Realistic or Modern ✽ Efflorescence ✽ Life in Skyvine [Main Thread]

[Inb4Cloaker]

Location~ The Green House.
Mentions~ Chimney Swift Soap
Interactions~ Nobelia

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”Espera, tal vez no deberías tomar el... cuchillo. Ah, whatever. He will survive.”
The short phrase of Spanish and English was spoken prior to the man marching off to confront the boy. Victor was stunned for a moment, not entirely sure what would come of such a conversation. Hopefully, the teen would be sturdy enough to withstand Teiga.

Wait, would that make the boy more enduring than himself, who didn’t entirely withstand Teiga?

Nevermind; he can only dream that the boy is fast on his feet.

While the two forces of confidence and meekness met, Victor leaned back in his chair once again. He had been offered a job, insulted, and lectured on courtesy all at the same time. While slightly irritating, it was not completely unwelcomed, nor undeserved. He had concluded that this man had some problems, but not detrimental enough to stall his capabilities. In Victors view, that made him a little more tolerable, since he himself was in a similar boat. Having a screw loose didn’t always make someone incompetent or insane, and besides, who had the right to say it was a problem that couldn’t be fixed?

The contractor found himself soul searching, lost in thought temporarily. With a few blinks, he escaped the confines of his own questioning insight, and entered reality once again.

So, it appeared as though the man didn’t particularly enjoy Vic saying his name; probably because he did just insult him in a foreign language, and would definitely continue to do so. He also offered what seemed to be a security job. Victor was uneasy at this, not because of the man, but because of his past experiences. When someone wants security, they usually go for the cheaper, typical mall cop deal. If a client approached Victor and offered to hire him, it was either because they didn’t know what they were doing, or because they intended for him to perform tasks that were outside of the security field. Was he able and willing to be a simple security guard? Yes, he was somehow one of the select few who slipped through the cracks to obtain a higher tier license without extensive screening. Did he believe that Teiga only needed someone to look intimidating? Not really. Still, a job was a job, and what was the worse that could come from taking it?

Vic snorted and rolled his eyes. He was about to submit and work for someone who held his life at stake just moments ago. Maybe he really was insane.

The man had given the contractor the information necessary to contact him, and made his offer fairly clear. Chances are, Victor would finish up his business here, introduce himself... properly, and request a time to contact his potential new boss for further information. His young, potential boss he might add. He couldn’t be over twenty, yet he had business cards? This guy was something special.

While he waited for his newly acquired employer to finish inducing fear into the teenager, Vic finally made sense of everything that had occurred. Releasing the adrenaline he had built up, the tension within his body diffused. It had already been a chaotic night, and he had only just arrived. With absolutely no room for doubt, Victor fooled himself into accepting the truth; he was cursed. Lazily, he observed the interaction from a few meters away. Barely thrusting his head out in the same manner that a child would when trying to look over their eldest brothers shoulder, he revealed his face to the teenager.

“Hey kid. How is the weather over there? If it started raining when el energúmeno strolled up, stay calm. As long as you don’t carry a backpack, he won’t hurt you. He hates backpacks.” After he finished speaking, Victor allowed his eyes to trail to the small pack that was slung over his frail shoulder. The insurgents facial expression changed to a gross over-exaggeration of terror, with widened eyes and all as he made a scene to gently tease him. With one hand visible, he used his index finger to hastily scribble a cross in the air before saying;

“I’ll pray for your soul.”

Before Victor could lose his composure, he darted his head back out of view. The second he was obscured once again by the man, he placed his face into the crease of his elbow, as though he was coughing. Instead of hacking up a lung, however, the contractor proceeded to smother his amusement. Closing his eyes, he released his arm and took a struggled gasp of air. Indulging in his own humor, he silently, but very apparently continued to snicker. Lifting a hand to wipe the blatant smile off his face, the contractor sighed, maintaining his comedic chuckles every few breaths. For whatever reason, seeing others panic always made him laugh. It was always funny when it was someone else. He was a hypocrite because of that very reason, seeing as how it was anything but joyful when the man had him at a blades edge. Speaking of that whole ordeal...

Turning his head, the contractor looked back over at the female who had attempted to step in on his behalf. Eying her momentarily, the man tried to pinpoint the reason for her committing to such an act. It wasn’t often that someone would exchange heated words with an armed assailant. Unless they themselves were covertly armed.

Shifting in his seat, he place his injured arm over the backrest of his wooden chair. Providing the woman his attention, Vic also remained in touch with the conversation unfolding near the library.

“So, señorita, are you packing? Or do you just like to live on the edge? Either way, thanks for the er, help?” Discreetly, Victor urged himself to stop cackling at his previous jest, and pretend as though he wasn’t just somewhat bullying the teen from across the store. With a twinge of regret, he half wished he hadn’t used that moment to incite him. Chances are, he had enough on his plate as it is.

While he anticipated the woman’s reply, his pupils glided over towards the menu-board once again. Recalling the reason for him being present in the Cafe, he nodded his head in the direction of his would be savior and asked;

“If I offer to buy you a coffee, will you promise not to attack me?” Victor would rather be safe then sorry, he didn’t want a repeat of the previous five minutes. Ever again, preferably. He wasn’t one to offer items to people he had just met, but he deemed it a worthy sacrifice to express his appreciation. One cup wouldn’t kill his finances.

