samburman reblogged
samburman reblogged
"But not comfortable," she notes. Coming up to Samar's side, Anaïs rests her chin on his shoulder. "A little peculiar, that I've spent more time there than you have."
While a professional victory for her — a potential downfall of his.
"What about a museum? A mansion? Oh, private island!" Zombies can't swim. Can they? "A mansion in a private island." Maybe she just wants one, with or without the end of the world as they know it.
"A cult." Anaïs is smiling, not at all lost to the fact surely this is how most cults start. Day-dreaming with a bottle of red. "How would you recruit some poor soul to our cult, Samar Burman?" Her eyes meet his, with the message: Pretend I'm it.
He smirks, nodding along - he might even brag about the lack of time spent in a prison, if it weren't such a badge of honor within the Syndicate... and a spectacular recruitment center.
"You want to settle on Ellis Island?" Sam its taking the steaks out of the pan one by one, moving them to a plate so they might have a moment's rest. "A cult." Third time's the charm, on that one.
He sighs as he turns off the stovetop, moving the cast iron off the hot burner before turning to face her. "I can offer you safety." His head tilts, as if he's trying to come back down to her level even if just a little. "Out there, it's lawless. A death sentence. But community isn't dead. It works if we work for it." He lowers his voice. "I'll even let you stay in the tuberculosis house with me. Very romantic. Great wine collection."
samburman reblogged
Callum was all in the moment he heard how the story began because he knew, he just knew, this was going to be one hell of a story. And Sam did not disappoint. "Shut the fuck up." Callum chuckled, "I can't believe you found someone who's mind immediately went to that, and then continued to take over the situation. I would've probably proposed right there and then." He takes a sip of his drink, another chuckle escaping his lips as the glass meets his lips. "So, for Christmas, I should get you a black Carrera with leather seats, eh? Got it." He jokes. "Anyway, whatever became of the woman? Did you guys end up on a second date after? You can't just leave me in mystery like that. It's rude."
He may or may not have considered it - proposing, that is. Hard not to fall into some type of deep love under those circumstances. Sam nods, taking a sip of his drink. "Yes, please." To the porsche, that is. Glass sat on the table between them, he smirks as he studies it. "Well, our first date was a blind date. I took her ice skating at Rockefeller. Turns out, she's a big fan of Tonya Harding." Beat. "One thing came to another, grand theft auto, etcetera, and next thing you know, she's the bosses daughter." None other than the Syndicate darling, Anais Murad. "I'm telling you, get yourself a criminal mastermind. They're fun."
samburman reblogged
Her gaze shifts between his face, the board, and the cards - a slight frown of concentration before she finds herself nearly spitting out her drink with a laugh. "Sam, you know you're talking to someone who's functionally Star Wars illiterate. Half of the fun would be lost on me." She's already struggling enough with the game, they're playing - but she feels comfortable enough to lounge, drink, and try and learn with him.
Sure, she's seen one of the movies so far - one of the prequels, she thinks - but: "A lightsaber would be fun, but blue milk? The fuck's that?" It's not a no.
"The beauty of Star Wars is that you don't need to know shit - you just need to be weird." Why did they choose this game? The trains always have him stressed, but he does love a challenge. It's a shame about the hotel experience being shut down - does have him thinking, though. How much money would it take, to get the whole place rented out for a night?
"It's better than the green milk." He shrugs, putting down a couple cards and train cars. "Lightsabers are fun. Droids, too." Beat. "Don't you want to drive the Millennium Falcon before going to the bar and drinking something that makes your lips go numb?"
samburman reblogged
LOCATION: Westside Theatre, Manhatten. TIME: 11:02 CLOSED FOR: @samburman
The first thing Via thinks to ask, besides reciting the trio of honey, darling, sugar when she leans forward, hand on Samar's arms as she kisses each cheek is —
"Where have you been getting your cannoli's?" As if, his former remark (she hasn't forgotten) were preposterous a claim. She's smiling however as a hand trails down his jacket, before it falls to her side again. Promising — as Via often does — she murmurs: "We will fix that another time."
Westside is in front of them. Unopened — but, to be.
She steps up to the front doors, leading Sam with her.
"Imagine what grandeur we'll create inside, amore." a tease — she tosses Samar a spare key. Silver sparkles through the air. It felt right, even if he's on the books, he isn't — not explicitly. But he'll know all about it, and decide what zeroes go where. Via's not about that (it's a bonus, sure) — she wants the audience. Daring him to loosen his mind with eyes on him, she opens Westside's doors: "How much of a visionary are you?"
She's a tiny little woman, and she's constantly reminding him of it. Sam leans down, a kiss for a kiss for a kiss for a kiss. By the time the short interaction is through, his swears he can feel a little pinch somewhere along his spine. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he mutters after her. The cannoli's would forever haunt him.
He follows her, sights wandering over the doors. First impressions are key - especially in New York, and especially when there is an abundance of this very thing. Nearly fails to catch the key, an awkward little fumble that is fast recovered.
"Depends..." on what color the lightsabers are. Something tells him, Star Wars will not be gracing the stage at this location - not unless he lights every last ounce of pride he has on fire and presents her with the ashes. It's a little easier to envision, once inside. "What kind of business are we talking? Main stage, or something else?"
samburman reblogged
While Samar commands the food, Anaïs pours the wine. Malbec, to pair with the meat.
