Post by Nimiane on Aug 4, 2017 7:39:56 GMT -5
| Part I. Eva di Idoni was born of money. A daughter of wealth, fine dining and unlimited resources; she was used to having her way. Not in the petulant manner of a child, mind, but the fervent foundation of roots in rich soil that altered ones perception of the world. Responsibility had come young, expectation a mold, and with it the power and influence of a doting father at the head of cutthroat criminal empire that rested on the shoulders of Matagán men. For all that had changed between the past and the present, some things never did. Others, had yet the opportunity to do so. Nightfall had claimed Altum soil beneath star-spangled sky, the vocal lament of cicada a solemn chorus unto the void lit by the distant glow of flames on the horizon. Bloodied and bested, feminine brow smeared with the blood of the fallen, the blonde better suited for games of wit and daring limped from the front lines of war. Clung to hair and the fibers of leather, the remnant scent scorched flesh and the coppery scent of entwined blood and ash, remained a direct an assault on the woman's senses that refused to dispel. It spoke of smoke, and sweat, and failure - a common theme in the depths of fatale's sapphire gaze, hidden by pretty smiles and the sultry dip of obsidian lashes. Engraved and hollowed bones rattled against dice counterpart within pouch's confines, accompanied by the rhythmic crunch of heels in dirt, and the jounce of loose bearing within flamethrower's empty canister. La figlia di Idoni was accustomed to death, and it was not the first time Calidor had given credence to the irony of it's epigram; the City of Dreams. It had started the way it always did - as most stories do - with a job. With promise. Any aspiring business woman will tell you, survival beyond the embrace of satin sheets was about connections. It's who you know, and who knew you in turn. It was granting a favor with a smile, and holding it ransom until the inevitable exchange for something better. It was everything the Del Mazzi inspired, and everything that made use of the blonde's specific, subtle set of skills. The job, a desert-bound heist imbued with diamonds, was a failure. Unfortunate, but easily shrugged off. Then, came Giovanni's celebratory soirée. Countless whispers of foreign tongues had warned her, begged her, even, to forgo the venture. To abandon the notion of being inducted into the unforgiving congregation of the Matagán underground, not knowing who she was or what she wished. It, too, was marked a failure in the aftermath; humiliation sizzled into olive flesh at cigarillo's behest. The mutant hound - an idiosyncratic prize - snatched from under her nose, the empty promises of acquaintances scattered to the wind, the sting of defeat as the Wolves turned like the beasts they were: barbaric. The longer the Red was denied to her, the harsher and more bitter the spurn, the more Eva desired it. The more she needed it; a developing obsession of ambition and power. Her battered pride screeched disgust in her ear, akin to the deafening wail of a wounded banshee. Despite the echo of coyote's call that ricochet between the mountainous crags, now more than ever, Eva di Idoni was alone, and neither her late Father, nor his money, would aid her here. Allies few, friends non-existent and enemies increasing with the waning moon, trust was a luxury she would not be afforded; nor gift unto others. Not unlike a gambler's hand, played close to the chest, fate had dealt a round of cards that reflected the truth of locale. Though she had likened it to poker, the reality uncovered had little to do with luck. No, this was a game of chess; a game of patience and calculated risk that was only just beginning. Let the Wolves maintain the predictability of their pack. Let the world underestimate her, willingly, so that she might use it to her advantage. She knew what she wanted, and that in itself made her dangerous. Something had changed, irreversible and indomitable. --- The Royale rose from the streets like a beacon of false hope; a touch of regality and class, flaunting it's promises of wealth and power as it loomed over the misfortune of the City of Dreams. The reality, however, was far less poetic. A den of empty people, filling the empty void of their lives with the orchestra of slot machine's rolling gallery. Men and women, flitting away hard earned cash in the hopes of winning big and purchasing the happy life societydictated and so strongly desired. Fleeting though the gamble was, it's consequences were often less dire than betting on red with a coked up whore. As always, the High Roller staircase - a seductress in her own right - welcomed the Matagán with open arms; a stark contrast comparable to the presence of the men known to prowl within. "I will allow you to take over Alfonzo's duties for the time being. Prove yourself further, and I may not have you replaced. Do not fail me in this matter." In many ways, Giovanni Del Mazzi reminded Eva of her first lover. Irrationally angry, undeniably handsome and a man whose barbed words could slice and sever with the same raw power as firm backhand or brandished fist. The difference between them, however, was that Giovanni still lived; brain matter contained within a dark crown as opposed to scattered in explosive display over villa wall. Upon the sculpted curve of feminine cheek, the warmth of the man's gentle touch lingered long after grotesquely descriptive threat; fear and adrenaline returning to the depths of hell from whence it came. She blamed him, of course, for the push that turned friend to enemy. For forcing her into position that compromised her subtle approach and the reliance of facade. It was not irreparable, but neither was she in her element with target demographic. If she could endure the climb, and the sacrifices that came with it maybe, just maybe, she could forge her own reality from the ashes of all that had ever mattered to her. The question was, how much was she willing to lose to make it so? It was an answer she knew not. |