NO REST FOR THE WICKED

there is nothing poetic about clawing at your chest, trying to empty yourself of these poisonous words, coming up with nothing in your palms but blood. Raven Mirsky. 25. The Scarlet Angels' consigliere. Telepath.

[telepcth]

raven mirsky + social media

ft. instagram.

[telepcth]

SUPERNOVA​.

TIME: July 21st 2020, 3:45 PM LOCATION: Red Dart STATUS: Closed, @telepcth​

Sometimes, Adelaide felt bad about taking a break from her weapon design — she loved doing it and she knew updated weapons would help everyone — but even her big brain needed five minutes to breathe. So, she headed to the place where she could both relax and clear her mind, all the while still allowing her brain to think of weaponry that could be brought to life — Red Dart. And she could train at the same time. As far as she was concerned, it was a good choice. 

Adelaide felt good about it, up until she saw Raven standing there. Aiming. Her stance was off, for one. She didn’t mind the other’s presence but her heart did seem to beat faster when the other was around. And that was uncomfortable. A little. The Angel put on some protection gear and made her way towards Raven, just to give her a quick tip before heading towards her own place. 

“Your stance is wrong. Your feet are too close together,” she spoke through the gun noises around them.

.

Even with the constant whirring of bullets around her, the second she steps inside this unpleasant place and enters her range of hearing, the will to train loses all hold on Raven. Her movements come to a halt, though her fingers retain their grasp on the gun in her hand --- even when she lets it fall back to her side. For a moment, she does nothing except listen; she analyzes Adelaide’s intended path in order to figure out why she is there. When the realization hits her ( “She’s coming your way!” ), the dark-haired girl, before she can stop it, draws in a breath of excitement. How on earth does their caporegime elicit such a reaction out of her with a mere presence? It shouldn’t happen, shouldn’t be possible; but it is, so here they are.

“How would you have me fix it then?” Raven inquires as she turns around to face the other woman. She peers down at her feet, brows furrowing in a flash of concentration before her gaze lifts up again to meet that of Adelaide’s. “You weren’t here to see it, but I tried your solution already,” she continues, “and the quality of the result was equally substandard as it was now.” And in about 15 of her previous 15 attempts, but there is no need to disclose that information to her just yet.

Before Adelaide can make her next move in their never-ending battle of wits, Raven steps back. One hand holds out the gun for Adelaide to take; the other gestures toward her previous shooting spot. “So, care to teach me?” A simple question, yet she cannot ignore the way her heart beats just a little faster, just a little more incessantly, at the prospect of the other saying ‘yes’.

[lhzthepoet]

War ate a girl and spat out a woman.

Excerpt from Myth Untold // L.H.Z (via lhzthepoet)

[telepcth]

BELLADONNA​.

.

Looking into the mirror Tanya found herself surrounded by her own visions. Applying her eyeliner had been incredibly difficult at first; not because of the application itself, but rather the visions distracting her from the actual goal of painting her face. Over the course of two decades she’d managed to work with what she had – not to perfection, but definitely to a point in which she could comfortably instill fear into others through the means of everything she had to offer. Spritzing a bit of perfume against her neck Tanya looked at herself in the mirror. No, she wasn’t done yet. She decided to paint her lips in a matte wine red lipstick before actually heading out into the night. Unusually cold today, even for Rosnovy standards. It forced her to pull her coat more tightly around her chest before getting into her car and advising her chauffeur where to drive to. Raven Misky has been spotted at the cemetery - Tanya wouldn’t waste another minute. Checking her gun in the back of the car she pulled the magazine out, checked the bullets and inserted everything properly in no time. She heard the click from the gun and saw the shoulders of the driver jump up ever so slightly. Locking eyes with him in the mirror Tanya did nothing but smirk. 

After exiting her car Tanya began to stroll closer towards the cemetery after commanding her driver to stay back, unseen, unheard. All these gravestones she passed had a story to tell, but she tried to forget her surroundings, for the most part at least. The last time she’d been here she’d mourned her father, yet again, around a month ago. He was resting in a small grave far from all the others with barely any flowers adorning his marble tombstone. A price they had to pay for living in Vetrova city, at least for now. While her father had died before she was born Tanya still felt close to the man she never knew – a connection to the dead, a familiarity that shouldn’t exist. “So you’ve chosen a graveyard. Poetic. You couldn’t have made it any easier for me, darling.” Tanya approached Raven with a cocky smirk, which she dropped as soon as she turned around to face her. “Are you visiting someone?” cocking an eyebrow up Tanya simply watched the Angel from a few meters away, unbothered. The fact that they both lost someone wasn’t something Tanya would mention or even allow herself to think. Not now. Illusions began to form in the darkness, illuminating parts of the cemetery with creatures straight out of a nightmare, crawling, moaning in agony. “If I knew them personally I could’ve personalized my illusions, oh well.” Pointing her gun towards Raven the Orlova heiress tilted her head, smirked and chuckled. “I know, I know. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” she mocked. 

.

Pity is not an emotion the Angels are allowed to feel for the Reapers, for it would lower their own guards and provide the enemy with a convenient opportunity to strike. As Raven watches and listens to the sound of the woman approaching, a flash of it burrows itself into the back corner of her mind anyway. When they are face to face, her eyes regarding Tanya impassively, it comes to her that, beneath it all, they are not that different. Sure, on the surface they are like the sun and the moon, their differences fundamental. But, underneath all the violence and death they both exude, they are both young girls. Children born with crimson-stained destinies; another generation forced to partake in this senseless war. So no, the Angels should not pity the Reapers. But when she lets out a slight hum, she pities the girls they both could have been.

“Graveyards hold an abundance of symbolism within them.” Most of it far too gory and ugly for her personal tastes, but there is no need to disclose such information to the caporegime before her. At the question, her left eyebrow raises. Surely the Reaper didn’t expect her to answer truthfully? She may not enjoy this life, but if there is one thing she is not, it is stupid. “No one worthy enough to warrant your attention.” Raven speaks, her voice surprisingly calm considering the fast pace of beating practiced by the organ inside her ribcage. “As far as I know, they didn’t make a habit out of associating with your people.” The thought of that curves one corner of her lips upward into a ghost of a crooked smile. Her father, a Mirsky by blood and an Angel loyalist to his bitter end, getting chummy with a Reaper? Yeah right.

