A SMILE LIKE A LOADED GUN.

violet featherstonhaugh. businesswoman. xliv. if i believed in fate, i wouldn't be playing with loaded dice.

[thelaundress]

gcorgie‌:

“Oh believe me, I’ve seen more than enough of Heathrow for a lifetime,” she laughs lightly. “Oh yes, it feels perfect I just can’t wait to see what it’ll look like when it’s finished,” she adds. She wonders if she’ll ever actually get to live in it, maybe when she retires. 

Again her attention pans back over to Algie. He seemed to play backseat driver to almost every conversation he participated in. Though in his passive commentary he was always keen on talking about his wife, something Georgie could definitely use.

She nods attentively as it sounds like he’s about to enter a long winded explanation about his family lineage. Sure it probably would be boring as shit but you could never go wrong with more information. Before he can even start, Violet spares the both of them from the impromptu history channel special.”Oh,” Georgie says not quite knowing what else to say. “That’s nice, I wish I would’ve grown up here, I’m originally from Maryland but moved to Virginia for work. Mostly I’ve just stuck to the east coast,”

“It’s such a nice feeling,” Violet replied. “You’re in good hands with Algie, even if I am biased.” She nodded towards her husband, who straightened when she praised him. “He had complete carte blanche on our home.” She had been far too busy making the money that bought the house and bankrolled the renovation.

“Both our homes are Grade II listed,” Algie explained. “The real beauty of a renovated a period home is that you get all the modern conveniences and the excitement of something new while also preserving the unmatched feeling of a historic space.” His enthusiasm was palpable. “It’ll be well worth the wait, I can promise that.”

As a server came over to take their orders, Violet turned back to Joanna. “Oh, what do you do?”

[thelaundress]

fatherpatrick‌:

“That sounds like a compliment I don’t deserve,” Patrick replies, and though there’s a sly smile with the delivery, he means it. He stopped reading the cards in the comment box several years ago; he can guess what they all say, by now. He tries, of course, on his better days, but he’ll never be anybody’s favorite priest. At best, he’s simply their only option.

“But if it helps,” he continues through puffs of smoke, "I think that’s the reason most people go to church. At least you’re not alone.” He drops what’s left of the cigarette onto the grass and stamps it out with his foot before turning an inquisitive eye back to Violet.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned…,” he recites with a chuckle. “It hasn’t changed much. We can try it out, if you’d like.”

“This must be a thankless job a lot of the time,” Violet observed, with a smile. She wondered if the Floreses bothered to compensate him for his trouble. “It takes a special kind of person to do what you do day in and day out.” Her tone implied that she meant his priestly duties, although she was really thinking of the contraband passing through his church. “You deserve compliments for that at the very least.”

“I was afraid that was just in the movies.” She snorted, but gave a slow nod. “Well, why not? It might do me some good.” She glanced at the priest, and then at the door. “Right here, or in a confessional?”

[dishonorablerp]

“If I believed in fate, I wouldn’t be playing with loaded dice.”

Face Claim: Angelina Jolie Gender: Female Race/Ethnicity: White Age: 44 Affiliation: The Corporation Job: Defence contractor

FACTS:

Ostensibly in the business of selling defence equipment (helmets, socks, bedsheets, or something innocuous). Actually used by Armoury Inc. as a middleman, since a legitimate corporation can’t directly sell weapons to the mob or a jewellery chain.

Factions place orders with the Corporation, and The Launderer is in charge of converting black money into white. They also do door-to-door delivery sometimes, packing away dissembled rifles and grips in boxes labelled “SUPER DUPER EXPENSIVE FOUNTAIN PENS DO NOT OPEN”.

For a fee, offers laundering services to the other factions as well. The Corporation is tolerant of it because it’s a great way to keep tabs on what The Englishman and The Matriarch are upto.

Because The Launderer runs an actual business, Interpol sometimes places orders with them as well. Love Opportunity is an open door…

CONNECTIONS:

The Arms Dealer is the ultimate authority that The Launderer reports to. Relationship UTP, but gossip is clearly a key component since The Arms Dealer uses The Launderer to spy on the other factions.

