, && less watchful eyes — not that that means much for ladd, who loves an audience, or luck, who he suspects wouldn't be caught dead dancing in front of his own patrons. nonetheless, the hand remains extended anyway, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

[closedcoffins]

@c4rdsharp / general starter call --- huey laforet ( witcher verse ).

"You did well."

Huey's praise isn't the warm, loving praise of someone who actually feels anything for his students, but nevertheless, it's praise. He doesn't often lie about the accomplishments of others---the best way to reward good behavior is to be entirely fair and honest towards the people who have behaved well.

It's not as if Huey rules entirely through fear. If he did, there wouldn't be people like Chané, whose only fear was not accomplishing nearly enough. There's no threat of harsh punishment for failure, save for the ever-looming idea of being left behind.

Not that he'd leave someone like Luck behind, of course.

Reaching out, he ruffles Luck's hair in a motion that might have been affectionate had it come from someone who was capable of affection.

"Why don't you sit with me and observe your colleagues, now? I'd like to see if you can recognize their mistakes as easily as you recognized your own just now." After all, it'll be more convenient to have someone else do it; Huey isn't as attached to the students' proper witcher training as the witchers themselves are, and only oversees it out of a general necessity. "Since you've behaved so admirably, I'd like you to help me."