sweetheart, put the bottle down //*

[sylvia ashton rivers]

• • • • • •

---IMPATIENCE WAS PRACTICALLY ROLLING off of her body, the gleam of frustration prominent in her stone cold expression. silver blue eyes stared back at her in the elegant, reflective glass doors that signaled the entrance to the inferno; lifeless, weary, and threatening. there were faded purple bruises under her eyes that indicated an obvious lack of sleep, and her platinum locks were pulled back messily and without care. a delicately heeled foot beat the sleek marble-esque floors incessantly, tainted with mild hostility. few people dared to come near here, maybe because she looked to be at a breaking point, but mostly because there was a violent reaction just waiting to happen, which was visible in her obviously sweet disposition. most of the others just glanced at her, a few men giving a second thought to the corny approach they'd been considering. she didn't notice though, her gaze trained on the door, waiting for the right person to walk in and recognize her. the clock on the edge of the room was a constant mockery to what she was going. 5:01. 5:02. 5:03. the time ticked away inevitably, and with every passing minute the desire to strangle a kitten was more and more apparent on her visage. she had been downstairs, waiting in this lobby, at five o'clock sharp. that was the time of the meeting, and anybody who knew sylvia ashton rivers knew not to keep her waiting, because she wasn't exactly the patient type. fuck patience, and all of the other virtues the sanctimonious preached to her for the sake of her "salvation." all she wanted was punctuality, and she couldn't even get that out of somebody. the human race was full of idiots, neanderthals who somehow managed to not evolve over time, leaving very few of the intellectually blessed in tact. why was killing so bad? especially if it was removing the plague of stupidity from an already dying planet. 5:24. 5:25. 5:26. the icy glare was directed at the slowly ticking hands, hostile enough that it was formidable to medusa’s, able to destroy any other pair of eyes it may have met rather than simply turn them to stone. there was no cure for being sent into oblivion, and at this point wouldn't it be nice to annihilate the late bastard? she had taken time out of her life, from the goodness of her heart, to come down to this lobby at the nicest casino in valkyrie, maybe all of california, to meet this man... and he was going to make her wait? that was complete and utter horseshit. granted, she did live right upstairs, but there was much more she could be off doing with her life, things that mattered and would be prosperous for her own well being, things that wouldn't save this stupid, slow, man's life. that's what she was doing, wasn't it? saving him. he needed to get a new identity, urgently, because some bad people were after him. the typical story, of course, and syl was the designated hacker. he hired her only early today, so it must have been a new development, and look at the sorry moron, late. the possibility that maybe his foes caught up with him and he got what he deserved was slightly comforting, it even made her laugh to herself a little bit. if that were the case, have fun rotting in hell, mr. morales. but if it weren't the case, well then the asshole better have more money. significantly more. that, or she'd turn him in herself. 5:48. 5:49. 5:50. "fuck this." she snarled under her breath, moving from her spot in the lobby and marching off. there was no way she was going to ever say she waited an hour for a client, especially one who obviously didn't find her own time important.

that was syl rivers, for you.

she'd never been known as the prim, perfect princess that most girls feigned they were. growing up in india, she'd always been particularly frosty, but she was still fun. she laughed and joked and would meet strangers on the street simply because they said good morning. that was the mindset of her as a child though. friendly, but distant. the only people she was ever really close to was her family; dad, mom, brother, and joey. the first three of those names were forbidden in her head, she refused to think too much on it. her dad had always been her best friend, teaching her to fly and use resources to her advantage. mum was a doll, the woman taught her kids everything that she knew, most of it about the animals and plants she studied. that was one part of her childhood she still allowed herself to think of, vaguely. they'd traveled often, to exotic locales and primeval places. anywhere from china to alaska, the long way around the world, of course. she'd learned the languages of the majority of the places she'd been, and knew them fluently to this day. she could remember the trivial adventures her and joey would go on as children, exploring as far as they could from their parents. it was a decent lifestyle, a good one. in the words of robert frost, though, nothing gold can stay. unfortunately for the rivers sisters, this was also true, and this was why syl's more unfriendly aspects were heightened around the age of fifteen. that was a logical explanation when your older brother slaughtered your parents, right? sylvia had turned all her virtues to vices, facing trials and tribulations head on. she'd taken it upon herself to make sure joey was safe. she put up blocks and walls in order to prevent any of those memories from coming back to haunt her. and it worked, they didn't. she'd frosted herself in ice and diamonds, cold and hard substances, fit to make her flagrant bitch. the only people as a whole she still had a soft spot for were the indians, because every time she returned to bombay, the smells, the sights, the sounds... all of it reminded her of her childhood, it brought out the small bit over innocent friendliness she once possessed. it was still her favorite place in the world, but outside of it she was the dashing dame most knew her to be. it wasn't syl's goal in life to be loved and paraded, she didn't want that at all. the girl knew that she and joey were all each other needed. joey was syl's only real friend besides isabella rovens, whom she worked with, and she was perfectly content with leaving things that way. if being an ice cold bitch was looked down upon by the rest of the population, well they could all go jump off a cliff onto an infestation of piranhas and sharp rocks. her past had turned her into a shell, it made her darker, and yet she still managed to maintain who she was. it wasn't like syl was now a broken mess of who she used to be, in her mind, she handled the loss quite well, healthy even. it didn't change her, only made her more of what she once was. the young woman had always been quite talented when it came to putting up mental barriers, and she used it to her advantage. people wondered why she was the way she was, what made her that way. well, nothing did. she was always this was, and probably always would be.

despite being an array of poisoned knives hidden by a sheet of white satin, it wasn't as though the "atrocities," as some referred to the characteristics of her personality, were all that governed her being. syl had also always been known as the ballsy, spontaneous, unpredictable one between her and her sister. in a way, yes, she protected joey and kept them safe, but josephine rivers had always been the more responsible, in a way, the one who took care of them in any sense that didn't apply to getting the hell out of dodge and creating fake documents. sylvia was the crazy one, the one who might do something stupid just for the sake of making things a little more exciting than they already were. she might do something stupid just because she wanted to, damn it. one second she may be walking to the corner store, and the next she would be running out to her plane, intent on flying to rome. in a way, she was hilariously fun, she would do the indescribably dorky things that nobody else would ever even consider, things that people only thought happened in the movies. she'd do something without thinking about the consequences, sometimes it worked in her favor, courtesy to her lightning course of thought, and sometimes it would royally screw her over, causing her to lose whatever battle she may have been engaged in, though usually not physically since she wasn't one of those trigger happy idiots people called criminals. syl still maintained some sense of class; she'd only punch you in the nose if you really managed to get under her skin. but then again, spontaneity didn't always work in the favor of the opposing team. she might hit somebody for the sake of hitting somebody, though that was a much less rare occurrence. syl knew how to make people laugh, and not exactly intentionally, it just happened. that, and once she was "friends" with somebody, they had her loyalty for all time. joey would always be her number one priority, no matter what. and even bella, whom she'd been working with for a few years now, was somebody she would never turn her back on unless she did something to deserve it completely. so while she may be referred to as a reincarnation of the wicked witch of the west, syl rivers did have her more noble qualities, but they were only even faintly demonstrated to those she deems worthy, which is an extremely short list, and it wasn't likely to grow anytime soon. syl wasn't exactly tracey trust everybody. she wasn't going to open up her life to a stranger, not typically. there were very few people in this world she even liked, in any way shape or form, whatsoever. she found most people to be immensely, well, retarded. it was like the majority of the planet was missing half of their brain, or at least not using theirs to its full capacity. in fact, the way she figured it, most of the people who disgraced humanity by going as far to call themselves humans were people who deserved to be punches in the ovaries or kicked in the testicles, because really, why should stupidity reproduce only to make more stupidity? and this often brought up the constant question "are your parents related?" if syl ran into somebody, because they simply could not hold an intellectually, or even amusing conversation to save their own skins. most of them were trivial, unnecessary factors to life on earth. those people didn't deserve any of the "good" side of sylvia ashton rivers, or well, the side that wasn't as bad as her normal side.

