| Russian Roulette |

JAXON ORTEGA



Location: Harpo's Diner

His mother had once told him that to have a woman’s heart was to hold the weight of a world in one’s hands. He hadn’t quite understood her until that very moment, when Claire looked at him as if he was the light of her world, and his rays lit up her beautiful features.

It was a remarkable thing to have. This power, this responsibility. His face clouded over with an unreadable expression, and he glanced away, pensive.

“Alright,” He replied quietly, taking the silverware from her. The food was a welcome distraction from his own meddling thoughts. With an apparently unsated appetite, the leftovers were gone within five minutes. He washed it down with his drink, and when the waitress chanced upon them again, paid for the meal.

He tried not to let his impatience show. But his foot did tap with a steady cadence as he waited for his change, and the young man all but bolted from his chair the minute Madam Slowbones.

Jaxon’s hand stayed at the small of Claire’s back as he led her to his “ride”: an old, beat-up 1990s red car that whined everytime the engine started. With predictable timing, the car screeched as Jaxon thumbed it to life, and he made a vague and Spanish complaint under his breath with a frown.

“Alright, here we go. Cliffside.” He flashed her a faint smile before his eyes cottoned on to the road. “I got some drinks and blankets in the trunk. We can sit out there in the clearing once we got off the main road.”
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE




Location: Cliffside


The headlights illuminated the grassy clearing of Cliffside and the car sputtered to a halt.

While their conversation in Harpo's sobered her up a bit, another sip from her flask and about twenty minutes of listening to the radio and watching the buildings of the city go by had thankfully relaxed her again.

Claire fumbled with the buckles of her heels while Jaxon opened the trunk and laid blankets on the grass. Once she'd successfully freed her feet, she hastily pulled the shoes off and abandoned them on the floor of the car.

God, I am never wearing heels again.

The grass felt soft and cool beneath her feet. The moon above shone brightly, illuminating the small clearing. Crickets chirped in the distance, filling the silence of the isolated cliff side.

Glancing to her right, she saw Jaxon sitting on the blankets he had set up. Her heart skipped and she shot him a small smile before joining him on the blankets.

Sitting next to him, with only the company of the crickets and cicadas chirping and the light of the city and the moon, she felt truly relaxed. All apprehension was gone. Her head was clear.

With a contented sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder. "This is perfect."

She looked out at the lights of the city for a moment, then tilted her head up to look at him. Feelings of love flooded her mind, and as she took in his features– rough but soft and kind at the same time –she thought she could spend the rest of her life with her head on his shoulder.

This was it. She was ready to move forward. There'd been no doubt of whether she trusted Jaxon enough, but she was worried she couldn't trust herself enough. Worried she'd ruin it.

But now, all she could focus on was how warm he was and the way her heart was pounding out of her chest.

She kissed his cheek.

Fuck it, I got this.

Gently, she turned his head toward hers and pressed her mouth into his. His lips tasted like mints, their warmth a refuge from the chilled night air.
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Cliffside

The term love wasn't something teenagers came to express easily. It was a frivolous thing in their unpolished hands, like a tool wielded without skill. Jaxon had never given much thought to it himself. Of course, he knew what it was...at least, he'd told himself so.

He'd been miseducated. What he'd thought was love was nothing compared to Claire bringing her lips to his cheek. He turned his head expectantly with her aid; she was waiting there, an illustration painted by the stars, something shining in those pretty brown eyes of her. He leaned forward in tandem with her, and the two met in the middle.

He could taste it on her. Her love, her passion, spilling forth in her own bold kiss. His hands went where they went belonged: one at the back of her head, cradling it, and the other at the small of her back, pulling her forward. Now it was his turn to return the kiss, that which he did with a certain exuberance rarely seen in him. His hand at her moved in slow, circular motions across her back, inching down and down and down...

"Claire." He was whispering now, his breath warm against her ear. Now both hands were at her sides, gentle yet firm. "What you want, huh? Tell me."