Her mouth becomes a tight line, all emotion vanishing once again from her face, as the noises and sounds of the movements reach her ears. She draws in a breath before her gaze flick to the monstrous creatures inching closer and closer. Their scent is repulsive; their appearance hideous; their aura ghastly. These grotesque creations would, without a doubt, inspire fear even in the toughest men --- but funnily enough, they bring forth nothing except appreciation for Tanya’s skill with illusions inside Raven. She watches them in silence, even the Orlova heiress speaks again and lets her know through her thoughts that she is being held at a gunpoint. “Very realistic,” She notes before she turns to face the Orlova again, “but you said it yourself. Too generic to be effective.” Another positive side-effect of having spent all those hours inside the library and Beckh’s. Too many fantasy books consumed for generic monsters to frighten her. Besides, her mind reminds her, is this entire scene not out of a novel? Are Tanya’s speech and actions reminiscent of a typical villain monologue? This is where your expertise lies, she reminds herself. You know this script by heart.

And so she blinks; and when her eyes flash open again, a sense of confidence finds its home inside her bones. She can play this game. “You don’t want to shoot me.” Raven states coolly. Then, before Tanya can ruin her next move, the consigliere’s eyes bore into hers with intensity and single-minded focus that usually evades her character. You don’t want to shoot me, Tanya. You want to unload the gun and throw it away. Would she feel exhausted later? Most likely. Would it be worth it if using her ability saved her life? Most definitely.

[telepcth]

MATA​.

WHO: Masha Vetrova & Raven Mirsky, @telepcth

WHERE: Mirsky residence

WHEN: 15th July, 07.30.

The maid who’d opened the door hadn’t looked surprised to see Masha Vetrova standing there. Perhaps, as Masha had suspected, Raven had hauled herself away here for the last few days. As she stepped in, it dawned on her that she hadn’t been to the Mirsky mansion in years, perhaps not even since a fateful night years ago when she spoke smooth words to a grieving, gifted girl and promised to never lie. Technically she’d maintained that promise, and given much more. Elevated that girl - now young woman - to a position of power many would envy. She’s often wondered if Raven ever really wanted such a gift.

She’s sat on a sofa in the lounge, a china cup of tea in her hand and another placed on the table. The maid had also brought up some breakfast pastries before scuttling away to alert Raven of their guest. It’s all very civil and dainty, if not for the actual identity of the person sat, waiting. It’s rare - incredibly rare - that it’s Masha who has to go out of her way to meet with an angel. Usually she calls and is graced by their presence. It had all made sense after talking to her son, but even so, two days was long enough.“You can’t be unavailable for this long. I’m owed a report.” she calls out, softly, at the sight of footsteps descending the stairs. There’s only kindness in her voice, though it is true that her consigliere should not so easily sip away. After a pause, a sip of tea, she adds another gentle statement, “And you cannot run from histories that you do not like.”

.

Although it is far too early for her tastes & she has never voluntarily allowed visitors to her home before 9am at the earliest, there is no shock present in her eyes as they land on the figure on her couch. If there is someone in Rosvony who has the rightful gall to defy her orders, it is the woman currently inside her home. So, she regards Masha in silence as she speaks. Well, right until her mouth stretches open and a yawn slips past her lips. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional of me.” Her gaze moves to the floor temporarily, just as she covers her mouth again to conceal another approaching yawn. “It won’t happen again.” Raven lifts her eyes, now meeting the gaze of their leader. Regardless of her sleep-deprived state, she does mean it. Even though Francesco had tinged it with their occupation by mentioning Masha’s name, her hurt was personal. She would shove it aside like everything else and do her duty as expected of her.

Silence continues permeating the air as Raven moves forward until she stands before the sofa opposite of Masha. With cautious movements, as if she desires to go unnoticed, she places her makeup next to her intended spot before she turns and sits down. “Do you mind if I—?” She gestures toward the makeup kit; but before the other woman can reply, her fingers grab one of her brushes and generously dip it into her favorite blush. That, perfecting her makeup for the day, becomes her central focus; if only to distract her heart from yet another pang of hurt Masha’s words send coursing through her veins. “Is that what he told you?” No need to elaborate who exactly she’s referring to, for they both know. “I discovered an unpleasant past and ran from it.” The open admission of her thoughts brings her movements to a halt; her brush stopped in the middle of its path and now resting against her cheek. Such an oversimplification of her thoughts and emotions. A version so dumbed down she hadn’t expected it from someone so close to her heart ( but then again, had she seen Francesco’s revelation coming either ? ).

She draws in a breath. “Well,” Raven continues, her lips curving upward into a smile, “it seems we have discovered a game the illustrious Gamemaker can’t play.” The brush hand lowers itself until her chosen shade of pink coats the brush. A twist or two ensures its coat is thorough; and then, she lifts her hand and resumes her previous task of adding some pink to her pale skin. “Who knew?” She chuckles, though the thought she sends Masha betrays the playful image the sound paints. His observations of what transpired are incorrect. A slight pause. Please don’t force me to elaborate.

[tankaramo]

“are you okay” no, next question

[telepcth]

LITHIUM​.

where: outside raven’s bedroom. when: 14th july, 11:03pm. who: theo alexeeva && raven mirsky / @telepcth​.

Theo had never been one for human interactions. They much preferred to spend their time in the laboratory, conducting their experiments – undisturbed by anyone else. Well, except for Raven and Alexei. Raven, because they were their staple. Best friend. Person that they knew they could depend upon all others. And Alexei, because they had come to the other a friend. That and he made for a great helper when it came to complicated experiments. But Theo hadn’t seen Raven in over 24 hours. Well at least they were certain it had been that long, but they weren’t completely sure. But that was unusual for the pair not to spend at least a couple hours together each day as they ensured that their tasks were done. So here Theo was, outside Raven’s bedroom, nibbling their lip lightly as they wondered what had been happening with Theo. Perhaps Raven was sick? Or they were just extremely busy. Nevertheless, Theo knocked upon the door, their head tilted as they awaited for a response. “Raven, are you in here?” They asked, as they shifted from one foot to the other, hoping that the other was okay.

.

The questions, both mental and voiced ones, catch her attention the moment she hears them. Today and yesterday have been unusually quiet; she’d purposefully withdrawn from the center of the Angels’ activities, had instructed the staff that she would need no orders until told otherwise, had told her mother she would spend the next few days in solitude instead of social circles. The loudest sound had been the constant buzzing of her phone ( notifications have reached triple digits now ), but even that has been silent for today. So when she hears the person outside her bedroom door, particularly one whose company she always enjoys, suddenly there’s life in her again.

