[wachtraeumen]

# 𝐖𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍 is an independent & closed 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 roleplay blog for both canon and original characters. featured fandoms include *𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒍*, *𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒊 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 0*, *𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒍*, *𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆*, *𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒔* & *𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆*. all my muses are multiverse and multiship. this blog is exclusively for roleplayling with one writing partner and her blogs only. not open for new interactions, follows, asks or requests.

⸻ ꧁ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ʙʏ ʙᴇᴇʙᴇ ( 30+ / ꜱʜᴇ, ʜᴇʀ / ɢᴍᴛ +1. )

𝑰. carrd. 𝑰𝑰. guidelines. 𝑰𝑰𝑰. females. 𝑰𝑽. males

⊹ · ⸻ 𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 : @inbeautifulruins, @storminmyveins, @burymeinprettylies, @untoldprophecies, @herofabled, @astrangemagic

𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 : @ladamereveuse ( main )

[beautyinthetragedy]

He  says  that  people  usually  tune  out  before  he  gets  to  the  good  advice,  and  she  just  couldn't  stop  herself  as  she  glances  at  him.  ❝  Huh,  did  you  say  something  ?  ❞  The  smirk  was  hard  to  hide  after  that,  and  she  waves  her  hand  dismissively.  ❝  Sorry,  the  door  was  open.  ❞  which  it  was,  she  just  walked  right  on  through.  For  that  one,  he  only  has  himself  to  blame.

When  the  badge  comes  out  and  he  offers  it  to  her  with  the  illusion  of  choice  by  those  in  charge  she  sighs  dramatically,  the  sarcasm  dripping  from  her  breath.  ❝  But  of  course,  if  they  demand  it  outright  they  get  push  back,  if  they  pretend  it's  a  choice  then  they  might  have  someone  willing  to  cooperate.  ❞  There  is  a  roll  of  her  eyes  but  she  will  give  Leon  a  salute.  ❝  Alright,  Leon...❞  she  stops  before  getting  to  his  last  name  as  it  almost  became  a  habit.  ❝  See  you  then.❞

He  goes  to  leave  but  stops  to  remind  her  of  the  boots  and  she  smirks  back  at  him.  ❝  Keep  reminding  me  and  I  might  show  up  in  flip-flops.❞

-----------

She  arrived  on  time  but  lacking  the  bless  and  whistles.  She  had  on  the  boots  as  she  was  encouraged  to  wear,  and  it  seems  almost  like  the  military  habit  of  pants  tucked  into  them  was  heard  to  break,  shirt  tucked  in,  a  jacket  over  her  shoulders  and  her  hair  pulled  back  in  a  pony  tail.  Almost  casual,  almost  military  grade  as  she  should  be.  But  she  hadn't  worked  truly  with  the  military  for  a  long  time.  Now  she  felt  more  like  an  independent  contractor  and  some  of  the  rules  as  far  as  proper  dressing  could  fuck  off.

When  she  said  that  to  her  commanding  officer  she  made  sure  to  say  it  without  any  cussing  in  every  other  word.  But  a  few  choice  words  still  managed  to  slip  in  here  and  there  like  a  light  pepper  seasoning.  And  at  this  rate  he  wasn't  going  to  argue  with  her  on  the  matters.

With  her  badge  visible  and  nothing  but  a  small  bag  over  her  shoulder,  personal  things  were  not  what  she  brought,  just  anything  necessary  in  this  situation.  She's  always  been  one  to  pack  light.

❝  Leon.  ❞  she  nods  her  head  to  him  when  she  sees  him  in  view,  offering  him  that  salute  again  but  it  didn't  have  that  stiff,  sharp  elbow  jerk  that  most  salutes  do.  This  was  slack  and  somehow  held  more  respect  than  the  one  she  was  taught  and  ordered  to  do  time  and  time  again.

[wachtraeumen]

𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒓 long before she arrives, standing beneath the hard white lights with the transport plane waiting behind him, standing just outside the marked safety line, his usual leather jacket pulled over his shoulders, a small bag near his feet and his sidearm in his hands. He checks the magazine first, then the chamber. He has done this enough times that his hands know the work even while his mind is already several steps ahead. He slides the magazine back into place with a silent click. He keeps his bag light. He has learned the hard way that the more command gives you, the more you are expected to drag through hell before they admit hell is where they sent you. The essentials are enough. Weapon, documents, spare ammunition, medical kit. Anything else can become dead weight when the mission stops matching the briefing, which usually happens right around the time someone says the situation is under control. Raccoon City taught him how fast things could go bad. The years after taught him that surviving the fall did not mean he got to walk away from the wreckage. After Raccoon City, no one really asked what he wanted. They handed him a weapon, pointed him toward the next disaster and dressed it up as service. Now he keeps moving because the alternative feels worse. Stopping would leave him alone with everything he could not save.

The thought breaks apart when footsteps cross the hangar floor, causing him to lift his eyes from the weapon in his hands and watches her come closer, badge visible, a small bag hooked over her shoulder. She packed light. Good. His eyes move over the rest of her quickly: pants tucked in, shirt tucked, jacket on, hair pulled back. His gaze drops back to the boots for a second and the corner of his mouth moves before he looks at her again. ❝ Didn't think you'd actually take my fashion advice. ❞ His eyes drop to the boots again, then back to her face, and the corner of his mouth shifts just enough to soften the dry remark but the loose salute makes his expression shift by the smallest degree. He does not return it like a commanding officer trying to prove a point. He only gives her a brief nod, then looks past her toward the checkpoint before bringing his attention back to her.  ❝ Badge work okay ? ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑰𝒇  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕  𝒉𝒖𝒈  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆  𝒐𝒇  𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒓  close  to  her  chest  she'd  probably  lose  her  mind,  and  that's  the  last  thing  she  wanted  to  do  when  there  was  still  so  much  left  to  do  in  this  world.  It  wasn't  about  her  and  her  emotions  so  she  found  a  way  to  tuck  them  away.  They're  not  forgotten,  just  silenced  until  they  either  vanish  or  she  has  her  mental  break.

But  she's  too  stubborn  to  break,  so  it  should  hold.

The  look  on  his  face  when  she  mentions  that  date  has  her  holding  back  a  smirk  as  she  raises  her  brow  at  him.  ❝  Hey,  you're  taking  me  to  France.  Even  if  there  is  no  champagne  it's  still  better  than  the  hot  tub.❞  though  at  least  the  dead  critters  was  something  easy  to  deal  with.  A  net,  throw  them  out,  done.  Rich  men  who  have  control,  the  means,  and  the  power  to  do  what  they  want?  They  don't  take  in  to  consideration  the  concern  or  well-being,  only  what  they  can  get  out  of  it.  If  they  keep  going  at  this  rate  what  will  their  money  even  matter  ?  What  will  their  power  matter?  They  try  to  preach  about  a  bigger  picture,  but  they're  so  narrow-minded  they  don't  really  take  into  every  single  detail  they  should.

Or  maybe  Andy  has  just  gotten  so  cynical  she's  managed  to  pick  up  the  tiny  details  they  often  overlook.

