An Independent Ronald Kray roleplay blog

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open || nsfw

stage blood is not enough

“Certainly not,” Saito removed his napkin languidly, dabbing at the corners of his mouth. He gestured towards the empty seat at his table. “You are welcome to join me.”

Arthur appeared far more at ease and put together than their last face to face meeting. The meticulously crafted image of the ever capable point man was no longer threadbare and ragged. Gone were the dark circles underneath his eyes, the tell tale fidgets of a man on edge. No, once more he was a patient wolf. Saito lingered on his scent, an aroma akin to spices mixed with a precious stone.

He kept his smile to himself for now, though nevertheless he was pleased with this progression. From where he was seated at the balcony he had a generous view of the cityscape, and mountain range which loomed over it. 

“I have found that many whom attempt to scale such mountains reach a personal precipice along their journey. One where they must decide if venturing onward is still the course they wish to follow, or if retreating is more preferable.” Saito’s gaze fixed on Arthur then. “Surrendering to uncertainty, hesitation, fear, will only drive one back from the path they came. Only in moving forward do we reach our true potential.”

Wisdom was merely one of the many traits puppeteered by Saito that Arthur found admirable, each silky string pulled with precision at the hand of a master who had fended off time itself for his craft. To a degree, the point man had begun to harden, a thick wooden skin developing where human flesh had been so that he would devolve from a real boy to marionette, dancing under the manipulation of the man who had carved him to life, breathed splinters into his soul.

“I’m ready to move forward.” The words fell from Arthur’s tongue a bit quieter than he had intended, spoken like a plea to a merciful god in hopes of good fortune being bestowed upon his cause. Now, he was composed, now, he had done his waiting and in the length of his sentence had only increased his blood thirst, his jaw flexing with excitement at the prospect of sinking his fingers beneath the rib cage of a still breathing body like a bear shoving his paws into honeycomb harboring buzzing bees.

Silence fell between them then and the point man joined his companion at the table, seating himself stiffly across from him and surveying the stern line of his jaw, the depth of his dark and unwavering gaze.

open || nsfw

      ‘I’m no’ doin’ noffing, jus’ bein’ friendly… Ay? Ha ha.’

“...”

A shrug of Chanel-clad shoulders, nonchalant and noncommittal. “There’s something to be said for drinking alone.” All it took to signal for another was a subtle flick of her wrist, a wink in the bartender’s direction. “Besides—if I wasn’t alone, you would have been shit out of luck, right?”

“Something facetious, I’m sure.” Arthur replied in a voice barely qualifying as a mumble while his fingers moved down to unbutton his suit coat. He joined her then, putting in his own drink request when the bartender appeared as though Fiona had willed him to and he smirked as she remarked about luck.

“Mmmm, I don’t need to be lucky,” He assured her, tapping his fingers on the bar impatiently, “I just fix the odds.”

; broken

Ariadne almost smiled at the way he sat down on her bed, but she held it in. It was too rough of a night to risk getting sentimental now. But her shoulders relaxed a bit, the lines around her mouth fade as she realized she had won, no matter how minor the power struggle. It was still nice to know he wouldn’t throw himself back into the maw of danger immediately.

“Well, the chances with a gun sort of even themselves out, don’t they? Either way, thank you. I just feel better if you give it a day or two before risking anything. You took a really bad hit, Arthur.” Or more accurately, seven or eight.

“I’ve taken worse.” Arthur answered truthfully, lying back on her bed and closing his eyes. The occupational hazards that accompanied dream thievery were endless and ever escalating, more than a few scars etched into his skin from the treacherous path of his career. Now, he was tired, too tired to have it out with Ariadne, too tired to make the trip back to his flat if he was being honest, and his muscles ached with the yearning for rest.

“Anytime you need to come and nearly bleed out on my sofa, door’s open.” 

It took a bit more than that to get a rise out of her.  The things she saw on a regular basis; the particulars of her past, saying something was illegal didn’t hold the shock value it might have for some with lesser stomachs.  Illegal was practically a mantra where she was from; a lifestyle choice.  She simply blinked quickly and took another sip of her tea.

“ Well I suppose in a way that makes two of us. ”

Popping in & out wherever she liked technically wasn’t legal either.  Bank vaults, safe rooms – the crown jewels, despite the fact she thought they were a bit much and borderline tacky – were all within her reach on a daily basis.  Anything she could ever want, anything she could ever need, all quite literally at her fingertips.  She had been told once before she would have made an impressive thief if she ever had the drive for it; the trick of it was that she didn’t.

