maureenkeaton​:

.

From the moment she’d met Zu, back when it had only been an article assignment, she’d been drawn to the other woman, felt an intense desire to be part of her world - and so of course, when Zu had asked her to hang out, or asked after her, she’d responded eagerly (she’d had to remind herself to pause and not reply to a text right away more than once), feeling the very same way she’d heard about in high school. Back then, she’d been liked enough to not feel a need to be ‘in’ with the most popular anyways. But with Zu - and with Ludo, too - there was something different. It was something practically intoxicating, and so when Zu had shown just the slightest bit of disappointment she’d immediately felt the need to placate, to fix it, to make sure she didn’t lose favor.

There was a part of her that wished she could just rid herself of the dress, of one of the initial reasons for their arguing tonight, but it was impractical to think so, and so instead she settled with nervously tugging at it, with the hopes that Zu would forgive her.

“I know you have.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, because crying was not how she wanted this evening to go. She wouldn’t let it go that way. Maureen had noticed the disapproving look on the other’s face and she swallowed at that, eyes grown wide. Except soon enough something else distracted her more than Zu’s disapproval of her nerves or her dress.

“The night he what?” Her mouth went practically dry, “I - yes, first-hand would be good, please.” She fumbled over her words for a moment as she glanced down at her shoes. “Thank you. I mean - I - just thank you for wanting to talk to me, and for being open about things.” Even if it made Maureen’s stomach practically drop. “I promise I’ll listen to no matter what you have to say.”

—

It should disgust her, how sweet and kind and open Maureen is, even when threatened, even when treated with the sort of disdain a supposed friend should have reserved for an enemy. The thought strikes her then, causing fingers to fumble at her side in hesitation and her countenance to lapse momentarily in its fixed coldness momentary lapse in coldness — was that what they were now? Enemies? 

If there’s a part of her shouting anything but the affirmative, Zuleika doesn’t hear it, instead allowing the horror-fueled echoes of Halloween and New Year’s, the night terrors she experienced when struck by phantom pain, and all the tears and shame and fury that’d been brewing for months, to reverberate louder than any other sound the city and all its crazed, drunken inhabitants had to offer. “Just remember you asked for it,” she says simply, quietly, something cruel and dark laced into both her voice and her gaze. Her hands reach out for Maureen’s slender neck, hovering just enough to feel the peach fuzz of the girl’s skin, fingers spread in clear demonstration of their mimicked intention. The deep amber of her eyes burn wild in some unknown storm of anger and fear and confusion, half-committed to making sure Maureen learned and still clung to the idea of taking her revenge. She lingers there for a moment, almost touching — but instead of wrapping around the blonde’s neck, her hands fall to narrow shoulders, holding onto to the girl as if to prevent her own self from collapsing.

It’s no use, of course. Once her hands gave up on going through with the act, her mind and visage quickly followed, in rare display of vulnerability and, worst of all, defeat. While ‘collapse’ might have looked like a shaking, crying mess on the floor, those who knew Zuleika well enough to see it knew that her version looked and sounded like this — words suddenly uncomplicated, no longer in the form of riddles and tests to be completed and conquered, and face devoid of that signature smirk and the piercing pull of her eyes. Was she weak, or brave, to deny the opportunity to hurt the person who’d hurt her first, simply because the person he loved was the same person that she did?

She doesn’t give herself the chance to answer, rage burning at the back of her throat, demanding to be revealed in a different, more direct way, this time. “Jakob is a monster, Maureen. Do you understand that? That night, what I told you, what I showed you... It was him.” She swallows hard, gaze finally raised to meet the girl’s, half-pleading, half-demanding to be believed. “When you saw him later that night... Do you remember seeing a scratch on his wrist? A mark on the side of his neck? You wanna know why he was so happy that evening? I can tell you it wasn’t because he was on a fucking farm, or whatever he told you to excuse the marks I left on him—” The admission of her own violence is dealt with a great deal of pride, and now, she doesn’t care if it shows, “—but because he’s nothing but a lowlife dealer for the Cartel who practically came in his pants when he choked me out until I was begging for my life.” A scoff of a laugh is thrown to her side, sardonic and scornful, as her voice offers a dark whisper, half-warning and half-confession, “And we both know that I am not someone who begs.”

lovelctters​:

Melissa Barrera via instagram

valmalkovich​:

–

During any conversation, Val’s resting expression is best described as invasive. Brows always pinched together in inquisition over a pair of bright, wild eyes. They narrow slightly in a whetted stare, the corner of her mouth turned in a perpetual smirk – whether it’s well disposed or patronizing is indiscernible. Overall, it plainly begs the question: are you sure you’ve got the balls to speak to me?  