valkyrie hadn't done much for syl's excitement lately. she often found herself bored, and other than the picturesque beaches and perfectly curved waves, it wasn't all that enjoyable. all people did was moan and whine about how their perfect little city was destroyed and how her mom died, or his wife died. sure, the people mourning children had a right, but everybody else? simple, they were over-emotional wastes of space. syl barely had time to deal with all these buffoons cast from the seas of unlawfulness. that was why she kept to herself, sometimes going out with bella, but usually only leaving the quarters of her hotel room or a deserted section of the beach because joey requested it of her. god bless her heart. it was convenient that syl was fond of surfing, though. she went out nearly every day to take part in the waves, and yet she was still ashen as a vampire who'd been hibernating underground for the past fifteen years. maybe that was a bit of a hyperbole, but she still wasn't as tan as she'd like to be. there was a good chance the reason for that was because it was only february, but god damn it, mother nature, she wanted her creamy golden skin. but aside from the beach? she normally just hung around the inferno, not having much of a desire to explore the rest of the city. this place seemed to have it all anyway, maybe too much. sometimes she wished they would have chosen to live in some dingy motel on the outskirts of town with no indoor plumbing, because it was less likely people would be there, but the inferno had a bar... so it automatically won that war. alcohol was a nice distraction, and while syl didn't normally get butt-naked wasted, she allowed herself to get boozed up every now and again. take the current opportunity for example. she was livid with a man who'd stood her up, she hated every single person in this entire hotel with the exception of her sister, and she wanted to punch the living daylights out of somebody important. all these factors directed her towards the sailor jerry's and the locos. she slid by the people who were standing around the casino, waiting to check in or heading out to the cabana. syl was almost tempted to hit the cabana as well, but that was probably infested with low lifes, so instead she directed her path towards the actual bar. it was totally empted, the room slightly dark with only a bartender drying glasses and some music playing. the blonde bombshell strode straight up to the bar and sat herself down in the stool. now this was more like it, nobody here to bother the crap out of here yet, and only one person to really deal with. and he was the one who'd be serving her the alcohol, so really, how bad could this guy be? it was already a slight comfort to her heated rage that she could drink away her sorrows and wake up in her hotel room tomorrow and start her glorious pattern all over again. these were the kinds of outcomes she could appreciate. maybe she'd get laid tonight, maybe she'd kick some mere mortal in the nads, who gave two shits what happened, she sure as hell didn't care. this was her night to be the crazy, careless girl. but who was she kidding, that was almost every night. if valkyrie would continue to allow her to behave carelessly at night and surf freely throughout the day, well then maybe it was worth it to stick around. not to mention, what type of brother would hunt down his sisters to a town that was broken and healing? it was the perfect hide out.

"um miss," the bartender's eyebrows were knit together, his dark eyes staring at her, confused, "the bar doesn't open until eight." remember that question about how bad this guy could be? well the answer was really fucking bad. syl glared at him momentarily before smirking bitterly, "come on now," she whispered, leaning over the counter, "who's going to care if you give one pretty girl a drink?" the man just looked at her, "well uh, my boss... probably." the blonde groaned, clenching her hands into fists. this guy really wasn't helping her cause, "i just want to get fucking shmammered. is this so hard for you to understand?" he snorted, obviously not liking her pleas, or lack thereof, "look honey, it's like six o'clock." oh yes, the condescending voice, good choice mr. big and brooding, "thank you, asshole, i can tell the time. i would have been here an hour ago if i could have. now give me whatever the fucking strongest thing is you have, capiche?" she leaned back in her chair. he hesitated, glancing at his vast supply of liquor before turning back towards her. syl stared at him defiantly, folding her arms across her chest, "i'm not leaving."

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• • • • • •

(STATUS) finished. (TAGGED) j/s (OUTFIT) here. (COMMENTS) sorry this is shit. my computer ate this post. TWICE. (CREDITS) banner to lainey, format inspired by vsiders.

[/justify]

[james devon sakahrov-collins]

,HOME WAS A loose term he threw around. being in valkyrie, california did that to him. before this stupid town appeared before his windshield, jamie collins never questioned where "home" was. boston, massachusetts. every good memory was there, floating around the damaged streets of charlestown. that ridiculous little house his mother insisted on renting was home, unpainted picket fence and unmowed lawn. the cafe with the crooked sign but fuck-worthy coffee. the drycleaners he loitered at. sometimes getting a slice of pie from sweet old granny lawson, because she didn't "want you to get in mischief, now". everything about boston was home. when he stumbled into his dingy apartment, watching the water turn clear as the blood washed down the drain, it was the familiarity that brought him back. the never-ending bangs and clangs, the construction workers starting way too early, the groan of the buses as they started yet another long day. whatever the fuck you wanted to suggest, it was home. all of boston's dirty alleys and smokey bars, crooked streets and ridiculous people. it was not a loose term when it was home. but now...he didn't consider anywhere to be home.

just over a month in this glossy little town had ruined comfort for him. kicking open the door to his motel room, dodging the escaping prostitute or the yelling manager or that lady who liked to throw rags at him, never made his days easier. he didn't look forward to it. he didn't find the flickering lights charming. he didn't like complaining to bill the maintenance crackhead about the door that didn't lock and the non-hot hot water and the nothing-proof walls and everything else that was stupid about the days away motel. he fucking hated it. it was another headache that he never felt like dealing with. who had to make sure the people upstairs weren't fucking too hard so he didn't have to fear for his life while going to bed? they were going to screw right through the floor, onto his bed, one of these days. and the moaning and groaning of the heroine addict living next door were no better. he was tempted to throw a fifty at the irritating bitch; get high for awhile to give him some silence. he thought the old guy who was in and out, in and out, on the other side was dead. the room smelled bad. and he wasn't anywhere to be found. it was no wonder ksenia grabbed her shit and moved out. she decided to stay in valkyrie "to sort out everything'. so she was staying with her parents wherever they set up camp. so bob the manager with a stained wifebeater, hairy beerbelly and really bad mostache double his rate because "one person in a two-person room takes up space". apparently there were no single rooms left. much of this part of valkyrie was similar to boston, rough and a little bit dark. it just held no charm or smell of granny lawson's pies. even a new car air freshener would be nice. much of this was reminiscent of home. but it wasn't. it was just fucking stupid.

so uh, why was he still there? jamie had no real reason to remain wallowing in filth. considering he was in a motel where people lived - he had neighbours now - no other option could be less appealing. everyone wrinkled their nose when they found out. ksenia rolled her eyes everytime he stubbornly refused to leave. she gave up. few others bothered to know. if he told them, it's not like they believed him. on one hand, he was jamie collins - badass russian mobster with a deadly shot and a dirtier reputation. why would he be there? rumour was, the russians had declared the inferno - opposite side of the world from the motel - as their territory. the people with the funny accents could be found there. for the rest of the world he was still jamie collins - the smirking, chain-smoking manager of the glossy bar and trendy restaurant. his staff called him charming and nice to look at; no one could complain. he got on with his minions, he was fair, he never yelled too loudly, and he didn't like to jump to conclusions. no one could imagine that jamie living here either. who the fuck lives somewhere they have to pay per night? sixty-eight fifty, because bob and his stench wanted to keep another paying tenant around.

he couldn't believe this was "home". slamming against the door for a third time, it finally swung open. fuckfaced bill said he fixed it. lying bastard. kicking it closed behind him, jamie collins himself stood in the middle of "home". looked around, scoffed, scoffed again. everytime, he was still baffled that he lived here. you know he worked in a hotel where half his russian counterparts were staying, right? he could probably get a room there for free. maybe later. huffing his jacket off of his shoulders, carelessly letting it fall to the ground, jamie stumbled toward the bathroom, never letting go of the half-empty bottle of smelly tequila. he drank the cheap shit when he was alone. barely managing to flick the lights of, he supported himself on the sink, distractedly looking at his reflection in the cracked mirror. he looked like shit. he probably smelled like shit, too. balancing the bottle on the counter, he ran his hands through his hair with a sigh. no blood. so he hadn't killed anyone today. it was ridiculous that it was barely six o'clock and he barely remember what he did with his day. somewhere between stumbling around half-drunk and doing some of his work. threatened drug dealers to clean their act up, or he'd introduce them to real russian torture. it wasn't cutting off fingers. splashing icy water onto his face, jamie breathed a sigh. why was life getting so fucking ridiculous without a reason? the last two weeks, he'd been operating on automatic. he was just sick and tired, exhausted and just really fucking bored. i guess he liked to blow off life when he got like this. made sense. whatever. he was happy being miserable, left no ray of hope for something else. he swore softly when the water suddenly turned off. no surprise. shaking the drops from his head, the russian straightened himself up. if this was "home", he was late for "work".