She listened intently as he went into further detail, eyes shifting every now and again to trace the curled trail of steam coming off the top of her cup.  It was a decent explanation; interesting enough.  It had all those little tidbits of intrigue to it: covert governments, secret missions & seemingly unobtainable data.

It sounded almost like one of the novels she would find left behind on the Tube in three in the morning.  But his next question was something she hadn’t expected.  After a morning of riddles and curiously worded questions, it was too easy.

“ Yes. ”

Now he was just being silly.  Silly and condescending, if she caught that tone just right, and she couldn’t quite figure out why.  She pulled a face, brow furrowing as she tried not to sound as dubious about the question as she felt.  If he had been trailing her like he said he had, he already knew the answer to that question.  

“Of course I do.  Got up, took a shower, and left the house like I always do – walked a bit, and – ”

A blank. A dead spot.

There were words waiting on the tip of her tongue, but they didn’t move.  The memory of how that morning began was suddenly fuzzy & faded as if it had actually taken place years prior.  ( Which, considering the fact Door prided herself on her memory, was even more frustrating. )

“ I don’t actually. ”

It pained her to admit it, her tea abandoned back onto the table while she tried once again to remember the series of events that had brought her to the train station.

“ Why don’t I remember? ”

Abandonment was always the first flag of realization; forgotten cups of tea, unfinished sentences, vacant expressions, and he watched as an unanswerable question washed over Door like the tide of the sea against fortified stone, breaking down her security into sediment. 

“Why don’t you remember?” Arthur echoed, his voice level with the tranquility that was quickly evaporating from the woman across from him. Beneath her cascades of blonde hair the cogs in her skull were jarring, overheating with attempts to develop any sort of explanation for the hours that had gone unaccounted for. He leaned forward, russet hues harboring the information she was struggling to recall, and he spoke again as he lifted his teacup. 

“How about we retrace your steps.”

It was an offer that seemed almost condescending through the simplicity of its nature and the impish tug at the corners of his lips implied an ulterior motive. He was calm, though, perhaps unnervingly so, and in the time it had taken him to raise his drink and lower it again, the setting around them had shifted. 

The home of one master lock pick called Door, quaint and tastefully decorated as Arthur had imagined it would be before he’d ever seen it in person. Hours had been spent memorizing the particulars of its interior, composing and positioning in mock up dreams so that it would be flawlessly imitated in the actual run through. He had well exceeded his own expectations in the moment in the actual act of the thing-- seated across from her now at her own dining table scarcely anything seemed to be out of place.

“Nice place.” Arthur added after a moment of silence, casually continuing to lap up his tea. 

So the IRB posting took place at a SUPER busy time in my life and I just now realized that I never posted/promoted the amazing stories my authors wrote for me here on tumblr!.  Check out the awesome story that goes with this art, written by the lovely eustaciavye28!  I’ve always liked her work and I was super excited to have her write for me!  She didn’t disappoint!  I love this story because it slowly weaves the three of them together from a situation that can be very scary, and does it in a way that gives Ariadne a lot of agency.  Thank you so much for the beautiful story bb!  :-D

The only kind there is. But she settled to merely flash a grin, coy and cunning, taking note of the way his gaze skimmed over her entire form in the span of only a few seconds. “Slow down, for Christ’s sake. It isn’t a race. And besides… I like a guy who takes his time.”

“Just enjoying the view.” He mumbled with a tilt of his head, a faint smirk softening his expression. Perhaps he was being overly hasty, spurred by their chance meeting, encouraged by the familiar odor of her perfume.

“So, what are you doing alone here anyway? Trying to sucker in some younger man to pay whatever six figure bar tab you’ve racked up?”

“That, I do—and I’m already ahead of you, so get yourself a double.” Ahead by how many didn’t really matter, so long as he was able to keep up. “If history repeats itself… I doubt we’ll be here too long, anyhow.”

“Now, now, Fi, What kind of man do you think I am?”

A raise of his hand caught the bar tender’s attention and he took a seat beside her. He spoke out against it in jest, but already he was craving the taste of her skin, subtly examining the details of her clothing for the most accessible zippers.

“—We have got to stop meeting this way… But until then, what are you drinking?”

( @pointmanparadox . )

“As if you’d have us meet any other way.

Lady’s choice-- you know your way around a liquor cabinet.”

A bit of a pointed remark, perhaps, but he doubted she’d deny it.