He  gives  her  good  advice  about  the  gear  she'll  get  and  she  nods.  ❝  Got  it.  Check  it  once,  check  it  again.❞  As  he  tells  her  that  faulty  gear  doesn't  care  whose  fault  it  is,  she  gives  a  nod.  ❝  I  like  that,  how  long  were  you  holding  that  one  in  to  say  to  someone?  ❞  she  asks,  a  small  smirk  but  she  carefully  loses  it  for  a  moment.

❝  I'll  be  there,  Leon  Kennedy.  Consider  me  in.❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎, his eyes narrowing just slightly, though there is no real irritation behind it. Then she asks how long he has been holding that one in, which causes the corner of his mouth to move before he can smooth it back into place. She has a mouth on her, sharp timing and enough nerve to throw it at him in a room full of people waiting for both of them to act like obedient professionals. He should probably find that inconvenient. Instead, he decides it might make the flight a little less miserable. ❝ Longer than I'd like to admit, ❞ he says, dry enough to make it sound like he is joking and tired enough to make it clear he has probably meant it more than once. ❝ Usually people stop listening before I get to the good advice. ❞ His gloved hand stays on the edge of the equipment sheet for another moment before he slides it fully toward her. ❝ And it's just Leon. The full name makes it sound like I'm in trouble. ❞ The humor is still there, faint and worn at the edges, but it slips away when she says she is in. He holds her gaze for a moment longer than he has to. He is not looking for fear or trying to catch hesitation in her face. Then he nods once. ❝ No turning back now. ❞ he says while reaching into the file and pulls out a temporary D.S.O. badge, still clipped to a thin black lanyard. Leon glances at it, then turns it over and places it on the table in front of her with the blank side up. ❝ They had that ready before you said yes, ❞ he says, voice even, though his eyes flick once toward the glass. ❝ Don't take that personally. They like pretending choice is part of the process. ❞ his fingers leave the badg before he leans back slightly, giving her the space to pick it up or leave it there for a second longer. ❝ You'll need it to get through the hangar checkpoint. If anyone stops you, show them the badge and look annoyed enough that they assume you're supposed to be there. Works more often than it should. ❞ The leather of his jacket creaks at his shoulders when he reaches for the file and the fluorescent light catches briefly on the tired lines near his eyes. ❝ See you at twenty-three hundred. ❞ Then Leon turns toward the door but he only makes it a few steps before he pauses. His hand comes to rest near the handle, but he does not open the door yet. For a second, his eyes stay forward like there is something else he could say, something important. Then, he looks back over his shoulder at her.

❝ And Andy ? ❞ he lets the pause hang for a second, the corner of his mouth shifts into a smile, ❝ Don't forget the boots. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

❝  It  never  does.  ❞  she  said  as  though  they  were  missing  out  on  something  utterly  grand  and  desirable.  Though  truth  be  told  champagne  to  Andy  tastes  like  sparkling  leather  shoes.  So  in  the  end,  no  big  deal.  Now  if  there  was  an  offer  for  an  ice  cold  beer  on  the  plane  she'd  take  that  without  question.

When  he  shows  the  file  Andy  slides  it  closer  to  herself  and  she  starts  reading.  Her  once  playful  demeanor  turns  serious  as  she  sighs  heavily  looking  at  the  images,  the  information,  and  everything  in  between.  ❝  It's  always  the  rich  bastards,  isn't  it?  ❞  she  asks  giving  a  slow  shake  of  her  head.  ❝  They  have  money,  they  have  means,  and  for  some  reason  that  lets  them  get  it  into  their  head  to  play  God  Almighty  like  karma  won't  come  and  kick  them  in  the  ass.  Sadly  it's  often  too  late  when  it  does...❞  A  frown  on  her  features  as  she  looks  and  her  voice  seems  to  trail  off  into  a  sudden  moment  of  remembering  all  the  innocent  people  who  have  suffered  because  someone  just  wanted  to  play  the  game  differently.  No  consequences  to  them,  but  to  everyone  else  around  them.  How  was  that  remotely  fair?

Truth  was?  It  wasn't.  It  never  is.

❝  I  bet  someone  did  notice  before,  but  someone  probably  got  silenced  either  by  a  shiny  black  card  or  a  black  hearse  ,  it  really  depends  on  the  type  of  guy  we're  dealing  with.❞

As  he  says  she  should  lower  her  expectations  for  romance  her  smile  returns  for  a  moment.  ❝  Please,  that  ship  sailed  with  my  first  boyfriend  when  his  idea  of  romance  was  stale  Doritos  and  a  hot  tub  the  local  critters  already  used  before  he  did.  ❞

 But  she  nods,  sliding  him  back  the  file.

❝  Got  it,  I'll  be  there.  And  I'll  make  sure  to  leave  my  good  high  heels  behind.❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 as she talks about rich bastards playing God, which causes his mouth to pull tight at one corner. He does not need to say she is right, because the look on his face does it for him. Then, he takes the folder back but doesn't close it right away. Instead, his thumb rests near the surveillance still, close enough to cover half the man's face if he wanted to. Maybe part of him does. Leon has seen men like that before. Expensive suits, clean smiles, hands that never look dirty because someone else is always close enough to do the bleeding for them. People get torn apart by whatever those ambitions bought. ❝ Money buys silence, access, protection, ❞ he says, his eyes staying on the photograph a moment longer. ❝ Makes it easy for people to look the other way until there are too many bodies to keep off the record. ❞ His thumb shifts off the Frenchman's face, closing the folder with flat sound. ❝ Then everyone acts surprised it went this far. ❞ When she brings up the shiny black card or the black hearse, his eyes come back to her. ❝ Guys like this usually don't limit themselves when they've got options and usually they got too many. ❞ Then she starts talking about stale Doritos, a hot tub and local critters, and Leon actually has to pause because it catches him off guard. Not enough to break his composure but enough that his brows lift by a fraction before he looks down at the folder, letting out a breath that is closer to a laugh than anything he has given her so far. ❝ That's ... pretty specific. ❞ His mouth pulls faintly at one corner, dry and almost amused, though he does not let it linger for long. ❝ Starting to think the transport plane might be an upgrade. ❞

His eyes lift back to her, and for a second, the guarded tension around his wrinkled eyes eases, the sharp focus softening just enough to let the tired humor show through. She is standing in a government briefing room, agreeing to walk into a possible biohazard zone and somehow still finding room to joke about bad romance and worse boyfriends. There are worse coping mechanisms. He would know. ❝ Remind me not to compete with that standard. Sounds tough to beat. ❞ The faint humor stays for another second before his attention returns to the work in front of them, reaching for the top sheet inside the folder and sliding it toward her. A short list of approved equipment that looks too neat for the kind of situation they are probably walking into. ❝ Good call on the heels. Boots are better. Something you can run in, climb in, and stand in for twelve hours without wanting to shoot yourself just to sit down. ❞ He taps the equipment list once with his gloved knuckle. ❝ Standard field kit will be waiting at the hangar. Body armor, sidearm if you need one. Take what they offer, check it yourself, then check it again. ❞ His gaze settles on her, ❝ out there, faulty gear doesn't care whose fault it was. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑯𝒐𝒘  𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔  𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌  𝒊𝒏.ᐣ  What  if  she  said  'not  at  all'  would  it  matter  ?  The  world  has  gone  to  shit.  But  she  still  has  her  faith,  and  she  still  believes  that  people  should  be  helped  where  they  can.  After  all  they  didn't  ask  for  this  ,  they  were  just  thrown  into  it  like  nuts  in  a  blender.