Exposed in the moonlight, her neck came into view, tantalizingly close. Without waiting for an answer, his mouth went to the skin there, pressing kisses along its length.
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE




Location: Cliffside


Claire felt all the resistance melt from her body. Despite the chill of Chicago spring, heat radiated through her body, all the more noticeable as Jaxon’s hands slid from the small of her back to her hips.

She wanted nothing more than to get as close to him and his warmth as possible. To join like two colliding stars, crashing into each other in an explosion of bright light.

His whisper was like music, enveloping her mind in melodies of possibility. He knew what she wanted, he had to. And yet he asked, forcing the words from her lips. She was grateful for the question; it gave her another chance to prove it to herself, yet again.

She exhaled slightly as he pressed his lips to her neck. There was that heat again, charged and ready to explode.

“You,” she answered, breathlessly. “I want you.”

It was true. At this moment, with all her heart, soul, and body, she wanted him. This boy, this love of her life. She wanted his kiss, his touch, his tender hold. She wanted him and she knew he wanted her too.
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Cliffside

I want you, she said.

Jaxon obliged promptly.

If there was anything Claire wanted to say in the space after, the opportunity to soon dissolved. His lips found hers again and stayed there, the scent of her perfume flooding his nose. His arms held her, but more to steady himself than her; Claire had always been a foundation of his, a grounding presence, even if she didn't realize it. He was scared to tell her that he loved her. God, if he only knew why; the finality of it frightened him, so he strove to show it in other ways: his words. His gifts. His touch.

A slight gasp sounded as he came up for air. And then he went under again.

Cognitive thought was quickly fleeing from him. His hands were hungry, his lips searching. He was very barely aware of leaning her back against the blanketed forest floor, his fingers tangling within her precious locks of hair. His body hung over her, eyes bright in the gloom. I want you, her voice kept repeating in his head, a siren's song as he started kissing her again.

He would give her all of him. Tonight.
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE




Location: Cliffside
The heat she felt was growing, further kindled with each kiss. She allowed him to lean her against the blanketed ground, focused only on his warmth and comfort. Everything felt okay. Everything was perfect.

Jaxon’s knee shifted, making its way between her legs. She ignored it until she felt pressure against her pelvis and then suddenly–

Her mind raced, memory after memory swirling by.

Hot breath in her ear. The weight of his body on hers. The sharp pain of his elbow pressing into her arm. His knee forcing her legs apart. Her free hand clutching the sheets of her bed. Frozen in fear, petrified.

Silent. He’d told her to be silent.

The words lodged in her throat. “St-“ She couldn’t breathe.

Tears had begun to spring forth from her eyes.

The words finally freed themselves.

“Get– get off of me!”

Her words were sharp, breathless. She shoved him away and sat up quickly, wrapping her arms around her knees.

She breathed heavily for what felt like hours, trying to calm herself down. Her eyes trained on a patch of grass where a sole ladybug climbed up a green blade.

It’s okay, you’re with Jaxon. He’s not here. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

As she caught her breath, guilt flooded in.

Say something. Say something!

“Fuck... fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– it’s not you. I promise.” Her breath hitched again and like a broken dam, tears began to rush down her cheeks.
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Cliffside

Like one suddenly roused from sleep, the dream ended, the mood clarifying and growing fraught with tension in an instant from the moment Claire shoved at him. He sat back immediately, propelled away, but there was a delay in his reaction. His hands which had only seconds ago grasped at soft skin now groped at...nothing.

"Claire? What-"

His thoughts were catching up now. She was breathing hard, curled into herself and holding on tight like she was her own safety belt. He tried again. "Claire, what's wrong? You ok, I-?"

And then he saw the tears.

Holy shit. What'd he do?

Panic rang throughout him like a siren. What the hell had he done? He thought -- well, she'd looked like she was into it. He'd asked her, no? But had he scared her? Was he moving too fast?

He ran a hand through his hair, trying -- and failing -- to play it cool.

It's not you. I promise.

"Then what is it? I-I don't understand-" He shifted, rocking back onto his heels. "What's wrong? I mean I...was I moving too fast?"
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE




Location: Cliffside

Upon seeing Jaxon’s reaction, guilt consumed Claire. She could tell he was worried he had done something wrong. Quickly, she rushed to ease his conscience.

