THE LAST KIND OF person nasrin aslan is known to be is outwardly happy -- carefree. like the giddy teenage girl she had never realized she could be. even if herself and her cousin hold more power in their hands than most could only dream of, miray is the only person that truly leaves the room for nasrin to feel like she could exist without judgement. while miray did not absolve her cousin of her past mistakes -- she gave her the chance to be something, which nasrin was certainly smart enough to take. now, they were closer than ever, a possibility the young woman had once believed to never truly be possible. they were already attached at the hip. on this particular evening, nasrin has popped a fresh bottle of red, two glasses not far away from her on the countertop. once the are full, she gracefully picks them up before gracefully reentering the living room and handing one off to miray. " now that mina has gone to bed... " nasrin leans back, eyebrows raising with a sly smirk -- her visage glistening in curiosity. " don't think i haven't noticed you attending those parties with a certain dashing hitman. " there comes that girlish giggle before she takes a sip of her wine. " was it... three last time i checked? "
LOCATION: the alibi, outside the front door.
FOR: rafe liu
NOW THAT THE CRIMSONS were aligned with both the serpents and the syndicate -- there were certain assets available to her that perhaps might not have been before. she certainly wasn't going to miss the chance to use syndicate technology in her weapondry. she had met to discuss with a member, well aware that they had a partner waiting just outside the door. it was smart to come with backup. even if they were allies -- brooklyn was new territory. nasrin, however, is perfectly fine on her own. just as she always has been. most people know better than to try and touch her, not just because she can damn well fend for herself -- but she's miray's flesh and blood. " well, i suppose that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. " nasrin murmurs to the individual she had met with, eyes still sharp and pointed, her tone sounding borderline sarcastic. it didn't intend to, of course. as they breach the front door, nasrin's eyes analyze the people outside. strangers. allies... and rafe? frankly, she hadn't expected to see him again so soon. nor for her meeting partner to say a quick word to him before walking away -- likely off towards the subway.
" rafe. " she greats him quickly, hands buried within the pockets of her coat as her eyes meet his. he looks different in the light, as most people do, but the rugged nature he bore in the club didn't quite seem to leave him. " make any bartenders piss themselves without me? " the question hangs in the air, accompanied by the elephant in the room. he was syndicate. and, if he put the pieces together -- he'd realize she was of crimson blood.
(OZGE YAGIZ, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER) Oh, is that NASRIN ASLAN? I heard the TWENTY-EIGHT year old is SELF-ASSURED. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also SHORT-TEMPERED. Makes sense seeing how they are a WEAPONS MANUFACTURER in the CRIMSONS gang.
you were born into money, but not the kind that brought love along with it. your mother was regimented, while your father had no spine. his neglect almost felt worse, considering the amount of time you reached out a hand for help and he couldn't be bothered to take it. thus, you find yourself becoming regimented -- but only within the confines of your childhood home. thus, you find yourself learning how to control your emotions. programmed to have an on and off switch. is it a gift? you tell yourself it is. it's how you'll survive her.
even if you get everything you ask for, there's always one thing missing. and the worst part is, it's not material.
you are close with your cousins, miray and mina, and they are your safe haven. it is with them how you learn who you truly are. what it is to be loved, and what it is to experience true family. thus, especially in your teens, you rarely spend time at the place you're supposed to call home. do your parents care? if they do, they certainly don't show it. for people in positions of such prominence, you wonder how they're found barable. or maybe, they just hate you so much that you're the exception.
april 2010
you turn eighteen. freedom.
as you've grown into a young adult, it's clear that you did not inherit your mother and father's innate selfishness, and that you have grown out of your enviornment. it's not out of rebellion, not out of simple stability, but you have your heart set on it.
you join the military. the army, more specifically.
it's here you find some semblance of the stereotypical comradere, even if it certainly comes with the misogyny. frankly, you've always lived by the phrase that the trash will take itself out. you prove yourself to be an exemplary shot — the top of your class. thus, sniper training begins. and the rest is history. you’re stationed in iraq for your first tour, and you grab as many stations as you can after that. your early twenties are a blur -- constantly training to be better than before. not just better, but perfect.
you won't take anything less than perfect.
2018
[ REDACTED ]
when you return to new york, you're far from sure what your life has become. you are made of stone, broken fragments of it. but, not only are you strong -- you're determined. you may not be able to put the pieces back together, but you'll put the shards of your former self back together to create something even more beautiful than before. your cousin mina's loss a few years back left you not only shattered, but silent. cold. but -- when you finally allow yourself to reconnect with miray, you feel a shift in the universe.
perhaps, you can't help but wonder, if the rest of the city does too.
the aslan women, back together, fully aware of their power.
present day
you have become not only one of the youngest individuals in your industry, but, perhaps, the most powerful. and you certainly didn't do it by being nice either. you are lethal, even by just sitting there -- crossed legs coated in sheer tights. every man's fantasy, as well as their worst nightmare. your standards are higher than the fabric of the universe, impossible to break.