Or  something  of  a  metaphor  that  was  cleaner,  she  wasn't  in  the  mood  to  think  too  deeply  about  it  in  that  very  moment.  When  he  speaks  of  France  she  turns  to  look  at  him,  her  eyes  weigh  heavy  in  a  nowhere  is  safe  is  it  expression  without  actually  saying  the  words.  Her  eyes  follow  his  to  the  folder,  then  glance  back  at  him  as  she  takes  in  a  deep  breath  to  steady  any  nerves  she  might  have.  Though  truly  Andy  would  say  those  were  fried  a  long  time  ago.  ❝  France,  huh  ?  ❞  the  corners  of  her  mouth  turn  up  with  a  smile  though  the  sarcasm  shouldn't  be  lost  on  anyone  as  she  lets  out  a  fake  chuckle  that  follows.

❝  And  I  take  it  we're  not  going  by  a  first  class  jet  with  champagne  are  we  ?  ❞  She  knows  damn  well  they're  not,  they're  never  going  to  be  that  lucky.  Not  in  this  situation,  not  in  their  line  of  work,  not  in  this  world  and  what  it's  managed  to  turn  into.

He  says  he's  not  going  alone  and  Andy  tilts  her  head  and  forces  a  smile.

❝  Well,  Leon  Kennedy,  I  don't  normally  go  off  to  romantic  places  with  men  I  just  met,  but  I  suppose  for  you  I  can  make  an  exception.  ❞  She  keeps  her  jab  about  her  ,  she  keeps  her  sarcasm  and  humor  close  to  her  chest  like  armor  because  she  needs  it.  Faith  can  only  cover  so  much,  and  she'd  not  be  surprised  if  God  looked  down  at  this  situation  and  said  'fuck  this,  I'm  out.'

She  wishes  she  could,  but  there  are  those  who  still  need  someone  to  fight  for  them  so  she's  not  going  to  give  up  now.

❝  When  do  we  leave  ?  ❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏’𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒔 as he looks down at the folder again, small enough to miss if one is not paying attention. It is not a real smile but it carries the dry edge of one before he smooths it away and gets back to the work in front of him. ❝ Afraid not. Champagne didn't make the budget. ❞ His fingers slide the France file closer, the paper rasping softly against the metal table, flipping it open carefully while the rest of him still resists it, just for a second because experience has taught him that he will hate what waits beneath the cover. Satellite images. Incident reports and, tucked between them, a surveillance still of a man in an expensive suit with enough money and connections behind him to make B.O.W. trafficking look less like a crime and more like a business model. ❝ That's the case, ❞ he says, his voice dry as his thumb taps once beside the man's surveillance photo, hard enough to mark the face. ❝ Deep pockets, inflated sense of importance, and a B.O.W. trail long enough that someone should've noticed before now. ❞ ❝ We get a transport plane, bad coffee and about six hours to figure out whether command left anything useful in here between all the redactions. ❞ He glances back up at her then and this time his eyes carry a hint of humor, even if it does not fully reach the rest of his face. ❝ So if you were hoping for romance, I would lower expectations. Dramatically. ❞

She jokes like someone who has learned it is better than freezing up. Leon knows the habit too well not to recognize it. A dry comment in the right place. Sarcasm sharp enough to keep the fear from getting its hands around your throat. Giving something to hold onto when the truth starts looking a little too much like every bad night that came before it. He wouldn't say it makes her careless ; if anything, it tells him she understands exactly what she is stepping toward. That counts for something. More than most of the people in this building will ever understand. ❝ We leave tonight. Twenty-three hundred. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑳𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒔.  𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚  𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆  𝒂𝒍𝒍  𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒔.  She  joined  the  military  so  she  could  be  part  of  something  greater  than  herself.  A  sense  of  belonging  as  well  as  structure,  discipline,  and  getting  a  chance  to  keep  others  safe  in  a  way  she  couldn't  do  on  her  own  turned  into  harming  more  than  saving.

Where  is  her  God  now,  something  that  rang  in  her  ears  when  it  was  muttered  to  her  by  victims,  by  villains,  by  her  own  commanders  as  though  using  her  faith  against  her  was  somehow  going  to  be  the  bullet  that  took  her  down.  Call  her  naive,  but  she  touches  the  broken  cross  charm  on  her  necklace  and  takes  in  a  deep  breath.  The  air  is  no  longer  clean  and  vibrant,  it  is  riddled  with  particles  of  decay  and  betrayal.

But  she  was  too  stubborn  to  die  here  like  this,  and  too  damned  angry  to  let  this  go  until  she  got  answers  and  the  world  was  back  on  the  road  to  whatever  normal  was  at  this  point.  She  couldn't  tell  you  what  that'd  look  like,  and  telling  anyone  that  'god  has  a  plan'  seemed...well,  insulting  at  this  point.  This  couldn't  have  been  part  of  his  plan.  No,  this  was  all  man.

When  she  hears  her  name  she  turns  and  looks  at  the  source  that  says  it  and  she  doesn't  smile,  she  doesn't  greet  instantly,  she  instead  corrects  him.  ❝  Andy.  ❞  Being  called  Andrea  seems  weird  sometimes,  and  far  too  formal  for  this  situation.

Taking  in  the  view  of  him  she  can  tell  this  guy  has  seen  some  shit.  At  this  point,  who  hasn't?  But  his  eyes  say  he's  seen  some  shit  and  then  some.

He  doesn't  offer  his  hand  for  a  shake,  which  in  a  live  previous  she  would  have  thought  insulting.  But  now  it's  the  most  integrity  she's  seen  in  a  long  time.

❝  What  can  I  do  for  you,  tall,  dark  and  damned  ?  ❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 and his chin dips once as if he is filing it away somewhere that matters. ❝ Andy, then. ❞ There is still no smile when he says it but the hard line of his mouth loosens by the smallest degree, enough to take the edge out of his expression without making it soft. The remark that follows from her should earn more than it does. In another life, maybe he would have let out a real laugh at being called tall, dark and damned. Maybe he would have leaned into it, thrown even something back with enough charm to make the tension loosen around them for a moment. He still knows how to do that. Sometimes it even works. Now, all he gives her is a faint breath through his nose, almost amused, almost tired. ❝ That's a new one. ❞ His gaze slowly moves over her again, taking in the things a file would never bother to describe. The posture. The set of her jaw. He has made a career out of noticing the things people try to hide and the things they do without realizing they have given themselves away. After a moment, he turns back toward the table. ❝ Leon Kennedy, ❞ he says, giving his name without ceremony, ❝ and what you can do for me depends on how much you want back in. ❞ ❝ There've been incidents in France. Nothing big enough to hit the news the way it should, at least not yet. ❞ his eyes stay on the file but his jaw tightens once. ❝ Local teams went in thinking they were handling routine calls. Some came back in body bags. Some didn't come back at all. ❞ His eyes drop to the folder again, then to the others beneath it, each one stacked too neatly for what they carry. One tab reads France in plain black letters. ❝ D.S.O. thinks we're looking at a biohazard. Maybe more than one. They want me in France to see how bad it really is ❞

A moment passes before he lifts his eyes from the file and looks back at her. ❝ And this time, apparently, I'm not going alone. ❞ There is no insult in the way he says it, no sharp little jab meant to make her feel unwanted and no dramatic show of reluctance either. It is only the blunt honesty of a man who has learned to distrust surprises, especially when they come from people who hide behind the word classified like it makes the mess disappear.

