the whole point of red eye is to be faceless, the idea they could be everyone and no-one horrifying, so able to be present one moment and then gone the next, smoke carried by the wind till it is no longer distinguishable from the air you breathe in. assassins may wear faces yet, none of them are their own, the true face under layers upon layers unknown by even themselves. memories can be taken, faked, they are instruments of death and nothing more. it's a role maddox was born for yet, one they're trying desperately to fill. they need a mission, something to focus on. lying in wait is only making doubt seep further in. avoiding temptation only increases the chance of giving into it.

the nudge causes a small smirk on their face, a roll of dark eyes, knuckles extending to give veronica such a nudge back in the shoulder, a silent fuck you. "i can't help it that i was born with it all," he teases, trying to put some energy back into themselves. to forget. "okay, but if you get esperanza then i at least get to do some brad mehldau," the inclusion of hit the road jack made him humm, thinking it through for a few brief moments. "i feel like we've got to end the set with that, seeing as its a crowd pleaser,"

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 soul, deeply effected by the passage of time -- but what keeps her upright is her foundation of confidence. much like all aura's it's breakable, but she will show the world it is anything but. she is no stranger to maddox's hardened shell for she wears one too ( the armor itself was a hint different ). there's something about being a part of a band that manages to allow her the room to feel even somewhat vunerable, even if the capo has made a distinct effort to keep from showing her cards. no one gets to see those. hell, even the jade tribe has never seen some of them.

music is nothing without connection -- a deeply-wound ability to fall into rhythm and perfect time. from the first rehearsal it had been noticeable how the pair were able to speak to each other without even saying a single word. it was a beautiful thing about the relationship between the accompaniment and melody, they were never one without the other: a beautiful friendship.

" i see.. " she murmurs, knowing that she will put little effort into prying. if he did not want to indulge her curiosity he wouldn't, but it certainly didn't mean that she didn't care. " i never thought it would.. you somehow always manage to be on top of things. it's quite obnoxious, really. leave some talent for the rest of us. " she gives him a light nudge before falling deep into thought. " god.. this is always the hard part, isn't it? lets throw some esperanza spalding on the list... i know you know, maybe? hit the road jack always seems to please the crowd... "

Bill Skarsgård II Allegiant (2016)

there had been very little in their life they had true control over ; opal's childhood and subsequent time growing up were dictated by her mother's desire to relive her own fame through her child. what little they remembered before the crash seemed to come in intense bursts that attacked the senses; high, drunk, elation, sadness, hands on her waist, an inconsolable rage, a black tar pit in the centre of her being that needed to be filled. half their body had been filled with cybernetics, and now opal associated herself with high-rollers and gang members. but - but when she plugged into a computer, parsed mountains upon mountains of code to find that precious needle in the haystack, opal felt that. this was something they could do, and well.

were they an expert? not yet, plenty of times opal had experienced far more adept hackers who'd fried her a little. "can do," the blonde confirmed, dark eyes looking up as haneul spoke. "shouldn't be too hard," not arrogance, just new-found confidence. "seems straightforwards...unless you think there's something i should know?"

Though Haneul should feel guilty for helping lure debt-ridden souls to Burning Gods' side, he found nothing but a quiet contentedness instead. If the Burning Gods hadn't collected on their debts, if they had just relinquished their hold on the damaged souls of New York, he might not have gotten the chance to have a hacker like Opal by his side.

His feelings toward Opal weren't anything close to warmth. He didn't view her as a friend or little sister. No, he saw her more as an investment. Nurturing her skills was a way to help continue to build the Burning Gods' profile and further his desire to watch the city's upper elite crash and burn. Today's exercise was another way to help build up her portfolio and prove herself in the association.