 

[Soap]

Alena Avery

Location: The Greenhouse| Interacting with: The Individuals' at the greenhouse| Mentions: Nobelia Inb4Cloaker Chimney Swift

What she said didn't seem to catch the full-attention of the man in the tracksuit, but it caught the attention of the other. “You know what that is, in Spanish? Gilipollas pretenciosas, Mister Reymore. I think it fits pretty well.” with a nod of acknowledgement She gave a faint smile, she watched as Mr Reymore, walked over to the young boy. She felt a bit uneasy for the boy, "I appreciate the concern, but I guarantee whatever you believe is about to happen--will not happen. Perhaps reconsider your decision?" She was surprised at the sudden diplomacy from the man, she couldn't help but feeling bad for the teenager. "...That's good to know." The boy said. taking a step towards the exit. The hispanic man walked towards the teen, “Hey kid. How is the weather over there? If it started raining when el energúmenostrolled up, stay calm. As long as you don’t carry a backpack, he won’t hurt you. He hates backpacks.” She looked at the boy, seeing the bag around his shoulder. “I’ll pray for your soul.” put her face in her hands, it was mean, sure. But that doesn't mean it didn't make her laugh. The boy will be okay, it was harmless. Now that the crisis was averted, she turned her attention back towards the computer for the millionth time today, her hands hovered over the keyboard, when she felt someone staring at her. “So, señorita, are you packing? Or do you just like to live on the edge? Either way, thanks for the er, help?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, packing? the realization hit her, she nodded and chuckled. "No, i just..couldn't sit there while-" she looked up towards the man, she cut herself off, not wanting to ramble on "Don't mention it." she offered a genuine smile towards him. “If I offer to buy you a coffee, will you promise not to attack me?” She laughed and for a split second looked towards her own drink which she hardly even took a sip of, but it was cold by now. She wouldn't turn down a drink. She turned back to the man, "I don't drink coffee." She waited a moment before speaking again.

"But i wouldn't say no to a hot chocolate." she smiled towards him and held a hand out in attempt for a handshake, and introduced herself. "Alena Avery."

 

[Nobelia]

Teiga Reymore

At: The Greenhouse ♦ Interacting w: Tattooed man & a boy ♦ Mentions: Inb4Cloaker Chimney Swift Soap

It wasn't implausible to presume he'd done something to agitate the younger male.

Teiga examined the boy with disheveled hair under an evenhanded eye. The boy stared up at him, possibly disgruntled at the rather conspicuous height differences--among other things. His jaw clenched by a diminutive margin, to the extent Teiga almost didn't catch the shift in the boy's features. He anticipated a movement of retaliation to his demeanor--however a demeanor the boy had perceived from him, anyways. Despite his newfound attitude, the boy remained rooted in his stance--neither moving nor blinking, only staring straight ahead at Teiga.

For a brief moment, Teiga couldn't help but wonder what exactly the boy thought he was capable of doing to him--although, he simply lacked any real interest in putting that scenario to the test.

The boy gnawed at his lip--whether in a bout of vexation or apprehension--settling to voice affirmation on what Teiga had endorsed before.

The pointed inclines of the boy's timbre was unexpected yet in some way befitting--as though it encompassed the capacity of his tenacity.

Skittish hands clasped determinedly on the harness of his book bag--the boy fixedly eyeing a means to desert his predicament.

Teiga found it in him to not summon offense at the indirect impression that he would waste his time cornering things like rabbits, sheep, and the disturbed boy before him. He had no liable reason to force him into his place, as he'd willingly discarded the motive of requesting authorities. As he recalled it, the boy appeared rather intently immersed in the aspect of his kingdom of novels and literature. With the way he had embraced his books in the recess of the library--Teiga could safely deduct, as a matter of fact--books were the whole world, to the boy.

Teiga angled himself towards the man farther across the room, at a table with a woman--fully intending to be the one to remove himself from the interaction first.

His fingers brushed against the formations of the shelves as he passed them by--a single hand, while the damaged one lie in his pocket--before they rested on the final shelf before his exit from the library.

His mouth pressed into a thin line, before he authorized for himself the bearing of what he chose to say.

"You're better off in the evening. While the cafe has a stricter schedule--this library is accessible twenty-four hours, seven days a week. You seem the kind to value seclusion. Take it from one of your kind," he suggested--the latter statement referring to his likeliness to introversion.

In all honesty, he couldn't quite grasp why he bothered to share.

The majority of the Greenhouse's audience highly preferred to engage in idle talk across the board, and over the tinkering of coffee-filled porcelain. The library was occupied for the purpose of other than indulging or immersing oneself in books. Educational assignments, late-night essays, a niche for privacy, or as proposed short-term stations of business practices--surely all but what a library was inherently intended for. Therefore--he reasoned--this proposal was bought to light in assistance of keeping the library attuned to its proper functions.

The rugged man across the room exclaimed shenanigans likely intended to cause the boy to split hairs in brimming disquiet.

Something about an emphasis placed on a certain word gave Teiga half the mind it was an insult also thrown in alongside the man's antics.

That was all besides a matter of concern--as the last thing Teiga dreaded to endure was a snotty-teared child breaking down in all forms of sensitivity. He said child, but something about the boy's disposition gave Teiga the impression the boy was hardly any less older or younger than he was. If that was the case, then burdens such as snotty-teared children were not applicable to the boy before him. Regardless, there was no further range of space left for him to care.

