( closed ) where have all the good men gone?

[champions]

WHO: Marisol & Nikos
WHAT: cocktails and gossip (but DRAMATIC)
WHEN: sometime…. recent….
WHERE: Marisol’s mansion
NOTES: they’re such jerks honestly, carried on from a chat

( Being rude as hell, Marisol naturally doesn’t reply to Nikos last grumble. He’ll find his way in, to find the place conspicuously lacking in the usual staff who might be found about. A night off, perhaps.

She is making drinks as he arrives. Mimosas, of course mimosas, because she promised him them and hadn’t yet had a chance to deliver, and she holds one out (prepped to his exact preferences) without looking. There’s a fire burning in the grate, and she holds a cigarillo between her fingers in her other hand, smoke slowly spirally upwards. Typical Marisol opulence and all, but there is something weightier to it that she wouldn’t normally allow to be apparent except in the most trusted company. )

Keeping out of trouble, lately?

Comments

[exsecutus]

[She's nearly as tall as he is. The incongruity of the hug comes in how hard he holds to her, glaring over her shoulder at the wall opposite. Her hand is pressed to the back of his neck and Nikos doesn't do anything to move it, to pull away. Not yet.]

Fuck you. Shut up.

[I could never, is what he means to say. He could never hate her, not really. Not knowing. But saying that would be too plain. He already feels like someone's stabbed him in the throat, like he has to spit out anything that he wants to say to her, working around an obstruction that is bleeding him.]

I won't be able to write to you. [It's so small, and stupid. It's all nothing in the face of what could be done, meaningless. Like Nikos matters more than the whole of it. Like Marisol matters any more than the whole. But she does. To him, she does. More precious than any fucking thing.] You're such a-- fucking dramatic idiot. You can't just do this normally.