"I'm assumin' tha' y'aint too much ov a cat person given ow much y'love y'dog."

This Meme: Accepting @ronmanmob Honorable Mention @fullrangeofemotions

~~~*~~~

"Look, don't get me wrong. Cats are fine little fuzzy overlords for the right people. God knows my uncle is the biggest sucker for a pair of great big eyes and murder mittens." She turned to face the owner of the bar. Feather duster going limp in loose fingers as she made a case for herself. "For me, the unconditional love and snuggles is a massive trade for hissing, scratching, and almost losing a fingertip to that oversized domestic terrorist that lives with my sister. Who I am pretty sure is bigger than her head, but that aside, he brings her joy. He and I understand that we do not mix. It's fine."

She paused and turned to look over at her belongings spread over a table. Brow furrowed until the cell on top lit up with a call. "I am okay with my dog and dogs in general. Besides, you never trust anyone that doesn't like bacon." With her piece said she made to get her cell phone. Muttering under her breath how it was a useless superpower to know before a text or call came through before she answered. "Hey Ma, one second." She gave Ron a polite smile and held up her finger. "Sorry Mr. Kray, it'll only be a minute."

@ronmanmob continued x

His inattentive gaze seems to have taken very little note of the admirable qualities of the room which they have acquired, given the hour. He is not certain whether it's the cold which is making him shiver, or the fear for the inevitable consequence of the daring decision he had made, all in the dead of night; to turn his back on everything he has ever known, in order to leave with the man whom he loves. Even during the ride down to the inn, when he had clasped Ronnie's hand in his nearly the entire way in the solace of the black shadows which filled the taxi's interior, and even now, as he searches the corners of his troubled mind, he fails to find an alternative to his choice. He simply cannot imagine a world in which he wouldn't choose Ronnie over his father's prejudices.

He watches the other's hands with a dazed expression as they unbutton his sodden coat, before halfheartedly shaking his broad shoulders out of the heavy garment. Seeking the comfort of his touch, his chilled hands reach out to grasp onto the other's once more. When his eyes meet Ronnie's, they are red-rimmed with unshed tears. ❝—I really didn't mean for any of this.❞

@ronmanmob {{xx}}

"Bout nonsense, or…?" She chases the tail of his questions. It is not often that Beth speaks ill of her brother and when something looms on the horizon that feels it might come close, she closes herself off. In this moment with Ron there is no place for hard feelings, especially not when she needs to ensure the relationship between doctor and patient flourishes so she might be allowed to spend more time with her Prince. Selfish? Certainly. But they both seem benefit from their meetings and walks. She only hopes that maybe Ron might feel the same, finding a tranquillity in her presence. She has no other friends here in England, and she doesn't seem to see him being particularly in tune with the folks around him. Much better then to seek happier moments. She watches as spectres of emotions, of feelings, make a quiet waltz across his features, and she submits every muscle movement to memory that she might easy recall them later. She wraps that expression around herself for its warmth and in favour of taking his arm and dropping it over her shoulder. She does not want him to know trouble simply because she has an urge to cuddle up to her fascinating gentleman. Every ounce of her wants to turn and walk backwards that she might continue to watch his eyes ~their dark depths holding a touch of a glow behind his glasses, the kind that reminds her of stars on a dark night~ and his mouth. That might seem silly or might push him toward concern for her own safety. Instead she keeps pace with him both in conversation as with step. So easily, she's drawn into the idea of a smokey jazz club that he was too young a man to find himself in, wearing what he considered the best threads in his closet. Tall and lean and beautiful, like a scruffy angel slumming amongst mere mortals. For whatever reason, the image he paints so vividly in her mind plays out like a black and white film, except for Miss Ella and her sequined gown of shocking blue beneath the lights. Beth begins to swish in her own ways as she imagined the music, as she tried to share that memory of his and put it in context of her own experiences. She has nothing much like them to share but that doesn't mean she doesn't find it beautiful. But none so much as the smile that comes alive, genuine on generous lips. Her heart finds itself in her throat and her own eyes shimmer. He punctuates that feeling with the tiniest glance of his fingers on her arm, but she doesn't so much mourn its passing, as delight that he sought her out, however briefly. "I goddah disagree wi' you, Ron," she counters quietly, not provoking a disagreement so much as to let him know she knows what he felt then. "I t'ink art is beauty an' music is art. If it moves you, it doesn't have t' be a hosanna, aye? Andy says God made everyt'ing in creation an' it came from His great love, so dat song did too. It was speakin' to you an' it filled ya soul. Is no more beddah message dan dat, aye?" Her own side-wards shared smile lives and dies on a breath and she lapses back into her little shell of silence. Nods when he thanks her. "I'm jus' glad…I could make you happy." Though his words do find her. They sink in. Maybe he would know what she thought or felt or did, because maybe they have some of their broken bits scrambled together. She'd be more mindful of herself. It wouldn't do at all if he knew-knew. "But…uh…yeah. I bring you new kinds each week. Lil bit from your time, lil bit from mind…an' you tell me wha' you like an' wha makes you make completely 'yuck-gross' face."

Small Starter Call II @ronmanmob

"...Evening, Ron." Once it was safe to do so, Eli removed his trilby and placed it upon the bar. Granted, the establishment was dim enough to eliminate being recognised -- but he could never be too careful. He was already risking it. "Are you fresh in? I could really do with a higher dose tonight." It was always the same order whenever he came to visit the other man; 1ml of Happiness. But a restless night called for more. Reaching inside his blazer's inner pocket, a wad of cash was produced. "Enough to clear my mind, at least."

@ronmanmob

Merry Christmas Ron!

I found a place uptown that does a proper English Christmas lunch, so you and me are going. I have no idea what a Yorkshire Pudding it but the reviews say they make a good one.

💚Tabs

@ronmanmob :// { cont'd from this because i had to }

