[viktoriya-kurylenko]

Viktoriya Kurylenko attends TWI Valentine's Day Auction at The Barbican Centre.

Date: Friday, February 14th, 2026

Escorted By: Herself

[tolyaveselov]

@viktoriya-kurylenko

"So we meet again." Why did he continue to come to these things? Because actually he realised, he found them fun. It was fun to watch them squirm. Vika was not one of them, however. "Here to catch your next big fish?"

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

Much like the cockroach who could survive the world imploding, Anatoly just kept on living. "You do know that every time you speak to me might be your last, don't you?" Oh she was definitely still pissed at him. Grudges were something of a knack for the blonde.

[nadezhdaxyuryeva]

where: vorya who: @viktoriya-kurylenko

The steady beat of the music pulsed through Vorya, low and controlled, as Nadezhda stepped inside. Her eyes found Vika easily, seated at one of the tables, and she made her way over without hesitation. Sliding into the chair across from her, she leaned back.

“Busy night?” she asked over the rhythm, a faint lift to her brow. “How are things going?”

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

"Unusually busy these days but I'm not one to complain about the revenue." The pounding base reverberated through her heels, something that had become comforting over the years.

The people around them were anything but bored. Viktoriya couldn't claim the same though. It's been too long since she had someone in her chair deep below the floor they were sitting on. Few knew about the chamber and that was how she wanted to keep it. Anonymity meant safety, something that was dwindling by the day in London.

"Tell me you have something fun to do. Or a story. Gossip, whatever. I need something to keep my mind from shriveling up."

[oscar-velholobo]

At the wave away of the niceties, Óscar didn’t bristle. Didn’t smile either. He simply dipped his chin once in acknowledgment as she asked for English. Setting the glass down on the edge of the table rather than keeping it in hand. A small, deliberate show that he wasn’t here to posture, "Fair enough," he agreed evenly.

When Viktoriya asked if Andrew knew he was here, Óscar's gaze sharpened slightly. Not hostile, but attentive. He even gave half a smirk, "You think I’d be here if he didn’t?" Óscar asked, tone low, steady, "I wouldn't wander into a den of bears carelessly."

He let the remark settle between them for a moment. His eyes flicked once around the club. Taking note of the crowd, money, and pulse—then returned to her, "How's New Year's so far?"

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're worried about." He wasn't but she couldn't help but taunt him. Her fingers drummed to the beat against her own glass. "Bears? Never heard that one before. Snakes, yes, or rats if you ask the French, but never bears. Some of the men would be pleased to hear it." Not that their egos needed it.

Viktoriya shrugged, motioning to the crowd. "Good apparently. One of the biggest nights of the year but it is for most clubs. If you mean me personally well...that's yet to be determined." Her eyes narrowed at him, assessing. "If you pick up that drink again, you can join me. My booth is rather empty."

[oscar-velholobo]

Óscar hadn’t made it more than a few steps inside before the bass settled into his ribs. Old instincts rose immediately: eyes tracking exits, shoulders, the way the crowd pressed and released with the beat. New Year’s Eve always carried an edge. Too much drink. Too much ego. Too many people looking to make memories they couldn’t afford. He adjusted his coat once, letting the room register him before he bothered registering it back.

Then the drink arrived. He paused. That alone told him everything he needed to know. Accepting the glas with a polite nod, Óscar's fingers curled around it without lifting it right away. He followed the line of the messenger’s retreat back to the booth at the edge of the floor. The woman seated there didn’t move. Didn’t need to. Blonde. Still. Watching him like the night was already accounted for. Kurylenko.

Óscar exhaled slowly through his nose. He took a measured sip. Not because he trusted the drink, but because refusing it would say more than accepting it ever could. Then he turned fully toward the booth, body open but posture guarded, and began walking over. The bodyguard stopped shy of her table, leaving space; not distance, but respect. One hand lifted the glass slightly in acknowledgment, the other resting loose at his side.

"Ms. Kurylenko," Óscar said evenly, accent soft but unmistakable, "Gracias," lifting the drink to signify it. His brown eyes met hers, steady and clear, "I don’t usually get welcomed this fast," he added, a faint hint of dry humor threading his tone. He glanced once around the club—the packed floor, the movement, the success humming through the room—before returning his attention to her.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

A hand came up to wave away the niceties, though not unkindly. Her interest was piqued enough to hold off the worst of her remarks. "English, please. My house, my rules." Not to be at a disadvantage in her own club, the blonde's request was anything but. Spanish was the only big language Viktoriya's mother hadn't forced her to learn. Russian, French, Italian, Ukrainian, even a bit of Greek, but not Spanish.

