#parieur

[venimiss]

@parieur ≻ “   can i help you?  ”

𝒔𝒉𝒆   𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔   𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆   —    and   only   once.   that   'deer   in   headlights'   look   coming   and   going   with   it   as   she   quickly   remembers   her   cover.   caught   staring   like   you're   fucking   green.   he   certainly   wasn't.   a   sleek   look   that   all   but   screamed   attention   to   detail,   and   an   eye   catching   (   no   pun   intended   )   injury   on   display.   there   were   many   types   of   people   in   this   world   but,   the   most   common,   the   ones   she   knew,   would   have   thrown   that   eye   under   a   patch,   thinking   it   made   them   look   dashing   or   dangerous.   it   was   usually   a   matter   of   pride.   but,   to   noémie,   a   patch   screamed   weakness,   a   dragon's   loose   scale. pitiful.   but   here   he   was   with   his   eye   on   full   display.   the   emphasis   isn't   on   the   fact   that   he   survived,   its   that   whoever   did   that   to   him   didn't.   cocky   bastard.   she   liked   that.   

her   red   lips   pull   into   a   smile.   show   time.   she   puts   on   an   accent,   one   slightly   stronger   than   her   natural.   her   tone   apologetic   (   she   wasn't   ).   ❛   𝑢𝘩...   𝑢𝘩,   𝑖   𝑎𝑚   𝑠𝑜   𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦.ᐣ   ❜   she   made   it   sound   more   like   a   question   than   an   actual   statement.   a   poor   silly   french   woman   questioning   the   correct   usage   of   her   english.   however,   her   attempt   to   appear   unassuming   soon   crumbles   when   a   clerk   arrives   with   the   briefcase   she's   owed.   well,   shit.   she   takes   the   case,   flashing   another   (   slightly   more   annoyed   )   smile.   ❛   𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑖.   ❜   the   case   is   turned   away   from   the   well   dressed   man,   opened   to   be   sure   everything   she's   owed   is   present   before   shut   and   locked   once   more.   her   expression   is   pleased.   haughty,   even.   ❛   𝑏𝑢𝑦   𝑦𝑜𝑢   𝑎   𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘.ᐣ   ❜

[arkehtype]

— [ the haunting of hill house ] , @parieur : > I'VE GOT YOUR BACK, BUT I ALSO HAVE MY LIMITS.

the words come with claw marks— RAW & BLOODY, and the taste of copper is acrid on her tongue. madeline sits across the desk from him. arms folded, unblinking. nothing but fifty some odd inches of wood between them. she hears what he's saying but she's not really listening. the urge to sharpen her teeth with glass and bite back threatens to crawl up her throat. around every corner of her memory, there was marcel. even if she doesn't want to admit it, hell, even if she won't ... (some truths are only meant to be held in palms with dripping crescent moons and nails with skin under them) ... IT STINGS.

'so it would seem our shadows have reached a precipice.' madeline muses instead. mulls each syllable in her mouth like she's waiting for his stance to change. as if somehow, if she takes longer to voice her opinion, the silence will eat her dismay and serve it back to him on a plate worthy of second guessing. IT'S A TACTIC SHE USES OFTEN, just not on him. desperate times call for desperate measures. her nail finds a home between her teeth. is it a nervous habit or is it a way to protect her own vulnerability? 'i'll admit,' one leg unravels from the other, flat - flooted on the ground now, and maddie leans forward with her elbows on either arm of the chair : 'i didn't factor your limits into my schedule so i'm going to need you to be a little loosey goosey with those today. you think you haven't surpassed any of my limits? well, allow me to inform you that YOU HAVE - ASTRONOMICALLY SO. so save me the you've-gone-too-far-this-time-madeline speech, marcel.'

[corpatrem-archive]

He doesn’t ever find it necessary to say much. But with @parieur, it usually is much the same. A quiet contentment between two men whose histories intertwine with a certain comraderie you find when it comes to chess. At least for the two of them. Vasily leans forward, and one can almost see just the merest shadow of a smile.

“You fly me out to the other side of the world just so I can beat you in a game of chess, old friend?” He’s not one to gloat, and he’s not gloating now. But the pressure of high-stakes this chess game is not—- more of a reunion of a sorts.

[killerdame]

ON A MOON - SILVER SEA OFF THE COAST OF AN UNNAMED ISLE, A WOMAN BOARDS A BOAT NAMED ÉTOILE. THE MUSIC BEGINS , @parieur

THE NAME DOVE MORENO IS MARKED CLEARLY ON THE GUESTLIST, a bullet on the page if not in the barrel. she understands it as the accomplishment it is, moving from plus one to invited company, even if her employers are more dubious, reluctant to let her return without the aid of a chaperone. but an additional body is a thing that desire, the most illogical of all math, would find detrimental: zero is more promising than one. the less space between two people, the better. dove is a mathematician in that sense: a well - dressed expert in the infinite possibilities of zero. it's how her mouth manages to overlaps with the edge of le chiffre's by a mere fraction when they lean into greeting, how her hand finds the exact center point of his heart on instinct, why she is able to pull back to look at him without ever seeming to pull away.

everyone has an angle. she has many.