[wachtraeumen]

⊹ · ⸻ @beautyinthetragedy ; starter for Andy from Leon Daddy Kennedy :

𝐁𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒. It is always the same in government buildings. The briefing room is underground, windowless and colder than it needs to be. A stack of files sits on the metal table in front of him. Raccoon City is printed on the first folder like it is only a location and not a grave. He doesn't touch it, only stands there with one shoulder against the wall, arms folded loosely over his chest, as if the distance between him and that folder is enough to keep the past where it belongs. His gaze stays fixed on the letters across the front, but after a while they stop looking like ink. They become rainwater running down broken concrete. Blood smeared across tile. Years have passed since Raccoon City. Since the station ... since the sound of people screaming he could not get through. Since his first day as a cop became a lesson in how quickly the world could rot when the right people lied long enough. Time has done what time always does. It has put clean clothes over the scars. It has taught him how to keep his voice level, how to walk into rooms like this without flinching, how to make his face into something useful but it has not taken the smell of smoke out of his memory. It has not made him forget the rain and itt has not made Raccoon City any less full of ghosts.

When the door opens behind him, Leon turns his head first, then the rest of him follows, his eyes landing on the woman stepping inside. She is smaller than some of the people who usually enter this room, but Leon knows better than to let that mean anything. Size is one of those things people mistake for weakness when they are stupid and stupidity has killed more men than infection ever has. His mouth moves slightly, but whatever tries to form there dies long before it can become a smile. ❝ Andrea Vasquez, right ? ❞ He pushes away from the wall, the leather of his jacket giving a faint creak as he moves. He does not offer his hand yet, as there are people take comfort in a gesture like that. Others have spent enough time in rooms like this to know better, to understand how easily a handshake can become part of the act.

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅  𝒐𝒇  𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒂  𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌  𝒐𝒇  𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚  𝒐𝒓  𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌,  he  opted  for  a  bottle  of  water  and  a  slice  of  lemon  that  he'd  squeeze  carefully  into  it.  Swirl  it  around  and  then  slowly  drink  from  it  --  but  then  nearly  choke  when  his  brother  made  the  comment  about  setting  him  up  with  Madonna.

❝  Isn't  she  in  her  seventies  by  now?  And  all  that  plastic  surgery  she's  had,  no  thank  you.  Maybe  if  she  kept  it  aging  naturally,  gracefully,  maybe...❞  he  did  seem  thoughtful  for  that  moment  but  he  did  let  himself  chuckle.

He  notes  that  she's  a  fan,  sort  of  and  he  arches  his  brow  in  question.  ❝  Only  sort  of  ?  Oh  that  hurts  a  little  bit.❞  he  jokes,  but  he  takes  that  look  on  his  brother's  face  to  be  something  a  little  scary  when  it  comes  to  Mark.

When  he  tells  him  not  to  screw  up  the  easy  part,  to  get  his  act  together  and  that  he's  not  a  damn  school  boy  Matthias  just  grins  himself.

❝  Maybe  not  but  I'd  look  super  cute  in  the  uniform.  The  slacks  version,  not  the  skirt  version.  I  am  not  doing  that  again.❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 and does not bother hiding the faint pull at the corner of his mouth. Of course Matthias goes for water with lemon while his whisky sits on the table between them. It says enough about both of them. Matthias still has discipline where Mark has habits, still has a clean enough image to protect while Mark has long stopped pretending his own is worth polishing. Maybe that is also why he pushes him so hard. His brother still has the chance to climb higher and Mark refuses to watch him waste it just because he is cautious. He reaches for his glass again, fingers curling around it without immediately lifting it, taking a sip, just enough to wet his throat and remind him that it never helps for long. It only dulls the frustration of hearing his own damaged voice every time he speaks. Matthias' joke about the uniform should annoy him and it does, but his brother makes a joke out of nerves because that is what he does. Yet, lightens the room and Mark resents him for still being able to do that as much as he relies on it. ❝ Aislin is willing to hear it properly, ❞ he says, ❝ That does not mean she is sold. It means she is curious enough not to shut the door in my face, which is better than most people get from her. Cassandra will be there tonight, private lounge after the event. You meet her there. You talk music first. Not fame. Music. She writes her own material, she cares about it more than she probably should in this business. Use that. ❞ He leans back again, still watching his brother with the same hard look. This is the part that matters, the part where Matthias needs to understand that Cassandra is not just a pretty face to throw into a story and hope the cameras do the rest. If she were, Mark would not be interested. Pretty faces are easy to find. What makes her useful is that people believe her when she sings, and that is harder to manufacture. ❝ A duet, ❞ he continues, the glass resting against his knee now. ❝ Keep that ready, but do not lead with it. Let it come up like the conversation brought you there, not like I sent you in with a script. If she bites, we use it. If she does not, you step back and don't make it look like she turned you down. The point is to make her comfortable enough to want another meeting. After that, the press can do what it does best. ❞

His smirk returns, smaller this time but just as cruel. ❝ and try not to look wounded over the ' sort of '. She likes your music. That is already more than most women with taste would admit after seeing your dating history. ❞ His eyes move over Matthias, measuring him. He needs him useful tonight, not nervous. Charming but not desperate. Interested, but not too eager. Like a rockstar who knows his worth, not a man walking into a trap. Mark knows how thin that line is. He has spent years turning his own damage into strategy, and he expects Matthias to follow the damn plan.

[wachtraeumen]

⊹ · ⸻ @beautyinthetragedy ; starter for Chimney from Maddie :

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒕 in Maddie's mind that Buck will bring the numbers up once he steps onto that stage. He has complained about it enough beforehand, has circled around the idea and somehow that makes seeing him out there both funnier and sweeter. So she cheers with Chimney when her brother appears beneath the stage lights, clapping along with everyone else, her smile widening. Then Buck rips his shirt open. Her hands pause halfway through a clap. Still, the laughter escapes her before she can stop it because of course Buck would find a way to make the room lose its mind. She watches him move across the stage, watches the room respond to him, and there is a soft ache of pride beneath the embarrassment. He has come a long way from the man who used to chase attention just to prove he was worth looking at. The bids climb fast, one after another, and when the number hits eight thousand, her eyebrows lift. Then a woman's voice cuts through the room with ten thousand. Her eyes widen so quickly that she almost forgets to blink. Her head turns toward Chimney first, because he is the nearest person who can confirm she has not imagined that, then she looks out toward the tables, trying to find the woman who has just sent the whole room into silence. ❝ Well, ❞ she says, ❝ he definitely still has it, ❞ amusement slipping through her voice, though her gaze has already begun searching the room for whoever has just bid that much money on her brother. From where they are sitting, it is hard to tell at first. The lighting over the tables is softer than the stage, turning faces into pieces of expression rather than a clear picture, but Buck seems to find the woman easily enough once the gavel comes down. Sold. Ten thousand dollars. Maddie almost laughs again.