❝I need you to find the names of the investors, particularly those who are putting money into a supposed "rival casino" in Harlem.❞ He used air quotes when talking about the enemy's business, for he knew nothing could compare to Old World Casino's business. They had beat out rival businesses before--- this was just another soul to crush. ❝Once we learn who is involved, we can bleed them dry.❞ He tilted his head, looking at his mentee and associate. A small smirk appeared on his lips as he asked, ❝Do you have any questions?❞  

the teeth bite down, and her eyes widen so suddenly at the sensation. the lamb's neck snapped, life so suddenly taken from the animal as it is reduced from prey to meal. it has fulfilled its ultimate purpose in the circle of life - if not to end up in the ground to rot and return to earth, than to fuel another. a teasing nip -a mark left upon alabaster skin. a warning that opal is destined to be eaten by zekai, and nobody else, and if not now, then one day. they take a sharp intake of breath at the sensation, letting out a high 'ah!'. for once, all the crowd melts away around them both, she can only see zekai, feel his hands upon her, his breath warming their skin. to be devoured may not be so bad when the beast was so handsome. opal had known a taste of death only once, and perhaps the thought of it again was exciting. "i do," their voice is barely a rasp over the pounding music. "i want everyone to know that i'm marked specially for you,"

An enormity for menacing contradictions:    here is the heart and the filled throat.    Gorge himself on all soft things that his loyalty will ask for in return.    His crooked spine attempting to bend at the shrine of something unholy.    All godless desire to be not the father-shadow,    but the father-wound.    He can’t help but think of that transformation he had gone through amid the dunes and the endless burning skies.    Split the backbone from his body and one would see what rot grows underneath it.     Amoral for war’s very suffering.      More things to sacrifice,     always more things to splice a finger into and find what existence is truly meaningless.      Here Opal is dancing along the woodland floor,    hoping for the coyote to sink his fangs in her.     Perhaps he should.    Only to show them what it means to be prey    —   what that feeling of being hunted actually blooms into.      How it sits on the tongue and demands delusional repentance.      Offers up the throat and he,    like any desperate coyote,     accepts it.     Bows his head so his front teeth scrape against the soft skin,    a slow nip,   a teasing grunt of approval.    Ignores all eyes on them,   denies the crowd.    He could only stand to memorize her scent,    the warmth of her taste in his mouth.       Jaw clamping down on her only when his lips travel to the curve of her neck meeting her shoulders,    palm cupping her nape and gripping in her hair.     Separating himself from that show of untethered nature only to breath out a gruff question,     words cloudy and hardly steady.       “I can show you off     [ … ]    but are you sure you want that?”

"yeah, i know she's gone," there is a matter-of-fact way about how donovan says that, as if he hasn't been parked on a curb and waiting for the opportunity. the rabid dog didn't come to see aranya after all, more interesting in yamato and the scraps of information he had been given regarding who he is, and was. he moves inside, only half-ducking through the doorway, body hunched in its typical manner as pale eyes watch the other mans slow movements. he does look like shit, a handsome portrait of violence. donnie wonders if this has something to do with the dead hand, that person that aranya wanted out. it felt like an impossible task but, so was donovan's.

it's dark in here, some may call it atmospheric, eyes trailing round the decor like he hasn't been here before. "dunno. kind of hard to know, isn't it, without ever talking in person," long fingers tap his chin. "yeah, i'll take a cola if you've got that. or like - a beer, if you're offering," there's a grin on his face at the suggestion, knowing that there has to be some of the good stuff in a fridge in a place like this. donovan would bet it even had an ice dispenser. oh, how the other half lived!

The  days  are  dull  and  long  —  the  walls  of  his  apartment  are  crushing  him,  and  the  door  looks  enticing  like  they  do  for  every  prisoner;  but  it  takes  time  to  treat  the  wounds,  and  time  it’s  exactly  what  he  doesn’t  have.  Yet  the  clock  on  the  wall  keeps  marching,  and  he’s  the  one  pacing  in  the  kitchen,  in  the  bedroom,  in  the  study;  to  and  fro.  Sometimes  he  dozes  off,  until  the  rays  of  sun  hits  his  face  —  or  someone  knocks  on  his  door. 

Still  slightly  slow,  movements  —  a  little  bit  awkward,  and  he  can  only  hope  he’s  now  keeping  them  way  for  too  long.  The  face  he  sees,  though,  is  only  slightly  familiar,  and  so  he  tries  hard  to  catch  every  word  he  hears  –  a  name  is  enough  to  place  tales  he’s  heard  to  this  individual.  “Donnie?  Yeah,  I  know  you.  From  what  I’ve  heard,  you  really  are  kind  of  a  big  deal  –  what  makes  you  think  we  wouldn’t  be  on  the  same  page?”  he  moves  aside  a  little,  a  silent  invitation  to  come  in.  And  the  door  closes  behind  them  as  Yamato  leads  them  both  inside  the  dimly  lit  living  room.  “She’s  not  home.  You  really  knew  when’s  the  best  time  to  come,  hm?  Would  you  like  a  drink?” 