“Sounds like you keep sensitive company.” The unwavering stare fixes itself on the girl who so presumptuously posts herself up across from Val, as if they’re smoking together. There’s something in the girl’s tone, so brash and provocative, that piques her attention. 

Val’s energy shifts, she can feel it– it’s not so much a conscious choice, but just that: a feeling, a wave of something. The reappearance of the little devil on her shoulder. It’s much like the strange electric stillness that fills the air before a summer storm. She inhales deeply through her nose, as if she can smell the breeze of it now, but the night is clear above them.  

“That’s my handiwork, there. Another tick– they’re easily customizable.” Val takes a long drag of her cigarette, raising a brow at the girl opposite her. “Is this your usual smoking spot, or are you just another sick fuck that’s going to ask me to paint you a picture of the crime scene?”

—

One of Zuleika’s greatest points of pride to date was that she’d never found anything close to a mirror in another’s countenance. That is to say: while one might possess an equally enviable beauty as hers, they could never match that spark of wildfire in Zu’s eyes, bright and mad and, most importantly, captivating even when shining cruel. So, when she spies that specific blaze in the visage of the other, existing somewhere between jade-green eyes bright in their scrutiny and a perfectly positioned smirk, her interest is acutely piqued — accepting whatever unspoken challenge the other offered, if only because curiosity held a stronger power over her than the more practically-placed fear.

“There’s something marginally life-affirming about bearing witness to someone with more issues than a magazine,” comes the evasive, half-explained reply, intentionally leaving out how many of said issues had been created by her own hand. But the topic moves to smoking, a pastime as favored as wreaking havoc in others’ personal lives; Ludo herself could attest to the way that the city’s morning smog seemed exceptionally thick after particularly adventurous nights out or restless nights in, and so Zuleika cannot help but laugh. “Everywhere is my smoking spot,” she clarifies in her standard, self-satisfied tone, accompanied by a thick exhale of smoke as if to claim more of the space as her own. 

To the woman’s question, her response is first given with a few steps closer to the caution tape, fingers running along the inner side in silent test of the limits imposed on her, visible and otherwise. “I’m not usually one to trust another’s eyes when I’ve got two of my own,” she claims, knowing that such trust was exactly the expectation she placed on feebler minds. “Besides, I could very well be the bad guy, come back to revel in my act of violence. Pretty faces always escape suspicion, after all.” And always have someone lined up to take the fall.

*closed to: @miloritter​ *setting: some sexy lil met gala afterparty

“Purple is thought to be the color of royalty,” Zuleika starts, emerging from the shadowy little corner that contained company she had no intention of keeping. Partaking in the shared enjoyment of party favors was well and good, but there was nothing quite like baiting a creature who’d only ever been taught to attack, especially when placed in an environment like tonight — a setting that simply couldn’t allow for such a thing, not with all its hidden watchdogs and invisible cage doors, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to cast one as victim and the other as villain. 

So, her ever-present smirk fashions itself into a sly grin when she nears him, hand extending to pinch the fabric of his lapel before brushing upwards against, then off, the pinstripe embossment covering his chest and collarbone. Going straight for the heart might have been another’s favored method of entrapment, but Zuleika much preferred toying with her prey — although, she could not help but recoil lightly at the tangible shock of hard muscle contained under silk and satin. It’s enough of a slip to inform her of the need to recoup the minor loss, and so she continues to tease, “How generous of JJ to let you borrow his clothes.”

maureenkeaton​:

I have living, breathing proof. Maureen’s stomach had turned practically to ice at the text. Part of her had wanted to fire back with a ‘there’s no way’, but Zu had always been honest with her - - at least she thought so - and she’d seen how the woman had reacted when she talked about Jakob. So even though a part of her wanted to go and find her boyfriend, to ask him what on earth Zu could be referring to, she couldn’t. 

