#talesfmstarter

[hypochlorism]

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽 / 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

there had been a time in which he had considered quitting tobacco . numbers were stacked up against him : smoking brought a plethora of health risks aza ( or had it been aza's family ? ) had deemed too great and too frightening . but his mother would spend hours scrubbing over the countertops with bleach , breathing in chlorine gas at least twice a week , rubbing it all over the cutlery her family ate with , always buying extra , calling it her best friend ... so aza rolled a cigarette as rain fell over the bastion hotel and he rolled it emptied of remorse . he had tried calling her last year but their home number hadn't worked . had his parents changed it ? had they moved ? had the chemicals finally destroyed mum and dad's breathing systems ? aza placed the cigarette between his lips .

the tobacco hadn't gotten him . not yet , at least .

just when he had finally managed to get his lighter out , aza realised he wasn't alone . someone else lurked in the hotel's designated smoking area ( employees only ! ) . hiding themselves from the february showers , no doubt . when aza spoke , his words came veiled with smoke .

" should you be back here ? "

[paraextant]

STATUS: Open (1/5) LOCATION: The Bastion @ Ballroom Gala

A sense of tentative civilization garlands the gala. The narrowed, drifting sweep of his sight intuitively acquaints and dismisses the meticulously considered fixtures and tinsels of this event; like the sensibly curated menu – no overbearing cygnets carved out of ice stiffly bowing their necks or cuts of Chianina arranged into tender terraces to be seen – white table cloths figurative and literal straightened over to obscure obscene associations like 'swan-song' or 'slaughter'. It wouldn't do, after a speech about memory and a dictum for the future. He passes by a waiter setting down a wide, shallow crystal bowl of Fine de Claire oysters arranged in an unfurling whorl on a bed of ice– the slender morsels sure to pragmatize appetites, and still appease with its distinctive flavor. A selection made by an enterprising hospitality always accounting for taste.

Appropriate. Kristian supposes, with a twitch of his lip, as he walks on, the flute of champagne pinched between his fingers (barely sipped, flat by now). He isn't persuaded– doesn't care to be, beyond the tenuously mutual deference constituting the hotel's architecture. A murder in a room elusively renders the interior, after all (despite industrial cleaners and a recarpeting). The way an abattoir can never be truly clean, only sterile. As he languidly weaves his way to the balcony, he catches snatches of conversation – static and innocuous jaw-talk – the low string-hum of the live band's double bass unintentionally conspiring to intone what can't be said in a chesty refrain. Condolences elude him. He's decided he doesn't want to talk to anyone.

Loosed from the mutely shimmering cavalcade of the crowd, he sets the champagne flute on an abandoned drink trolley parked by the balcony door. He stands behind the balustrades, hands in his pockets, London's landscape unfurling in smears, conversation and music coalescing into nonsensical murmurs vibrating against his back. The feeling of plateau's consolation a lukewarm and unsmiling voice in his head: someone's dead and you're not. He should smoke now, he supposes. Fishing out a crumpled pack of Dunhills, he slots a cigarette in the corner of his lips, stalled, when someone else joins him by the balcony. He blinks, and it's a thoughtless formality when he offers the pack to the other person. "Smoke?" singular, 'want to' discounted from the invitation, a slight hike of his lips into a smile. Amiable in just the way everything here is supposed to be: sensibly so.

[crmincls]

open starter // the bastion hotel bar

" it's so cute when people think i'm not old enough to be here. " chelsea grew up being told she was just a child, but she earned the right to enter the bastion and use its services long ago. her coin was just as good as any, and the blonde enjoyed the reactions she gained from it. " tell me, what's the best story you have of someone assuming you weren't allowed to be in a space, or at least, shouldn't be. "

[crmincls]

open starter // @ the bastion

" huh ? " bel's initial response was probably not the best, but she'd had a busy as hell day ( which should worry her, but she remained unfazed ) and was stuffing her mouth as quickly as she could. " sorry, the food was too good for my ears to be functioning. " this was the first chance she'd had to eat all day, and bel had taken full advantage of sneaking out for some street food and eating on the floor of one of the hallways.

[ultraviolcnces]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 !

LOCATION ⸻ a café at covent garden.

capping at four: 0 / 4.

immersed in the bustling atmosphere of one of the city’s liveliest hubs, veronica enjoyed spending the minuscule time she had off the clock perusing the various boutiques and little stores that lined the streets. she’d spent a solid hour browsing before she found herself with a hankering for a cup of tea and with no choice but to give into her craving, she made her way to her usual haunt — she’d been unusually exhausted in recent weeks and any chance to give her legs a rest was greatly appreciated.

after what felt like a mission to find any empty table, the redhead finally found herself a spot. the establishment was teeming with patrons, and one woman in particular across the room from her was loudly berating a waitress for something that was no fault of the staff’s. such a sight provoked her to grimace, turning towards a person at the table closest to her. “do you think people like that are simply incapable of embarrassment? it’s hard to watch.”

[crmincls]

open starter @ his nightclub ( lux )

" now, this is not the bastion, but house rules are still in effect. cause mischief, and you shall be escorted out. " lux was mostly sapphire devil territory, but the occasional other would wander in and lucien had the same conversation with each new face. he wouldn't have a mess to clean up in his bar, the cleaners had enough of his coin in other affairs.