the work that the other jamie existed for. young and mysterious manager of the nicest joint in town. he didn't feel it. he had darkness encircling his eyes, he was pasty and pale. his hair was messier than usual. he had fading cuts on his knuckles. he was mumbling to himself in a mixture of english and russian. he wasn't the jamie he needed to be. whatever. he could be, with a couple of vodka shots. tequila annihilated him. taking a deep breath, shaking some of the misery back into his mind, jamie smirked his signature smile. good enough. rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt, he lazily picked up his jacket and found his car keys. work awaited. it wasn't a long drive, maybe twenty minutes with the traffic he ignored. he didn't park in the staff parking lot. he didn't use the staff door, either. the air-conditioned blast surprised him as he strolled through the lobby. his little hole of a home didn't have that. it smelled like a new car in here. he still didn't understand why staff was constantly required here. the restaurant was doing fine, with a bar of its own. but the actual bar? the only time anyone was here all day, it was either him doing work, or someone being punished for annoying him. until hotel management figured that out and threatened him with district rules. busted. now someone got paid to do nothing for most of the day. lonely trophy wives drinking coffee with baileys (he saw the recipt history, fools) looking for company with a charming bartender. the restaurant, the girls were hotter, younger and slept with those bartenders. whatever. he didn't really care. throwing his jacket onto one of the hooks, jamie wandered his way into the bar. he was good at pretending to be the boss.

"well uh, my boss... probably." his minion was conversing with someone. it was, what? maybe six-thirty. maybe. people rolled in around eight or nine, when the other bars cut them off. this point in the night, the lone staff was usually watching tv with the volume on too high. then again, this time of night, jamie usually wasn't around. hands in his pockets, clinking his keys around, jamie leaned against the wall closest, watching the scene unfold. hot blonde with an attitude, flustered bartender trying to do his job properly. props, he managed to turn away from her. maybe he'd offer a raise. smirking with amusement, he casually approached the bar. "and he also usually doesn't think his employees actually follow that rule." speaking when the silence was looming, jamie continued to smirk as he swung himself over the bar. leaning against the back counter casually, he watched as the bartender looked from him to syl, and back again. "go take my smoke break for me or something. it's boring standing here all day." raising his eyebrows in response to the confused blink and "but i don't smoke...", he quickly rolled his eyes. digging into his back pocket for his half-empty cigarette pack and lighter, he tossed it upward. "now you do. you're still on the clock, just go away." he never knew if his employees though he was crazy, or the cool boss. he told them to fuck off half the time, always promising to pay them. he usually did. snatching up a bottle of his favorite russian water, as well as two shot glasses, he turned back to syl and her pouting. "must fucking suck to get left in the mud like that." something told him she wasn't a girl who hung around pouting much. filling each glass, he raised his to hers, not drinking it. "what're you doing here, rivers?" he'd seen her before, sometimes talked. he knew joey rivers, who was always hanging around his own river. he just didn't think syl rivers was one to hang out in a bar by herself.

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TAGGED, j/s !!
DATE, february, 2012. the inferno.
LENGTH, 1722 words.
ATTIRE, black pants, black button-down, leather jacket.
NOTES, fucking love them. it's shorter. suck it. xD
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to bibio - "take off your shirt"

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[sylvia ashton rivers]

• • • • • •

---SOME MAY HAVE ASSUMED A LIFE on the run would grow tedious. a couple of young, modelesque girls with a great deal of intellect about them and a colorful history that could reel in any curious soul? surely they would be looking to settle down, dreaming of quixotic love stories and dashing men with a character to match. they must want to be married and have kids, and have a better life for themselves than they'd previously been exposed to. well, this wasn't entirely the case. it wasn't even close. syl couldn't pinpoint joey's true feelings about their spontaneous lifestyle, she'd always been the mature one without a complaint and a positive outlook, but sylvia rivers? the fiery, brash sister? well she, for one, worshipped her lifestyle as much as faux devout catholics worshipped the pope, or god, or whoever they happened to believe in. perhaps that wasn't exactly the best analogy, but simply put, she loved the world she lived in. ever since the accident that had broken up her family almost ten years ago happened, syl had never much been one to stick in one place for any period of time. the rocking blonde would most certainly be classified as a deserter. she hated being anywhere for any extended period of time. the only reason she was able to tolerate sin city for as long as they had was because joey's infamous skills as a brilliant tactician were serving them quite well with all the different casinos and people to scam out of their money, that, and there was a whole lot of alcohol in las vegas, nevada. alcohol, and people who didn't ask questions. syl had been rather fond of it, really, fonder than she'd been of a place since bombay, but once they were exiled the daring duo was forced to find a new home because they just wouldn't have been able to sustain their lifestyle when out of the shady business that was the foundation of their income and entertainment. syl could work from anywhere, really. no matter what people managed to find her, they didn't know her exact identity considering she gave out business cards with an infinite amount of different names on them, and when she met people in person, she always claimed herself to be a messenger for her "boss," whom was widely believed to be a man. no name. faceless. that's how "he" was known. and nobody ever assumed that the tall, pretty, bobble-headed blonde was the hacker behind it all. but she loved aiding her sister's dirty work too much to have her be iced out of it. it wasn't like moving away from vegas was heartache on the soul, it was just time for them to move again. they'd lived everywhere from new york city, to atlanta, to dallas, to tallahassee. valkyrie was just another stop on the list.

syl rivers had never felt the need to meet new people, either. maybe contacts, those who could provide useful, and most likely illegal, services, but that was the extension of that. the combined talents of the rivers sisters was usually enough to get them by, however, so rarely did they ever need to communicate with the outside world unless it was a job, or maybe just a mere fit of curiosity. if they'd been killers, well they might need weapons, but they weren't. while syl had violent tendencies towards the duller people of planet earth, she was not a killer. there were no blood on her hands, not directly at least. she may have second-handedly killed somebody somewhere down the line, but that was highly unlikely, she was very careful about her business, and never went back on her customers. one, that would be bad for business, and two, she was touchy on the subject of traitors, but only when they involved herself. now this wasn't to say sylvia rivers didn't have a gun on her person at all times, because she did. courtesy of isabella rovens. bella had sought out syl after turning her back on those brainless brazilians and was looking for an identity change. syl, being the kind mother teresa she was, gave it to her, and bells offered her some artillery in exchange. well, when you had a psychopathic sibling on the loose most likely craving with feeling of your blood on his hands, it would probably be unwise to not have a gun on your person. bella taught her to use the shiny metal deathtrap, and syl gave her new documentation that bella's little followers wouldn't be able to trace. from there arose a beautiful business partnership, which eventually accelerated into a friendship that syl didn't spend the time overanalyzing and just sort of went with. it was nice to have a couple people in the world that she could trust, between bella and joey. first and foremost was always josephine, but if she ever couldn't help out, it was convenient that she'd met bella. the only person who'd ever really, really known syl though, that was joey. she was the only one who would always know the genuine side, the only side that some people might consider worth knowing. their bond was stronger than anything.

it wasn't necessarily that syl rivers was a bad person. she wasn't a good person either, definitely not heaven-worthy, but she wasn't evil. syl had never tortured or killed or anything. yes, she did steal, so there goes one of those ten commandments. oh, and she lied. a lot. but she wasn't a malicious person by nature, not towards average people who had never personally done her a wrong. that didn't mean she was polite and prim in the presence of others, quite the opposite really. syl lacked a filter, she would blurt things out in her vulgar way of speech, not really caring how others may take it or how insulting it may be, but... god, who was she kidding? she wasn't the best person out there. it was easier to see the vices than the virtues that she possessed. the girl had an incredibly bad temper, the slightest things would set her off into a fit of fury in which she threw insults this was and that, cursing and threatening. she did have soft spots though, usually for joey, but kids in general kind of got to her. not the spoiled little brats that kicked and screamed when they didn't get any little thing they wanted, or cried a whole lot in general, but the good tempered inevitably cute ones? those ones tugged a little bit on the black iced heartstrings so very few were able to even come near. it wasn't like she had much of a choice in that area, however. autonomic responses to small features with big eyes was incessant in all humans, it wasn't something avoidable unless the said person was an actual sociopath. that was why syl rivers also had soft spots for puppies and kittens and baby tigers. regardless of the reason, however, she sort of liked kids. not to mention they seemed to see things more clearly than even their adult counterparts. maybe envy was the reason she was so drawn to them. syl loved being a child, back when she had miniature bare feet covered in dirt and a tiny pointed nose dipped in crime, her long blonde locks braided down her back to keep from getting completely filthy, the absolute freedom of being able to run in the streets or cry when a knee was scraped simply because there was no feeling or need to be strong on not show a weakness to the world. being a child was easy. being an orphaned adult with a rocky road left behind her was not.