Tony Ward

Bill Skarsgård as Mateo in SOULMATES (2020) S1E4: Layover

BASTILLE  /   DOOM DAYS  

he wouldn't say he was given an advantage, special treatment, taken from a loving mother at a tender age and met with general winter himself, cold eyes and icier demeanor. everything all the red-eyes went through maddox did to, however there was bound to be a problem when one had experienced love from real family. it didn't matter how often that wound was stitched closed, something always managed to break the seams. maddox had a weakness others didn't, and he knew that, and hated themselves everyday for it. it is something they deeply envied an orphan like nazir for, sparring with her in an attempt to get back on track, mentally at least. "you're not a girl, you're a weapon," the assassins head was too loud lately, it was a problem. "i'd do better if you'd give me something to work with,"

closed for @yuungmenace ⎯ maddox luo

pure, searing hot rage was second nature to nazira. the smallest spark would course through like a forest fire, igniting anything that it could until it was untameable and all she could see was red and the only thing that could bring her back down was to hurt people, inflict violence and pain. a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort. it was what she knew best, what she was raised on. before red eye, she was just another faceless child, forgotten about in an orphanage. there was a small part of her that envied maddox knowing that he had a life before red eye, he had a mother that cared for him even if it was for a little while. an exasperated sigh sounds from her as she places her hands on her hips, blowing the hair out of face. "come on maddie, i know you can do better than that. i would say you hit like a girl, but i'd be insulting myself."

he was willing to try anything, not enough cells rattling around that brain to be able to confidently say no to a higher up - that wasn't donnie's place. he was here to do, not to object. a suicide mission, or something as banal as stealing cars, the man would nod and just do it blindly. as he saw it, he owed the white crocodiles his life, there had been nothing before them, and donovan could see no future for himself after them.

even if he and jade were the most unconvincing couple...potentially ever.

their comment made him roll his eyes. "no fucking shit," donnie responded as jade took hold of his hand, holding onto it just barely. just enough to look convincing to anyone who wasn't looking too hard. "look, i just do what i'm asked. we need to get the subaru and the BMW, and apparently looking like we date is supposed to work like a charm on this guy because i sure as shit don't have a tonne of charisma and neither do you,"

Jade knew they should be grateful to the White Crocodiles for offering them a semblance of protection. They could've easily remained a street rat or gotten arrested for their childhood actions, but instead, they found themself with a relatively steady income and enough hobbies to keep them distracted. The mob did enough to change their life, even every time they thought about appreciating the higher-ups, they got assignments that made them change their mind.

This mission was one of those assignments. The thought of them and Donnie posing as a couple was laughable at best and destined to fail at worst. Anyone with eyes could see the duo looked nothing like a couple, but hopefully, their salesman's so desperate to make a sale that he wouldn't look too closely.

❝This is so fucking stupid. No one's going to believe we're a couple.❞ They mumbled, reluctantly grabbing hold of their partner's hand. They made a face at the action--- not used to holding hands with their dates, let alone a man they had no feelings toward. ❝Why can't we just distract the guy and steal his keys? Seems easier than this.❞

pack animals stick together it seems, no matter what or where or why. some silent part of donovan has decided to ally itself with aranya, loyalties becoming increasingly split between crocodiles, and siblings, and the woman-snake. it is hard to keep his tongue placed firmly inside of the mouth, eyes trained solely on the white gauze that hugs the neck, the stomach, the purpling and yellowing of bruises, the porcelain doll dropped but not smashed. it is all he wants to ask; who did this. it is all he needs to know to make sure it doesn't happen again. aranya doesn't need much protection, her savageness is hidden much easier than his own but - but it could make donovan feel better to try. he takes the steaming bowl of something...something. is it thai? maybe, he takes a suspicious sniff either way. it's very fragrant, fresh, and probably will be the best meal he's ever had...if he dare takes a bite. "you're cruel," there is nothing serious to his tone, picking up a fork and stabbing at the mince. "what if i'm allergic and we don't know?"