A hand tosses the book somewhere in her bed; the rest of her body shifts and moves until she stands next to her bed. A buzzing sense of excitement fills her as Raven heads toward the door. Her fingers wrap around the handle with ease and it takes no effort at all when she pulls it open, coming face to face with her best friend ( are they the bestest friend now? ). “Theo!” The girl exclaims. And temporarily, all negative emotions exit her being, and only genuine delight remains. “Did you send me a text you’re coming? Because, I have to confess” ---her eyes flick to her phone on the bedside table--- “I have barely read any texts from anyone.” She drops her gaze to her own socks, embarrassment painting her cheeks with a charming shade of red blush. But it doesn’t last long because, less than a minute later, she lifts her eyes up again, meeting theirs. “I’m truly sorry,” she adds, one hand gently taking Theo’s hand into hers. “It’s been intense and I just--- I needed a little social media / technology break so I could have some me-time.” Her lips curve into an apologetic smile. “Forgive me?”

[telepcth]

when: july 18th 2020, 10:30pm. where: rosvony’s cemetery  who: closed to @divinepoison​

It begins with the faintest of sounds, almost lost under the naturally occurring noise of the outside environment. It is a barely there whisper, though she’s come to know that means absolutely nothing — some people’s minds imitate whispers only because they’re on the edges of her range and their actual voices resemble hurricanes and thunderstorms. There’s no reliable way to tell yet which one this person will be, so she will not react either. Raven pushes the sense of anticipation aside and focuses on why she’d come here. She takes one step forward, her eyes going over the text forever etched into the white granite headstone, before she crouches down before it. Normally you wouldn’t find here; graveyards, with their ceaseless reminders of violence and blood and everything that is wrong with this world, are perhaps her least favorite places. But fatigue had overtaken her mother — and, despite its unpleasant energy, this is perhaps the quietest place she’s been this week.

Well, up until now. The voice is close enough now for her to identify who it is; and she would be damned if the knowledge didn’t send a chill right up her spine. “I was wondering when you would find me.” She admits calmly ( because what’s the next best thing to genuine fearlessness? pretending ). There’s a lump in her throat; she swallows it quickly before a steady hand places a lone red rose on the ground. Oh, how she wishes she wasn’t here alone ( the odds are not in her favor ), but she is. And she must make do with the hand she’s been dealt. “A lot can happen in six days.” Inhale, exhale — and just like that, her mask of indifference settles onto her features. In silence, Raven stands, her automatically brushing away all the wrinkles in her coat. Her eyes steal one last glance of the headstone before she turns around, coming face to face with the Orlova heiress. Bracing herself for whatever is about to happen.

[telepcth]

when: july 15th 2020. where: bechk’s pages who: closed to @gabriel-devillers​

One environment, outside of her family home and the Angel headquarters ( sort of ), she’s grown utterly familiar with is that of Bechk’s Pages. She’s spent hours here in search of additional information she can commit to her memory; in search of another fantasy world she can sink herself into when the reality feels too harsh. There’s no real order to its books, they say, but she likes to think she’s somewhat knowledgeable of the placement of various genres, at least. She knows all the corners, most of its secrets, all of its sounds and smells. Raven knows Bechk’s Pages inside out — which is why she’s quick to notice any changes to its atmosphere.

When the unfamiliar thought source comes within her hearing range, Raven looks up, head turning toward the sound. The person is far more chaotic than Bechk’s usual customers — their wildness standing out like a sore thumb among the rest of them. She closes the book, brows furrowing as she shifts to gain a better hearing of the person’s thoughts and, consequentially, their identity. She doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word; she merely waits in silence as the person walks closer and closer — until he’s close enough that she has no doubts regarding his identity.

“Devillers ?” Her eyebrows raise in tandem with the sudden appearance of genuine surprise in her voice. Out of everyone within their group, he’s one of the few she would’ve never pictured meeting in a place as quiet as this. “What are you doing here?” Raven asks, although a fraction of a second later a feasible explanation crosses her mind. “If it’s Theo you’re looking for, you’re thirty minutes late. They already went back to the mansion.”

[telepcth]

SHADOW​.

GAMEMAKER.

His stare doesn’t lift. Doesn’t move. Not an inch. He almost commits it to memory; how deeply stained red the fibres of cotton were. So red. Did they even stitch him up properly? Or at all? He made a mental note in the back of his head to discuss with Sebastien on the care of Angels, or maybe just one Angel. Still, the color was an uncomfortable reminder. A reminder he hasn’t had to endure since Rozalie’s sudden disappearance — death could touch them all. And he wasn’t okay with that no matter how much he may protest otherwise. Not at this moment. Not with how close it came to claiming one held so dearly not in his heart but in the space at his side. He had never kept Francesco locked ( hidden ) within the confines of that rusty ticker which refused to beat properly. He was always there in plain sight: to his left, to his right, or a half step behind. Just there at his side. None can say the same. None ever will. He can hear the faint, throaty mutterings of ‘ glad ’ and ‘ okay ’, but neither of those words felt remotely true to Ryker. He was anything but okay. He was… computing… or maybe compartmentalizing now as he ogled the red, too red, bandages with quiet fury. 

His temper only enlivened when the apology came. Francesco was apologizing to him. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Ryker half felt the need to swear vengeance, or gift him the head of each Reaper on the finest china while bent at the knee. Yet, he remained upright and afifxed to the doorframe, fuming. Burning with desire to break the world, or break the man in front of him for believing he would care, in this moment, that Francesco has failed him. Was that what their friendship boiled down to even in the gravest situation: a master and his most faithful. He finally wrenches his gaze away then. Unable to keep looking at where his shadow bleeds, where Ryker bleeds. It was his own blood, after all. Ryker bleeds when Francesco does. He doesn’t even begin to refute Francesco’s claim. His breath is saved, or purposely kept, as Raven says what he cannot in this seemingly tense second. She always knew what to say; at least, she always had the privilege to say it without getting overwrought by each word. As he should say, in this moment, that his shadow had indeed failed him in a way. Not by falling into Isaac’s trap. No. The docks served its true purpose — distracting. He had failed in a much simpler way, only in a way he could, by unknowingly laying claim to Ryker’s undivided attention, and his presence when he could, scratch that, should be elsewhere. 