"it's been a lovely evening ⸺ but really, you shouldn't have gotten me anything." at the first display of confusion dove looks away, over to the great moon that sits atop the sea, round and promising as a cloche covered with a white cloth: so close it looks as though you could reach out and touch it. so big it seems to hold something within. "as far as i know, that's the greatest spotlight on earth." she turns slowly under his gaze to rest against the railing, an arc of silver in a pale silk dress. the slit in her gown is long, but the length of her exposed leg proves longer. in the light of the moon, or perhaps against the sea air, his wounded eye seems almost pearlescent; not for the first time, dove finds herself compelled by it — wondering if he can see through it, or her. "you must've had some time getting it down here."

[wellfell]

 it's a luxurious cafe in the middle of a mall that akina wouldn't even dream about coming to , after she lost every single penny to her father's name anyway — his demise gifted her her freedom , could she really ask for anything else ? the cafe serves her tiramisu in a black plate , the waiter wants to say something but she waves him off and takes a sip from her milkshake . ❛ alright alright . another question . ❜  one long finger points at them , waves between them gently before she takes her fork ; they seem so done with her , fidgeting , looking up in worry when she talks a bit loudly . cuties . ❛ have you two fucked at some point too ? ❜

  * @flmed / @parieur ; ily guys . (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

[thefixeraa]

... starter call , @parieur : accepting .

a cool demeanor , a nonchalant air ... chaos thrived in these tense moments , and yet it doesn't seem to bother her at all . the fixer felt more at home here among the stress and uncertainty . she was always used to the way change comes with time ( as opposed to the other party , who can't deal with the slightest inconvenience . ) whether it put her in a good or bad position , it was mia's ability to stay on her feet at all times and always , BE ONE STEP AHEAD OF EVERYONE ELSE . it figures a man so rigid and by the books , could not afford for anything to go ass up . everything needed to be perfect , even if it wasn't . mia's duffle bad sildes off her shoulder , and in it goes into the trunk with an audible thump . head bobs along with his words ( she sniffs the air and all she could smell was the coming storm . BLOOD WAS SURE TO BE SPILLED . )

mia goes to shove her duffle bag further into the trunk of the car . when the gps was put into her view , " no roads and armed men , in the ass end of where ever the fuck we are ? " her head nods off to the side and then chuckles , " sounds like a fuckin' party . " her body straightens and leans against the car , the seriousness that pertains to this job is quite evident in marcel's voice . " can't forget the reason why you dragged my ass outta bed , just to cover yours . " naturally the little jab is said with humorous intent , becuase it can't always just be serious . which will be expertly protected while she was there , so he needn't worry too much about it . plus ... SHE'S HERE TO LIGHTEN THE LOAD . " is there any particular group of people i have to worry about more ? "

[thefixergone]

                      ...     cue  the  curl  of  her  lips  as  she  reads  the  text .

    ⁽  ² : ³³ ᴬᴹ  -  ᴹᴬᴿᶜᴱᴸ  ⁾   ⇾   yeah,   most  of  my  friends  look  like  a  “ shadok . ”   but  aw !   look  at  you  advancing  to  the  next  level  of  our  relationship  so  calmly   ...   and  i  mean  that  sarcastically .

   ⁽  ² : ³³ ᴬᴹ  -  ᴹᴬᴿᶜᴱᴸ  ⁾   ⇾   you  know  i  can’t  come  back  now ,   i’m  in  the  middle  of  doing  a  job .   i’ll  be  home  in  two  days ,   no  more ,   no  less .

           in  chara ,   inbox  message  from  @parieur​ :     [ text 08:39 am : mia ]   a  friend  of  yours  is  here.   pink  hair,  from  gotham.   i  feel  like  i’m  talking  to  a  live  version  of  a  shadok,   and  i  mean  it  in  the  worst  way.   i  need  you  back  asap.   she  said  she  wants  a  favor.  ​

[spectresdaughter-arch]

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊. Delicately, Madeleine holds the briefcase, looking very indifferent to the entire affair before her. But she eyes Le Chiffre, willing him to look in her direction. While her skillset revolves around numbers and book keeping, Madeleine Swann also has an extremely sensitive gut. As in, she’s learned to trust her instincts.

Shifting slightly, angling her head to pass within earshot of Le Chiffre, she whispers, “Something isn’t right. Be on the look out.” What’s supposed to be a simple trade off is taking too long. And though she may be imagining it, Madeleine swears that the ground is vibrating. Is back up coming?

@parieur​ gets a starter !