* ◟ : @yuungmenace

Rabid animals stick together.     Although,    hers is a much more subtle version of the story where the teeth grow and the leash lies slack.     Hers is one that is dissatisfied with a violent ending.    She needed peace    —   she wanted to end it in some home by the sea with her lover.      Throw her in a grave and she would come crawling back to him,    in every lifetime,   in every body she possesses.    It had been a week since this was challenged,    by another type of bad dog    —     Akira’s own.      She sits in front of Donovan once more,    sliding him over a bowl of steaming pad kra pao,   wondering if he had caught up to sleep.       Few see the affectionate side of her,   hidden like a half-moon to the majority of those she comes in contact with.    He remained one of the few,   loyally so.    Aranya watches him carefully,    a nod of encouragement to try a new food    —    a vague pride in her for remembering her mother’s recipe.       “It will not bite,   Donovan.    Go on.”      And her face holds that small smile,    although the bruises are still in the process of healing,    as is her bandaged neck and stomach.    Still,    she is always searching to feed others.    To be that warm hand that leads them away from the edge of the abyss.    The despair that always follows   —    especially in this line of work.     One cannot live on deceit and cruelty alone.     A slender hand waves in a semicircle languidly,    she threatens,   but it only sounds light and teasing.       “If you do not at least try it I will not answer any of your questions.”

from behind the balaclava he wears, those ghostly pale eyes stare at rosie as she talks, as if discerning whether or not they're telling the truth. "hey, people are into all sorts of fucked up shit nowadays - maybe someone really gets hot for...whatever your day job is," donnie suggested lamely with a smirk. "little niche market, probably a good earner for ya," there was a clear tease in the voice of the arsonist, who'd stumbled across a genuine passerby and not some undercover gang member or...maybe he had but didn't know it? the more donovan thought about it, the more it made his head hurt.

"right. well, yeah, thinking like...going to set them all on fire? so maybe get a taxi or like...i could give you a lift? anywhere specific you wanna be?"

One might be inclined to question why Rosie D'Angelo is loitering by an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night. It's a good question – but one that, unfortunately, does not have a simple answer. Honestly, it's not uncommon for Rosie to just start walking at the end of her casino shifts – setting off with no clear direction and stopping only when the soles of her feet grow sore. For many, wandering the streets of NEW YORK CITY at night might be a daunting task – but Rosie has lived here her entire life. She knows each street, each alleyway, every nook and cranny, like the back of her hand. If she tried, she could probably traverse this terrain with her eyes close ( this would be silly, though, what if she tripped on a rock or something ? ).

She'd not meant to venture towards the stretch of abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of the city – mostly because they were fucking boring, and a waste of her time to explore. She's about to turn back when she hears the sound of footsteps against concrete – signalling that she isn't alone. Note: running toward strange noises is not generally a good idea, but Rosie isn't known for her forward-thinking, so curiosity quickly overwhelms her, and she peers around the corner, spotting a man with a tank of gasoline and a frown etched into his features when he spots Rosie.

"Not a streetwalker, dude. Do you really think I'd get any business dressed like this?" She says, gesturing down to her creased casino outfit. "Are you setting this place on fire? 'Cause, like, I'm not gonna stop you or anything, but it'd be nice to get a heads up so I don't die of smoke inhalation or something."

personally, donnie thought that standing around talking about it yielded little results - the longer it was left, the weaker the gang looked. there needed to be hard strike action now, surely, a target, something or someone confirmed to be involved with those that nicked their stuff.

there were papers, pictures from cameras, reems of data regarding where the stock was going, to what channels it was going through and most of it made very little sense to donovan who saw himself as a gun that simply needed to be placed in the correct direction and fired. there was a reason he hadn't made capo yet!

while others talked, he made his move, a confidence that only someone with a sure plan could have - right? "frankie, none of this shit means anything to me," he stated. "gimmie somethin'. an address, a name, let me get out there and make them pay!"

who: closed for white crocodile members

where: ralph's boxing gym after hours

leaning against the wall in the back, frankie stayed still beyond an occasional pull from the vape ( that she hates ) and big, smokey lined green eyes moving around the room as everyone got there. she wasn't the person who took the lead at these things normally. frankie tended to jump in when there was a conflict that needed to be resolved or a problem that needed solving. that's where she saw her strengths residing along with a one on one level. this attack she took a bit more personal than other things and she wanted to start things off.