“No, no… it’s not you. It’s just- I just…” she trailed off, not sure how to explain.

What would he think? Would he still look at her the same?

It didn’t matter. He seemed so concerned, she owed it to him.

It took a few moments but finally, she took a deep breath and began to speak.

“After my dad died, my mom got really into going to church. I hated it and refused to go, so she started inviting our priest over for private bible studies with me. And at first, that’s what we did, until-” she stopped, the words caught in her throat. “He started… he made me…” she couldn’t finish.

“When your knee moved it reminded me of one of the worst times,” she explained, words choked out between sobs.

She hoped he understood what he meant. She couldn’t bring herself to explain it all. To explain the control the Father had over her. How along with every study came a heavy torrent of shaming and blaming. It’s your fault, he’d whisper. All you can do is pray for forgiveness.

And pray she did. Every night until finally, she gave up. God would never answer the prayers of a temptress.

Shame enveloped her mind. The heat she’d felt earlier had turned piping hot, unbearable even in the cool breeze.

It was the first time in years she’d told anyone. She’d tried telling her mother years ago– a sweltering summer night she’d come to regret for the rest of her life. Her mother levied insults and accusations against her like stones. Slut, liar, devil child. Verbal abuse rained down on her like hellfire. The bible studies continued. The lesson was clear: no one would ever believe her.

So what would Jaxon think?

Claire turned her head away, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Her grip on her knees tightened as she braced for his reaction.
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Cliffside

Naturally, Jaxon wasn't the most savvy speaker. Sure, he knew how to flirt and banter and talk pretty like any other hybrid hood/suburban teen, but when it came to real moments that counted, he could flounder, just like a regular fish out of water. In moments like that, he often drew into silence, pensive. Waiting for God to give him the right words because--

Mierda. He hadn't expected to hear those words from Claire.

She wasn't looking at him. The night had grown cold, and so, too, had she, chilled by her sudden revelation. He stared at her hunched in over herself, her cheeks pink with shame. She looked like a little bird tucking in her broken wing. Fragile, he thought, just oh so fragile. One wrong touch and she'd break.

It scared him to see her like that. It scared him even more to think that she'd been like this the entire time, but he'd just been too oblivious to notice.

When your knee moved it reminded me of one of the worst times.

Jaxon's face was stony. He had put two and two together, obviously; it was one of life's small mercies that he was prone to think before he spoke, because the pointed rage that circulated throughout his being threatened to poison him entirely. He took a deep breath, slow and steady, through his nostrils. He couldn't afford to get mad. He couldn't afford to lash out at people like priests and gangs that took the innocence of adolescence and stained it red, forever blemished by their cruelty. He saw Claire drowning in that undeserved shame, and the storm reached a fever pitch.

What had that false man of God done to her?

His hand reached out. He was silent still as he wrapped one arm tentatively around her shoulders, a new hesitancy in him as he brought her in to lean against his side. That damning miasma of pity and anger and compassion swirled in his, choking his thoughts. Words. Words, he thought, he needed words.

"Claire, I'm-"

-going to kill that motherfuc-

"-here," He finally said. Here, as in present mentally, emotionally, and physically.

And he wasn't going anywhere.
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE




Location: Cliffside -> Harpo's Diner

Claire wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Disbelief? Disgust? Something negative, something that reflected how utterly tarnished she felt inside. But Jaxon was silent. She hadn’t met his eyes; if she had, she’d have seen the raw anger he was suppressing. Instead, she stared straight ahead, locked on something imperceptible in the distance. The silence was heavy, like a boulder on her shoulders.

Then, slowly, he wrapped his arm around her, and her fears melted away. Shock and relief fought at the forefront of Claire’s mind.

She let herself collapse into his warmth, a welcome refuge from the cold chill that had settled over her. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes, but these didn’t sting like before.

He had accepted her, all of her.