but children couldn't drink alcohol, their tiny little livers and underdeveloped frontal lobes couldn't withstand the poison in their system, and without alcohol, sylvia rivers' life was not complete. there was no way she could go back to a life without the bitter liquor that helped dull the absolute irritation she felt from the plethora of idiots she was forced to associate with on a daily basis. this stingy bartender wasn't exactly helping her cause though. his stupid resistances and hesitations, didn't these people know how to live a little? maybe she should have sought out one of those dirty, old bars where the newly divorced and war veterans spent their entire days drinking. that was her type of place. and then appeared her knight in shining armor, coming to save the damsel from her dreaded sober mind. or well, lack thereof. james collins wasn't exactly the guy she would pin for a hero. he was more like the villain, the one people were scared of. these slow employees weren't, though. they probably weren't aware of the dirty little secret that syl was in on. she knew exactly who collins was, she knew why people were scared of him, she knew about his real job and the people he worked for. she wasn't out of the loop, she'd heard the rumors, and she'd done her research. it was always impressive, though she'd never admit that out loud, how the cold blooded killers so easily put on a facade for the public that they were normal. maybe a little fucked up in the head, but not out of the ordinary. jamie was doing it quite well, talking to his little minion. syl wasn't buying the "cool guy" act though, she was well aware of what had happened between he and dear little bells not so long ago. she wasn't sure if she should hate him, or kiss his feet. she had some mixed feelings about the situation. bella was an idiot, james was a robot. that was it, though. it was a little amusing, the people syl associated with, and then her sitting at a bar with jamie collins. first there was bella, somebody she'd protected whom he'd been ordered, more or less, to bring in to his superiors according to some sort of silly alliance. and then there was jules, the infamous girl whom the verrentenikov's, the dastardly leaders of the russians, were hell-bent on doing not very jesus-like things to. syl had often met jules around, done her a few favors, free of charge, just because she liked the bitch. how different would this meeting be if he knew all of that?

well, syl wasn't naive either. she didn't assume james knew nothing about her, though she wasn't such a huge dot on the map that he would have ever paid attention to her. either way she didn't care, all she wanted right was her god damn alcohol. "don't come back either, shithead," she chimed in cheerfully, watching the bartender walk away with the contents his surely insane boss threw to him, though, syl had to admit, if she ever had a real job she'd want a faux boss like james collins. wasn't that the life? getting paid for being told to get the fuck out of dodge and taking a smoke? though syl wasn't much of a smoker, she'd gladly take the unrestricted time off to do something worthwhile. when he spoke, she groaned, but she managed to endure mainly because she could see he was getting her poison ready. left in the mud? how would he know. "must fucking suck to be ugly as shit like that," she replied in a mock voice of his own, gesturing towards his face. it wasn't exactly true. syl knew that jamie knew that she knew that they both knew that james collins wasn't exactly the offspring of the ugly tree. any sane woman, and even men unashamed to admit it, would say that james collins was a nice looking piece of man meat. but it still made her feel better to throw meaningless words at him that sounded insulting. she took the shot glass and down in all at once, squeezing her eyes together, ignoring his question for a few moments before grinning bitterly and sliding the glass back towards him. "well i have to be drunk to be able to tolerate the pathetic existence in which those around me find themselves a part of," eh, it was partly true, "how about you, jamie boy? how's your nose? got a poker game tonight?" she couldn't resist pointing out the disasters life so cruelly deals out to humanity, and james seemed to be faced with quite a few laughable trials as of late. plus, it'd be funny to see him get annoyed that she even knew about it. her eye brows raised precariously, a catty sneer and sheer mockery plastered upon her ashen features, the silvery blue eyes watching those that almost mirrored her own.

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(STATUS) finished. (TAGGED) j/s (OUTFIT) here. (COMMENTS) woop woop! (CREDITS) banner to lainey, format inspired by vsiders.

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[james devon sakahrov-collins]

,I SUPPOSE YOU could say that he'd become good at keeping up a facade. he'd have to. that was half of what this life was. he'd been raised to know what was in store, how to pretend to be normal. lead one of those everyday, really fucking boring existences. that was one of the most important lessons. he came after blood, after loyalty, maybe before shooting. the sakahrov-collins clan were all experts at playing "normal". his father was intimidatingly talented. pierce, manipulative bastard he was, had absolutely no trouble. temperance...she never had enough personality to even try; didn't have the time either. his mother, well, she'd lived it her entire life. playing house seemed to come natural to these people. jamie, on the other hand, never felt like he was quite as convincing. yes, he knew how important it was. and yes, he knew that half of his life was pretending to play nice. he knew all of that. he just...didn't think he was good enough.

you could say he was. everyone did. very few people thought there was something off with jamie collins. the point does remain the same: you could prove that he was a good liar. but him? no. he didn't think he was. not at playing the facade they wanted him to play.

well, that's not quite true. he was quickly becoming good at playing the role he'd chosen to himself. but playing the bellboy, on break from college in san diego? no. that was the life the verrentenikovs had designed for him. he wouldn't be able to play it. he wasn't that good. even with his own doubts, jamie knew he could fool people, even if just a little. the longer he was in valkyrie, the easier is was becoming to play the "cool boss". the astonishingly young, somewhat charming bartender and manager. he had nothing else to do but play that role. it was growing organically, almost like he was becoming this person. even he had to give himself credit - it was becoming easy to fool everyone. maybe it's because he wasn't really pretending anymore. jamie had always been rather loose with his minions. he was loose with his employees. he didn't care what they did, as long as no one upstairs busted anyone. he spent half his time trashed out of his mind, chain-smoking casually while he finished his job. that was the very same way he was when he was the real jamie collins, terrifyingly cold, unsettling collected. he often had a bottle of vodka and cigarettes with him while he threatened people, smiling grimly while he tormented them for information. hr would take a swig of russian water, maybe a drag of a cancer stick, look at them and pull the trigger. save for the bloody mess, that was the very same way he functioned during the day. he couldn't play the role they wanted. but i guess he was blending the role he'd chosen into the person he really was. was it really a facade anymore?

he didn't know. you could say he was good at pretending. i guess he was. he could often toe the line of playing innocent good guy with a crooked smile. but he never convinced himself. never. people would look at him weird, because it never quite worked. and because his father or pierce or whoever would always swoop in and clean up the mess, making it seem perfectly normal. he was just a fish out of water, that's all. that was the story they always used. he just wasn't nearly as good as everyone else. we're going in circles here, aren't we? okay, so everyone could agree he could pull of a fake person. normal, happy, maybe a little unsatisfied, but working through it. those people fooled everyone most. but he always fucked it up. that's why he didn't think he was an expert. it should come naturally, given his rather careless nature. he could be fine with taking three lives, cold-blooded and disturbed. but he couldn't be fine pretending to be normal. because he wasn't. even if he didn't spend his time torturing people, he wouldn't be normal. it wasn't...him. i dunno. he didn't know. but everyone could agree that he was a professional at playing pretend on his own terms. if you didn't know about the whole russian bravata thing, you could just assume he was another loose canon with nothing better to do. that was his nature. why stretch the truth? the best lies are the ones that are closest to the truth. it was nice that he knew that. why couldn't everyone else?