"alright listen up!" she barked in a hoarse voice. "i don't know which one of you ass splinters dropped the ball on this one and i don't care right now. we have a big problem." frankies hands moved when she spoke, accentuating everything she said. "what if they get my prototypes next time, or our personal arsenal? they'll have the upper hand and i don't know about yous but i am going to go nuclear if other people start making my shit." because she sure as hell didn't spend all that time in the lab for someone to steal her creations and ideas. "so tonight, we're all scientists here. we're going to look at the big picture and get all the data, then narrow it down from there." frankie nodded waiting for responding nods to see that they understood what she was saying. "i don't like shouting over people and i sure as fuck don't want you all talking to me at once, so talk amongst yourselves - work together and come talk to me one or two at a time with what you know, what you've heard, and what you think you can do to help going forward." she pointed to a chair off to the side where she planned to be sitting. "i'll be over there. at the end of tonight i want to have a solid set of feasible plans to get final approval on."

she took her seat, placed near an open window on purpose so she could have smoke and have it ventilated. "oy vey, alright - what do you got for me?"

What's wrong with you? It hurt!

@ofhurricanes ft. yamato

location: yamato's apartment, early evening. it's odd to know someone only through another person, as simply an extension of a vague summation of parts rather than someone fully formed. this is how donovan feels about yamato - of course, arry has mentioned him a few times before, the one who keeps her heart. donnie feels as if he needs a full picture, especially as he's tethered himself to her. that perhaps the dogs ravenous way of destroying whatever toy's placed in-front of his cage should extend further than aranya. he knocks on the apartment door, hands in the pockets of a dark jean jacket that's a little rough around the edges, though the length of the body indicates that it's a women's - probably stolen. the moment the door opens, donovan begins speaking in an overly casual and overly fast manner of; "hey there, you don't know me or maybe you do, i don't know if arry has ever mentioned me, my name's donovan but everyone just calls me donnie. thought i'd come say hey 'cause you're kind of a big deal, and i'm kind of a big deal, and i thought it'd probably benefit everyone if we were on the same page,"

it is perhaps the only thing that could ever affect maddox so greatly, what he has done. what it should mean, what it does mean, sleep plagued by visions of icy cold waters and the stare of betrayal. for so long they'd been stood with a foot outside of the red eye lines, never quite there, always quietly hoping for...what? someone to whisk him away, to remind them of freedoms once found and given up. never did such a thing come, and those hesitant toes have since dipped back into the safety of the circle.

veronica sees through them, the two work so effortlessly together they may as well simply be extensions of the other. they don't ask too many questions, a quiet understanding that both of them have enough skeletons in closets to make them appear as mausoleums. she has caught the undercurrent of emotion that wages behind a stoic face. maddox knows he cannot tell her what's wrong but, there is...the need to let some of it slip. to be comforted. such weakness is laughable.

"fine. haven't been sleeping well," he waves it off so easily because that isn't a lie. "i promise it won't affect my performance. come on, anything else you're dying to add to the set?"

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐀𝐒 become something of a siren, one who took solace in the moments when she was the draw of a room -- she wasn't always this way. there was a time when confidence was something she lacked, that is, before she realized just how much it could get her. then came the harsh, grating reality of the real world knocking at her door -- and it became her means of survival. at the end of the day, however, the girl behind the mask found peace in the pianist's stoicism. she was not just a girl but a musician, one that ran like a well-oiled machine. it was appreciated, that the two of them could get things done with such speed and ease.

it's not like him to be worlds away -- at least, not visibly so. ever since she has known maddox she has come to realize he too is a master of pretend, a spirit adorned with a calm mind on a sturdy set of shoulders. perhaps she has been at his side when things were falling apart before, but it's the first time she can see it in his eyes. how unlike him.

her cocky smirk fades a bit at the mention of the familiar tune. she adors it, specifically performing it alongside him. while they fall in tune with each other as they always do, there's something different about it. something magical. " you don't have to ask me twice... of course. " she nods, pen practically flying across the paper. as she pauses, she turns her body to face him in the booth. " maddox... is everything alright? i couldn't help but notice that you're practically in outer space. "