—☾—

The species might well be him. He looked up, and his face was a poignant landscape that had forgotten itself, not unlike the canyon, the bronze-shaded pendants drawing a sudden, vivid thing into his territory: Ron.  

Richie's bar was almost full that night, teeming with sand-hued lagers, Tuscan moonshine, and folks in their best 'going-out clothes.' Playing bingo. Bad time to swing by for one drink. Why Ron sniffed discomfit of the sort nested within the skittish musculature of brown flannel, brown boots, and a cap pulled low over the eyes. A bandage wrapped across the back of his palm, blue under his nails. The paint the only tell. Only difference between him and everybody else. 

"This yours? Huh." He turned to the stranger, lifting his cap an iota, and tapped the first box on Ron's bingo sheet with Rich's pen. "Who's—"

An older woman waved her sheet, cutting in with a 'yoo-hoo'; she'd also scored bingo with the Brit. 'Course, she stopped dead when she saw the peculiar species at Ron's elbow. Could be the liquor, but the corners of Ben's mouth lifted into some version of a smile that he pointed at her like a weapon he could neatly fold and slip back up his sleeve. Must've figured it was his turn to throw someone under a bus.

"That lady there," he said to Rich, and, by association, the Brit at the bar. "Pointed a gun at my dog. Not me. A dog."

The smile blown away, clean off. 

"Esa perra loca." This was Rich, spilling more than he poured. Richie with his disarming grin. Richie, who could get 'most anyone to stay awhile. "Relax, brother. Just be cool."

Ben's eyes flicked toward Ron, searching for a cue. 

"He's fine, big man. That's Ronnie; he's just passing through. He's a'ight."

Rich poured Ben and Ron a round that Ron probably could've poured better, judging by the show of agile and assured motion in his hands. Kinda compact, like the rest of him. Ben didn't shake either hand when he shunted the barstool, but curiosity eased the curdled chokehold off his face, making him amenable to enquiry, if not conversation. Even if he didn't fill out a bingo card. 

"Ben," he said, picking up the glass and gesticulating. "Don't have a type."

His throat undulated slightly as he drank. Every muscle in his pharynx fighting down Rich's 'special house blend.'

"What brings you here?"

Riley has, always and forever, respected a man who works for a living, and doesn't need Ron to devote every waking second catering to him. The Venture is a low-key local that he just enjoys people-watching in while sipping at his drinks. Maybe the only negative criticism he's got isn't even Ron's fault but governmental oversight, and that's having to brace against the evening chill in order to grab a quick smoke. So when the blank card is left while he's outside indulging in one of many vices, he comes back to it with the start of a smile that maybe doesn't fully bloom anywhere but in his eyes. He fills it out in blue ink. He doesn't know what will happen to it by the end of the night but it's a bit of fun. Harmless really. Something forgotten until an evening or so later, when he makes his way back and Ron personally sees to it that his whiskey is delivered by hand, and the card is given back. They meet gazes and then the man's off again, making his rounds, Lord of His Manor. Riley picks up the card and scans over it. Given he's not American, the taco thing is easily overlooked. Riley will make him a variety and then let him make an informed decision. The next three make him laugh a little to himself, but he finds the trust comment hitting home. He's honoured. The comment about having a twin tracks; even if Beth is five years younger they might as well be. Hell, if anything Beth is even closer to Billy, who is the same age. Other bits and pieces filter in though one in particular stands out. One that might be a record scratch to some. But when Ron comes and finally gets a moment to sit with him, Riley stabs the card with an index finger and looks to Ron, giving a casual, friendly shrug. "Yeah, okay. But really it'll disappoint you that Billy is the hooligan. I prefer American football."

@ronmanmob

A very happy birthday to you, sweet pumpkin! I hope you’re being spoiled.

she had spoken of spain when she’d been stateside and eager for escape. so that was out. and each snow globe that would be picked over by the police amongst ashes of bespoke suits only represented every place she could not travel. save for one. the one she had pocketed as...soft remembrence. call it dumb - damn stupid. but it made her feel better - to have a bit of him in her bag. snowy big ben and that pointed clock tower steeple - setting the point and leading the way. l o n d o n . she would go where she could imagine his face on every fella strolling the street, hope to hear his voice with every half breath. the comfort of it would carpet her until she was cured of chicago. but first stop - was employment. having out maneuvered the mob, the entertainment crowd couldn’t be too different. she enters the club, advertisement in hand - looking for who just might be top brass and billing enough to deal with new hires. “i’m here about the secretary position in this sunday’s journal? i’m not too late am i? has it been filled?” @ronmanmob​ 

(text starter for @ronmanmob)

[Message: Ronnie] Hey there, I wanted to ask if you had any plans tonight? If not, I wondered if you might pop round?

[Message: Ronnie] Nothing worng, nothing to worry about. I just had one of those days where I need to see a friendly face. And yours is very much that

⭐️

There was always a barrier between Hannah and Alfie's business. His associates were mythical creatures to her: people who did not visually exist in her little corner of the world. She'd been wrapped in cotton wool, and hidden away from the dark and dank world of Alfie's irregular life, kept away like the very presence of these fiends would corrupt her.

Hannah knew of Ronald Kray. At least, she knew his name. It was impossible not to know, even though their respective sections of London felt as far apart as it was possible to be. His name rarely left Alfie's lips when he was in his wife's presence, but she'd asked Ollie about this East-End gangster Alfie's men sometimes talked about, when they thought she was not there. Ollie had told her not to ask him about Bakery business. It was more than his life was worth. This, paired with Ollie's frightened eyes, told her more than enough.

She was not afraid, though. Little frightened her, and Hannah Solomons knew that one day she might meet Mr Kray, and she would stand tall. She knew, better than anyone, that judging someone on the basis of gossip was unfair. A man could only be sized up when you saw him with your own two eyes. Then, an opinion could be made.

🤝

This Meme: Accepting @ronmanmob