it was kind of nice to stop pretending for awhile. especially when no one else was around. in the silence of single company, he could let whatever mask he wore fall. shatter on the ground and make a mess he never bothered to clean up. it was making the floor dangerous to walk on. the more he let the shards collect, the less he cared. yes, you could say he was good at pretending. he didn't think so. he was mediocre, at best. he was good at his own version of pretending. but he was getting careless with it. everyone found it refreshing to stop toeing the line every once in awhile. but when his break came around, he forgot to put the wall back up. give it a month, and jamie would be cleaning his gun on the bar counter. well, that would be then. he didn't like thinking too far into the future. he didn't like thinking at all, to be honest. or he'd be pulling his socks up everytime someone innocent walked through the door. it was nice to stop pretending, take a break. but it would quickly turn sour if he didn't stop not pretending.

i think that's the problem here. you could say he's good at keeping up this facade. he is. but then he gets careless and makes a mess. you have to agree that yes, it's refreshing to take the mask off and feel the genuine blood run through your veins. but then you gets careless and makes another mess. he started out strong, but then got bored and veered off course. we're watching it all unfold right here, friends.

he was sort of happy he'd come into work early. it wasn't late enough for all the fancy shmucks to come in looking for wining and dining. and it wasn't early enough for people to bother him. it was quiet. his bartender was off doing whatever the hell he wanted. jamie really didn't care. save for hot blonde with a bad attitude here, he had the silence he craved. and the pretty bottle of clear liquid was just as inviting. that was half the reason he continued his non-charade - connections to the highest of the highest in alcohol quality. nothing but the best for the inferno hotel and casino. no one really cared if staff drank sometimes. well...okay, he didn't. and the verrentenikovs ran the entire joint. it's not like they cared. the cheap tequila that had been clashing with his blood earlier was running red, dehydrated. it was the perfect balance. he was happy with his surroundings. that was when he directed his attention to one sylvia rivers. another good reason to come in early - it gave him time to really observe. had it been ten or ten-thirty, he wouldn't have given her a second look. but uh, she was the only one here. attention was difficult to avoid. it was the perfect time. he was happy he got to see her first, actually meet her. everyone knew syl rivers, mastermind. he knew her little sister, joey, too. she was here, hanging out with his own river from time to time. it wasn't often he saw her moody older sister. he knew enough to listen to the rumors about her. she was freelance, not some scum-sucking fiend looking for an in. she had an in, and she did whatever the fuck she wanted to do with it. it slowed him down a little, made him think about his words. everyone thought he was robotic jamie collins. i guess they're right. because while he knew he'd come into work early, he didn't quite know what to do here.

he remained casual. it's not like she intimidated him. his reputation was far dirtier. but she kept him on his toes, on the alert. he didn't know her, didn't quite know how to act. some meatball-loving italia be in her place? he'd be bored and careless. he'd throw some useless irish out onto the street. the independant criminals with actual purpose were the tricky ones. take it slow. he crossed his arms, the same smirk echoing on his features. "it must. life's too difficult to be a revolting piece of flesh." his words were aloof, almost bored. maybe a little amused. his impression so far was fairly accurate. a bit of a loose canon, definitely not the uptight shit type. good. he was sick of those. watching as she easily downed the russian water, he continued to toy with his own shot. she was quiet. all she did was slide the shot glass across the bar and seem to contemplate his words. like hell she was pondering anything. quickly downing his own, not at all reacting as it smoothly slid down his throat, he lined them up again. "and you chose here," he carefully poured more alcohol into each glass. "where you and i both know the very insects threatening your perfect existence convulse and pop out pretty little babies," he eyed her with amusement before drinking his second shot. his mouth curling into a humorless smile, he watched syl as the irritating words poured from her lips. any trace of entertainment was gone. just unimpressed, almost moody. he'd rather not think of those nights again. they were fucking stupid. "not tonight, no. my surgeon said i could get a nose just like your's. what do we think? play you poker for the rights. you lose, you get a nosejob of your own." he pushed the filled glass across the counter to her. she pushed hard, her words fluid and witty. that's fine. he could play the game of verbal tennis. "you could harass anyone for free shots. you should go find them." he motioned toward her with the bottle, eyebrows raised.[

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TAGGED, j/s !!
DATE, february, 2012. the inferno.
LENGTH, 1747 words.
ATTIRE, black pants, black button-down, leather jacket.
NOTES, this is so messy o-o
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to bibio - "take off your shirt"

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[sylvia ashton rivers]

• • • • • •

---IT WAS AN IMMENSE CHANGE, to go from having a picturesque family, to a broken, practically nonexistent one. before she'd mentally blocked it out of her mind, syl could remember the day perfectly. she could remember the calmness of the waters as her and joey sat that early morning on the mexican shore. she used remember the piercing scream that would send shivers up her spine. the rustic smell of blood burnt her nostrils, etched into them permanently. the picture of her mother and father, cold, lifeless, and stained with a sticky red liquid on the floor used to haunt her. what was never clear was how she and joey managed to survive. she couldn't remember how they'd fended off their murder-happy elder brother. syl may have knocked him in the head before he could get a hold of them, joey may have smashed his head with a lamp and knocked him out. it was all very unclear, but what sylvia rivers did remember, or what she used to remember, was the bloodied, broken mess that was the evidence of their struggle. she could remember the shattered glass, and the knife, and she remembered her and joey turning their backs on it and sitting outside together in silence while the police came. they had cleaned it up, and taken the two girls to the police station. syl was practically in shock, unaware of what was really happening for a long time, that was until she heard the words that snapped her out of her miniature coma. separation of her and joey. the girl would never stand for it, and so joey came up with a plan, and they executed it. that was the beginning of their life, really, the life they currently lived. they never had a funeral for their parents, they never stuck around for liam's sentencing, and they never even looked back. syl refused to, and for a long time she just ignored the past that was following her, holding her back like a hundred pound lead ball bound to her ankle by a weighty, restraining chain. it wasn't like she'd automatically been able to forget. nightmares would haunt her almost nightly as her and joey traveled. she would smell blood when there was none around. nobody could see how shattered her insides were, because she was strong. syl had always been emotionally strong, and she hid her emotions behind a shield of icy fury, something which never really changed, but back then she was terrified. she thought something was wrong with her, and she would tear herself up with grief and criticism, trying to decipher why liam did what he did, why she and joey deserved it, and how much longer they would be able to live in the shadows before her came for them. the biggest question, however, was why. it never would make sense to her, it didn't to this very day. they'd been happy, blissfully happy. it made sense though, because the saying was ignorance is bliss, and perhaps syl and her family were blissfully ignorant. she would try and remember, though, any little detail that hinted towards what liam would do to her family and attempt to do to her as well. there were a million reasons she could think of, and yet it was still utterly unfathomable, what had happened. maybe he hadn't a choice in the world, maybe it was his life or theirs, maybe they'd attacked him first, maybe it wasn't really liam, maybe he was brainwashed, maybe the mobs got to him, maybe he was clinically unstable. the possibilities were endless, but that didn't change anything. it still happened.

syl and joey had somehow made it back to bombay, however, and the woman who had been a part of their family their whole lives was still living there, heartbroken by the news, but ecstatic when she saw the two girls roll into town. that was where the healing began. syl remembered all the good times, the perfection of her childhood, the way she'd beat up the boys and made faces at the girls, the way people had fawned over her fairness, the way her father taught her to fly, the way her mother developed their linguistics. all of it was embedded into her mind, the good parts. their old maid was the closest thing they had to family as well, and she was alive. she took care of them. she cooked, and taught them, and was overall exactly what a couple of raggedy teens needed. syl would walk the dusty streets, speaking hindi with the locals like she always had, wandering the ports and docks, observing the markets. bombay, india was syl's original home, it was the closest thing she ever had to a home, and the closest thing she ever would have to a home. the sights, the smells, the sounds, the tastes, all of it enveloped her into her childhood memories. at first it was almost painful to remember, and it infuriated her to be so vulnerable and weak. there was so much torment inside of her, a constant turmoil of an undulating sea dyed in the wool of deceit. she held up her iron curtain, wrapping it around her very being, and refused to let anybody witness the obvious emotional chaos happening inside of her. to a third person point of view, sylvia had never even been affected by her parent's death. for most people, syl shut down years ago. that wasn't the case, however, she had just always been a good actress. she was good at pretending. the reality of it was that the memories were eating her alive, the questions were burning holes into her brains, and the absolute melancholy that had fell upon her was slowly licking away her flesh. the whites of her eyes were strained, always having a hue of red that showed her lack of sleep, as did the dark circles surrounding her actually eye sockets. for a while, it may have looked like syl was actually dying, but she wasn't. she had never been the type to give up her will to devastation and depression, and so she fought it off like the plague, refusing to be totally swallowed by it. it got to the point where she realized she was digging herself into a hole, and she was just going deeper and deeper into the ground, throwing herself closer to the fiery pits of hell. she was royally fucking herself into oblivion, and it had to stop. it was like she was holding herself accountable for it all, that and the absolute stress of always being joey's guardian, having to worry about how she would protect her from their possible demise at the hands of a family member, it was going to break her if she didn't stop and think and fix herself. it was an inner war behind the neutral silvery eyes that only syl would ever be aware of. it was the biggest fight with herself she'd ever had, and she was determined to win not only the batter, but the civil war entirely.