Even in this blood fueled distraction, however, he does witness the looks. The shared connection between the two figures sat, and knitted by flesh, together on the opposite side of the room. In the silence, they communicated while he remained distant, cut off. He doesn’t let the sting of that cross his features. He keeps his words, and his thoughts, at an unadulterated silence until embittered words rise out of Raven. She is all it takes to burst the bubble that is his silence and his rage-filled stare. “Stop it.” His temper flares. “Both of you.” This wasn’t the time to get lost to their internal warfares with one another and argue over trivial thoughts in their heads ( no matter what those thoughts were ) — Francesco had almost died. DIED. He looks to Francesco, at his eyes, and how obedient he looked. Docile even. Again, it stings. It stings to see nothing more than him looking at Ryker like a servant right now when he thought there was something more to who they were. He shoves his hands in his pocket to hide how his fists tighten once more and he shifts closer towards the door. “I didn’t come here to scold you, Francesco. I thought you would know better than that.” He motions towards the door. “But, I can leave if it makes anyone in this thought filled room that uncomfortable so you two can chat out loud rather than act like I am not here.” He didn’t want to leave, but he would. He would deny himself every second and touch he longed to take for himself with Francesco if it released the sudden tension in the air. Ryker really didn’t know his presence would be that much of an issue. His mistake. 

.

His shifts and turns only cause his wound to get worse, not much, but definitely perceptible, further staining the formerly white cloth. He’d bled out at the docks for the most parts, which forced him to call some of his men to the crime scene to  see if they could do something about the evidence, to remove the blood if possible. He had to remain unseen, unknown. A blood test could possibly link him to another blood work sitting in his files back ‘home’. Thinking, always thinking, especially now after Raven left for just a moment – his mind is going through possibly outcomes and how to deal with them. Once the door opens, however, he’s a changed man and he falls back into his bed, exhausted from thinking through too much too quickly. Sebastien did well in sedating him, he’d have to thank them later on. At least he’d not run around Rosnovy now looking for any clues, hearing whispers he didn’t know he could trust anymore. The corner of his lip curled upward for just a split second at the thought of Theresa. Did she have anything to do with the misleading whispers? He wasn’t sure, but it seemed plausible, now more than ever. 

Francesco finally looked towards Ryker as he began to look away. Away from the pain? Away from the blood? Away from his eyes? His head felt heavy, as did his eyelids, but he reminded himself to stay awake. Francesco began to fumble with the little gadget regulating his dosage. Turning it down as much as possible he’d hoped to be more responsive later on – or at least more self-aware of what he was about to say. At the moment nothing would’ve really made it out if it wasn’t for the medication and his lingering fear of losing both of them. His lies had to end at some point. This war began to drastically shift into a bloodbath – Francesco aimed to at least get some things off his chest before– one could never know or even begin to think about one’s fate, so he had to make sure. 

He let out a groan “Fine, then,” he never cared for his mind to be read – or as other people would call it: invaded – but she wasn’t actively trying to read his mind, it just happened to be her powers, so he had to remind himself that this was just another step to opening up. “I’m sorry, Raven,” he apologized, independently from Ryker’s yelling. “I’m just afraid,” he adds truthfully – weird, to say the least. Tensing his jaw, Francesco finally glanced over towards Ryker again. His fury shifted the room’s atmosphere. “Don’t leave, I’m just disappointed in myself. I don’t want to fail any of you guys,” he starts, gulping mid-sentence. Francesco let out another sigh and his finger trembled against the cloth. “I feel like I’ve failed you as a friend first, then as a soldier. I wasn’t being truthful to you back at the Festival. Well, that’s not true. I was just leaving out something. Shocker,” the edges of his lips curl upward into a self-mocking grin. His trembling fingers now reached out for Ryker, hopeful to feel him as soon as possible. “I lied about who I am,” he starts, voice low and weak, “I used to be an agent sent to Rosnovy in order to find out more about all of you. As soon as I met you guys I cut all ties to my previous life, including my surname. I’m not him anymore. Mata knows,” he abruptly adds to cushion the blow. “I care about you guys, even more than I let on. I could never leave you guys,” he’s just rambling at that point with himself grimacing every now and then due to the pain. “I need you, Ryker. I need you. This is just the start of what I’m trying to say when it comes to you.”

.

She’s not so lost in her thoughts she’s grown unaware of the fact that Ryker’s participation in her pain is involuntary. He doesn’t know yet, doesn’t have a full picture of what’s occurring right before his eyes. Therefore, shifting any of the blame onto him is unjust and unwarranted --- but she does it, anyway. Raven’s head whipped around and when she regards him, it is with narrowed eyes and uncharacteristic displeasure. “Stop being so self-centered. Not everything is about you.” She chides. “Besides,” the addition comes after she moves her gaze away from and returns it to the man still lying on the hospital bed. “The damage has been done already.” No amount of leaving the situation would undo what Francesco, even in his sickly state, had inflicted upon her. No amount of admitting that perhaps Ryker is right ( for her wounds are mental only; his are physical and thus could’ve, and still could, claimed him for good ) will erase the sting of hurt coursing through her veins. The damage has been done and all there’s left for her to do is to nurse her soul, her heart, back to their former, unharmed glory.

And so she will, as long as Francesco decides his next course of action. She wraps her arms around her body; and it feels foreign. Never has she felt the need to protect herself like this around her boys, but here she is. Her arms around herself like a protective barrier, ready to deflect whatever comes next. But even as her body has prepared to defend her, her eyes bore into those of Francesco’s in search of an answer. There’s really no way to know with him, is there? Until now, she’s been able to read him properly --- until now, hurt hasn’t blinded her enough to force her to analyze almost solely physical cues instead of his thoughts. Her own heart’s beating is the loudest sound in the room as she follows his attempt to meddle with the medication dosage. So he would say something; and, surely enough, words flow from his lips like a steady stream.

Her arms unfurl themselves, falling back to rest on the edges of the chair. She leans forward and though his apology goes without a response ( there is, after all, still a chance he’ll render it meaningless ), she tilts her head slightly --- a sign that he’s got her attention again. It’s all I’m sorry, I’m afraid, I don’t want to fail you; and the sheer dramatics of it prompt her to roll her eyes. For a man who reigns supreme over the land of secrets, who has mastered the art of subtlety, he for sure is being theatrical right now. Feelings are fickle and dangerous, but to consider himself to have failed as a friend and as a soldier because you developed feelings for best friend? A bit of an overreaction, if you ask her. “Oh come on, Fran,” She rolls her eyes again. “Quit being so dramatic and just---”

But then he tacks on the rest of what he intended to say. He says it and the entire world goes still. He speaks, and she freezes as if under Rozalie’s spell. I used to be an agent sent to Rosnovy. Francesco, her darling Ru, used to be a foreign intelligence agent. All blood drains from her face as the damning truth sinks its claws further into her. “You forwarded information I told you to law enforcement.” Even to her own ears, her words sound hollow. No matter how hard her mind attempts to push aside the heavy weight of his revelation and think rationally ( including the genuine sincerity when he speaks of caring and never leaving ), she can’t. She barely musters enough energy to look up, to meet Francesco’s eyes; but when she does, it’s not his emotions or thoughts she can read or his face she can see. It’s every single thought she told him back in the day, when grief had threatened to devour her and, in the solace of his arms, she had admitted her innermost feelings to him. He, alongside Ryker, had been an integral part of why she had, despite the world’s ugliness, not lost her faith in humanity. She loved him. She had trusted him as much as she could trust anyone.