After all, her curiosity had always been something to get the better of her. Except that now there was more of a risk than falling from a fire escape or getting caught spying at a neighbor’s new dog. Still, she couldn’t help herself. Couldn’t help but rush out of the main room, even though she knew she should be trying harder to get a story, but right now she could only focus on her friend. Or, the woman who she hoped was her friend.

Maureen attempted the beginnings of a smile as she approached Zuleika, but quickly let it fade as she noticed the other woman’s expression. “I am sorry about the shoes, again, Zu.” She looked over at her with wide eyes. “I’d change, but I don’t have anything to switch into.” Anything to even halfway placate whatever was going on between the two of them. “I’m all alone, in case you were going to ask. Despite the fact that I never was one for sneaking out, I am good at sneaking away. Which freaked my parents out when I was little and disappeared in the library, but it does mean that we’re all alone. No secret recording devices either.” She took another few steps towards Zuleika. “Please, I just want us to be okay.”

—

It was a gambit, of sorts, to think that she took up more importance in Maureen’s life than breaking news divulged by none other than two of the most prominent figureheads of New York government. Then again, to a lesser, unknown extent, that was the plan from the start — to cultivate a relationship with Maureen, to enchant her with the gilded veneer of her life, and all for access and influence over the girl’s every thought, every word, every action. The risks and benefits to Zuleika’s life were all carefully examined, with the former often tipping the scales in its favor to satiate that particular craving for excitement she held.

So, silly little games started, tests to determine if Maureen was worthy of her time, of access into her life. If the girl was smart enough ( or cynical, a word which might be a synonym only in this one instance ) to realize the existence of said games throughout their relationship, then this night, with its taunting texts and mysterious messages, undoubtedly seemed as something similar. As always, Maureen starts her descent into mindless chattering, attempting to placate a situation in which she can claim no control. To this, Zu cants her head at a disapproving angle — as she’d said already in the evening, the girl really had learned nothing from her.

When Maureen nears her, she’s tempted to step away in clear refusal of the intimacy the girl always attempted to forge, but she doesn’t, too concerned with checking her once over for any signs of physical abuse. Finding nothing, Zuleika speaks at last, words spat with disdain, “I’ve only ever tried to make sure you’ve been okay for as long as I knew you were with him. You know, the night that you told me — Halloween, wasn’t it? That was the same night he...” Her voice falters, not out of weakness, but because a more effective strategy takes hold of her mind. “Well... You’re a journalist. Wouldn’t you prefer to learn first-hand?”

valmalkovich​:

OPEN STARTER !! LOCATION: outside any club/bar (lower manhattan) TIME: just before midnight

It’s not often that Valerie is called to the scene of a crime to determine cause of death. Usually the bodies come to her already stiffening, accompanied by a neat folder of information and instructions. Autopsies – and faking them – consume most of her working hours. She prefers it that way: largely left unbothered and alone, save for a room full of corpses. 

Her fascination with crime scenes has dwindled over the years, to say the least – there’s hardly anything exciting about seeing fresh blood without witnessing what caused the spill. 

PPE tossed in a crumpled heap in the stairwell, Val steps out of the building for a much-needed cigarette. There are still a few passers-by that linger when they see the caution-taped facade, as always, but the initial crowd spectacle died down fairly early in the evening. 

She inhales a deep breath full of smoke and rests her back against the brick, keeping the cigarette perched between her lips while she tames her long hair back into a ponytail. In her periphery, she can feel someone staring at her– or rather, at her feet. Valerie looks down to see she’s still wearing her disposable shoe covers, the scrunched blue material stained and soddened with crimson. She offers a small smirk as she takes the cigarette from between her lips. 

“What? These old things?” A long leg lifts to offer a better look at the enviable footwear. “They sell them by the hundreds on Amazon, if you’re interested. Whole cartons. Only twenty-five dollars for the pleasure.”