and so she stopped. simply stopped one day. it was like a reverie hit her all at once, drowning her in a sweet epiphany. syl was strong, she always had been, and always would be. that was the first thing she realized, was that she would be able to take care of herself, and joey, and that they needed each other. there was strength in numbers and in loyalty, in friendship and in blood, and she shared all of those things with her sister. she would always have joey, and that would keep her going over the years as they continued to move about. she wasn't accountable for what had happened to her parents, it had never been her fault and there was no blame being placed on her shoulders by anybody. it was a tragedy, yes. but shit happens. it happens every day to everybody. syl wasn't an exception, but she also wasn't singled out. she was simply one of the unlucky ones, she and joey were, and she would just have to push forward with her life. what else could ever be thrown at her that she wouldn't be able to handle if she could overcome this? she was better than a groveling, moping, pathetic waste of air and space. she was better than every god damn person on the planet, and by god she was going to make sure every living soul knew it. liam would have to pay for what he did, and he was going to, she'd make sure of it if the law didn't. she didn't need to know why he did it anymore, she didn't want to know why. no matter why, he still did it, and it would always be blood that stained his hands, it would always be a weight on his shoulders, it would always be a little piece of his humanity that died when he did that. syl and joey had been fortunate enough to survive, which was only a further testimony of their strength and the fact that they were going to be able to overcome everything they were faced with throughout the insane life they were going to live. on that day, syl fixed herself, just like she'd needed to. on that day she said her goodbyes to her parents, and to the brother she knew and realized she still cared about. whoever the person was that killed her parents wasn't the liam rivers she knew, and she'd said goodbye to him. he wasn't ever going to come back. he was as dead as her parents were. she said goodbye to her childhood, and her memories. she said goodbye to everything she knew, and to the old her. she demolished the ball and chain holding her to her mundane brokenness, and turned her back on it all. syl made peace with everything that day, she said goodbye to the sorrow and the fear, and officially became the syl rivers she is known to be to this day. at that point, she was letting it all go, and never planned on going back to it. it was a new start, a new dawn, a new day.

then the walls went up, the mental blockers. it was like she'd packed all her memories away and put them into storage. her parents, her brother, her childhood... all of it was stored away into a part of her memory that she never wanted to access again. it was a self defense mechanism she'd always been good at, and now that she had achieved a level of serenity with her past, syl was ready to throw that shit in a metal garbage can, spill some gasoline over it, and watch it all go up in flames and fall to ashes. syl was like a phoenix. she'd gone through one life cycle, and then she'd burst into flames, becoming nothing more than a pile of cooled ashes. it was like her old self no longer ever existed, and she had risen from ashes, growing into something vivacious and new, like a phoenix. it was the best way to describe her past, her present, and the relationship between the two. it had been years since she even thought about her childhood, or her parents, and she only kept tabs on liam in case that trigger happy idiot planned on coming back to finish a job he'd started almost ten years ago. every since that day so long ago in the middle of an indian flee market, syl possessed an absolute refusal to recall anything from her past. she'd said her goodbyes, and that was that. she and joey continued to travel the world together, performing their illegal little deeds wherever they went, making friends and enemies. she'd gotten joey into a private all-girls school, and then proceeded to enroll herself at oxford, enhancing the skills she already had before dropping out after her freshman year there. she could remember every place her and joey had ever been vividly, she could remember the scams they'd pulled and the new memories they'd made. joey was her only family now, and it was good to finally be at terms with that. it was all the new syl needed, or even wanted. she wasn't the little socialite, family type of girl, so it was all for the better, really. the nightmares hadn't tainted her dreams in years, and everything was exactly the way it should be.

and yet, life was still stupid as fuck.

it wasn't that syl was unhappy, not necessarily. she adored the life of conning and desertion, of breaking through firewalls and handing out new identities like free tooth brushes in the dentist's office, it was just that the human race as a whole was totally moronic. literally, the whole lot of those people had some sort of mentally handicapping disease and syl simply could not tolerate the good majority of them for long than point zero two seconds, which was why she found herself at the inferno bar, mingling with a subservient russian who really should feel quite blessed to even be graced with her company. her gaze was fixed on her personalized bartender, "life sucks, and then you die," she shrugged. that saying was about as close to the truth as it ever got, "don't be too hard on yourself though, revolting is cruel, though you do smell a bit of rotting flesh," well, that might be true. she wasn't really trying to smell him, but he looked like he might smell funny. it was nice to not be face to face with some whorebucket bartender who wanted to sleep with all his clients, however, or somebody like the fucker previous to her pretty little russian who refused to give her any alcohol this early in the evening. somebody who didn't give two shits about life was exactly what she wanted right now. she was still livid about being stood up by her worthless, good for nothing client. that fucker better have gotten a bullet in the knee if he thought he was important enough to disrespect her with that little scandal, what a little bitch. her fingers drummed lightly on the sleek surface of the bar as she watched him pour more, "ah, well i simply could not resist the quaint little charm you add to this place," her voice was dry with sarcasm, "not to mention i hope to be naked wasted by the time the peasants arrive." it was true, the usual crowds probably wouldn't show up until eight at the latest, and by then she hopes to be out of her wits with alcohol. he obviously didn't find her cleverless joke all that amusing, and she laughed listlessly to herself, "my nose is rather perfect, is it not?" she brought her index fingers up to the tip of the perfection she was born with, touching it lightly before resting her hand back on the counter, "can we skip the nose job bit and get straight to the strip poker though? because i know i'll win, and that way i get a little something something in return, yes?" with raised eyebrows, she smirked humorlessly. her boney fingers caught hold of her second shot as he dealt it to her, putting it to her lips with ease, allowing the liquid to glide down her throat and enter her system. fuck, her liver probably hated her. his next words had her laughing, "oh, sweetheart, you really think i want to hustle anybody for free shots? i don't drink cheap, and you're going to change that for tonight with your fancy russian liquor," her expression was that of bitter amusement, "so, collins, why are you living the mundane life of a bartender? i'm sure you have much more," she seemed to ponder for a moment, searching for the right word, "thrilling things to be doing."

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(STATUS) finished. (TAGGED) j/s (OUTFIT) here. (COMMENTS) sorry its kinda lame o-o i was winging this one. (CREDITS) banner to lainey, format inspired by vsiders.