Then she watches him step off the stage and make his way toward the table where the winning bid has come from, and the amusement on her face gives way to curiosity. The woman sitting there looks flustered, wine glass lifted like she needs something to hold between herself and what has just happened, while the blonde beside her looks entirely too pleased with the situation. Maddie's brows draw together as he then moves closer, then sits down beside her and the blonde at the table. Buck looks far too comfortable for someone meeting a stranger who has just paid ten thousand dollars for a date with him. ❝ Uh, ❞ she says slowly, lifting one hand to point in their direction without taking her eyes off the table. ❝ What do you think is going on over there ? Because, ❞ she narrows her eyes, ❝ it kind of looks like they already know each other. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑎𝑠  𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑  𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟  look  at  his  brother  in  the  dim  light  that  others  might  claim  he  sits  in  now.  To  him,  his  big  brother  is  everything  he  aspires  to  be.  Everything  Matthias  is  ,  is  because  of  Mark.  There  wouldn't  be  him  if  not  for  his  older  brother.  Maybe  that's  why  despite  the  rumors,  the  whiskey  and  the  pills  he  still  looks  at  him  like  he  hung  the  damn  sun  in  the  sky  and  brightened  his  way.

Because  for  Matthias,  Mark  had  done  those  things.  He  paved  the  road  he  now  takes  and  sometimes  his  heart  aches  that  he  gets  to  live  in  the  spot  light  and  Mark  is  now  behind  the  scenes.  Yet,  he's  surprisingly  good  at  it.  From  fronting  and  giving  vocals  to  now  pushing  Matthias  to  be  his  best  everything  that  Mark  touches  seems  to  be  golden.

All  the  while  drowning  himself  to  keep  in  the  shadows  that  he  didn't  bring  on  himself.  Fate  was  just  too  cruel  to  him  taking  his  voice  the  way  it  had.  But  that's  why  Matthias  continues  --  for  Mark.

❝  I  got  the  blame  that  one  time  --  ❞  he  holds  up  his  finger  and  he  looks  to  his  brother  with  a  light  smile  on  his  lips,  but  then  he  drops  the  bomb  of  meeting  this  woman  tonight.  The  smile  fades  and  is  replaced  with  hesitation.

❝  Tonight?  So  soon?  Shit.  ❞  Matthias  takes  a  breath.  ❝  Okay,  okay...I  know  you  wouldn't  lead  me  into  trouble,  so  I'm  trusting  that  this  won't  be  so  bad,  and  if  anything  maybe  we  can  come  to  a  compromise  of  the  possibility  of  a  duet  or  something.❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕, 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌 wants his brother exactly where he is now, standing in the light, and if this works the way Mark intends it to, higher still. Higher than Mark will ever get again. There is no point pretending otherwise. That road is closed to him. His brother still has the face, the voice, the pull, all the things he knows how to build a career around because he once had them himself and lost them in one clean cut of fate that left the rest of his life to be rearranged around it. So yes, he pushes Matthias forward but not blindly. If his brother rises, Mark rises with him in the only way left to him now. If he falls on his face, some part of that fall always finds its way back to Mark too, because his name is tied to his, because that is how this business works when blood and branding start to overlap. He knows this business too well for blind risks. He knows how to read people, how to push, how to bait, how to put the right thing in front of the right person and let them believe it was their own idea all along. One brow lifts when he catches that flicker of hesitation on Matthias' face, the look on his brother almost reading like he is seconds away from pissing himself over meeting one woman. He says nothing at first, only taking another sip of his whisky, then leans forward and sets the glass down on the small coffee table between them with a soft clink.

❝ If I wanted you in trouble, I could have set you up with Madonna, ❞ he says. It is a joke, at least in theory, though his face stays so straight it barely gives the line the courtesy of sounding like one. Then he settles back again, one arm falling along the couch, his gaze fixed on his brother with the kind of look that makes it clear he expects competence, not nerves. ❝ So I'm trusting you to put that famous Gordon charm of yours to use and convince her, ❞ he says, the edge of a smirk starting at his mouth. ❝ And from what I know, she is already a fan of you. Sort of. ❞ That gets something more honest out of him than most things do. A grin. ❝ So don't screw up the easy part. Get your act together. You're a rockstar, not a damn schoolboy. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑊𝘩𝑒𝑛  𝑖𝑡  𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠  𝑡𝑜  𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒  𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩  𝑎  𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛  it's  best  to  stand  guard  at  all  positions.  Keep  an  open  eye  and  read  the  details.  When  he  mentions  chemistry,  Lin  can't  help  the  smirk  that  tugs  at  her  lips  as  she  then  chuckles  faintly.  ❝  Ah,  but  if  you're  not  careful  with  that  ...  things  tend  to  explode.  ❞  she  replies,  but  it's  the  cockiness  of  'I  know  how  to  make  it  work'  that  has  a  draw  to  Aislin.

If  only  her  weakness  wasn't  cocky  or  over-confident  men,  and  yet  here  she  is  giving  him  a  look  over  from  head  to  toe  then  back  again.  He's  certainly  oozing  with  charm,  but  this  isn't  about  her  let  alone  him  exactly,  it's  about  what  he's  proposing  and  it's  not  something  she's  just  going  to  automatically  agree  too.  Not  when  it  comes  to  Cass  and  her  heart.

But  it's  when  he  mentions  that  his  brother  will  known  soon  enough  her  eyes  slightly  widen  at  his  admission.  So  his  brother  has  no  clue  that  he's  doing  this.

Sneaky,  calculated,  she  can  almost  feel  the  drama  in  that  situation  brewing.  And  that  is  something  she  does  not  want  happening  with  her  best  friend  which  is  why  she  will  not  leave  her  in  the  dark.

❝  I'm  not  sure  if  you're  clever  or  crazy  ...  ❞  there  is  then  a  pause  in  her  words.  ❝  But  I  guess  they  are  two  sides  of  the  same  coin.❞  then  a  careful  nod  of  consideration.

❝  I'll  talk  to  her,  but  if  she  says  no,  then  the  answer  is  no.  I  won't  push  her  into  something  she's  not  comfortable  with  but  odds  are  --  she  will  not  agree  to  this.❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 '𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒆' 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒌 because there is something in the way she throws it back at him that lands cleaner than most things do. Not many people know how to meet him there without either backing off too soon or trying to flatter their way around him. Most of them hear the name, hear the reputation and decide it is easier to nod, smile, kiss his ass and move on. He has never had much use for that kind of business. This, though, this he can work with. A sharp mind across from him, someone willing to push back. It makes the whole thing worth having as a conversation instead of just another arrangement signed off by people who know how to count money but not much else. Maybe that is part of it too, if he is being honest with himself, though honesty has never been the first thing he offers anyone. These conversations are the closest thing he has left to a voice of his own. Once, he got to do that on a stage. Now what he wants out in the world has to go through other people. Maybe that is why he pushes as hard as he does. Maybe that is why he wants his brother in the brightest light he can manage to force open, because Matthias still has what Mark does not, and opportunities like this do not wait around for men to grow sentimental. If Cassandra says yes, there is a chance here worth taking. If she says no, then the door closes and he moves on. But if there is any opening at all, he is going to reach for it before someone else does.