—

Zuleika, like all creatures of the night, flits eagerly from one proverbial flame to the next, mapping out the city purely in terms of alcohol-soaked bars, drug-laden nightclubs, thrilling rooftops, and dirty alleyways. Those who only knew her in their periphery would easily assume this trajectory was brought on by self-indulgence taken to the extreme, and it’s not entirely untrue — but what lies deeper is the thrill of the chase, not just to find her next high but to see who, or what, tries to stop her.

Tonight, it’s a too-real reminder of mortality that forces her to stay in place, forgoing the next point of interest for the newly-developing one at her — rather, the other woman’s — feet. She stares, and is caught staring, transfixed by the sight of blood if only because, for once, it’s not her own. Zuleika’s whole life, blurred by perpetual movement and constantly made to tremble under the threat ( and more-than-occasional deliverance ) of violence, is marked by crimson. And yet, it’s not managed to scare her the way it should.

As if to prove this, the brunette relaxes against the opposite wall of brick, the slight curl of a smirk forming at her lips as she returns in an even tone, “The last time I commented on someone’s shoes, they ended up sobbing on my couch for about a week.” When intrigued, this is her most natural form of introduction, eschewing name and title entirely for something with a bit more punch. She takes a deep inhale of smoke from the perpetual cigarette perched at her lips, exhaling a slow-to-form cloud into the air between them. “Does Bezos include the ketchup splatters, or did you manage that all on your own?”

*MET GALA 2022 » ZULEIKA SANDOVAL, in attendance with Ludovica Malatesta.

Taking a page out of Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence and channelling the Countess Olenska ( in more than just her personal life, for once ), Zuleika is dressed in a crystal-embroidered, sheer gown overlaying a nude-hued, corseted catsuit. The beadwork and crystal detailing form intricate floral motifs, delicate fringes, and shoulder epaulettes, and create a drapery effect from the bodice down to the hem. Altogether, the resplendence evokes images of opulent Victorian lampshades and the couture of the era, while the catsuit component and the crystalwork at the shoulders lend themselves to a certain armor-like aspect underneath the soft, transparent texture of the gown. This is fitting, of course, as to quote Wharton: “Everything about her shimmered and glimmered softly, as if her dress had been woven out of candle-beams, and she carried her head high, like a pretty woman challenging a roomful of rivals.”

*closed to: @maureenkeaton​​ *location: gotham hall gardens

At the familiar sight of the blonde, Zuleika rests her cigarette atop a full rose blossom, lit end precariously close to burning one of the delicate, rich-red petals. Consider it a testament to the woman’s tendency towards risk-taking, her penchant for reckless destruction brought on by unabashed selfishness, or perhaps even the idea that what was pretty was only pretty as long as it was purposeful. Though she might argue that she was simply in need of a spot to place her favored vice, the truth is simply: all three possibilities allude to her relationship with Maureen as it stood now, hanging not by a thread but by tense-taut fibers of the red string of fate that had been fraying from the moment Zu learned of the connection between Jakob and the young journalist. 

To her credit, she truly had tried friendship — gentle warnings had been given ( and almost immediately dismissed by Ludovica’s well-intended and ill-timed reassurances ) before she resorted to more extreme measures. Even when the girl excitedly texted her about the prospect of moving in with her beau, Zu remained in wait, entirely expectant that Jakob would slip up and reveal his true colors before long, and Maureen ( and therefore Zu herself ) would be rid of him soon enough. Waiting proved fruitless and foolish, a deadly combination that left her desperate to take matters into her own hands — poetically, perhaps, by revealing what Jakob had done to her with his own.

She doesn’t smile as she normally would upon sight of the girl, and as casually cruel as her coldness is, it’s an act of truth more than yet another manipulative front. “This might be the only light under which those shoes actually work with that dress.” The light in question, of course, is next to none, which was as much a benefit to the disaster of Maureen’s outfit as it was a detriment to Zuleika’s body of proof. Then again, perhaps said proof was visceral enough that it didn’t need to be seen to be understood, if Jakob hadn’t already sabotaged the trust the blonde once placed in her. 

maureenkeaton​:

[ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : What do you mean so-called? We are friends, I thought. I admire you and I consider you a friend. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : I’m sorry. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : I thought you liked my articles. I am trying to present myself as best as I can. I’m working on it. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : He’s nice to me - and charming. [ user is waiting ] [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : Wait, what do you mean, “proof”?

[ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : I extended you my friendship, Maureen. I can and will revoke it just as easily. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : To put it simply — it doesn’t take much to charm you and have you eating out the palm of one’s hand. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : Jakob’s not the only one who’s been doing that over the past few months. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : I mean that I have living, breathing proof. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : Berkeley’s about to take stage. Meet me in the gardens after if you truly care about our ‘friendship.’ 

jnchojrmllo​:

he shrugged his shoulders and scrunched up his nose, as a child would do when they didn’t like a piece of broccoli they had been offered. ❝ tú sabes que eso es imposible. ❞he mused towards her, of course to illicit a reaction out of her, it was a force of habit. ❝ well, it seems you do not know as much as you thought, ladies do tend to enjoy my company, if I’m not wrong aren’t you one of those ladies ? ❞ of course his usual smug smirk taints his features, the dimples on the side of his cheeks visible at this point for her. shaking his head at her comment, he accepts the drink that he had ordered and takes a sip from the brown- blackish liquor. ❝ and once again ———- you are wrong. I decided to come with a family friend, I was invited and who am into reject liquor and good food with a bunch of rich people, I have to make my living to, mi amor. ❞ 

—

The history between them dictates that every interaction leads to fighting or fucking — no matter the setting, the scenario, or context of conversation, what they were to each other existed solely within the boundaries of either a verbal punching bag or a warm, familiar body. This is something Zuleika knows entirely too well, and the temptation towards each opposite end is palpable — but there’s an endgame to this interaction, one that sees him pulled further into her orbit so as to further bring about Andrea’s own gravitational collapse. 

So, rather than her standard barbed remark in return, Zuleika attempts a different kind of boldness, fingers tracing lightly over the curve of his lips as if reminding herself of days long gone. “I almost forgot what it was like to be the reason you smile,” the brunette muses quietly, eyes transfixed. It’s an act, of course, but with their shared history and her own particular talent for deceit wrapped in delight, the moment looks — feels, perhaps most importantly — real. 

She lingers in it for a little while longer. The echo of the past is haunting, but that’s truly all it is — an echo, a facsimile that tricks the senses into a closer proximity, but in all truth, is simply hollow. Before her hand wraps around his glass, fingers resting delicately above his, and she downs the rest of the drink for herself. “Is good liquor all a girl like me needs to keep your attention?”

maureenkeaton​:

[ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : But they are still of a good quality. That place doesn’t have fancy name brands but they have good things. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : I really thought it looked nice. I know I do not look like I belong here, Zu, I am well aware that this isn’t really my sort of place. But I am trying. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : I do love him. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : It’s really pathetic to do things that make those you love happy? I thought it was nice to do. I like making you happy too, and I am sorry I didn’t do that this time. :( [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : It’s only a silly dress, Zu, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your friend. Please. 

[ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : Seriously, Maureen — the more you go on, the more I’m starting to realize you’ve learned nothing from our so-called friendship. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : How you choose to present yourself to the world says more about you than the byline of one of your silly little articles ever could. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : It’s pathetic to constantly do whatever scum asks of you. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : And that’s what Jakob is. [ user is typing ]  [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : I have proof. 

dcrekslater​:

there wasn’t ever any sign of unstableness within his parents marriage, they loved each other and he saw it but it seemed that after he died, he wasn’t the only one who lost all sight of that. derek would die gladly for the people that he called family and at this point that was his siblings and the brotherhood. there wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t do for them, nothing was off limits. his whole life devon had been a mother to him, someone that guided him to be the best of who he was and yet after all the fuck ups that he had done, she had never ( with the exception of him going to prison ) talked down to him or made him feel less important than who he was. zuleika was someone who he believed was somewhat liked him, they were both broken and needed to find comfort in something, for zuleika it was dave ( as tragic as that must sound ) &. for Derek it was the brotherhood ; being part of something important, a family. 