Who says there isn’t any honour among thieves? Due to their complementary lines of word, The Money and The Launderer (heh) are poker buddies who constant try to out-cheat the other at their weekend games.

The Chief, The Matriarch and The Englishman are the best clients one could have hoped for. All three hate one another, and so they never compare the prices that The Launderer is charging. For each of them, The Launderer promises they’re offering the “friends and family” discount.

THE LAUNDERER is currently TAKEN by Maya.

[qoodbyedean]

[thelaundress]

rivkalashnik‌:

Riv takes her hands out of the pockets of her long black coat as she’s ushered into Jones Supply Co. by the woman at the door– she prefers to keep her hands free for this sort of thing, just in case. She represses a sigh as the woman mentions that traffic is holding up the hand-off, and not for the first time. But there’s nothing to be done about it, so she peers around the room curiously. She’s never picked up anything here before. “Ah– yes, I would like a drink,” Riv replies in a thickly-accented English, before dropping into an empty chair and settling back and stretching her legs out in front of her. The woman had said to make herself comfortable, after all. It couldn’t hurt, for ten minutes. “Too many people in one city, this is what happens with the roads. What do they think will happen? Everyone always late.” 

“What would you like?” Violet asked. “Tea, coffee, coke, water?” Fetching the drink, she nodded in agreement.  “A bit more planning’s in order. It’s not as though the post-work gridlock is a surprise to anyone,” she snarked. Violet believed herself to be an easygoing person, but she found incompetence difficult to tolerate. Well, incompetence that inconvenienced her, at any rate. “Riv, isn’t it?” She inquired, sitting down opposite the woman. She had seen her, in passing, a few times. Another one of the mob’s lackeys. “Violet.”

[thelaundress]

gcorgie·:

A pleasant smile settles on Georgie’s features. Violet Featherstonhaugh. She’d seen pictures; grainy CCTV shots, through telephoto lenses— all paled in comparison to her actual beauty. Now she fully understood how Jack had taken to his target so quickly. “Violet,” she says politely.

As Georgie looked between the two of them it was evident Jack was right, she had him whipped. Though Georgina was in no position to comment, to her left she saw love and to her right she saw tolerance. She momentarily felt bad for Algie, but the conversation was almost instantly flipped back to her.

“I’ve been back and forth between Virginia and London for work— for about the past year. It seems smart to have a permanent base here rather than living out of hotels. And you? How long have you two lived here?” 

“I can imagine that living out of your suitcase must get tiring. And you’ve chosen a lovely place to put down roots, of course,” Violet remarked, politely. 

“Can’t stand hotels,” Algie added, emphatically. “Violet here’s always traveling, aren’t you? Jetting off to Beijing or Rome or Los Angeles or who knows where. I don’t know how anyone does it.” Violet took a sip of her water with a wry smile.

“Well, the Featherstonhaughs find out roots in Gloucestershire —,” he began in response to Joanna’s question, and Violet, sensing his usual long-winded and thoughtfully embellished chronicle of his family history, chose to step in. “We’re both lifelong Londoners. I grew up in Chiswick, Algie in Kensington, and we’ve lived in Belgravia for almost fifteen years now.” She smiled at the American. “And where are you from, originally?”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Sneak || Filipp & Violet

[thelaundress]

friendlylocalrussian‌:

“That’s stereotyping,” protested Filipp. A subject he was passionate about since you couldn’t wear sneakers in the EU without someone thinking that you huffed paint thinner in your free time. “Regular people come here too. Possibly. It’s on Hotel Trivago, isn’t it? I mean, look at you. Respectable lady, businessman, Italian tourist. Not everyone here who’s half-naked is on the wrong side of the law.”

And he was incredibly wary of heading for the natatorium with the man’s robes still puddled outside the doors.

Even less if Violet was there to catch him at it.

Taking a drag from the rapidly dwindling cigarette, he said around a grin, “Come on, V. What are you still doing out here? My charming company, or Peeping Tom—which one’s kept you from heading back to your room?”

“You know quite a bit about stereotyping, I’m sure,” Violet observed dryly, eyeing him. Tawdry bling, clodhopper trainers, and mustard fucking polyester. And all that before he opened his mouth. It almost neutralized anything appealing about him. (Almost). 