On the other hand, if that man ever resolved to appeal for the job--Teiga would assure something were done about his mouth.

Speaking of--Teiga cast a pronounced glance in direction of said man, and the woman beaming at him. So they preferred to play a game of friendly conjures--fine. Figuring the man could use a modest reminder, Teiga left his post from the library, and made to proceed past his table occupied with the woman.

A momentary tap on his business card--left lingering behind on the corner of the table--was all that he served to caution of the fleeting time designated to the expectation of an answer.

With that, Teiga resigned himself to a paltry table stuffed in the very farthermost of the cafe. The table hobbled along a pair of chairs--no more or less, and in contrary to the encompassing round tables positioned along the cafe in groups of four to eight seats, precisely.

The afternoon sun began its quest to the horizon, chromes of azure and stains of calming lilac sketched across the vast sky--ever so looming and clear through the immense panes assembling the Greenhouse. Already, so much had materialized within his day--of incidents rather unexpected, and innately against his uninterrupted customs of procedure. The commotion and bubble of the atmosphere drowned out anything else which may had called for his attention. Teiga leaned back into his chair--head resting against the support of the wall--deep in thought.

He might as well go through the trouble of having tea, which was why he originally set out for the Greenhouse to begin with.

A waitress jogged over to his table, nudging through the waves of bodies obstructing every visible pathway in her sight.

"Would you like anything, sir?" she piped in good cheer--rightfully oblivious to any discomfort he may had experienced at being directly under radiation of her optimistic intensity.

He slowly muttered out, "Green tea," all the while mildly stunted by her vigorous nature, and fully exhausted of it by the same whim.

She beamed, and tittered away--or fluttered, as her spirits were so high she may have hit the ceiling on the way.

Teiga drew out his phone, noting several notifications stating missed calls and messages.

All from Remi:

MESSAGES - 5:10 PM
pick up ur damn celly

MESSAGES 5:15 PM
i called like 4 times

MESSAGES 5:15 PM
are we still gonna review these docs?!

MESSAGES 5:20 PM
i legit dont have time for u rn js

And courtesy of more ramblings, where, at that point--he'd stopped scrolling through his phone. Although he couldn't decipher how his phone was boosted into silent mode--it was quite clear there were more pressing matters at hand.

He stared at his phone--either weary, expectant, annoyed--or all of the above.

Tea first, business next.

code by Ri.a

 

[apolla]

"Luke?"

Squinting, trying to bring the blurry figure ahead of her into focus, Emberly took a step forward. Rocks and gravel crumbled underneath her foot, and she cast a glance down. The railroad tracks stood firm beneath her feet, but the mere sight of them caused her blood to run cold in her veins. She couldn't place the feeling, but something about them was wrong. Very wrong.

"Shhh. Come on, Em. Walk with me."

Hearing her brother's voice again, the pink haired girl looked up, noticing that Luke was further ahead of her now. Too far away for her to have heard him as clearly as she had, but she didn't question that. Taking a hesitant step with her black and red converse clad foot, she breathed a sigh of relief as the tracks remained steady.

Luke and Emberly navigated the tracks with ease, but when he disappeared around a bend ahead and she couldn't see him anymore, panic set in. "Luke?!" She sped up, rounding the bend and nearly colliding with her brother's back. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his back and inhaling his scent. Cigarettes and incense, just like she remembered.

But why was that a big deal?

"Do you hear it?"

Hear what? Lifting her head, she craned her neck to look up at her brother. He stared off into the distance, and slowly, almost hesitantly, Emberly followed his gaze. At first, she didn't hear anything. But then, without warning, she felt it. The tracks were moving. No, not moving-- vibrating. She could feel it through her laces, all the way up through her skinny jeans and t-shirt.

Train.

Panic set in again, only this time, she couldn't explain its origin. Something bad was going to happen, that she knew, but what? She stepped to the side, off the tracks, her hand brushing against Luke's shirt. Grabbing hold of the thin material, she tugged at him, wanting him to follow. He wouldn't budge. The train was coming. Faster. Louder. She could see the smoke.

"Luke, come on!"

Luke still didn't move.

"Come on, please!" She tugged again, and this time, he turned to look at her. Whatever he said was lost in the sound of the train whistle. She screamed.

And jerked up in bed. Blinking away the remnants of tears and sleep, she peered around her room, trying to control her breathing. That damned dream would haunt her until she died, and she didn't have to be a genius to figure out why. Cursing aloud, she tossed back the comforter and shot out of bed. Thank god she was off today. There was no way she could fake a smile again and make it through a day of bringing people drinks and food after that. Third time this week she'd had that dream.

Some twenty or so minutes later, she was showered and dressed, back in her room. Though she wasn't exactly hungry, she knew she needed to get out of the house. Clad in her favorite pair of ripped jeans, a tank top with a light grey sweater overtop, and her favorite converses, she was mostly ready. To combat the biting cold, she grabbed her black peacoat jacket, and the beanie that matched her sweater. Tugging both items on, she grabbed her other necessities-- wallet, lighter, pack of about 3 cigarettes-- and headed out.