But here’s the universe once more, laughing at the girl’s misfortune. You should know better now, little girl, it laughs at her. There’s no goodness left in this world.

Everything swells up within her chest like it’s too much, like she can’t bear another second. So, without a word, she stands from her seat abruptly. I have to go. I can’t be here anymore. She scans the room too; though nothing has changed, it feels smaller, almost claustrophobically so. I need to leave.  Her feet take a step, then another, then third; and by the time her fingers curl around the doorknob, she’s almost running. Agitation beneath her skin increases in intensity as she turns the knob and pulls the door open. Leave. Run. Escape. Flight. Go. And she almost does. She’s halfway out the door when her movements come to a halt and she freezes yet again. There’s one more thing which needs to be said before she can seek relief by escaping. “If Masha asks for me tonight,” she starts shakily as she cautiously shifts to look at Ryker. She doesn’t let it wander anywhere or anyone else; the potential emotional consequences of that too frightening for her to bear. “Tell her I’m unavailable.”

Whether he promises to conjure a lie or threatens to tell their leader the truth, she doesn’t stay to listen. She’ll take whatever judgment comes whenever it comes. Right now, she needs to leave this room and this mansion. She needs to run from the horrors she’s endured here tonight.

And she does.

THE END (for raven).

@ofgamesandblades​

[telepcth]

FOX​.

.

Evelina had not experienced enough fortunate experiences in her life to believe that God was a concept that existed. Or perhaps there was a deity, but she had never found fortune or favour with them. “I guess it depends on how one views it.” She agreed, her fingers finally unravelling from the side of the bridge and moving to squeeze together as she wondered how exactly she had come to find herself in this position. One could have argued it had been divine intervention that had allowed her to survive, but she liked to think it was because she was a survivor. One who would live to the end. Or at least die trying. “At least they’ll never live to see the carnage wrought as the aftermath.” She commented, briefly amused at the thought — as she knew that both Masha and Isaac’s continual battle for dominance would result in further casualties, especially with the hatred rising of each side; Reaper and Angel.

What a pity, that she couldn’t care any less. “It’s pleasant to see you again too Raven.” She replied with a fond smirk upon her features, before bending over to pick up the bottle of alcohol that lay upon the Bridge next to her. Did she ever not bring some sort of beverage with her? Probably not. “Well I’m glad we didn’t have that. How about a toast to it?” She replied, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she unscrewed the top of the bottle and offered it to the other girl. To surviving another day in Rosnovy.

“The lucky ones.” She murmurs, partly to the woman beside her & partly to her own disillusioned mind. Under normal circumstances she might have wallowed in the pessimistic thought landscape a little longer, would have given more consideration to its implications, but not right now. She’s in a somewhat extraordinary situation, for she’s in a company of a reaper. More dangerously, as she discovers when her eyes follow Evie’s movements and when a chuckle slips past her lips at the sight of an alcohol bottle ( of course she’d bring a drink here ), she’s in the company of a reaper whose presence she actually enjoys.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.” The knowledge that it is, indeed, a horrifically terrible idea doesn’t escape her; yet Raven smiles anyway. She reaches for the bottle in silence, her fingers wrapping around it with ease & familiarity that surprises her --- she’s hardly a drinker of stuff that Morozova enjoys. The angel lifts the bottle to her lips. “Here’s to defying the odds by not dying.” She announces, her lips parting so she can take the swig. There’s a burn in her throat as the liquid slides down and it’s not entirely pleasant. As a result, the desire to escape such feeling pulls the corners of her lips down in a show of temporary distaste.

“So, what’s your toast going to be about?” She inquires as she hands the bottle to Evelina, wiping the corner of her mouth with her other hand. “Since mine was about survival, maybe,” she goes quiet again as various options present themselves inside her mind. “Maybe yours should be an ode to having lived since, with the way things are going, there’s no guarantee we’ll see tomorrow.” That wasn’t a threat, by the way. And it really was not. After all, living in Rosvony does have a habit of lowering one’s life expectancy. And when you were a member of either gang? The odds sink even lower.

[telepcth]

SHADOW​.

GAMEMAKER.

It’s in his thirtieth cycle of pacing when the door creaks open. He stops. Just stops. His back is faced towards the door, and her, while his muscles remain taut, his hands still balled up at his side. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t say anything as Raven threatens him. A behavior that would force a crack in his exterior and be rewarded with a breathless smile on any other day. Not today. He shakes his head, imperceptible. I can’t — I.. He clams up, tightening impossibly more. Even in this emotive state, far too sensitive for his liking, he registers who it is standing ten feet away from him, before she eats of the space between them that gave him safety from letting people see his sorry state for an underboss. He couldn’t think when she was around. But, could she feel the way his body, his entire body, trembled when her fingers encircled his wrists? He was vibrating with rage and … something else. 

“Raven.” Her name. Guttural from his lips. Lacking all of the former reverence he usually holds when speaking to her. He sighs. His chest heaving as his head dips lower to the point where his chin almost touches his chest. “They need me out here, too.” He admits in an anguished breath, still not turning to face her or the door. He could still run. “If I go in there…” Nothing in this world could convince me to leave. He admits softly, so heartbreakingly soft and full to the brim with despair, in his thoughts for her head alone. He wanted to go in there. He really did. But if he did, the Ryker that came out would be the same Ryker who broke the city for Rozalie. Who was going to break it again today when he saw the panicked state Raven was in when she rejoined their team of four earlier in the Reaper’s hideout. ( how many times can he see those he holds the closest so broken, mangled by this world they chose, before it breaks him beyond repair ). 

He pulls his hand out of hers then as if the touch burned with those words. ‘ He needs you ’. He holds that wrist to his chest with his other hand, just staring at it. At the ghost touch of her. Thinking of the three of them. He needs… to leave. He almost does. He takes a couple of steps further down the hall to bring back that blissful distance, but then he makes an abrupt turn and doesn’t stop ( except to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Raven’s ear with a deep seated frown ) until he is stood in the room, or rather the doorway, looking at Francesco. He finds he can’t say anything. Can’t even open his mouth. He just stares. Stares at his bandaged side, his maimed state, and his lips thin, hands balling back up into those tight fists. He can’t lift his stare from that wound. That source of pain for his shadow. His eyes almost bore into it as they lost their life in favor of magnificent rage — the kind of untamed fury only a Voight could have before they murdered half the city.