"I'm sure we could 'take control' quite easily," she says. Overly confident? Perhaps a little. "Zombies are people. Braindead people, but so is half the population as it is. And we handle those on the every day, don't we?"
Then, as she hands him a glass, "A strong headquarters is key."
"A prison could be strong," he muses, eyes on the browning prize. He takes the glass with a quiet thanks, swilling the liquid for just a second before taking his first sip.
"Fortified, plenty of space. Easy to hide away anyone who wants to get smart." In their world, there is no room for that. But, on the flip side, "Easy to stage a coup in, too."
Unless, of course, they're the ones staging it.
"Or we build our own settlement. Form a nice little cult."
Like all good stories, the words that had flown out of Sam's mouth kicked it off with So there I was and has landed him here, in this very moment. A tale has been spun of a mystery woman and video games - one, specifically. He likes her, that much is clear (the woman in the story). Asked her on a date to play a favorite game of his, but she'd misunderstood the assignment. "So we walk around for ages, hoods up - got to stay in character." He takes a sip of his drink. "And there it was, waiting for us. A black Carrera, leather seats. She did it all. Broke in, turned the engine." Beat. "We ditched it outside Lee's place."
@cmortimer
"Hear me out," he's about to land the nerdiest thing on her on the face of the planet. His eyes flicker between the board before them and the cards in hand, before recounting his trains for the third time. The way this is going, he's going to have to take the whole of the eastern seaboard, and half the boarder of Canada. Not good. "We go to Orlando for May the Fourth and Revenge of the Fifth." Sam nods, enthused by his own suggestion. "Storm Troopers and lightsabers and blue milk."
@ariaboughton
"Chief Halliday," all smiles. Sam's met the man just once before in passing - an event that he'd been running security for. It'd been quiet, as they usually are. Nothing very pressing, nothing much to remember... but that won't keep him from trying. "Great to see you, again, sir." Kiss ass, pretend they're besties that have known one another for ages. "Met's coming up, huh. Busy, busy time. The planning from a law enforcement standpoint must be meticulous."
@chiefhalliday
"Well, well, well - we meet again." Beat. "Are you following me?" Sam smiles, charming as ever. Last time they'd met, it was in a dazzling setting with the cities most affluent around them. This time? The Canal St station, waiting for the E. "It's alright. I'd follow me, too." The joke is that he's tall - can't lose him in the crowd, unless that crowd hovers close to 6'5, give or take.
@alexxcarrasco
"Never mind the logistics of a zombie apocalypse. There's no logic to be seen, here - science isn't on it's side." Sam is fully engaged in this idea - has been for a solid minute now. This happens, from time to time. He fixates, thinks too hard, really puts himself into the scenario at hand. "Obviously, taking power immediately is the difference between survival and failure. You need a place with plenty of looting locations nearby, near a hospital. Maybe a pharmacy or two, too." He's cooking up some fancy steak he'd paid far too much money for. "The worst part is the idea of vulnerability, though. It's a killer, either way."
@anaismurad
samburman reblogged
Asa glances at the other, releasing a breath from between his teeth. "Well... sort of like how people pour tons of money in to buy those fundraiser tickets only to win a... box of nice soaps or. A gift basket of biscotti. I dunno." He's holding his drink a little tight in a scarred hand, trying not to psyche himself out. "Won't the baked goods be stale by tomorrow anyways?"
"They're already stale." His jaw is tense. That's new. "You look nervous, Asa. Why's that. Something wrong?"
samburman reblogged
tressashaw
"Whatever makes the money, though right? They could sell Ronald Reagan's gym socks and somebody'd probably overpay for it."
"Besides," A beat, wherein she looks out at the assembled persons as the auctioneer rattles off his shpiel and people shout out their bids for the lot in question; she's achieved most of why she came here; little more than an exercise in mental masturbation - schmoozing, as it were, isn't nearly as exhausting as she thought it'd be. Clowning on politicians and watching them scramble for handouts is great fun. "...who doesn't love a slightly stale cronut?" Sam's a big fish though; rarely does she have reason or opportunity to speak with him in such close proximity. "Got your eye on anything specific? I can think of a few things on offer that I wouldn't mind having, if I can lowball it."
"Hell, I'd bid for his gym socks." As if that old nut ever went to the gym, in the first place.
"Couple of things, but it seems I'm mostly battling it out with some tiny, vaguely familiar woman. Everywhere I bid, she's there, too." Her coat might be bigger than she is, come to think of it. "What're you shooting for?" He might be feeling generous, tonight.
samburman reblogged
"— you're saying the hamper wasn't discovered buried in Gene Wilder's basement?" a beat, "How disappointing, amore."
"Are you telling me that Gene is a doomsday prepper? Seems right on brand." He grins. "Anything good, tonight?"
samburman reblogged
Suho had only tried to get one item, but had failed. If asked, he wouldn't be able to tell which party the money was supposed to go to, because he didn't care about that. Someone with his past gave no fucks about politics.
He was slightly startled by the comment. "Maybe they just want the basket?" He tried to make a joke, while feeling hyper-aware of the one too many people around him. It was really getting taxing. "Is ShopRite popular?" He hadn't been in the USA long enough to know things like that.
He laughs. It's a good joke, and probably true. Weirdos. "Oh, yeah. The meat department is top tier. They make this bread, too. Hot Stuff - delicious." Beat. "Come to think of it, the following is cult-like."