It didn't take her long to reach the little cafe.
The air inside seemed tense, and she paused when she walked in, though a quick glance around didn't give anything away at first. Shrugging, she headed to the counter to order a tea-- might as well get something in her stomach.

---
Tags:
no one yet

Code by apolla

 

[Chimney Swift]

Location: The Greenhouse

Mentions: Nobelia apolla

Oliver could almost feel the posh young man's eyes scan over his underdeveloped frame, in the kind of way one might inspect an old plate of food to see if it had spoiled: skeptical, but not cautious.
Then, just like that, he slowly sidled his way out of the library, one hand lightly tracing across the shelves. The white cat, who had heretofore been circling around Oliver's ankles, quickly turned and trotted out after the other boy. Of course this was the person who'd brought a cat into a cafe. Who else but this kind of bourgeois supervillain who somehow is about to get away with brandishing weaponry in public?

It bothered Oliver on a deeply personal level how nonchalant everyone seemed to have become regarding this situation.

As the young man walked back towards the center of the cafe, he offered one final piece of advice, but by that point he was a bit too far away for Oliver to parse much more than his last sentence: "Take it from one of your kind." And with that, the bizarre encounter had ended just as abruptly as it had begun. It was almost as if everyone had forgotten about the knives. Good Lord, this town just wasn't paranoid enough sometimes. Had no one else, not the patrons or the baristas, thought it would be an appropriate time to alert some authorities?

Oliver was only snapped out of the fog of disbelief by the sudden realization, when absentmindedly glancing up at the clock on the wall, that he'd been spaced out in the library for so long that he'd long since missed his train back to the Cliffside. His breath caught in his chest, sending a surge of momentary panic back through his system. Oh, no... not this again.
His mother would eviscerate him if he showed up at this hour. Was It worth It to just camp out under the bridge tonight and say he was out with friends? Was Oliver even capable of that kind of elaborate lie? Either way, he'd just graduated from one nauseatingly tense dilemma to another.

Code by apolla

 

[brutus]

Elias Dawn

Location: The Greenhouse||Mood: Incredibly Intrigued, Frisky.||Interacting with: Boulevard Castleberry Queen. , and every sucker in The Green{drama}house.

Faceclaim: Jon Kortajarena

Beginning to feel wracked with immense shivers from exposure to the frigidity of the outdoors where the coldness girded them within its unrelenting clutches, Elias tucked himself more into his jacket, his emaciated frame serving him little in the way of kindled warmth. In the meanwhile, Boulevard declined his charity, so to speak, tousling his typical brown-hued locks, which led him to smooth the wild tendrils back out, shooing her hand away with a sense of frolicsomeness as their ankles locked. The ring of her laughter crafted a smile across his face, albeit lopsided.
"Your loss, my gain, sweets."
Razzing her, he took the pill, swallowing it dry- an accumulated skill of sorts.
Further a high, why not?

As it was, all in all, Elias fancied the dynamics he held with specifically Boulevard, something he, of course, would never utter aloud, left to the certain obscurity of which he felt inclined.
Regardless, as Boulevard agreed to escort him in a declaration for a pining of floral tea- something he assumed to be a potential guise-, to The Greenhouse, wonderment lit within him, certainty having been tentative, to begin with, as their relationship held many complexities, although, they lay deep and unburied.

As it stood, what Boulevard wanted from life was enigmatic to him, and, a sliver of him felt a raw determination to unravel the depths of her personality, while the other felt content to continue leaving her as a perplexity.
Not escaping him that the two shared willowy frames, prominent bones, and, likely, a distaste of food if their emaciation spoke such a story with a gauntness telling of disordered eating.
Although, as of yet, Elias did not inquire, not succumbing to lines of queries nor an investigative disposition; if Boulevard wanted to speak on the matter, she would.
"Floral tea, it is, and hey, my ass has been in gear since I woke up, you know, business calls."
Then, laughter lilted his tone, and, he pursued after her, the crunch of snow resounding from beneath his boots.
Bunched together against the biting chill, the two traversed to the nearest train station, and, as was fortuitous, they caught a train soon to depart, giving them the allowance to abscond from the elements that consumed them.

Inside proved stifling, and Elias suppressed a groan of vexation, a given, as he loathed to ride the train when the people crammed in together like sardines in a can, as the saying went, and his elbows rubbed with another's.
Oh well, that's how these things tended to unfurl.
"Here we go, onwards to adventure, or some shit."
In a sardonic utterance, Eli winked at Boulevard before settling as much as he could into a comfortable position leaning against one of the metal poles erected for situations like this where a person needed to keep themselves stabilized when seats became lacking.

In eventuality, the congested, populous train began to disperse from stop to stop, and an empty seat presented itself. Waving Boulevard over, Elias took advantage of the fortuitous situation, plopping down and reserving a spot for his wayward companion.
"So, is the tea truly why you're tagging along- oh, look, that's us-"
Before he could get settled, announcement predicted their stop in a matter of minutes, and antsy from the ride, Elias shot back up to his feet.
When the train began to lurch to a halt, Elias clasped Boulevard's hand, however, not fretting in regards to asking for consent, and drew her along, his energetic nature booming.
"C'mon, let's get out of here."

