Making a DemiVera fic! It's set in Gilded Age/Prohibition era New York, but it's VERY historically inaccurate because this was supposed to be an experimental piece and not a major project.
Here's an excerpt! The fic starts with Demi (as True Proof). Vera comes in later.
I'm going to post the full thing on ao3, and I'm hoping to draw some content for them too.
Demi Bourbon drummed her fingers against the curved arm of her seat, trying to keep herself busy. The heavy, golden throne cooled her touch, and she reclined back into its plush cushion, feeling her shoulder brush against small nicks from ammunition ricochet. She had purloined it from a rival bootlegging gang, and she had entertained herself on many a boring night tracing through its vine engravings and recounting the shots that had made each groove.
But tonight was different. Even in the basement, she could hear the howling wind and lashing rain rattle the shack above. She kept her gaze nailed to the cellar door, ignoring the shuffling steps of her subordinates and waiting for the guards outside to make a move.
Her guest was five minutes late, and she amused herself by imagining all the different ways her henchmen would exact revenge should she deign to lift a finger. She was tempted to swivel around and gossip with Blood Fan, her strongest and most loyal guard, standing silently behind her.
A long time ago, Demi might’ve given in. As a child, she had hated how tense business was, despised huddling in basements hoping the night wouldn’t end in bullet rain. She would’ve tugged the back of her brother’s shirt with a shaking fist, waiting for him to turn around and tell her everything was going to be fine. Living in New York’s underbelly had given her an answer Sam could never muster the brutality to teach her: never trust, when you can prepare.
Now her brother was dead, and so were her dreams of a life hidden safely behind someone else’s back.
Another excruciating minute passed.
“I could check the entryway for patrolmen,” Blood Fan leaned down and whispered, “It would give you time to escape.”
“Trust me, Michiko. She’ll show.”
Blood Fan retreated, returning to her rigid stance in a silent expression of trust. Demi could smell a rat from a mile away; every struggle on her way up the bootlegging business had refined her senses to a keen point, and now as the leader of the infamous Silver Scythe, she believed in her instinct even more than her cautious advisors’ words. Something in her bones was telling her to wait patiently, so she did.
A fist rapped on the door. Two quick knocks, then a soft tap, followed by three more knocks. The Silver Scythe member closest to the door peered in through the sliding peephole and turned back to Demi. At her nod, he unlocked the massive padlock, and helped the guards standing outside heave the heavy wooden door open.
A cacophony of rustles announced the arrival of her guest. The stranger’s outer cloak was dull and barren enough to blend into darkness, but Demi watched as a lady’s bright, silk-gloved hand emerged from beneath the folds to peel away the shadowy guise. There was no mistaking it, and Demi smiled wide as she relished her well-taken risk.
Duchess Amethyst had come alone, just like she had promised. She was the only aristocrat Demi had allowed into the Silver Scythe’s hideout with guaranteed safety from her foaming underlings. Amethyst was just the type of wealthy customer Demi sought to court: desperate and bold.
pixelskylines
snowghoul
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
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