“Insomnia.” She gave him a catlike smile. “I desperately needed something to put me to sleep.”

As they spoke, the man in the pool climbed out after a suspiciously brief dip, retrieving his bathrobe and once more resolutely ignoring Violet (who, for her part, also averted her gaze) and Filipp. Once he left, however, she spotted a small object on the ground near the pool, one that hadn’t been there before. 

[thelaundress]

It was after hours at Jones Supply Co., and Violet was the only person remaining, She wasn’t usually one to linger (perks of being the boss), but today there was a handoff to complete and she preferred to see to those herself. It was a rush order, albeit a small one, and she was still waiting for the corporation’s delivery person — the tyranny of London traffic imposed itself on everything, including illicit firearms sales — when the mob’s gofer arrived. “Come in, come in,” Violet ushered the woman into the plush visitor’s area at the front of the office. “The goods are stuck in traffic, unfortunately, but they should be here in the next ten minutes.” She shrugged, annoyed. “In the meantime, make yourself at home. Want a drink?”

@rivkalashnik location: london

[thelaundress]

DISHONORABLE GRAVES + THE ONION. ft. Violet.

[thelaundress]

DISHONORABLE GRAVES + REDUCTRESS. ft. @nelliemak

[friendlylocalrussian]

Sneak || Filipp & Violet

[thelaundress]

friendlylocalrussian·:

“No kidding,” said Filipp, trailing off in amazement at the sight that had just casually waltzed past them. “Did you—” He pointed weakly at the rapidly disappearing man, unable to put together the right words that wasn’t uncontrollable laughter. “You saw that, right? Guy just decides to ditch his clothes and stroll down from the hotel in a shower gown?”

Please, he prayed to God and all the angels up there, let that not be his contact. He’d crack a rib from trying to keep a straight face from doing business with someone who was getting his balls tickled by a nice breeze during the whole process. He was incredibly glad for the protective layer of his tracksuit over everything else he wore. “Or maybe he’s got the right idea. No such thing as too little clothes.”

“Good, so you did see it too. I was afraid I hallucinated it.” Violet had kept her composure initially, but was finding not dissolving in a fit of laughter increasingly difficult. Filipp, judging by his expression and tone of voice, was in the same predicament. “Even for criminals,” she remarked, turning to face him and refusing to look as the man disrobed to enter the pool.  “...this is really a bit much.” Although perhaps he had counted on being alone at this time of night, only to realize it was too late to turn back on encountering the two of them. She snorted at his next statement, giving Filipp a once-over. “In that case, you’re quite overdressed, aren’t you?”

[thelaundress]

nelliemak·:

“Yes, I think I was trying to find the park maybe,” Nellie trailed off, twisting a lock of golden hair around her finger. Really she hadn’t put all that much thought into where she was going, she’d just started to walk. “Is your office around here? Why’d you pick this place?” She wasn’t sure if she’d get a straight answer, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Violet didn’t seem as quick to lie to her. “No, not Filipp today, I think he had to do something else for daddy, it was someone else, who probably won’t be sticking around much longer.” Eleanor knew the consequences for someone losing track of her, but didn’t care all that much. She liked Filipp, which is why she never really tried to lose him.

“Yes, just there,” Violet turned to gesture a few buildings back, near where she had found Nellie. “A bit beige and boring, isn’t it??” She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. “That’s just why I chose it. Perfectly inconspicuous. No one pays attention to places like this.” Especially when they were occupied by office supply companies. It was all a study in camouflage. That, and the space had been cheap back when Violet had bought it. When the two women neared where her Tesla was parked, she unlocked the doors. “I’ve got a charging cord there,” she told Nellie as they were seated. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat before I drop you off?”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Sneak || Filipp & Violet

[thelaundress]

friendlylocalrussian‌:

The grin was purely involuntary and all genuineness accidental. Filipp nearly coughed on a mouthful of smoke.

“You shouldn’t call me Filya so much,” he said, ashing the cigarette into a nearby plant. “People will get the wrong idea.”