Before them, as they stepped out, was The Greenhouse, quaint and quiet as a neatly put together package complete with ribbon and bow and yet, as they crossed through the snow to enter the building, Elias detected tensions were crackling through the air as though struck by a whip.
In an announcement to no one in particular, his eyes flicking about the room as though searching for the spectacle that stirred such emotive hurricanes, Elias addressed the lot in an inquiry.
"What the hell happened here?"

code by Ri.a

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Location~ The Green House.
Mentions~ None.
Interactions~ Nobelia Chimney Swift Soap apolla brutus

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”Muy bien, déjame ordenar... Mierda, tengo que lidiar con esto.”
Victor had been watching the exchange of words from afar, and somewhat anticipated a reprimand for his joking remark. When the younger man made way to depart from the interaction, the contractor could only assume that the situation had been successfully defused; with a surprising lack of physical altercations. As the man strode back towards Vic, he turned and smiled at the woman upon hearing her reply. Sitting up in his chair, he leaned towards her ever so slightly with his arm outstretched to meet hers. Grasping with his own calloused and slightly scarred hand, he presented a firm and quick handshake in the mutual greeting. After retracting his arm and resting it on the table, he nodded in acknowledgment and replied.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Avery, I am Arevalo Camillo.” With subtle indication, the contractor bit his tongue in an attempt to withhold a sharp intake of breath. It had been ages since he used that name. It was a relic, something that he had reserved to the archives of his past. Why had it slipped out now, and to this person, of all people?

His disgruntled facial expression was swiftly respected by a cool, calm, and collected demeanor once again. All was well until Teiga passed by his table, and gave the contractor a not so subtle reminder. He was on the clock. Tracking the man back to his table, Victor took note of his location in the back of the Cafe. So, his agenda consisted of buying Alena her righteousnessly earned drink, and taking part in an invoulantary interview.

Well, ladies first.

Rising from his seated position, he slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. Simultaneously, he neatly adjusted the discreet contingency plan that he had kept tucked into his waistband. Dropping a knife was one thing, but dropping that? It would be bad news bears. Ensuring that it was properly secured, Victor jerked a thumb over towards the counter.

“Alright, I’ll have that drink sent over, thanks again.” His previous intention was to actually sit with his newfound friend and chat for a bit, but Teiga’s indications had altered his priorities. He didn’t hope to offend Alena, or present the notion that he was trying to be rude, so he added immediately afterwards. “I need to wrap up some business right quick, pardon me.” And with that, he turned his strides towards the front of the Cafe. Tapping the wallet against his thigh with each step, Victor was oblivious to the woman that was also converging on the lone clerk that occupied the register. It never occurred to him that he could have just flagged down a server, as several other patrons had. Even if he was aware, it would likely not change his choice. Be it chance or speed, Victor managed to reach the counter at the same time. His gaze was still fixated on Mister Reymore, but was abruptly distracted when he bumped into the opposing patron. He flinched from the surprise contact, but did not rebound off of the smaller obstacle. Swiveling his head around, Vic took account of the smaller female. Along with her ripped pants.

“Lo siento, uh, sorry I mean.” His apology was both genuine in its nature, and underhanded. It was underhanded in the fact that Victor still glided past the woman in order to be the first one to reach the counter. He hated lines, and being second to none was an applicable moral law that he abided by continuously, even if it was only being in line for a drink. All the while, he was providing a wry smirk and presenting a typical finger gun signal with his free and damaged hand. It wasn’t his goal to be a smartass, it just seems to happen naturally. One would think that previous experience would dissuade him from inciting strangers.

Hastily, he refocused on the waitress that controlled the register. After a short and sweet nearly one worded conversation, he had ordered the hot chocolate and directed its arrival to the table where Alena resided. Internally, he was glad that she had requested a simple beverage that he could accurately relay to the waitress. Had it been one of the obnoxiously difficult items on the chalk menu, he would have resorted to pointing and shaking his head in a cruel game of charades until the clerk identified the correct product. While he was waiting for his change, the contractor nonchalantly glanced back at the woman and asked;

“Run into a tigre on the way here? I heard this place had them everywhere.” Clearly, he was just joking around, then it clicked. “No joke, I actually just ran into one. It almost got me too. Here’s some helpful advice; if you run into one, just talk shit to it and it’ll go away. I promise.” The sly play on words he used by referencing Teiga may have been lost on the bearer of the ripped pants, but it most certainly was not lost on himself. Collecting his change, he withheld a snicker as he moved past the patron, and cleared her way to order whatever it was she came here for.

As he made a beeline for his potential employers table, a particularly gaunt figure entered the Cafe. His positioning hindered Vic’s advancement, with his objective just on the other side of him. Not wishing to writhe around the other patrons, he allowed himself to take a direct route past the equally tall male. His maneuver was similar to the actions he took near the counter. Come to think of it, he needed a phrase for this...

The Rude Dude Move. It seemed to fit.

When the man spoke, Victor impulsively glanced towards the man with a bewildered and shocked demeanor;

“Did you not see? Some loco cabrón wandered in and started some shit. Guy was yelling about dropping some stuff in the snow outside, he looked fucked up off of something. Someone called la policía about him, then he left. I think they are still en route, maybe not though.” His words were accompanied by a shrug with outstretched hands, along with a polite nod of his head. Without another word, the blatant liar that seemed to have only one singular, arrogant and joking attitude continued on his merry way. Upon reaching the table, his shoulders ceased slouching, and his body stiffened. It was showtime. Prodding the card in his pocket, he recalled what he read and stood alongside the table. Vic concluded that until, or if, he was directed to take a seat, he would not share the table.