"We don't usually see someone so...close to the family at our door." Important wasn't the right word but Óscar's position wasn't to go unnoticed. "Does he know you're here?" Viktoriya couldn't imagine Andrew Rutherford would be happy his prized daughter's bodyguard was gracing Russian soil. Or maybe Andrew didn't care about the man as much as it seemed.

Dangerous footing for the man if that was the case.

[catalina--rojas]

@mobscene-starters

Where: Rendevous Who: Open to all When: Feb 2nd Catalina lifted her glass and smiled at the person next to her. “Let’s play a game,” she said lightly. “Two truths, one lie. I’ll go first—or you can be brave and volunteer.”

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

She hadn't expected to encounter something so infantile upon finding a seat on the bench. Why did everyone one always need something to occupy them? What was wrong with simply enjoying the show?

Viktoriya tipped her champagne flute towards the questioner. Let her start if she wanted conversation so desperately.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

Mistletoe/NYE

@oscar-velholobo

Location: Vorya

Date: December 31st, midnight

AU

Most people would have loathed working on New Year's Eve; forced to forgo parties and drunken mistakes with friends, instead made to watch the rest of the world participate. Viktoriya, on the other hand, didn't mind one bit. Not that she was exactly happy - that emotion evaded her most of the time - but content to be nestled in her 'office', a large booth on the fringe of Vorya's dance floor.

The club was packed, bringing a rare smile to her face. When she'd taken on the place a few years ago, the thought of ruining what her cousin had built weighed heavily on the Kurylenko's mind. Konstantin had graciously allowed her to run the business and aside from a cowardly attempt by the French to burn it down with her inside, the place was thriving. The music, flowing booze, and people confirmed that.

"Viktoriya, a Rutherford just walked in." The messenger's face was stony, his dislike for the group apparent. The two sides might have started out as loose allies but that connection seemed to be long dissolved by now, so the piece of news intrigued her. "And we think he's Yvonne Rutherford's personal body guard."

Even more interesting.

The blonde motioned for them to get him a drink, making sure he knew who it was from - ever the gracious host - and waited, her own drink in hand.

Working on New Year's Eve was, in fact, fun.

[kathleenzhao]

@mobscene-starters Location: Vixen Date: 9/1/2026.

London felt...eerily calm.

In recent memory, she couldn't remember a year where Christmas, or worse, New Year, wasn't marred by death and destruction of some description. Yet 2025 had bled (okay, poor choice of words) into 2026 without a news broadcast about someone being beheaded and tossed into a crowd, and she could scarcely believe it.

Quiet before the storm, though. She knew better than to assume these people were finally starting to act like...well, people.

Kathleen had finished up her Friday night evening shift at the club, and was spending her usual post-routine half an hour with the French before she would eventually depart. They didn't seem to be on edge. Then again, maybe it was hard to tell on edge from fucked up when they were on that much cocaine.

The doors to the club opened, though, and a small group of men wandered in. Familiar, though she didn't think it was because they were frequent patrons of the place. One of the Frenchmen gathered around the table seemed to bristle, as if he, too, sensed familiarity. Then she spotted one. A Russian.

"Is this about to be a problem?" she murmured to the French who seemed to be gearing up as though they thought it might.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

The city had been downright boring the past few months, and having nothing else to do, Viktoriya thought it a novel idea to go visit an old friend. Whether the woman would agree with the term or was likely to welcome her with open arms didn't bother her one bit.

She'd brought six men and Lahav, who stood next to her at the back of the group. Viktoriya could feel the woman's body coiled tight like a spring, ready to intervene should someone come close. It tugged the smug smile on her face into a grin. The grin widened even further when she saw the recognition on Kathleen's face.

"Oh boo, are you finished for the night already? I was hoping to catch your last dance. I've missed watching you Kathleen."

The men moved as she did, making their way out of the entrance and into the heart of the club. Viktoriya counted just as many Frenchmen as her own, not missing the white powder strewn across the table, along with traces of it on their person. Drugged up but only slightly less dangerous in that state. She wasn't stupid enough to underestimate them. Still, her men were fully sober and ready to have some fun.