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[james devon sakahrov-collins]

,HOW FUCKING SAD was it that he, jamie collins, was becoming oddly satisfied? very. a year ago, jamie wouldn't have been satisfied unless he pulled the teeth of some scum-sucking italian one at a time. he never had to do that, but he found a sick gratification when he could leak his own pain into someone else. he killed him victims at the very last minute. there were ugly rumors swirling around, painting his name with subservience and desperation. those were often true. but so were the ones of just how twistedly lethal the subserviant desperate one could be. those tended to make people snap their flytrap closed. everyone knew that he liked to bleed his assignments dry. slowly. their blood would stain blocks of cement before a pool formed on the dirty concrete. then the body would be dumped negligently, the old soviet symbol carved roughly into their chest. that's when everyone knew he'd gotten what he wanted. the teeth and nails littering the surrounding ground would just prove that he was in a bad mood. watching someone's screams silence into hoarse begging, the life leak from their eyes, is what had satisfied him a year ago. seeing the pencil pushing italians rubbing their brows and sigh that, yet again, a russian had gotten to one of them. when they argued with one another of just how to break the news to one of the giovannis. that is what true satisfaction feels like.

so why the fuck was he finding a comfortable balance now of all times? he was in a broken little town with little to do. he filled his hours filling liquor orders and fliting with his waitresses. the jamie collins of a year ago would have doused him in cheap vodka and light his body aflame. he wouldn't be worth his own time to pull out teeth. this very dark, very sad, comparison had been following him around for weeks. every morning he asked himself why he was still here. but then he pulled his stupid work vest over his even stupider work shirt, rolled his eyes and stalked off to the inferno. perhaps that is why he was finding satisfaction. because he never really bothered to do anything about it. you know how if you continue to do something, it becomes routine? well, it's true. fucking pathetic. but it rings the truth. he had become so accustomed to question his role here in valkyrie, that is all it became - needless questioning. his sour point of view over running an entire restaurant and bar had numbed into mild enjoyment. he was used to all of...this. i guess you could say that's the way he had turned out - settling for less simply because it had become mindless.

it had been a scratched record caught on repeat for his entire life. when he was a teenager, he'd objected to the obvious familial rivalries. but then he told himself that was the way it was always going to be, and went along with it. he found other things. he rebelled against everyone and their incestuous alabama-bred dog's affection and respect for pierce. he stopped going out of his way to prove himself. so he did the very same thing: swore, punched the wall and told himself to fucking accept it. he got used to it after awhile. the fermented taste of jealousy was just another issue he scrubbed from his teeth and spit down the drain, the ugly mixture of toothpaste and blood. when the tempermental russian gossip mill dug up his name, it abused it and slapped it across the pavement. the ugliness swirled around. but he may as well get accustomed. it was always going to be this way, he promised himself. jamie would duck his head down, pretend nothing affected his state of mind. he would go about his business, polishing his expertise of ignoring anything that bared its teeth and wanted to torment. there was no point in approaching the line of change. he would get used to it. the record player would flip the vinyl disc and start all over again.

he knew it was not healthy. settling for less limits you. accepting the negative hurts you. all he was doing was digging himself farther into the dirt. soon enough, the clay would be sifted through and he would hit sharp rocks. hopefully one would impale him before he ended up in the psych ward. because, let's face it, allowing the inferno to become his routine was just settling all over again. it wouldn't be long before he was looking at himself in the mirror, declaring this just another part of life. his role was filled. his purpose had been completed. the verrentenikovs could easily find someone else to do their heartless bidding. maybe they had decided he was good for babysitting ksenia, teaching every new victim they claimed the ways they had to get used to. loyalty and blood and violence had to flow into their blood, bruising their veins with cruelty. you could see the damage on his skin. the long purple lines colored his flesh, worn down from so many years of darkness. well, that part was true. the rest? at the back of his mind, the miniscule spot of brightness, told him the rest was bullshit. it was his source of sanity, all logic and health and warning him not to disappear completely. whenever he stared into the mirror, silently flirting with psychological suicide, that little bit of warmth threatened him. told him he was pathetic for assuming these things when they probably weren't true; he was jumping to conclusions; he should just shut up and do something about it. that promise is what kept him going. he was just realizing that now.

so maybe he wasn't a hopeless pile of leftover ash from a campfire. it was at it again, dangling health right in front of him. he never knew what to do with it. so he just continued on. but his fingers were cramping, salivating spilling blood. well, it would be satisfaction of year ago jamie, i suppose. fuck. he flared his nostrils, an odd expression crossing his face. he could never actually decide. aqua eyes just stared at the granite bar, watching the smooth movements of his cloth, wiping away what had been clean an hour ago. he would raise his eyebrows when the feminine voice interrupted his uninvited thoughts. he'd look at her for a minute, the same smirk highlighting his features. but it would take longer for the emotion to spread to his eyes. he was analyzing her, looking at the damage she was dealing with behind the curtain. there was a bandaid there, though. her words were fluid, hovering between dry sarcasm and dimmed brightness. lucky fucking her. what kind of person was he? finding envy and inferiority in some blonde chick with an obvious attitude problem? he sickened himself. "you insist on sticking around. think you'll change the face of life before someone shoots you, or you're rewarded the death penalty?" he pushed the words from his voicebox, his amusement leaking in halfway through his statement. his stupid emotions finally caught up. god, could this be more pathetic? maybe he'd walk into the local hospital and admit himself to the pysch ward. he continued to push the rag around the counter, pausing every now and then to catch up with himself. i guess it was more pathetic. he was more pathetic.

but well, who cares? she obviously didn't. he was good at pretending he didn't. give it a few hours and he'd believe it. or accept it. whatever he did. he arched an eyebrow as she spoke again, describing her drunken wishes. he was pouring more alcohol by this time. "come back in a couple of weeks. the lawn gnomes and puppets who sing 'it's a small world' are on order from japan." he chuckled his first genuine chuckle in...a long time. he couldn't remember the last time he had actually laughed. wow. holding the shot glass, swirling the expensive liquor around in it, he paused a minute to envision it. he wouldn't object. "no problem here," he echoed his thoughts, the same smirk haunting his face. he had no doubt that syl rivers would have fun here. he had seen her having fun everywhere she went, with no regard to her surroundings. well, assuming he didn't get fired, he was all for that. the same wrestling match that had been on the televisions on day was get a tad redundant. then she went on about strip poker. her subjects went from one to the other, never leaving enough time to dwell on it. how the fuck do people do this so easily? he tried his best. "the casino is just down there. i can't play poker. challenge jack the bodyguard and lose, as long as i get to watch." arching an eyebrow again, he downed another shot. the feeling of expensive russian water crawling down his throat was electric. who needs a liver? the same people who need white picket fences and beige minivans. the same people who desperately need to get laid. "honestly? i do. you haven't paid for a thing in a long time, darling. we all know that. but feel free to use me all you like, i make the rules. it's not like i pay for the shit." his words were bright, toeing the line of truth. what? his people ran the place. he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. "the same reason you aren't out thrilling for the both of us. haven't you heard? i don't do anything unless i'm told. i'm a ruski robot." he chuckled darkly again, smirking. "what i'd like to know, sylvia," he poured the fourth shot, "is why aren't you out burning this city already?"

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TAGGED, j/s !!
DATE, february, 2012. the inferno.
LENGTH, 1648 words.
ATTIRE, black pants, black button-down, leather jacket.
NOTES, <333
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to bibio - "take off your shirt"

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[sylvia ashton rivers]

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---SYL RIVERS WASN'T THE TYPE to lay low. unless it was a dire situation that could possibly compromise the safety of her sister, she really lacked any mode of self preservation. in a way, syl was the epitome of altruism, but not for just anybody, simply joey. she didn't like to sit back and let the world do her dirty work. there was always this sort of need to be spontaneous, to paint the walls red as soon as she set foot into the city limits. from london to las vegas, she had made a permanent mark that wouldn't be easily dissolved. it may not have been something truly important, but it was something noticeable. it took a lot of work to be exiled from the world's very own sin city. there were dirt bags and scum that would steal your shoes if it would make them a profit around every corner, there was mafia heads and dirty cops, and basically anything else unethical that a twisted person could think of. over half of the state of nevada's population was centralized in vegas's general viscinity. one would have to screw over a whole hell of a lot of people to be permanently banned from ever returning, and yet somehow, the rivers sister managed to do so. similar stories followed them from place to place. if there was a prize for the ultimate deserter, syl rivers would take it whole heartedly. a town could get old fast, be it new york city itself, or some half alive town in the middle of the mojave desert. things would get dull. most human beings could content themselves with it. they were okay with being bored every now and again, they were living their lives the way they wanted to live, or perhaps the only way they could live, and there really was no changing it. sylvia rivers was not one of those people. she needed a blood red spotlight, a focus. she was stubborn, and filled to the brim with audactiy. there was an unattainable fire in her icy eyes, and maybe that was what kept her going, because she knew somewhere that she hadn't won every battle, that she wasn't the best. it was one of the few things that plagued her mind about her past, the one thing that bothered her. syl beat most people. she was significantly better than the human race, be it her looks, her intelligence, her lack of romantic desires. she was detached, and it worked for her. versing the world, one on one, she would always come out on top. but eight years ago her family fell apart because of her brother. he beat her. she didn't save them. he won half the battle, and that was that. he was the one person on the planet that made her doubt herself, and that was hard to do.