With rugged courtesy, he sighed and pursed his lips. Instead of letting loose more vulgar phrases, he fished in his back pocket and withdrew a pen and what looked like the receipt for the hot chocolate he had just ordered. Placing the thin paper on the table, Vic slid a hand along it to smooth out the wrinkles and creases.

”Alright, señor. Employer makes first offer of price. I am, uh, liscensed to be armed. I carry qualification to be a guard, escort, what have it. I’ve got a few years of experience under my belt, bi-lingual-“ Victor paused his writing and gave a knowing look at the man. “-which I’m guessing you have already established. I can work most any shift, most any time, and am residing nearby; which means you can call at will if need be.” Tapping his pen on the table, he nudged the paper towards him. The receipt had his number, 24/6 along side the word Sunday written and crossed out and his name. Standing tall once again, Vic crossed his arms and finished up his basic and overused speech. “How well armed or scarce I make myself is at your discretion. Now... For my previous behavior, I will apologize. As a show of faith, I won’t ask about payment, or details at this moment in time. I’ll allow you to figure for yourself if my services are adequate. Unless, of course, you’d like to discuss it? If not, I’ll fuck off.”

Victor anticipated that the man had enough of his, well, existence. Awaiting to see if the man had any questions or immediate requests for him, Victor quietly and patiently gave Teiga a few seconds to reply. The contractor didn’t intend on saying his name, since it was written plain as day on the receipt. Regardless, he took the mans previous notion about introductions to heart, and said; “Name is Victor Camillo.” Likewise, he also decided to forfeit his arrogance temporarily; he could really use this potential opportunity to gain both experience, and a little extra cash.

He just hoped that he wasn’t already too deep in the grave yet.

 

[Queen.]

Boulevard Castleberry

Location: frozen lake | Feeling: strained; amused | Mentions: elias brutus , emberly apolla

The train proved to squirm with subtle movement from the nearly gridlocked crowd. The scratch of a nose. The adjustment of one's hair. The cracking of fingers. As Boulevard's body swayed against the rickety, fumbling rhythm of the trains' movement, she proved to become more and more tense beneath the pressure visible only to herself. It was crushing against her puny sternum like the weight of a sizeable hippopotamous, making it increasingly trialsome to draw in proper breaths. It showed in the way that a bead of sweat dripped from her forehead that she was stressed against all understanding of her circumstances, which were for the most part, safe.

'Onwards to adventure, or some shit.' Boulevard managed a toss him a bemused grin, shrugging nonchalantly. The doors swiped open as the train pulled to a halt, and half the population of Colorado spilled out of the vehicle. She lifted her brows, blowing out air as though she'd sucked in a breath and held it hostage for minutes on end. Her lungs stop seizing up as she achieved a seat by Elias. It was still rather hemmed in, but she would deal. The feeling of her arm against that of another person she was close to enjoying the company of was rather gratifying.

The very split moment she settled in, their stop came up, and Elias leaped to his feet like an antelope with eras ahead of him. His hand clasped over hers, annexing it in his possession as he yanked her onward. She grunted in opposition, following with stomping black boots. It wasn't too long of an excursion to the greenhouse cafe, which rather balked Boulevard's hopes. She enjoyed burning calories as often as possible. Speaking of such, she still had the four hand-wrapped pieces of sushi in her bag, kept unperished by the frost outdoors. That would rapidly shift inside of the greenhouse, so it was now or never.

A man, Hispanic in appearance, seemed to pop up like a weasel when Eli questioned the circumstances of the discheveled greenhouse. The police? His accent was enriching. She heard there was Hispanic culture in Colorado, but it wasn't often that she actually experienced it. The Spanglish was a fun touch. She nodded thankfully, chortling beneath her breath as Victor turned tail like the news reporter for Greenhouse Daily. She sucked in another sharp breath through the teeth, shrugging and reaching into her bag. Her hands fumbled around for the baggie of sushi. When she felt its bumpy surface beneath smooth plastic, the woman yanked it out, her earphones coming with it. "Son of a fuck." She muttered, bending over to tuck it back into her bag before spotting a blonde chick.

Hold up. That was Ember. They'd kicked back in the past, but she hadn't seen her for a lengthy period of time. "Elias, you've got to meet this chick. She's the only one in this town I think I'd bang." She muttered beneath her breath, coupled with a childish simper before hitting his arm delicately with the back of her palm and pulling him by the material of his sleeve forward. She was enjoying tea, by the looks of it. Did she find pleasure in sipping floral tea, as did Boulevard? The blooming tea was her favorite. She sided with the pink-blonde mix, flashing a simper. "You wanna get me some tea?" She inquired, blindsiding her entirely.

code by Ri.a

 

[apolla]

As Emberly stood in line, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that resided in the pit of her stomach, the residue from the memories of the dream sticky and heavy in her belly. She barely noticed the people coming and going; all she could think about was her brother's face as the train horn sounded in the distance, getting steadily closer, closer...

Em was torn from her thoughts as something-- or someone, rather-- bumped into her. "Watch it!" She snapped automatically, lifting her narrowed gaze to the intruder of her personal space. She didn't recognize him, but his immediate apology seemed heartfelt enough. Although she didn't know Spanish, she did recognize the term lo siento so she knew it wasn't him calling her something negative.