~~~*~~~

So In real life, Jayden and I share a similar hair colour naturally. Though I have more natural highlights in varying shades from blonde to red and it is lighter. Weird fact, my hair turns black when wet. Don't ask how, because I don't know . Currently my hair is longer than hers, and usually kept down to my hips in length.

An Example of my hair mostly dry from a few years ago.

@ronmanmob continued x

❝—I suppose I did.❞ While he had, as Ronnie has so succinctly put it, half-jokingly made the suggestion for some training sessions in the gentle art of boxing as something that may yet strengthen the bond between them, now that they are actually standing in their proper training gear, his initial boldness appears to be waning. No doubt he trusts Ronnie in that he would never actually hurt him, but accidents are the natural trade of a sport which marries fists with faces.

❝—That's precisely what I'm worried about, Ronnie. I'm not going to have my nose broken, am I? I would really rather that didn't happen.❞ He protests even as his partner helps him don the gloves. ❝—Well, it does feel comfortable enough; not that I would know.❞ He flashes the other a meaningful smile, closing and re-opening his fists appraisingly as instructed.

Your answers to the LGBT muse meme whatsit were fascinating and I'm SO curious -- was there a specific moment Beth clocked that her feelings towards Ron had shifted towards romance, or was it a gradual building up of things or...?