.

Francesco blinked slowly towards Raven, his focus always shifting and getting blurry whenever he looked at her for too long. “I don’t want to fail you guys,” he admitted, his head slightly elevated from the bed. As soon as he tried to move, however, he fell back against the comfortable pillow with himself exhaling slowly. Everything just felt more surreal except Raven’s touch. Squeezing her hand Francesco reminded himself of her presence, but also reminded her of his strength. No, he wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t lose his cool – right? “Raven,” a plea, spoken with a slur and himself inhaling sharply through his teeth after feeling his wound yet again. 

He could feel the wound burning underneath the layers of protection whenever he dared to move. Not only that – his surroundings were more of a blur at the moment, he barely recognized any of the formerly familiar walls or utensils laid out next to him. He desperately tried to regain his clear mind by closing his eyes, again and again. No, nothing. The painkillers were slowly wearing off, but a rest of it still lingered in his system – like a disease, a dangerous one to someone like him. His fight or flight reaction kicked in once Raven began to move. Removing his IV suddenly came to mind, to just rip it out of his arm and leave through the window, probably passing out after landing safe on the ground. Clearly he’d rather not deal with emotions right now, especially not while he seemed even less in control of what he was saying and doing. Focus, just focus, damn it. Ryker shouldn’t see him like this – especially not after he’d failed and risked other people’s lives, causing Ivan to get hurt. He probably deserved the gunshot, especially after what happened at the Summer Festival. First Ryker, dancing with Theresa, then his encounter with Evie – being social just wasn’t for him and he had fucked up, bad. 

For a moment his body allowed itself to relax, up until the door swung open again and Ryker entered the room. His eyes immediately focused on Raven, then Ryker – though as soon as his vision cleared and he fully saw Ryker, Francesco lowered his gaze in an act of submission. He’d wanted to say so many thinks, but even his own thoughts were now an absolute mess of contradictions, quotes, recited poems, anything but Ryker or any truth. Again, his body shifted on top of his bed and tried to get up for them, at least sit up. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Francesco murmured, his voice weak, but with a hint of strength coming through with each new syllable. Definitely a reaction to knowing they were okay – the realization gave him strength to carry on. Yet his body sunk down again. He wasn’t able to escape – all of this. Pressing his lips into a thin line he avoided talking and successfully managed to suppress any more signs of weakness – starting with any grunts. He saw me, Ra, I think that’s enough for now. Please, I can’t do this. I’m still in delirium. He couldn’t escape his thoughts, so they began to flood back, pushed aside all quotes or passages within previously read books. His analytical thoughts vanished and all that remained was his emotions. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.” He can never know, Ra. His thoughts were running wild with ideas now after looking upward again, towards Ryker. I can’t control myself right now – ask him to negate your powers, please. @telepcth​

.

It’s not like he’s wrong; the rest of them do need him. They have suffered losses and wounds today, though thankfully of non-lethal kind, and now the angels are looking up to their two leaders for guidance. For certainty that it would be alright. For promises that their injured comrades would be avenged. For orders that the snow ought to be stained crimson with Reaper blood. Ryker is more than capable of delivering those things ( at least the latter two ), so the angels do need him. But, as Francesco’s thoughts continue ringing in the back of her mind, her own resolve strengthens. The angels might need him, but their importance pales in comparison to the man in the room behind them. That’s how it is in her mind, at least, despite her supposed undying loyalty to the Angels. And, as she follows Ryker’s movements when he attempts to leave and discovers he can’t, he seems to at least partially share the dangerous sentiment. There’s no emotional reaction when he strides past her; but when her back is turned on them, she lets out an imperceptible sigh of relief. It’s a minor victory, but in the current situation, she’ll take it.

Her return to the room is silent; her steps lack all the grandeur she usually exudes when it’s just the three of them. The spotlight of this moment isn’t, shouldn’t be, on her at all, so Raven steps past Ryker without words, without seeking attention. Only her fingers brush against his arm, but even that touch is over in a blink of an eye as she makes her way to the other side of the room where the other available chair in the room is. “Just lie down, Ru,” she sighs exasperatedly as she sits down, “You can communicate without you being in an upright position.” Would her command go unheard? Most likely because hey, when can she ever go a day without one of them turning another one of her hairs grey? Probably never. A slight shake of her head follows before she settles back into the routine she’d intended --- gaze lingering on one of them before moving on to another and so forth; her mind keenly listening their thoughts. You can do this, Ru. A soft reminder, accompanied by the tiniest of encouraging smiles. It’s just us. You can do this. I know you’re strong enough. Think of it as a physical exercise. Of course, emotional exercises are more strenuous than physical ones for men like Francesco, she knows this, but the corners of her lips curl upward anyway at her playful quip.

But all good things come to an end in their world; and so does her fleeting sense of joy amidst today’s ugliness. “You haven’t made a mistake.” Raven responds, narrow eyed, brows knitted together in confusion. “What are you talking about?” It’s not frequently she’s rendered clueless, but right now that’s exactly what she is. Her lips part again, for there is another question she wants to ask, but then he answers. He answers and it feels like a punch to her gut. An unexpected strike that leaves her reeling mentally as the realization hits her. You don’t trust me to keep your secret from him. She doesn’t stand up, but suddenly she sits more upright, her posture stiff and straight as an arrow. “Do it yourself, Francesco.” She speaks coolly. “Do it so you can acknowledge it was your active choice and done against my will.” Even when the words leave her mouth, a part of her knows she’s being unfair --- he’s the one who’s hurt and compromised. And really, it’s not like unconditional trust has ever been part of the deal. But neither has striking each other where it hurts the most --- and he’s done precisely that.

@ofgamesandblades​

[telepcth]

SHADOW​.

GAMEMAKER.

.