Her gaze softened, but she didn't apologize in return for her snappish behavior. He glided past her to the front of the line as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and she crossed her arms from behind him. "After you." She muttered darkly, staring a hole into the back of his head as he nonchalantly ordered with the waitress behind the counter.

As he waited for his change, he turned back to her, and for a moment Em was confused as to what he meant. Glancing down at herself, she spotted the tears in her jeans. Understanding dawned. Glancing back up at him, her eyebrow quirked at his advice. "Where would I be today without that advice?" She questioned dryly as he collected his change and moved past her. "Watch out for the tigers and bears, too." She called to him, not bothering to look in his direction as she stepped up to the counter.

After ordering her blooming tea, she waited at the counter for it to arrive, gratefully taking it from the waitress as she handed it over moments later. Turning, she found a couch to curl up on. She wasn't alone for long.

Her head jerked in the direction of the newcomers voice, and for a moment, she was ready to snap again. But she recognized Boulevard, and a slow, sly smirk appeared on her features. "Blooming?" She asked, raising her drink for the girl to see. "Sure." Shrugging and pushing herself back to her feet, she finally looked over Boulevard's shoulders. "Friend of yours?"

---
Tags:
Victor ( Inb4Cloaker )
Boulevard ( Queen. )
Elias ( brutus )

Code by apolla

 

[Nobelia]

Teiga Reymore

Where: Going Home ♦ Interacting: Victor ♦ Mentions: Inb4Cloaker

It appeared he was due to promptly withdraw from the aspect of public spaces, and best within a sufficient time frame. As it stood, there was little--and decidedly less contentment to be derived from persisting settlement in a cesspool of rising furor.

It wasn't necessary for him to be within hearing distance of the man--alongside the dark haired woman--who'd recently arrived to the Greenhouse premises. Not for him to discern the man's impending purpose, nor to perceive the interrogation hurled at the residing masses. However subtly it were intended, an implied accusation sifted through the air--largely in part of the onlookers who stood witness to earlier events which had rendered them uncomfortable.

Through mere subconscious, his skin bristled involuntarily.

That was not to say he'd deemed himself endangered. Instead, current circumstances summoned preceding experiences--of the likes which reminded him the origin of his despise towards congregations. In his past three years of absence from his hometown, it was unmistakable in that he hardly missed the detested aspect of his presence drawing attention--and in remarkable consistency.

The formula of bearing in the spotlight was simple, and Teiga had deciphered it--long before it should have ever been expected of him to do so. Mankind preferred to bestow crowns, and they were given to the exceptional and captivating. Captivating was a certain word. It meant one were constrained to the methodology of the limelight, which were to entice the public--and satiate their senses. The moment one became aware of their fulfillment as a glorified marionette, they were often too far gone into the ambiguous scheme to fend against its side effects.

Retiring from the unstable antics of his lifestyle for three years did more justice to him than Teiga would rather confess--to Sonia, who'd pleaded with all of her heart that he give himself a distance from his relatives--and enough that he was grounded in the overshadowed aspect of the fitness of his internalized psyche.

Sonia had insisted he learn to "flourish from the inside". Endearing as it may have been, Teiga's psychological case refused to bloom as per his younger sister's expectations--as for something deeply gnarly and radical within, he'd assume the stance of convoluted branches amassing in a void, defective of reliable roots.

To bloom, a flower dedicated itself to breaking free from the ground, and thrived off of the sun's appreciation. For Teiga's branches, they only sought to wind deeper into the caverns of dark, and silent relief, underground. He may not have grown in the direction Sonia expected, but he entertained that she would accept that from him all the same.

Here, Teiga had nothing more to consider. It was poor reasoning to fan the flames of a fire he hadn't kindled. The full scenario from prior served enough theatricals to entertain a person--possibly such as his brother--and over the span of a week. Flashy pandemonium had suited someone of barbaric nature--like Bruin--while Teiga found himself more inclined to inspect chaos from the modesty of the sidelines.

His jaw clenched at to the mere notion of his family, the latter word may as well serving to be an expletive--for all intents and purposes. He pressed his lips together in an exercise of suppression, his fingers coiled rigidly--burning red--at the contoured grip of his phone.

It was only a matter of time before the lot of them were made aware of his return. Sustaining resistance was his means for survival, and showcased his competence. Their dismissal of him summing up to a mere juvenile would be a grave mistake on their part. He would see that he did well to use their expectations against them.

The tattooed man alerted his line of sight, and Teiga slowly released his heated grasp--expending the tension from his veins. The phone dropped onto the table with a muffled clatter--by then, the man well within view--his body language as wooden as the unoccupied chair besides him.

Teiga inched straighter into his chair, and crossed his legs, anticipatory of something worth his time.

The man continued to idle, briefly eyeing the chair across from Teiga. He made no move to take a seat, nor did it seem that he intended to do so. Before Teiga opened a mouthful of criticism, the man produced a receipt and pen from his pocket, placing it against the support of the table. Teiga rose a curious brow at that, but didn't comment.

So it seemed the man had made up his mind.