she didn’t deserve to be hurt like that. those words caused a small smile on his brims, at least part of her no matter how minimal it was, she did feel for his sister and that small part was enough for him. ❝ what if what ? ❞ he doesn’t even allow for the topic to change ❝ do you honestly believe that you don’t deserve better ? ❞ he did wonder why woman such as herself had to stand behind aman when they were powerful enough to remove mountains ❝ let me tell you something, I might not be in expert in functional relationship but I do know a string woman when I see one and you are a strong woman, you just have to be ready to be that woman, it’s not going to happen now or because I’m telling you this, it will happen when you are ready and only you, no one can force you to take that leap. ❞ 

taking a long inhale from the joint that was almost done now, brown knitted together as he hears her inquiry ❝ I don’t have any secrets, I’m an open book. ❞ he didn’t see the need to hide or sugarcoat anything, he simply knew what he wanted or don’t want. her nudge causes a small chuckle as he shakes his head ❝ you drop my joint and I might have to drop you. ❞ thought it’s just a playful banter, he knows that devon would have his head but he’s a grown man who can make his own choices though, he wouldn’t purposely do anything to hurt her ever. ❝ there was someone, a while ago. ❞ he doesn’t ever speak about her but then again who would he speak to about her. ❝ I think I loved her but I was facing half a decade in prison, I couldn’t have done that to her —— put her through that . no matter how much I loved her, I needed to think about her. ❞

passing the joint back to zuleika ❝ I guess we all have made choices we regret. ❞ 

—

Strong woman was a title not uncommon to her ears, but it elicits the same response each time: a sigh, followed by a roll of her eyes. The action is only exacerbated by his words and the steep disparity between his advice and the very person she’s had to be since Andrea’s attack. “I don’t think you understand the kind of strength I’ve had to show over the past few months, Derek.” It comes out more defensive than she means, but the wounds ( physical and otherwise ) are too fresh in her memory and her skin. In truth, some small, dark part of her wanted him to press further: to call her every name under the sun, to treat her like she was something worthless, to crush her with words, maybe even hands — to give her reason to shrink away even further, to hide behind an earned bitterness and not say a word. Instead, he extends something that scares her even more, and puts her in too vulnerable a place to refuse: friendship. 

Zuleika’s slow to realize it, but she’s crying. For how long, she’s not sure, but her cheeks are too streaked with tears to bother hiding it now. Hesitant, she starts, “You ever fuck something up because it just feels too...safe?” Now, her eyes study his — that wide, open gaze that looks hauntingly like his sister’s. “Here’s my secret: I don’t know how to love something and not ruin it. I don’t know how to feel good without the reason for it being something that’s...not.” There’s a shaky laugh after the admission, as if shying away from the vulnerability, but still, she can’t stop herself from searching Derek’s eyes for some form of acceptance.

After a moment longer, the back of her hand finally pats away the traces of her tears as she listens to his own revelation. “Pretty girls never end up with boys who make them cry this much, you know. So, if you ask me... Your girl dodged a bullet,” she jests with another weak chuckle. There’s a playful nudge and she softens once more, hand smoothing a crinkle along the shoulder of his suit. “Love, marriage, babies... I’m starting to think that life doesn’t work that way for people like us, Derek.” Taking one final inhale off the quickly-dying joint, Zu stubs it against the floor before returning to him with a small smile. “If we keep up this habit of regret, we’re gonna be the only two left in the city. Then again... It might not be so bad, being stuck with you.” The smile broadens to a rare flash of something genuine, and she places a kiss to his cheek, continuing the long tradition of marking her favorite things in red. “Thank you.”

ludomalatesta​:

–

“And what a gift it is.” Ludo stands from where she’d been seated on the chaise in her closet, reaching for Zuleika’s hands. “Give me a spin,” she instructs, bringing her arm over Zu’s head as she twirls. “Bellissima,” she beams, eyes skirting over her best friend’s appearance to inspect more closely for any hairs – or bruises – that may be out of place. Finding none, she gives Zu a wave of dismissal. “Perfect. You can’t see it at all.” 

Constructing a look around pesky contusions was something the two had more than enough experience in, but it was normally Ludo who was fretting over a missed patch of foundation or a revealing neckline. It’s a disconcerting feeling of one step forward, two steps back. For once, she didn’t have to worry about leaving an event in a tearful argument – but now her best friend did, and for far worse reasons than a browbeating boyfriend. 

