π π π π π π π XXπ π π π π π
( twenty-three ) ( west coast ) ( the lover ) ( location ββ tasi's room - dining room ) ( tags ββ open ) ( word count β 449 )
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
( twenty-three ) ( west coast ) ( the lover ) ( location ββ tasi's room - dining room ) ( tags ββ open ) ( word count β 449 )
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
- ββ celesse was lounging as usual. her arms stretched out over her head as her gazed up to the ceiling. there was a large mirror that painted the bed identically. as per usual she'd woken up alone. celesse flung her arms out and felt them hit the bed. could she not have one morning where she could see anastasia before duty called? apparently not. she sighed and sat up, feeling lost in the white bed covers. the curtains had already been drawn open, the summer light bled through into the room, casting shadows on the tile that surrounded the four-poster. her feet danced over the tile as she waltzed into anastasia's walk-in closet. what to steal today? her manicured fingers ran over numerous shirts and dresses before she decided on instead going to her own closet, half-way across the house.
the woman sighed and shut the door softly, chewing at her lip. something did catch her eye though, a flowing pink robe that hung over the back of tasi's office chair looked enticing right about now. celesse slipped her arms into the robe and tied the delicate rope around her stomach. she ventured into her lover's bathroom, before recoiling at her appearance. her locks were pulled every-which way and her eyes held dark circles underneath them. before the rest of the day began, celesse needed to shower and glam up, so she could at least match her face to her neck. she pulled her hair back into a low bun and ventured out of the room entirely.
the dutch woman let her hands find the banister of the santoro house before she stepped down. she padded down the stairs quietly, the pink fabric billowing down with her. it shaped itself over the stairs as she moved. even though it was still early morning, she could feel that the house was heating up quickly - an unfortunate part of living in southern california. she skipped into the kitchen and begun fishing around in the fridge. her bottled cold brews sat neatly in their place, but this morning celesse felt more like snatching another drink. a green juice, supposedly filled with vitamins sat dormant. no name meant no claim. she tipped the bottle into a metal cup, before putting the lid onto it, she slid the straw into it's hole and sipped. doesn't taste half bad. while celesse was down there she might as well look for her lover, to see where she'd run off to that morning. still partly sour about not waking up to the santoro matriarch, bakker followed the corner around into the formal dining room. she hung back though, and lent against the open frame, sipping at her juice.
π π π π π πXXπ π π π
( thirty-eight ) ( east coast ) ( the head ) ( location ββ streets of nyc ) ( tags ββ open ) ( word count β 376 )
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
( thirty-eight ) ( east coast ) ( the head ) ( location ββ streets of nyc ) ( tags ββ open ) ( word count β 376 )
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
- ββ with a forced swing of the door, marlon pushed himself onto the streets. he was fuming. if he was an angry cartoon character, you'd see him with steam and smoke pouring out of his ears and nose. he rubbed his face and swayed from side to side as he coped with this new information. he bumped into a business man who put on a disgruntled face. marlon didn't bother saying sorry or acknowledging his wrong-doing. he could only focus on walking ahead. from afar, the mafia boss seemed drunk, at approximately 10:31 am? never. drinking was for after 11. marlon diaz had just been alerted of his loss of territory. illinois was gone, which meant a direct export route to canada was cut off. it was going to make a dent in his bank account for sure.
diaz had exited an office building he had been shoved into by a governor, where he broke the bad news. his land was being shoved into the greedy hands of the santoro's and at this rate there was nothing he could do to stop it. unless he wanted to risk his neck and take back what was his, marlon was out of luck. he'd need to win over the workers of illinois once again - or he could plot to take another state, one with arguably more people and more resources.
caught up in his thoughts, marlon walked for about a block before turning down a street, thankful that it turned out to be the one where he resided. he caught a glimpse of the sun, as it reflected on the shiny windows of penthouses and apartments that overlooked central park. marlon took in his surroundings, they calmed him significantly - not that he still didn't want to punch a hole in the wall for his losses, but he was on the path to calming himself. instead of diverting into the ground floor lobby of his penthouse, marlon continued to walk up the street. he wore a stoic and unmoving face, like a soldier on the front lines. how could he lose his territory like this? at this rate xochi wasn't going to inherit anything aside from piles of bills and debts if marlon didn't get his act together quickly.