by no means had syl ever been the submissive type. she wasn't the one to give up after the first try, especially since she seemed to be able to pick apart any mistakes she had possibly made to the core, always gaining something from it. she wasn't the type of person who accepted failure. it just wasn't an option. once her mind had been set to a particular goal, damn it, she was going to achieve it. unless it was deemed unimportant, syl would accomplish it to the extent that she felt was acceptable, and she would swear to it even if it killed her. whether it be a job, or a personal goal, she would complete it. that wasn't to say she was the most motivated person in the world, however. determined, yes, but motivated? she wasn't exactly one to be considered miss responsibility. in fact, she was quite the opposite. if it wasn't something that she herself conidered to be a priority, she'd lack basically any willpower whatsoever to do it. while being one of the most headstrong people ever, she was also extremely lazy. she just didn't care. it was also probably the reason why her sister was relatively more popular amongst the neanderthals she so forcibly associated with than herself. syl didn't give a flying whoop about first impressions, or last impressions for that matter. she couldn't give two shits what any of those peasants thought of her. and so she lacked an amiable personality. she wasn't the type to really worry about it, and so she did what she did, regardless of the good or bad consequences. what especially would get her going, though, was when somebody would try to walk all over her. she did't put up with that sort of bull crap, and it would ignite the inferno in her soul that wasn't something anybody who'd previously witnessed would wish for. she was a loose cannon, and if somebody attacked her or somebody she cared for, well then all hell would break loose.

hanging out in a bar two hours before the regulars showed up to wallow away her pathetic life in alcohol wasn't usually on syl's "to do list" for the day. sure, she loved some good, quality booze, and somehow she'd gotten lucky by ending up with this damned to hell russian that wasn't going to deny her anything. it just was a little on the lame side for her. not that she really cared, she figured everybody was allowed to be a shmuck once in a while, and it really was logical. she'd be too drunk to care when everybody else started pulling in, and thus much less irritable,or at least not over analyzing everything. maybe she'd wake up hitched tomorrow, at this point she really wasn't feeling any preferences to the way things turned out. she just wanted this little robot man to continue to give her the poison she craved so visciously. this wasn't half bad of a situation though. while sylvia rivers could easily be considered more intelligent, and overall superior to the rest of humanity, she still liked to have her fun, and she was still shallow as hell. if somebody wasn't intelligent, well then they better be good looking, and if they weren't good looking, they had better have an einstein brain hiding somewhere in that skull of their's. the elites, however, were those like herself and her sister, the ones who were physically attractive, and yet still had a mass of intellectual abundance to go around. here she was, face to face with a bar tender. or at least that was the little facade he was charading for the world of valkyrie california, but she wasn't stupid enough to buy it. hell no. syl knew who he was, she kept tabs on people, especially the people who were running the hotel she was so graciously putting money into the hands of. she should have a right to know who's sleeping in the master suites, who's serving her the liquor. if she knew jamie, though, she figured it was possible he knew something of her. he wasn't exactly the king of the totem pole though, so it wouldn't exactly have been shocking if he didn't. he did what he was told, and obviously what he had been told to do in the past had never involved her, otherwise they would be better acquainted than having only known each other through their own possies being friendly with one another. russians were so up tight, though. maybe that was why they had the best alcohol in the world, because they needed some strong shit in order to lighten up. jamie wasn't any exception. she was just glad he wasn't hard on the eyes, because if that were the case she'd probably insist on serving herself or run off to find some dingy bar on the outskirts of town that didn't give a crap how early in the night she wanted to screw up her body. this was much more convenient though, staying in the same building that she lived in.

her silvery eyes rolled as she heard his words pour out of those lips like acid. he was sarcastic, and really quite cynical. why speak so amiguously? the girl propped her elbow onto the granite counter, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. her lips pursed together as her gaze was trained on his features. her expression said it all, that she didn't care a whole hell of a lot what he thought about her, but she was amused by his snarky little remarks, trying to in a war of words. "oh baby," she said in a mock seductive tone, "you know i could change your life." she winked, her lips twitching ever so slighly, "but does that mean you'll be shooting me afterwards? i know you, collins, and i know you aren't the type to want to share a history with somebody." yeah, she was well educated in her random facts about jamie. and then she looked appalled, like he'd deeply insulted her. it took a bit of effort to put so much emotion into her expression that didn't involve condescending visages or anger, "and as for the death penalty, your words pain me!" her hand flew to her chest, "i can't believe you think i am a big enough idiot to be caught by the law. you obviously haven't the slightest clue of the extent of my talents." being arrested really wasn't an option for syl. she would never allow it, and she had always been able to avoid the law, whether through her on precognition or joey's, and she planned to for the good majority of her life. not to mention she was so handy dandy with a computer than she'd easily sell her soul to the c.i.a. if they wanted some tips and her working hands on their team in exchange of a death sentence. yeah, she would do anything to keep her and jo out of hot water, and that included selling out all the unimportant people she'd been forced to deal with over the course of her life. if she had to make a bet, she would legitimately be convinced that james would be caught and sent to the big house before herself. could he fly a plane? could he hack into a complex system? probably not, was her guess. she had him beat, and she had no problem rubbing it in.

the lax conversation being exchanged was decent. it didn't involve business or anything too personal, so syl was enjoying it as much as she could enjoy something so trivial. it was ridiculous, and absolutely outlandish, something that the common idiot could do, but hell, she wasn't trying to prove anything to anybody, and james collins obviously had less important things to be doing, so here he was stuck, face to face with her across a bar, making a sarcastic conversation out of nothing. two peope who didn't give a fuck, thrown together by some cosmic destiny. if there was a god, he sure did like to make stupid coincidences. he heard him laugh, something small, but something she'd never noticed out of him before. she broke into a bitter smile, which was about as good as it got for her, and then began humming the horrid, brain-invading tune that was worldly renown, the tune of "its a small world." "its a place where we share," she sang snarkily, passing her empty shot glass back to him and giving him an implicative look, while finishing off the song. oh god, singing for a russian subservient? this was priceless. and then they were onto another topic. this was normally how syl's word exchanges went, from topic to topic unless it involved business. dwelling on a particular subject only allowed a deeper meaning to be added to it, and that allowed people to be able to read into her, which wasn't something she was particularly fond of, and so she kept the genres of conversation going from one place to the next, "why challenge somebody i know i can't beat? its not like i just get naked for fun," her voice was layered thickly, like it was just the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. and then her eyes were trained on his russian water. it sure was a good thing she had a sister, because she might need that liver transplant in the upoming years. jamie spoke of how he didn't care if she used him, and syl smirked, her eyes brightening a little, "really now? use you all i want?" she snorted, "i think you might want to take that back. and darling," she mocked him now, "i pay for plenty, but if there's a little bartender in the same hotel i happen to live in that is begging for me to use him because he lacks any normal female attention, especially from women like me, well do you think its smart to pay for it? i don't," she just teasing now, but like hell she wanted to pay for this stupid russian liquor, she could get wasted off the other stuff, this was just better quality and free. so she was down. she stopped for a second, her expression cold and lifeless as he spoke, her eyebrows knit together as she observed him, "ah yes, the famous russian robot. you're definitely less boring than you're so notorious for being," she shrugged, "let's do something spontaneous right now. robots aren't spontaneous." she tried to think of somethign nonthreatening that didn't involve a bedroom, or even moving from her cozy little spot. looking down, she pulled the cheap vending machine ring she had gotten in vegas and offered it to him, "marry me?" her expression was totally somber, but it was taking a lot of effort not to break into laughter. god, this poor man was stuck with her. she proceeded to take the fourth shot with ease, the clear liquid sliding down her throat, "dear james," she said matter of factly, "for one, stop the sylvia bull shit." common knowledge people, sylvia was the bane of her existence, "just syl," she pointed at him with her index finger as if to threaten him not to do it again, "and secondly, what is there left to burn?" she laughed, really laughed. the liquor was starting to kick in, "this city is pathetic. its broken, and so are the people. there's no walls left standing to paint red, nobody interesting left to encounter. so that leaves me stuck with you."

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(STATUS) finished. (TAGGED) j/s (OUTFIT) here. (COMMENTS) forever and a day late. you don't even have to reply. i just felt like posting. (CREDITS) banner to lainey, format inspired by vsiders.

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