He was just one word: fuck. He was a girl screaming into their pillow at three in the morning. He is a chess player losing their queen. He is… inconsolable and angry. His back is bent, chest heavy, as his hands tighten and his forefinger rubs aggressively against his thumb and he stands right outside the door that would take Ryker to him. But, he doesn’t go in. He stands there. Staring. Waiting, for who knows what. Part of him doesn’t believe he should go in — what waits in there, it isn’t something an underboss could have… could feel. He twists away for the fourth time and stews. Tightening his fists so hard his nails cause sharp, red divets to form in the palm of his skin and he bites back a hiss. He wanted to punch someone, anyone. He wanted to kill again. Kill anyone who had a whisper of a thought of going after his shadow. His. An attack against him was an attack on Ryker. He’d have more blood for this. He’d have Isaac bent at the knee, begging, for this grave mistake and, by extension, any Reaper that stood in the way of that. “Fucking Reapers,” he curses, finally letting out the tiniest ounce of his anger on the nearest desk by sending the vase and tiny platters scattering to the floor in a loud shatter. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he continues, pacing the halls as he sends glances towards the closed door. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like feeling like this… Worried. Wasn’t used to it. ( except in the case of raven who put him in a constant state of distress ). His shadow was an extension of him. He was always supposed to be right there and today… today that shadow flickered. And one flicker had sent Ryker spiraling after the news. He didn’t run to Francesco as Raven had. He’d beaten a Reaper instead. Just kicked and kicked until they were a mangled ball of limbs and blood in the snow. It didn’t bring any satisfaction. It only brought him here, pacing outside the door, with blood and grime on his boots. Twisting away from the door again, he thinks about leaving for the twentieth time while Raven sat at his side. Held his hand. Was there for him in every way Ryker couldn’t. ( fucking weaknesses ).

.

This wasn’t the end, that much Francesco knew. Only his reputation might be at risk right now. He’d failed to register the trap in time, failed to fully interpret the warning signs. The whispers within Rosnovy had become inaccurate and his spies were too quick to belief lies and deception. Francesco had to educate his spies on what to believe, which sources they could potentially trust. Fucking Reapers. Half sedated and half in pain the Angel had problems really focusing on anything, that was until Raven raised her voice, pushing him down in the process. Despite his desire to protest, the corner of his lips was the only part of him really reacting to Raven. No, he wouldn’t lie to her, not now. He was fine – being alive was as fine as he could be these days. Watching her carefully, Francesco squeezed Raven’s hand, though it wasn’t nearly as powerful as he’d hoped. With the IV still attached to him Francesco couldn’t move around much, at least not leave the room without pulling needles and other stuff out of him. I’m sorry, was the first thing he thought – I won’t move, I promise. That was until he heard a vase shattering outside. Ryker? Fuck, what am I supposed to do? He can’t see me like this, not after everything. I should’ve just went for it. I would’ve destroyed everything – Raven. He snapped out of it, blinking rapidly as his gaze returned to Raven. 

Not the words were important, but the imagery accompanying his words. Kisses, intimacy, him just letting go of any barrier he had within. “I don’t know if he’s already here,” his voice sounded weak, hoarse. Here he was, purposely speaking to Raven in order to remove her out of his mind, to stop her from reading anything he thought. “Just– tell him I’ll be alright.” he began to shift again “I’m already getting better.” Francesco tensed his jaw. I don’t know if I can face him right now. I failed him, I should’ve–. His thoughts ran in circles now, repeating sentences. L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle –  L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle –  L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle. @ofgamesandblades​, @telepcth​

.

She hears it too then, a physical manifestation of an anguished melody that has been playing in the background and which now demands its symphony to be the center of everyone’s attention. The physical sound, however, vanishes in a blink, overtaken by a maelstrom of emotions and thoughts that is as devastating as it would be if he were in the room with them. “He is here.” Raven confirms with a nod. There’s no denying what is obvious; and she wouldn’t do him the disservice of presenting him with a platter of lies when the truth is already there. She falls silent after that, her downcast gaze following the movements of her fingers as they softly caress the skin of Francesco’s hand. He’s saying a lot, revealing things she suspects he never would’ve in his normal state. They may or may not have a conversation about it all later, when this is all over, but for now she locks each of his secrets inside the vaults of her mind where no one, but her, has access to.

Under other circumstances, she might have laughed at his ridiculous command; but with their emotions running wild, she shakes her head. “дорогой.” A sigh as she moves the hand previously on his chest to cup his cheek. “You can face him. He doesn’t, he won’t, think any less of you because of this.” Once again, she tightens her grasp on his hand, as her other hand’s thumb traces the path of his cheekbones in a soothing motion. “Besides,” Raven continues, “he needs to see you.” As much as you need to see him. She stands up from her seat and leans forward until her lips hover just above Francesco’s forehead. “I’ll be back.” A barely there whisper; lips softly, but briefly, making contact with the skin.

And then she lets go of him, even though she really doesn’t want to, and turns around, her feet leading her toward the door. Her hand curls around the doorknob and, with minimal effort, she pulls it open. And, unsurprisingly, comes face to face with Ryker’s rattled form. “I’m not above making you go inside if you think about leaving.” A threat, yet it’s devoid of any malicious intention to follow through. The look on her features softens as she wraps her fingers around his wrist. She can’t keep him here if he really wants to leave. But that was the case, wouldn’t he have left already? “Go inside.” The word ‘please’ hangs in the air; unspoken, but loud, nevertheless. “He needs you.”

@ofgamesandblades​

[telepcth]

SHADOW​.

location: Vetrova mansion date: July 12th, 7:39 PM #1 @telepcth​ & #2 @ofgamesandblades​

Francesco felt his heartbeat – a strange feeling to say the least. With his body coming to an abrupt halt his first instinct was to clench his side. The noises were only muffled now and he gulped before breathing out heavily. No words really left his mouth, not as long as Francesco pressed his teeth together to remain unseen. Adelaide noticed first, how his body shifted and he eventually stumbled backwards. Feeling Sofia’s hand pressed against his back he finally let out a grunt, breathing more heavily now as the pain grew stronger. Adrenaline still kept him somewhat reactive, but he let all others help him and to the work. Arriving back at the Vetrova mansion he got transported directly to Sebastian. Remaining calm turned out to be much more difficult than he’d anticipated. His hand firmly pressed against the gunshot wound until Sebastian finally faced him, a moment he’d been waiting for for what felt like hours. He screamed for the first time ever since being shot – with Sebastien’s powers forcing out the bullet his wound burned like crazy. Tilting his head back, Francesco pressed his teeth together one again.

He woke up thirty minutes later after becoming unconscious. His eyelids fluttered open and the first he saw was Raven. Trying to sit up straight or regaining the much desired distance between him and everyone else, Francesco shifted on top of his sickbed. “Raven, I’m alright, I’m alright:”

.

For all the times she craves for the serenity of silence, this time Raven wishes nothing more than to hear any sound fall from the lips of Francesco, to hear any line of thought he may or may not unwittingly gift her. She’d take anything, but for the past twenty-eight minutes she’s received nothing. It’s understandable, but as her fingers find and gently entangles hers with his, it takes all of her willpower to not scream at someone to speed up the process. This isn’t how they’re supposed to be. The corners of her lips curve downward as she draws in a shaky breath. This isn’t how they’re supposed to be; they are made for living instead dancing with the death itself.