Vika stopped about ten feet away from Kathleen's table. The rest of the club was winding down, if not already dead in certain spots. A quick survey told her this was the only French group present, the rest consisting of local Londoners. Those few were making their way to the door as quietly and as quickly as possible. Apparently her reputation preceded her.

"You look well Kathleen. I can fix that, if you like."

[amescastaignede]

Amélie probably shouldn't have accepted the drink, but the two encounters she'd had with Viktoriya over attendances to parties -- she'd always found the other woman blunt, but kind. Looking down at the offending alcohol, she considered pretending to drink it before dumping it, once out of sight. But something in her gut said: drink it.

"You know what, you're right." though, she tried to look for the Cheeto the other woman she talking about. Now, that? She had to see. "Bottoms up." raising her glass to Vika. And Amélie threw her head back, and downed the lot.

"That...was strong." Oh...god.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

"I should hope so. I told them to double up on shots. How else do you expect to survive tonight?" It was certainly her preferred method, what with the hoards of people roaming around. "You didn't come by yourself tonight, did you?" It was slow going finding out information but necessary. As of yet, Viktoriya had come up with very little on the woman when she'd done her own research. It was like she'd popped up out of thin air.

Never a good sign, especially with a French background.

[keremdogulu]

"Our fathers don’t, or wouldn't, should I say, take meetings unless there’s blood or profit at stake," he said, a sigh forming at the back of his throat before it worked its way out. "And my people, if we don't keep our numbers up — we’re fresh outta' fuckin' blood." His jaw was wound tight, his shoulders stiff. How the fuck had no one even mentioned this to her? She had to be messing with him, right?

Not strictly true: there was always blood back in Turkey. But the big guns coming in was always the last resort. It meant they had truly lost control and needed assistance. That was not a call to be made lightly. Which meant there'd been discussions about other ways.

Better ways.

"They need stability right now. Control." A humorless huff left him, it told the story of the defeated nature that'd now taken root. Kerem had no choice, he'd realised that the second his father had explained the situation to him.

It wasn’t easy, saying it. Felt like swallowing a fuckload of glass. But someone had to tell her. He was just very aware he might die before he got out of this party.

"They want to merge...for us..." oh god. "To get married — to merge our people, uh, make the alliance stronger." He...was dead.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

Whatever it was he was trying to get out, seemed to be causing him almost as much pain as it was causing her to listen to him. With every word came a frustrated sigh, clenched teeth. Any longer and Viktoriya wasn't so sure he wouldn't implode right in front of her.

It was irritating.

Though not half as irritating as what finally came to light.

Pure, unadulterated shock sent ice running down her body from the inside. It took her three whole seconds to reign in the look on her face, stuffing down the feeling that was welling up inside her. She couldn't name it now but later she would come to realize it had been dread.

Viktoriya forced disdain to replace everything else, though that wasn't difficult.

Instead of stepping back from Kerem, the blonde stepped toward him- her face inches from him.

"Breathe a word of this to anyone else and I'll make sure your tongue ends up on your father's desk." He'd have to strain to hear her.

She had to speak Arkady- now. Her eyes flicked back to Kerem's face, taking everything in. What he, and most people, probably thought she was concerned about was the marriage aspect, but they'd be wrong. This move would take something far more precious away from her than her relationship status.

This took away her freewill and nothing was more terrifying to Viktoriya than that.

"When? When did they tell you?" Her voice was like a whip. She needed more leverage, more information, before taking things into her own hands.

[the-izabele-anasenko]

There was a kind of irony in it — dressing as an angel in a room full of devils.

Izabele smiled when people turned to look at her. She always did. That part came easily. But the glimmer in her eyes said something else — that she was watching. Listening. Taking stock of who came, who smiled too wide, who lingered too long in the wrong corners of the room.

Someone brushed past her shoulder, and she turned just enough for the feathers at her back to fan like the slow beat of wings.

“Careful,” she said softly, her accent curling around the word like silk. “You’ll ruffle my feathers.”

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

"I don't think that's possible Iza. You have the coolest head I've ever seen. Are you sure anger is even in your emotional bag?"

Being Misha's wife, Viktoriya decided early on that she would like the woman and truly, it has difficult not to. Even for her.