While she’s tried to keep the mood light, her smile falters at the thought. Still gripping Zuleika’s hands, Ludo pulls her closer to look her ardently in the eye. “Are you sure you want to go? I just got groceries delivered today, including four bottles of our new favorite wine. It’s not too late.” They were already both done up and ready, but Ludo means it. “Serious, Zu. If any of it gets to be too much…” More accurately than ‘any of it’ would be anyone, ranging from daunting Cartel members to press secretaries. “We’re out of there. Immediately. Even if I’m about to receive a billionaire’s hand in marriage – and I’m expecting to leave with at least one offer in that respect.”

—

Where Ludovica led, Zuleika followed. What Ludo asked of her, she’d willingly do — barring minimal argument or questions, particularly where certain affairs of a gaslit heart were involved — and any second thoughts were only voiced to further concoct their plans. So, when her friend offers her the choice, large, dark eyes holding her heart just as she cradled her hands, Zu is struck by the tenderness of it all. Sentimentality was often a foreign concept to the younger girl, but over the past few months — no doubt brought on by one near-death experience after another — a certain yearning, for a softness she’d so often shrugged off, had formed, aided and abetted by every gentle touch and comforting word from Ludovica over the past few months.

At the thought, Zuleika smiles warmly. "I love you, Lu,” the brunette starts, pausing to place a kiss atop the crown of her friend’s head, “And I have to make up for all the nights we’ve missed out because of my...” Her voice falters then, hand giving Ludo’s a light squeeze. Between them, silences held as much weight as words; the communication between the two could exist just as easily between curious quirks of the brow or drunken, overly-zealous compliments slurred in the dingy bathrooms of seedy bars. “I mean it — I owe you everything.” Zu steps further into the expansive closet, and through her reflection in the vanity, she inspects different pairs of earrings before positing with her usual devious grin, “So...are we ranking eligibility in order of net worth, fuckability, or proximity to being put in a nursing home?”

anaismurad​:

—

Anaïs listens intently — all to just shrug her shoulders, throw a hand up and say, “If you say so!”

What Zuleika offers next is hardly an answer — let alone, one to Anaïs’s question. Vague with a side of deflection, and just about a football field worth of red flags. One only ever hides their roots when they are rotten. 

(It’s up to Anaïs then, if it would be wise to let it grow anywhere near her own.)

“Private collection,” she says instead. A polite woman’s no. “We’ve sponsored the event for the past, five years or so — they’re very welcoming to us taking up a cut of the cellar. If we’re still in contact by then, I’ll send you a bottle for Christmas.” 

It’s Anaïs’s turn to savor it herself — the familiar taste, born out of her family’s own care, like a warm embrace. “…Since you won’t answer my questions, why don’t you ask me one?” She suggests through a smile. “Then, we’ll get to talking.” Business, implied. 

—

What a strange dance this was, two women intent on asking questions of the other that only seemed to result in anything but what the other was seeking. In another situation, the wine would help ease the moment along, but here — it only services as a stalling agent of some kind, conversation stopping and starting as though hallmarked by the kind of ineptitude reserved for awkward teenagers. 

Zu’s committed, of course, to appearing as anything but, forever one to hide sharp edges by wrapping them in silk and shimmer — in her mind, it’s the best way to get past metal detectors, and she knows one in human form when she sees one. “Ah. Which part, exactly, did I not answer?” She returns casually in response. If the comment is meant to shake her, it doesn’t. Zuleika wasn’t inclined to placing questions about herself in the mouths of those from whom she’d rather receive answers, so if specifics were what the other woman was after, she would have to find the words to ask herself. 