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.
as expected, a lover of the color red. her outfits are often comprised of red and black accents, adorned with silver jewelry.
masqurades as a socialite when she isn't working on her wepondry. but, in a pinch, she can lie and say she's an engineer.
commitment? don't know her. it's not without trying though. just doesn't like another person enough to consider a committed relationship. marriage? currently, her personal nightmare.
besides her weapon crafting -- she does offer her services as a sniper to the crimsons. it's certainly, useful, considering she doesn't miss.
LOCATION: outside of a neutral dive bar.
FOR: dylan frost.
WHILE NASRIN OFTEN FOUND herself in attendence at bars with red velvet plush seats with the smell of expensive cigar smoke woven into the fabric, there were times when even she needed a change of scenery. a place where no one knew her, where no one would expect anything from her. as much as she loved the crimsons -- there were times where she wanted to talk about other things besides her latest innovation in weapondry. instead, there were times when she needed to simply have a drink. however, what she doesn't expect is to see a certain ghost rider on the opposite end of the bar. what is it with her and her history with ghost riders? running her fingers through her hair, she continues to enjoy her drink before eventually finishing it off, hoping she's continued to avoid his gaze. she could say she just didn't see them. that is, until she realized because she was trying not to make eye contact, he's managed to slip out. " well, well. " she hums, crossing her arms over her chest in order to keep her coat closed. " for such a big city -- you really can't go anywhere without seeing someone you know. "
ONE THING ABOUT THE crimson's partnership with the serpents that she quite enjoyed? the ammenities that she could frequent on a regular basis. a night out was something she would never turn down -- but she was certainly slightly off kilter. she had known that things were certainly far from perfect in her cousin's marrige, but she hadn't known he died at her hands. no matter what though, she would have helped miray hide the body anyway. and then there was lorenzo's dirty laundry that had been aired out for everyone to see. the crimsons, however, were still stronger than ever. that she was sure of. it wasn't like the crimsons weren't in the buisness of killing anyway. perhaps she's not suprised when she looks across the way, cigarette between her lips as her eyes fall on rafe. why does she see him everywhere, even when he's not even present? perhaps the fact that there were several drinks within her weren't helping her hightened emotions. adjusting the black ( faux ) fur jacket over her shoulder, a small smirk blossoms across her face as she revealed the dress underneath. a crimson red slip dress. it keeps coming up — even in the rose he’d sent her. " so.. " she hums, exhaling her latest drag into the air. " red dresses, hm? "
HAD SHE BEEN AVOIDING him? maybe. frankly, she found rafe egotistical. sitting atop whatever high horse his life had offered him. or, perhaps, he was simply just born that way. yet, she had felt some kind of switch in her that night at babylon. the way his eyes had traced over every virtibre of her body, in that godforsaken red dress. when she's seen him, however, she's cordial. considering her profession -- it's a gaurentee that she'll see him. but, it wasn't just him that caused her such aggrivating emotions. it takes two to tango, doesn't it? he hadn't been the only one admiring that night. and that, she simply couldn't have that. some may say that her standards are self-protection. perhaps, maybe they are. but, she's far too proud for that thought to even leave her subconcious. therefore, she clings to her soda cup just a little tighter when the capo is suddenly at her side, while she's on line for the heart toss. had he been waiting until charlie left her to head to the photobooth? she couldn't quite tell. " never took you for the carnival game type. " nasrin mutters, eyes not leaving the games for a moment. however, her gaze soon does turn to him. " but then again, seems like you're full of suprises. "
LOCATION: outskirts of the face painting booth.
FOR: charlie harris.
FIRST CHARLIE HAD TO work at the photobooth and then? nasrin was beckoned to the face-painting table. duty calls, of course. however, once all that was over -- they could finally do what they came here for: enjoy the carnival together. just as she had said to miray, nasrin had no intention of coming to something like this with someone she didn't like. it certainly didn't hurt either that he was easy on the eyes, looking particularly handsome this evening. a playful smile blossoms as she's finally able to do away with her apron, her red leather trench able to return to her shoulders -- but she doesn't bind it shut, not yet. she wants him to take it all in. to know that this dress looked like it was made for her. " there you are. " she hums, hand coming to rest along his upper arm. " now that work is done.... i suppose it's time you win me a stuffed animal or whatever it is people do at these things. "
LOCATION: the face-painting booth.
FOR: silver klahankaen.
NASRIN MAY HAVE NOT known the woman well -- well, they had never spoken. however, nasrin has taken great lengths to know everyone in their circle: friend or enemy. silver was a ghost rider. that much she knew. a low-level member. therefore, she finds herself believing that she could make it through the working portion of the evening without having to engage in a fight. she'll be cordial, the graceful woman most know her as. minus her usual bite. at least the tent has some kind of heating system -- something she didn't expect. nasrin takes an apron to avoid getting paint on her dress: before turning to the woman in her company. " silver, is it? " nasrin asks, adjusting in her seat as she begins to examine the area. where the paints are, the brushes, the like. " i hope you're a halfway decent artist, for i sure am not. "