"Leave it to you to be the most stunning one as well."

[keremdogulu]

That, right there, was exactly what got his back up, too often. But Kerem had learnt it was better to bite his tongue than bite her head off. If he wanted to keep his, that was. His tongue dragged along the inside of his teeth, trying to center himself as he let out a breath through flared nostrils. Calm boy, calm. "What I think our fathers might be proposing..." she had to know, right?

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

She had zoned out while he struggled with whatever internal issue he was dealing with and was staring at the wings on his back. A fallen angel. Apt, considering his family's situation.

...our father's might be proposing...

That caught her attention.

"And why would our father's be talking about anything together?"

It was difficult to admit that Kerem's father was a force in and of himself but the work he had done in building his drug empire had to be acknowledged. Then he handed it over to the children and they ruined it. Still, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the Kurylenko patriarch would take a meeting with the retired man.

"Explain."

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @mobscene-starters WHERE: THE VENUE. EVENT: HALLOWEEN, 2025.

"They try to make me feel like a clown every time I come to these things now...So I thought: Give em' what they want." That self-deprecating humor was unmatched, but she paired it with that soft smile she supported in attendance of these things. Felicity wanted her there, regardless of her feelings towards it.

So, as always, she was sucking it up. "Tell me there's more to do than stand around talking and drink." Two things she'd never been the biggest fan of. She didn't have a safety net or anyone to hold her hand this time.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

"There's always judging others for their costume choices. The flaming hot cheeto for example." Personally, she hoped Gianna would overheat and die but she kept that to herself. Pretenses to keep up with this one. "Besides, you'll need the buzz tonight. So drink up." Vika handed her a full drink and clinked her own to it.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

Viktoriya Kurylenko as Serena van der Woodsen

Location: The Venue.

Accompanied by: Herself

[keremdogulu]

FOR: @viktoriya-kurylenko WHEN: October, 2025. WHERE: Vorya.

"We've gotta' talk about this, Vika."

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

"Talk about...?" She gestured to the bar around her, an almost mocking question in her eyes. "Be more specific. I have a handful of things that need to be addressed these days."

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

@aviv-kasyanenko Time: Pre-fight

She found him standing near one of the back walls and might have passed him had she not been actively looking for him. Vika offered him a cigarette from her case, wondering if he even saw her standing there. She looked out over the room, making sure no one else approached. What she found was Adriana sitting in a group of people laughing about something. Whether Aviv saw her or not, she wasn't sure.

"Don't let her being here bother you. Para will take advantage of that." Not that Vika needed to remind him. It was her way of showing she cared though, for what it was worth.

[odilestpierre]

Odile flinched, unable to contain the tort of her face when she heard the voice that was pressing at her ear: Viktoriya. Vika as she was referred to, or so she'd heard. Those nails...touching her was enough t to draw lips over teeth. But even she wasn't stupid enough to move.

She just hoped someone else would notice.

She could still feel it, that thundering in her chest, the way her eyes zoned in on Jean's figure. Hoping, praying to some fucking god out there that he wouldn't be...no. Her jaw tightened, her grip now a vice on the edges of her chair. Forced to sit like an obedient child.

Jean's stubbornness was a curse. And magic, all in one.

“For a Ruski bitch, you talk too much." Odile couldn't help it, she was Laurent's little sister after all. Some traits were hereditary. Odile blinked slowly, refusing to let her breath hitch, even as her throat threatened to close. She knew that smile of Tolya’s. Knew what it meant.

And she hated that Viktoriya could possibly be right.

"Now you've demonstrated his fight plan, and forced me to watch — please remove your hands from me." Before Odile lost her cool and did it for her.

[viktoriya-kurylenko]

She wanted more than anything else to sink her nails into Odile's skin; to feel her jerk as the pain radiated through her face and neck. It would be so simple to add pressure.

There were rules though and although she normally didn't mind breaking them, violence outside of the ring would result in removal. Viktoriya very much wanted to see the rest of the fights. Still, to let this moment pass...

"Do I make your nervous, Odile? Can't fend for yourself, hm? Always needing someone else to take care of things for you." Vika looked around and was happily surprised to see the blonde's compatriots fully occupied. She turned the woman's head around as well, letting her see her predicament. "Tonight's not your night." She squeezed Odile's face just a bit tighter.