A quiet breath leaves him that is almost a laugh, though it sounds rougher than amused. ❝ I've been called worse by people who dont understand a thing about how this works. ❞ One shoulder lifts in a shrug that looks easy even if nothing about him really is. ❝ Call it clever, call it crazy, call it whatever makes it sit better in your mouth. You play it safe, you take no risks and you get nowhere worth going. ❞ His gaze stays on her, not to sweet-talk her out of her caution but to make her see the move the way he does. ❝ I'll respect your friend'ss decision if she says no. I'm not interested in dragging someone into a thing they can't carry. But remind her why she came into this business in the first place. She wanted people to hear her. She wanted to reach them. I can connect her. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑻𝒉𝒆  𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏  𝒐𝒇  𝒉𝒊𝒔  𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒉𝒂𝒔  𝑳𝒊𝒏  𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒂  𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒘  𝒊𝒏  𝒉𝒊𝒔  𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.  ❝  I've  heard  of  him  ,  yes.  ❞  but  she  wont'  say  that  his  brother's  version  of  a  Boys  II  Men  classic  is  on  her  musical  rotation  to  give  Mark  some  sort  of  satisfaction,  something  to  gloat  over  if  he  knew.  So  that  is  simply  something  she  keeps  to  herself  as  she  proceeds  to  look  him  up  and  down  speculating  what  it  is  he  might  be  suggesting.

At  first,  she  assumes  something  as  innocent  as  a  duet,  a  collab,  which  she  could  easily  see.  The  idea  of  Cassandra  and  Matthias  ...  their  sounds  are  different  but  bring  them  together  and  no  doubt  they  can  make  something  absolutely  magical.

But  the  way  that  Mark  is  looking  at  her  suggests  he's  not  here  to  offer  shared  studio  time.

The  suggestion  has  Lin  slowly  turning  to  face  him.  ❝  Are  you  suggesting  that  we  put  the  two  of  them  in  a  PR  situation  ...  ?  ❞  The  look  she  gives  him  is  something  on  the  verge  of  insanity,  almost  diabolical  thinking  in  a  sense.  Never  would  she  ever  meddle  in  Cass'  love  life,  but  after  the  last  few  boyfriends  she's  been  with  in  the  past  ...  This  doesn't  seem  so  bad.  Besides,  at  least  this  way  Lin  can  make  sure  that  nothing  happens  that  shouldn't  happen.  Clearing  her  throat,  she  looks  at  Mark.

❝  I'm  not  going  to  say  anything  in  agreement  or  disagreement  until  I  talk  to  Cassandra  about  it,  though  you  know  people  can  read  a  PR  relationship  from  a  mile  away,  we  don't  even  know  if  they'd  have  any  chemistry  to  actually  pull  off  such  a  thing.❞  That's  not  her  saying  yes,  but  she  knows  he's  not  wrong.  It  could  work  out  in  Cass'  favor.  And  if  it  somehow  falls  apart  then  while  she'd  never  want  to  see  her  best  friend  hurt  it  could  benefit...

She  hates  this  business  all  the  while  loving  it  just  the  same.

❝  And  your  brother,  he's  on  board  with  this  ...  ?  ❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓, and he would have distrusted it if it came anyway. He knows the effect he has on people well enough by now. However, that never means he cannot use charm when it serves him, because he can, and because being direct has never stopped him from knowing exactly how to work a room when something needs to move in his favor. So he notices the way her gaze travels over him, trying to decide where the real angle is, and he lets her. Men like him do not survive in this business by being offended when someone sharp enough decides to study them before agreeing to anything. He has been in this industry far too long not to recognize the look of someone doing the math. A faint smirk pulls at his mouth then, not without a trace of approval. She knows business, that much is obvious. More importantly, she sees the risk in it before she sees the shine, and that alone makes him take her more seriously than most. Of course she is not going to throw her friend into something that could cling to her name for years if it goes wrong, because those kinds of stories never really wash off once the public gets hold of them. Mark knows that too. He also knows that none of that changes the fact that some things only work because someone is willing to test them before the rest of the room catches up. ❝ You know the thing about chemistry, ❞ he says, the words leaving him in that low, frayed voice that always sounds like it has been dragged over gravel, ❝ you have to be willing to experiment if you want to find something new. ❞ His thumb shifts once against the side of the glass in his hand before he lowers it, his gaze never leaving hers. ❝ And I know how to find the new. I know how to put people together and make it work. ❞

There is no hesitation in him when he steps a little closer, close enough that it presses at the edges of her space without quite crossing into anything careless. This time he is the one who looks her over, slow and unapologetic, not because he is trying to unsettle her for the sake of it, but because he wants her to understand that he is every bit as calculating as she has already guessed. He has made careers out of pairing the wrong sounds until they turn into the right thing, pulled harmony out of people who should have clashed on paper, and there is a reason his name still carries weight even after his own voice was taken out of his hands. ❝ As for my brother ❞ he says, one side of his mouth lifting again, ❝ he will know soon enough. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

❝  I'm  not  being  dramatic.  ❞  Matthias  sighed  as  he  listens  to  his  brother's  explanation  as  to  why  he  didn't  tell  him  that  he  had  this  kind  of  plan  up  his  sleeve.  ❝  I'm  being  cautious,  there  is  in  fact  a  huge  difference  in  the  two.  ❞  but  he  has  a  point,  when  it  comes  to  business  Mark  doesn't  play.  He's  hyper  focused.  Which  in  a  few  ways  is  a  great  thing,  but  in  others  it  leaves  Matthias  worried  about  his  brother's  well  being. 

And  yes,  he  knows  what  he's  doing  which  is  as  admirable  as  it  is  terrifying.  Matthias  sighs  as  he  takes  a  seat  across  from  his  brother  so  he  can  look  into  his  eyes  as  they  have  this  conversation.  He  mentions  the  woman  being  french  and  he  chuckles  faintly.  ❝  I  do  appreciate  the  French.  ❞  he  murmurs.

He  leans  his  head  back  against  the  chair  and  stares  up  at  the  ceiling  as  though  it  may  have  the  answers,  but  when  nothing  comes  through  with  clarity  he  brings  his  head  back  down  slow.  ❝  Alright,  fine,  I'll  play  this  game.  I'll  do  a  song  with  her,  I'll  play  this  part.  But  if  it  all  goes  wrong  I  will  not  be  blamed  for  it.  ❞  Matthias  sighs  again.