Thank you, darling. We appreciate that. Though she's grown in some ways and changed in others from the moment of her conception on far distant, actual paper shores, I've striven to be true to her and to her internal consistency. That being said. I would have to say as with all things deeply emotional with Beth, it was gradual as arctic ice. The very first minutes of their meeting were deeply fraught with not a small amount of terror. His mien, his vocal timbre, maybe the gun...certainly didn't foster any more truer feelings than fear, regret, and maybe a little exasperation for even finding herself in the path of Hurricane Kanuha. Quickly though he put her at ease well enough with a Claude, a fire place, and a lovely cuppa on a cold, rainy, and nerve destroying night. Riley will probably shank me for saying this but I don't think he would have been unfazed with Cellar-Ron. I know she felt terror again to come face to face with a certain Panini in place of her flower growing, chocolate flake sharing publican, and the immediate worry for his absence, made only slightly less harrowing by the letters they wrote during Ron's mental health recuperation. There has always been a notable difference between the Twins for her. I maintain she can spot a Ronnie at a hundred paces in difference to Reg, and she a: finds Ron to be the more attractive brother, the taller one, the broader one, and generally the better fighting man, bless Frances and all. Perhaps the moment of feelings changing which largely went unnoticed by our intrepid pair came when she would sit on the bar-back and pin him between herself and the counter with her legs, while striving to study for her citizenship application. She'd already decided that Ron was really quite friend-shaped, as lovable and affable as any of the dogs. Forgive me if I don't recall if this was before, during, or after the gift of a Noe in her life, but a sign of deep trust and affection for Beth is to allow anyone to be that close to her scar, that they could reach out and touch it. The scar is both traumatic and kapu in her opinion. Sharks are a man's 'aumakua, and to be so permanently marked by one carries both the taboo and the sacred in the word Kapu and she doesn't really feel comfortable letting anyone, not even Andy, touching it. Maybe the moment of being stricken by lightning, and the moment her heart seized up in wonder, that she saw Ron with entirely new eyes...shaken to her foundations, though, was when John turned up. He was the entire reason she'd come to England in the first place. He'd gotten so deeply under her skin, and maybe because he had been the first to tell her that she was loved {or more correctly, and she'll never admit to this before God or anyone else... she'd asked him to love her, and his reply had been 'God help me, but I do'.} that she'd imagined John being the only one who would. But then Ron defended her when John rejected her as a student and as anything else. He'd stood his ground like some fantastical knight if for no other reason than he could see just how dejected she was, and that was the first time she'd seen him ~Ron~ act like that. And for her. Then there was the boxing event. You know of which I speak, and that was a moment where Beth understood very clearly what the meaning of Want was. She doesn't have a single ounce of self preservation in her body when she can see both Ron and Mr Kray at once.

A jovial chortle escapes at this almost outlandish notion - pub quizzes in his day, Ron would swear, never hit this personal. It was all in good fun though; all part of a bourbon fuelled evening of merriment. He hitched back a twitch, just in case the lawman - who he knew now better as Raylan than he did as a badge - took exception. 'A pro...Th'frill'a th'chase - bet 'ee'd make us earn 'is comp'ny if 'ee was willin' at all th'share it wiv me. A con...I'd need t'tuck tha' badge'a 'is ahta sight f'th night, aye?'

What it took to scandalize Raylan increased with each shot of bourbon he took. Given that very little scandalized him to begin with, Raylan drunk or at the very least buzzed could be convinced to answer or do just about anything. Doing so in the presence of the man on the periphery of a case he himself stood on the periphery of was maybe something the USMS would frown on and discourage but Raylan's side of things had no bearing on that case. Ron was just good company, called it what it was, and Raylan respected him for it.

Ron's answer caught him off guard and he nearly snorted bourbon instead of knocking it back. He pulled the glass back from his mouth until the laughter subsided, raising it instead to toast. "Nothing kills the mood faster than that shiny silver star," he agreed. If he was to take past coworkers at their word and his tendency towards a certain type rang true, well, it was no wonder the marshal's star put them off.

"You're right about one thing though. A good chase is very tantalizing for me." Raylan excelled at chasing fugitives and he was willing to jump a few hoops for the attention of someone who caught his eye. A different translation of the same concept. He knocked back what remained of the bourbon in his glass and set it down on the surface between them. "I was also a miner before I left Kentucky to become a marshal," he added with a sly grin, "so I suspect that might give an idea that I know how to work in deep."

Oh god. Please let that have been in his head and not words that actually came from his mouth.

Day 18: Fall in New York

It's autumn in New York That brings the promise of new love Autumn in New York Is often mingled with pain

Dreamers with empty hands They sigh for exotic lands

It's autumn in New York It's good to live it again

Autumn In New York - Ella Fitzgerald [x]