Finally, finally, her desperate wish is fulfilled; and her grasp on his hand tightens instantly. “Don’t lie to me,” she snaps, fear and desperation marring her tone with a sense of harshness she never utilizes around her boys. “You are not fine. You got shot.” Raven rests her free hand on his chest and pushes him right back to his previous position. Physical strength is not her forte, but determination was a miraculous thing — and right now she’s determined to see him rest. “Don’t even bother fighting me on this, Ru. Either you stay down, or Ry and I will make you stay down.” Another shaky breath as her eyes flutter closed. There are things she wants to say, but she can’t find the right words to vocalize them. So, instead, she sends him a thought that should be very obvious. 

You scared me. You scared us.

@ofgamesandblades​

[telepcth]

FOX​.

.

If Evelina could have wrung the neck of the attackers who had the fucking gall to attack one of her favourite locations during a ceasefire, she would have. Not only was she not allowed to indulge in alcohol and get away from the rest of the Reapers, but she also had been fucking grazed by a bullet which had made her angry. Not that she had been injured, but that she had been there in the first place. And not for the first time, she was questioning why she was still allied with the Reapers when she found more than half of them rather irritating. But perhaps old habits died hard, and she hadn’t found a better offer as of yet.

Yet as she began to relax, her ears easily heard the telltale footsteps of someone approaching her position, disrupting her silence. And whilst one of her hands immediately moved to grip one of her knives that were hidden up her sleeve, she began to relax her grip as she realised who it was. Perhaps she was fortunate that she didn’t truly hold grudges like many of the other Reapers against the Scarlet Angels, but if she were to discover that this attack had been led by one of them — well, heads would roll. “It was a graze, nothing truly spectacular.” She replied with a slight shrug, as she turned around to face the other as she leant her body against the railing, her eyes flickering over the features of Raven. “One of the fortunate, I hear.” She continued, thinking briefly of the deceased body count that had only risen that day. Perhaps Anastasia would have been one of those bodies, if she hadn’t dragged her out of the crossfire. Or it could have been her.

.

“Luck is a miraculous thing.” She muses in response, half to Morozova & half to herself. A statement merely uttered, with no trace of genuine belief in it. Its concept appeals to Raven; was it not luck that always seemed to save the heroes in her storybooks? But, in her core, she’s a scientist, a thinker, first and foremost. She’d much rather place her faith in facts and research and plans instead of relying on something so uncertain, even when the possibility ( which is not the same as certitude ) of something better dangles just ahead of her. “Though,” she continues, “an argument could be made that it’s the deceased ones who are the fortunate ones in this situation.” The dark-haired girl moves her gaze away from her unlikely companion and focuses on observing the bridge itself. Even though they’re the only signs of life there, this place carries so much history ( & so many lost lives ) with it. If only they could contribute to this conversation. “Depends on your view of the world, I suppose.”

There’s another moment of silence between the two women before Raven finds the words she wants to say. “For what it’s worth”—probably not much, considering their allegiances positioned them in the opposite sides of this war—“I’m not unhappy to see you alive and breathing.” The weight of the ancient war hangs over her; the damning looks from her fellow Angels and Reapers alike are visible in her mind. Raven, nevertheless, smiles. “I can’t say I’m fond of graveyards, so you spared me from having to venture there to thank you for introducing me to whiskey.”

[tvdversegifs]

“Look, do you girls have any plans tonight? I’m in desperate need of some girl talk.”

[telepcth]

LITHIUM​.

.

Damn, Theo really needed to watch their surroundings. Averting their gaze from the person that they stumbled into, they really hoped that it wasn’t Reaper, or even worse — someone who decided to pick a fight with them because of the heightened tensions within the city. Squeezing their eyes briefly shut, Theo finally lifted their gaze when they heard the familiar dulcet tones of Raven. Thank goodness. A flush appearing upon their cheeks coupled together with a small smile, Theo gripped Raven’s arm to steady themselves as they finally planted their feet steadily upon the ground. “Oh Raven, it’s you.” They breathed as they embraced the other before taking a step back, to glance over Raven’s figure to make sure she had been unharmed in the attack, and also in Theo’s latest accident.

“Oh! I forgot.” Theo replied, as they returned Raven’s giggle before allowing themselves to be pushed forward in the direction Raven chose towards Bechk’s Pages, nodding as they replied, “I’m so glad it was you and not someone else.” Especially as they wouldn’t have known possibly what to do if it had come to a confrontation. Yes, they had done minor training with combat training, but it didn’t mean that Theo backed themselves in any type of fight. At least they still had their pocket knife that they kept on their being at all times, just in case. Their thoughts shifting away from possible attacks to their true purpose for venturing outside the Mansion, Theo’s smile began to widen as they nodded and continued, “I’m so excited to pick up the latest edition of the book I was expecting! I’m so glad that he phoned me this morning to let me know.”

.

Deep down, she cannot forget the looming presence of violence; not when she’s exposed to its crimson-painted streets every day. But when she’s here beside Theo, their bodies next to each other, she can almost ignore the ugliness of the world. When she looks at her very best friend and her heart swells at the emotion of love she feels toward them, she can almost pretend they are just ordinary people, eagerly awaiting the moment they can embark on another scientific adventure. “Pleased to please you, my friend.” Raven says, words accompanied by a laugh and a flash of her pearly whites. And even though humor is ever present in her tone and words, she truly means it too. She may lack the fighting ability so many of their fellow gang members possess, but there are no limits to how far she’d go and what she’d do to improve Theo’s mood or to keep them safe.

People step aside as they make their way toward their favorite place ( or, well, at least her favorite place — the labs might be Theo’s ), but Raven barely notices. Instead, she turns her head so that she can establish direct eye contact with them. “That is exciting!” She exclaims; though soon her own expression sours and a defeated sigh slips past her lips. “I still haven’t heard from my latest order.” The telepath shakes her head. “I guess we know now who’s the favorite of us.” The faux-disappointment draws the corners of her mouth downward as another dramatic sigh ( she’s still a Mirsky, after all ) escapes. 

It lasts a mere fraction of a second because really, she can’t fake negative emotions when she’s around her greatest friend. So just like that, giddiness paints a smile upon her lips; and Raven tilts her head. “What are you reading?” She inquires. “Something more captivating than Changes Through the Years: Rosvony from 1805 to 2019?”