❝  The  things  I  let  you  talk  me  into…So  when  do  I  meet  her  ?  ❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒄, and Mark lets that pass with the kind of look that makes it clear he will always disagree. He is the older one, the one who has been in this business longer, the one who trusts his own instincts over anyone eles's. If you asked him, he would tell you that makes him the rational one in the room, even with all the evidence to the contrary. Even with the bitterness that sits in him like rot and the habits that have long since stopped pretending to be harmless. Whisky, pills, powder, whatever gets him through the nights when the silence where his voice used to be feels too loud. The papers have had their fill of him for it more than once▬▬never in the flattering kind of way. If he is going to be the headline people shake their heads at, then he can at least make sure Matthias gets the glossy ones, which means that this arrangement is not just good for his brother. It is good for both of them. A smirk drags at his mouth as he lifts the whisky to his lips and takes another sip, slow enough to make it clear he is not the least bit troubled by how quickly Matthias folds once the idea starts sounding useful. ❝ Knew you did, ❞ he says, dry amusement roughening what is already left of his voice when Matthias admits he appreciates the French. That much, at least, tracks. Then comes the warning about not being blamed if the whole thing goes to hell, and Mark lets out the faintest breath through his nose before turning away from the table. He walks back past his brother without any hurry in him, glass still in hand, and lowers himself onto the couch again.

❝ Since when do you ever get the blame, baby brother, ❞ he says, the joke landing with a mocking edge. He leans back, one arm stretched along the couch, the glass loose in his hand, and fixes Matthias with a long, steady look when the question finally comes. When do I meet her. Mark holds his gaze for a beat, letting the answer sit there before he gives it. ❝ Tonight, ❞ he says at last..

[beautyinthetragedy]

❝  You  did  what  ?  ❞  Matthias  turned  around  to  look  at  his  brother  with  wide  blue  eyes  and  disbelief.  But  the  funny  thing  is  he  couldn't  actually  not  believe  he'd  do  something  like  this.  It's  Mark. 

That  was  reason  enough  for  it  to  be  true.  So  why  is  Matthias  seeming  so  surprised  that  his  brother  is  attempting  to  put  him  in  a  PR  relationship  with  the  words  current  rising  star. 

❝  Mark,  tell  me  you're  joking.  Please,  tell  me  you're  joking.  ❞  though  that  was  asking  for  a  miracle  wasn't  it?  It's  true,  when  it  came  to  his  love  life  it  was…lacking.  That  was  the  best  way  to  put  it  …  his  last  girlfriend  played  him  for  a  fool  and  the  world  watched  it  happen.  Before  that,  it  was  just  a  disaster.  Then  there  was  before  he  was  famous…

Fuck. 

❝  Why  wouldn't  you  tell  me  before  you  decided  to  pull  this  rabbit  out  of  your  fucking  hat  ?  ❞  he  asked  with  a  heavy  sigh  on  his  lips.  ❝  What  were  you  planning  on  doing,  just  throwing  us  in  a  room  and  saying  ‘congratulations,  you’re  dating  now,  have  fun  '  ?  ❞

@wachtraeumen, what, you thought Mark would get away with it ?? >>

[wachtraeumen]

𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒊𝒎 and it does not move much in his expression. If Matthias had any real instinct for this business outside of getting onstage and opening his mouth, maybe it would have been worth asking first. But he does not. He gets by on talent, looks, and whatever poor girl or bad decision the press can use against him next. Someone has to do the thinking for him. So, he lets Matthias talk. Lets him throw the questions, the disbelief, the anger. Lets the words hit and fall where they may. Mark has heard worse from people he likes a hell of a lot less. By the time his brother gets to the part about pulling rabbits out of hats and throwing people into rooms together, Mark only lowers his gaze to the whisky in his hand and rolls the glass once, watching the amber shift. Then he drinks and it is only after that that he answers, ❝ When exactly do I joke about business ? ❞ he asks at last, voice rough with that permanent scrape in it making every word sound a little more worn, a little less patient. Then he shrugs, like the whole thing is barely worth the energy it is taking. ❝ And telling you beforehand wouldn't have changed a damn thing except make you dramatic sooner. ❞ He pushes himself up from the sofa, one hand slipping into the pocket of his trousers, the other still around the glass. ❝ I know better than you do what your career needs, ❞ he says bluntly. ❝ Thats the difference between us. You think with your pride. I think with results. ❞

Mark walks past him and heads for the table, setting the glass down just long enough to reach for the bottle and pour himself another. The amber catches the light. So does the bitterness that never quite leaves him now, not since the surgery, not since everything changed and Matthias still got to keep the one thing Mark lost. His voice. His place. The crowd. ❝ I always have a plan, ❞ he says. ❝ I know what I'm doing. Better than you.❞ He turns back then, taking a sip before looking at his brother over the rim of the glass, gaze sharp enough to cut. ❝ I'll get you a song. I'll get you appearances. ❞ His mouth twitches, though there is nothing warm in it. ❝ Besides, ❞ he says, cruelly casual with a smirk . ❝ she's French. Pretty sure, that alone should be enough to keep you interested for a while. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

𝑺𝒉𝒆  𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅  𝒏𝒐𝒕  𝒃𝒆  𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆  𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒅  𝒐𝒇  𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒂  and  all  that  she  has  accomplished,  and  getting  to  come  along  for  the  ride.  Her  manager,  her  PR  agent,  Lin  made  sure  to  be  there  for  her  best  friend  through  everything  someway,  somehow.  She  wouldn't  let  the  vultures  of  the  limelight  take  away  all  the  things  that  made  Cassandra  who  she  is.  It's  her  genuine  heart  that  makes  her  the  star  that  people  relate  to,  and  draw  to  her  for  that  reason.

So  if  she  got  the  reputation  as  an  ice  queen  manager  then  she's  going  to  take  it,  and  boy  has  she  gained  that  reputation.  Polar  opposites  they  say  between  Cassandra's  sunshine  and  the  cold  shadows  of  Aislin.  Though  Cassandra  knows  the  truth,  Lin  lives  for  the  reputation.  As  right  now  when  she  hears  her  name  being  called.

Turning,  she  sees  the  one  who  has  gotten  her  attention.  ❝  Ah,  Mister  Gordon,  heard  a  lot  about  you.❞  And  she  has,  hard  to  not  hear  rumors  and  gossip  in  this  line  of  work.  When  he  speaks  of  Cassandra  she  turns  to  look  and  she  smiles.  ❝  She  is.❞  She  says  it  with  absolute  pride,  but  then  she  turns  back  to  Mark  who  is  speaking  about  the  scene  before  them.  Though  then  he  says  he's  got  an  idea  that  could  push  all  this  further.

A  pause  as  she  tilts  her  head.