Like maybe he had something to do with the scar that blemished the otherwise picture-perfect landscape of Violet’s midriff. The very thought made him wince. Bullets left marks of a good kind; motherhood, not so much.

“They may think we’re friends who skulk together after midnight. On purpose, even.”

Violet couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair enough, Mr. Sokolov.” Forgot this happened, he had called out as he had left her home. This encounter was proving to be more cordial (if not for the ogling) but less entertaining than their last, perhaps because of their sobriety.

Just then, a burly man in a bathrobe appeared, walking briskly past the two of them without so much as a glance in their directions

“Well,” Violet remarked, arching an eyebrow. “It looks like I’m not the only one who wanted some late night exercise.”

[thelaundress]

DISHONORABLE GRAVES + REDUCTRESS. @gcorgie

[thelaundress]

fatherpatrick·:

He should be more careful about who he blasphemes in front of. He quietly makes a mental note of this, as he continues to smoke his cigarette, though he’s bound to forget it when the time comes. Whatever the priestly equivalent of bedside manner is, Patrick possesses none of it. Mark that down as one of his many shortcomings.

“Of course we do,” Patrick replies breezily as he exhales smoke. He tries his best to avoid blowing it in her face. “Even the Pope confesses twice a week. Though I couldn’t even try to guess what he needs to seek penance for,” he adds thoughtfully. 

Impure thoughts, most likely.

“Do you?”

“I was raised by lukewarm Anglicans,” she shrugged. “The possibility never occurred to me.” The notion of choosing penance was rather absurd to her. “But popping into services here...” She lowered her voice, softened her expression to sell the forthcoming lie. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s as though I’m being reminded to do better. Makes me want to crack open a theology book,” Violet mused, chuckling. “I don’t think I’d even know where to start with confession.” That was true, in a sense. Her crimes were many and guilt was a foreign emotion.

[gcorgie]

>_ house hunters interpol >_ @thelaundress

“House flipping,” Georgie said, her words ripe with skepticism. “House flipping,” replied the sysint specialist who seemed incredibly proud of his discovery. Then before she knew it she was on a plane to Langley, Virginia with one of the most unbelievable sales pitches she’s ever come up with. But she stepped out of the conference room with a big cheque from Uncle Sam and a new identity.

They were paying for her cushy apartment and now letting her an exibortant amount of money to let the husband of target convert a dilapidated house with Edwardian “charms” into a palace. Joanna Murphy— a once Georgina King, had crossed all her Ts and dotted all her Is and now was officially an owner of a home just outside of London proper. 

To celebrate such achievements, they were to meet for lunch at a fittingly ornate restaurant, Spring. The enthusiasm with which Mr.Featherstonhaugh wanted her to meet his wife was surprising—I guess Jack wasn’t kidding. She took her seat across from the both of them and flashed a gracious smile. “A pleasure to meet you Ms.Featherstonhaugh,” she says leaning hard on her American accent which ever so slightly weened the longer she spent across the pond. She extended her hand for a shake.

[thelaundress]

Much to Violet’s surprise when he had first begun, Algie’s little enterprise flipping houses had been surprisingly successful. Clients seemed all too willing to let him spend their cash: the old money were trusted him because he was one of their own and the new money saw in him what they aspired to me. If only he had possessed a speck of ingenuity, it could have become a real business instead of a hobby that occasionally raked in a tidy profit.

Recently, however, an ideal project had fallen into his lap: some American looking to resurrect a ramshackle Edwardian with ‘nice bones.’ Algie had been besides himself with excitement, and quite insistent that she come to lunch to meet the client.

“The pleasure’s all mine. And please, do call me Violet,” she smiled warmly, shaking the woman’s hand firmly. “Algernon tells me the house is a real treas—”

“A Koh-i-Noor in the rough!” Algie interjected, enthusiastically, gazing at his wife with the same lovestruck expression he had worn for twenty years. Violet, meanwhile, tolerated him with the mild to moderate fondness she had shown for just as long. 

“Of course,” she agreed, patting his arm before turning back to their companion. “So how long have you been in London?”

[thelaundress]

DISHONORABLE GRAVES + THE ONION. ft. @fatherpatrick