Said man initiated a process of verbally introducing his capabilities--in light of what Teiga had offered him--all the while hastily scratching across the uneven surface of fragile paper. The sound of writing died off, and with an important tap of his pen, the man pushed the receipt across the table.

Teiga handled the paper, raising it to his face to examine in detail. He now had a name to a face, and Victor disclosed within the writing his unavailability on Sundays.

At the mention of payment, Teiga flicked the paper down to the table, leaning forward. He rested his elbows against the table, interlocking his hands at the level of his chin.

"Good thing you mentioned adequacy," he remarked. "As with many things, I'd say I'm skeptical about what you claim you are. For all I know, you're one of those aspiring thugs."

He narrowed his eyes, not quite challenging Victor to say otherwise. "I'm not classifying you as a poser. But, if you're naive enough to think being strapped translates to safety---by all means, be my guest. I don't hate ambition, however, so if the chance of falling victim to murder sounds appealing alongside the aspect of wealth---feel free to call me in a week's time."

Whether or not his words were viewed as harsh were up to Victor's discretion. In fact, if he couldn't handle that much--it was safe to say that Teiga would be better off without a ticking time bomb that would cause more trouble than he were willing to bargain for.

Teiga would need to dig out his contractual papers buried in his office somewhere. For the time being, the current setting was hardly appropriate for official business.

He lifted himself from his seat, contemplating his lack of service on part of the waitress. The front counter appeared to be occupied with newcomers, and Teiga doubted he'd be serviced in the time frame he desired. It didn't matter, as it was trivial enough for him to not make a deal of it.

"I look forward to our future endeavors," he uttered pointedly, whether out of business-minded habit or otherwise, and excused himself from Victor's presence.

Aseel tottered after his feet, and the two exited the Greenhouse as if beings who never were.

code by Ri.a

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Location~ The Green House.
Mentions~ None.
Interactions~ Nobelia

.

”Si soy un matón, soy el mejor de todos.”
Aside from that sly remark, Vic deemed that silence would be golden at this moment in time. Disregarding the jabs that the younger man made towards him, he externally maintained a non-apprehensive appearance.

It was fairly obvious that the man doubted his capabilities, and labeled him as another gun for hire. While he in a sense was a literal gun for hire, his unusual experiences and distasteful tactics separated himself from the colleagues he had in the past. Nevertheless, he couldn’t hold a grudge against Teiga and his point of view; a third world born insurgent didn’t have a nice ring to it when considering personal safety, or anything for that matter.

It didn’t quite matter in the end, because his goal was still within reach. Victor snorted when Teiga mentioned the possibility of death. It took a deep combination of intestinal fortitude and mental strength to resist belittling what he would consider to be the contractors demise. Accompanying the stifled laugh, Vic absentmindedly nudged the weapon he had tucked into his waistband; it absolutely did mean safety. Many a time the contractor had been witness to someone ignorant enough to believe physical size alone could intimidate, only to see the culprits face when a piece of steel or the barrel of a handgun was presented in retribution. It was all about how one used their tools, and how willing they would be to use underhanded skills in the heat of confrontation. It was no secret that Victor was not all about the lifestyle of honor, and he was more than ready to be the one who rigged the cards in his favor.

Crossing his arms, Victor stepped back to make way for Tiega and his cat, allowing them to depart. It was only then that he realized he had a feline accomplice. Biting the inside of his cheek, the contractor gazed down at it in all its fluffy glory. There was a time when he hated them, but someone had changed that a while ago. A very long while ago.

...Ashes fell, the fanatic and foolhardy men stood their ground. Well, men and boys. Their government had dubbed them as domestic terrorists, regardless of their age. Their families were threatened with suffering, the men themselves were threatened with death, and they were implored to submit their weapons, ideology, and lives. The two boys were forced to take part in the uprising, and watch the horrors of unconventional combat. Brothers in blood before becoming brothers in arms, they swore to each other that they would survive, escape, and fulfill their dreams. The first born wanted a nice car, a big house and a lot of cash. The other? He only wanted a kitten, opportunity, and peace. Surely the fighting would end soon...

Victor continued to stare, seemingly paralyzed in his lucid daydream. Recollection obscured his vision, and unbridled tenacity filled his being. Leaning on the now empty table, he let out a deliberate sigh before slumping down in the unoccupied seat. Separated from the bustling cafe, the contractor lost himself in his own thoughts. The cat was a grim reminder of his purpose, and why he was even considering the man who made such an offer.

One weeks time was a stretch; he needed to get to work sooner. By chance, maybe he wouldn’t have to wait so long. The man had his information, and his type seemed to give off the vibes of a person who took pleasure in instructing others on what to do.

Taking a moment to unwind from the series of events that just unfolded, he took account of the positive aspects in his life. He may have found a job, he wasn’t six feet under yet, and his potential employer did mention murder. This gave Victor enough implied permission to implement full kit yet again. Wether or not the man would appreciate someone being armed to the teeth was up for debate, but to be fair, he did say that being strapped and calling it safe would be “naive.” So, maybe an upgrade in arsenal was in order.

With a nod of satisfaction, he decided that tonight would be a good night to break out the bottle of Exotico he had back in his bags. Cheap, but still pleasant to fall asleep with. Still, he did come to the Cafe for a reason, maybe he could leave with a muffin or something. Once again, he looked over at the menu and squinted, engaged in the process of picking something out.