❝  My  first  instinct  is  to  say  'no',  but  you've  earned  a  lot  of  respect  in  the  industry  and  been  in  it  far  longer  than  we  have.  So,  I'm  willing  to  hear  you  out.❞  but  she  looks  to  the  watch  on  her  wrist.  ❝  But  make  it  quick.❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒆𝒔, and truth be told, Mark can respect it. The way she stands there, the way every word out of her mouth makes it clear that Cassandra is not something she lets just anyone get their hands on. Good. Someone has to have that instinct in this business. Mark knows it too well, knows how fast the wrong people circle the second they smell momentum, and he has met enough women like Aislin over the years to know exactly what he is looking at now——someone sharp enough to protect what matters before the vultures get close enough to tear at it. He can work with that. He also knows opportunity when it stands right in front of him and Mark has never been the sort of man to wait politely while someone else gets there first. Cassandra has the kind of rise that draws greed. Not that he has ever been gentle himself. When something needs doing, Mark does not put on soft gloves to do it. His brother knows that better than most. So do the people who stay close to him long enough to find out. Quick, then. Fine. One corner of his mouth pulls, not quite a smile, far more drier than that. ❝ Pretty sure you heard of my brother. ❞ A beat passes. ❝ Matthias Gordon. Rock singer. Knows how to pull a crowd. ❞ Almost as good-looking as him, if one feels generous and unlike Mark, Matthias still has the voice to back it up. ❝ You put him and your French girl in the same room a few times, same event, same little bit of mystery and people will do what they always do. They'll start building the story for us. ❞ There is no shine put on it, no pretty wrapping. Mark has never had much patience for that.

His eyes flick once in Cassandra's direction and then back to Aislin. ❝ She keeps her momentum. Matthias gets fresh attention outside his usual crowd. Everybody wins. ❞ He already knows what this is, coming here first instead of taking it to his brother. Going behind Matthias' back, sure, but some opportunities die the second you drag them into a family discussion before they have teeth. Better to see if the thing has legs first, then deal with the fallout after. That has always been more Mark's way.

[wachtraeumen]

⊹ · ⸻ @beautyinthetragedy ; starter for Aislin from Mark :

𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔 once around the lowball glass before he sets it down untouched on a passing tray. Then he spots her across the room. Cassandra may be the face of all this, the rising name, the girl everyone suddenly wants a piece of, but Aislin is the one people have to get through first. Best friend. Manager. Gatekeeper. Probably the only person in the room who still looks at Cassandra and sees the woman before the product. Mark knows that because he makes it his business to know. He does his homework. Always, and even if respect in him never shows up as anything soft, he can respect that much.

He makes his way over without much ceremony, cutting through a cluster of people mid-laugh, one shoulder brushing a little harder than needed when somebody fails to move fast enough. By the time he reaches her, his expression is set in that usual way of his, unreadable enough to pass for disinterest if a person does not look too closely. The damage to his voice never quite stops reminding him it is there, and when he speaks, the low scrape of it gives the ruin away at once. ❝ Miss Eveleen. ❞

No smile touches his mouth. Just her name, flat and direct, enough to cut through the noise and pull her attention to him. His gaze flicks once over the room, brief and assessing, before settling back on her. ❝ Looks like your girl's having her moment. ❞ There is no sweetness in it, no mockery either. Only the blunt truth of what he means. ❝ Smart crowd. Good turnout. People are talking. ❞ He pauses, thumb dragging once along the line of his jaw before he gets to the point. He is not the kind of man who crosses a room for small talk, and she has been in this business long enough to know exactly who she is looking at. ❝ I've got an idea that could push it further. ❞

[beautyinthetragedy]

❝  Maybe  that's  why  someone  should  at  least  kick  Matthew  in  the  kneecaps,  or  something.  But  still,  I'm  not  volunteering.  Athena  though...❞  Chim  offers  the  suggestion,  but  he  sees  that  look  in  Maddie's  eyes  and  he  chuckles  faintly,  his  arm  around  her  waist  to  hold  her  close  to  him.  His  thumb  moves  in  circles  against  her  hip  and  he  looks  into  her  eyes.

❝  There  are  a  lot  of  things  I  envy  your  brother  for,  but  feeling  like  he  does.  I'm  not  sure  if  that's  a  blessing  or  a  curse.❞  From  where  he  stands  it  could  be  both,  somehow  blended  into  one  beautiful  disaster  that  is  him.  But  the  fact  that  he  feels  safer  talking  to  the  kids  than  any  of  them  almost  breaks  his  heart.  Bu  the  agrees,  they  can  wait  until  he's  ready  to  talk.  But  when  she  speaks  of  the  bedtime  he  laughs.

❝  I'm  sure  Jee  is  already  working  up  her  argument  of  why  she  should  stay  up  late  and  help  Uncle  Buck  through  this,  but  she'll  be  out  before  she  finishes  that  argument.❞  Ah,  children,  his  children  even.  If  Buck  wasn't  such  a  good  uncle  then  they'd  not  push  to  try  to  stay  awake  in  order  to  remain  in  his  presence.

Chim  gives  Maddie  a  kiss  on  the  cheek,  and  just  as  he's  about  to  move  from  her  Buck  comes  out  of  the  nursery  and  he  walks  into  the  room  they  are  and  finds  them  standing  there,  looking  at  him  as  he  walks  in.  Chim  nods.  ❝  I'll  let  you  handle  this  one.  ❞  With  that  he  slips  away,  leaving  Buck  and  Maddie  in  the  same  room  as  Buck  forces  a  smile  on  his  face.

❝  Sorry,  story  time  lasted  a  bit  longer  than  usual.❞  though  he  could  tell  by  the  look  on  Maddie's  face  she  knew  that  it  wasn't  just  a  story  to  tell,  it  was  him  venting  his  broken  heart  to  a  kid  who  he  hoped  never  felt  this  kind  of  heaviness  the  older  he  gets.  Moving  his  hands  to  is  pockets,  Buck  moves  toward  his  sister.

Then  he  notices  the  monitor  and  he  points  to  it.  ❝  I  take  it  you  heard  everything  ?  ❞

[wachtraeumen]

𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒈𝒐 with a small, grateful look, the brush of his kiss still warm against her cheek even after he slips out and leaves the room to her and Buck. Her eyes lift to her brother and she just looks at him the way only a sister can, with too much history and too much love wrapped up in one knowing glance. Him standing there with his hands in his pockets and that smile on his face that does not quite reach his eyes, which is such a familiar thing. Buck has been wearing versions of it for years, bright enough to fool most people, never quite enough to fool her. When he points to the monitor, the corner of her mouth twitches, soft with a humor she keeps gentle on purpose. ❝ Not everything, ❞ she says, setting the tiny shirt aside at last. ❝ But enough to know your nephew is apparently getting a very early education in heartbreak and sad country music. ❞ The joke is gentle, more of a small opening than anything, just something easy for him to take if that is all he can manage right now. But Maddie does not let him hide in it either. When she looks at him, her expression softens, giving him no judgment, no pressure, only the space to come a little closer if he wants to. ❝ Buck... ❞ she says more quietly, ❝ You do not have to apologize for feeling bad in my house, or for talking too long. Or for not being okay yet. ❞ She moves from the table and toward him then, closing some of the space he had left between them. It hurts, sometimes, how familiar this is. Not the details. But Buck standing there trying to smile through something that is still cutting him open.

Her hand lifts, resting lightly against his arm for a moment, thumb brushing once in a way that is almost absentminded, almost maternal, though with Buck it has always been both sister and that old instinct in her, the one that learned early how to be the person he could count on when their parents could not. ❝ But if you need to talk... I'm always there for you. ❞