Granted, there still existed an element of proving herself — one that the girl was quickly taking up as something needed in reciprocation, from Anaïs, too. Evasiveness met by evasiveness only ever resulted in a stalemate, after all, and the goal of any business transaction was for both sides to come away feeling like the decisive victor. So, she offers through a smile, “I imagine it’s not just luck that’s kept your family in its position as one of the greats of this city — this country.” The implication being: for every ounce of philanthropy, there’s a carefully considered investment to double its worth. “What shapes the Murad family legacy?”

maureenkeaton​:

[ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : It’s a sort of silver-ish gold, I thought. But I don’t have the eye for fashion you do. Your shoes were so beautiful but they wouldn’t have worked and these were all I had. They’re from DSW, I thought they were a good choice. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : You did. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : I [ user is typing ] — just thought it looked nice. It’s sort of flowy and feels a bit magical. It’s nice to feel that way. I – my other fashion is actually mostly the same, I just have some stuff that fits me more and isn’t as loose. Do you want me to pay you back? I’m so sorry. [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : Please, Zu. I am sorry, I loved the suit and shoes so much but  [ SMS » ZULEIKA 🌟 ] : I don’t know. I’m just sorry. Please can we still hang out here? This whole event is overwhelming even if I was asked to come and help cover it.

[ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : Heels hailing from a business with the word ‘warehouse’ in its name are NEVER a good choice for a gala. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : Flowy? Magical? Please. You could catch one of the biggest breaks of your career in this room tonight, and instead of looking like someone who belongs here... [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : You look like a child in her mother’s oversized smock pretending to be a princess — and somehow, you’ve ended up looking like the court jester instead. [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : And for what? To impress some pasty, disgusting boy you think you love? [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON ] : That’s pathetic. [ user is typing ] [ SMS » MAUREEN KEATON, unsent ] : You’re pathetic.

jnchojrmllo​:

zuleika was a good time, they both were unstable and loved way too hard. maybe that’s why they knew that relationship side they would never work but psychically they complimented each other quiet well. watching her as she plucked the piece of linen on his suit. ❛ always looking out for me huh ? ❜ he inquired with his usual golden boy smile ❛ I wouldn’t expect  anything else from you . ❜  the banter evident but her last set of words cause a shake of his head ❛ she’s talking with a few friends, you should know better zu, yo soy todo un caballero. ❜ 

—

“Don’t play cute,” Zu reprimands, eyes looking over his shoulder in search of his date’s silhouette. “If she’s anything like me, she wouldn’t want to be seen with messy boys. And, if I’m not mistaken...” her gaze lingers for a moment longer, studying the other woman from a distance as her hand continues to smooth a path down the lines of his suit, distracted and unashamed in equal measure. “The long hair, the dancer’s legs, the budget couture—” Eyes like dark honey fix on his now, and her smile curves into a smirk as she continues, with no small amount of pride laced into the statement, “You’ve brought a discount version of me on your arm tonight. Been missing me that badly, Juancho?”

benoswald​:

.

He doesn’t like being mad at Zuleika - he isn’t, really, it isn’t his place to be mad about. Concern for Aparna is the overwhelming force, because as much as he knew she was capable of taking care of herself, and as much as he knew that Zu wouldn’t have any ill will - it was a reaction he couldn’t quite control. Still, he had intended to keep up this annoyance for at least tonight. He’d expected, wanted, to run into her, and knew at some point they’d make up. But her voice, the look on her face, the fact she looks so vulnerable standing before him. The feeling dissipates instantly.

A look of concern crosses his features, and he closes the slight distance between them, hand not quite on her shoulder but half out - like it’s itching to be there. “Hey, no- no. S’okay. Truce began. Argument over. What’s wrong? What happened?”

—

For a moment, Zuleika wonders if she would have kept up their awkward little dance of a half-committed silent treatment had Benjamin not been so naturally open-hearted and eager to help. He lets up with an ease she’s never been able to harness quite so quickly, but as soon as that initial look of worry creases into his features and the tumble of words spill from his lips, Zuleika’s already regretting the place to which she’s led them, heartstrings tugged by the immediacy of a forgiveness they both know she’s done nothing to earn.

“No, you... You deserve an apology.” A rarity from Zuleika Sandoval — but then again, the fact that someone like Benjamin exists in her life is one in and of itself, too. Rarer still, is the fact that she continuously wants him to, which prompts her to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it’d make you so upset, and I certainly didn’t think it would’ve put this distance between us.” She exhales a cautious laugh, apology still foreign on her tongue, and leans forward into whatever small space still exists between them. “It’s Maureen. Her boyfriend, actually,” Zu starts with a shake of her head, eyes betraying a fear she’s thus far refused to admit. “He’s a monster, Ben.”