She shifted, bringing her legs in to curl up against Jaxon as she laid her head on his shoulder. Silence enveloped the two as she became lost in thought. After quietly sitting together for what felt like hours, she spoke. “I love you,” she whispered and with every fiber of her being, she meant it.

divider.png

Clarisse eyed Jaxon from across the table. His face had that look to it– the one that said he was deep in thought. If she was right, he was thinking of the same night. A night where she admitted her pain and shame and was finally heard. One that once pained her to revisit. Now, she brought it to her mind without reaction. She’d grown good at repressing her emotions over the last decade.

But not perfect.

Finally, the waitress came by to take their orders. Clarisse ordered quickly– “pancakes, please” –and half-listened as Jaxon placed his order. The waitress, oblivious to the tense air at the table, took her sweet time, lazily scrawling on her notepad before finally leaving for the kitchen.

Clarisse peered at Jaxon, occasionally picking at her nails with nervous energy. “I’m sorry to remind you of that night,” she said, her voice sincere. She meant it. She was sorry it had come to this– bringing up painful memories just to manipulate him. But she had to get past his barriers. Hopefully, his ever-encompassing need to protect her would keep any suspicions at bay. He needed to see Claire, the wounded girl in need of care. Not Clarisse, the woman primed to slit his throat.
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Harpo's Diner

Funny. Even now, he could not remember if he'd ever told Claire that he loved her too that night.

Surely he had. Of course he had-even if it had been so quiet that it could have been mistaken for a trick of the wind. He'd been so afraid to love, and even more afraid to show it. But he had, hadn't he? He'd loved her so long and hard that he had thought it would kill him. Sometimes he had wished it had. To have loved and have lost was the bittersweet of a pyrrhic victory. Sometimes a man would rather burn in the ashes than be reborn.

The shadows had carved new meanings into the lines of his face. Alcohol tended to lay him bare, like a dying man in a confessional, and the toll of his sins from his decade-long dubious activities wore on him. He was all hard edges; the only softness rimmed his gaze, his eyes tempered by the lingering influence of tequila and vodka.

In a haze, he ordered. He think he said a hamburger, or maybe a sourdough melt--it didn't matter. He could feel Claire's eyes on him the whole time, watching him and assessing him. His own gaze had turned to the window, listlessly staring at his driver smoking a cigarette outside the car. A spark of red bloomed at the man's fingertips, and from within his fingers came a gray plume, lovely and sheer, like a silk scarf drifting along the wind.

He'd watched those same fingers turn a woman's throat the same purplish gray.

She spoke to him. Jaxon blinked, slow and sure, meeting her gaze with strengthening focus.

That night.

It always came back to that night, didn't it? She was, by appearance only, still that precious girl from that night. He wanted so desperately to believe it; it almost hurt to think otherwise.

But that Claire was long gone, wasn't she? And so was that Jaxon.

Jaxon's hand came to rest on the table, flexing once before flattening. "Nah 'is ok. Mira, don't worry about it. It was a long time ago..."

His eyes were a dull, black expanse. Some sharpness entered his stare.

"So how much money do you need? To get out of town, I mean. I assume that's what you're doing, right?"
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE



Location: Harpo's Diner

“I don’t need your money,” Clarisse stated bluntly, straightening. “Besides, I’m not leaving. I’ll find a motel, figure it out.”

Her fingers crept up her arm, rubbing it with uncertainty. Her tell. Well, what once was her tell, anyway.

Of course, Claire didn’t have the money for a motel. Clarisse did, but poor, down on her luck Claire? It would be beyond obvious to Jaxon that she was lying through her teeth. Doing what she always did to save face. Try to act unbothered, like she had everything figured out.

Jaxon would know her too well.

Clarisse glanced around the diner. The two men at the front had diminished to one. His friend was likely using the bathroom or having a smoke. Their server was nowhere to be seen, having bumbled back to the kitchen. No one but Jaxon would hear her.

Before he could say anything, insist she flee to safety, question her, try to fix things like he always could, she leaned in and looked intently into his eyes, rage and determination burning behind hers.

“I’m not leaving till the motherfucker’s dead,” she whispered. Then she relaxed and sat back, an unreadable expression across her face.

And there it was. A reason for the madness. And an honest one at that.

Clarisse had taken the gig for two reasons. First, freedom. Escape from the pits of Hell for the rest of her life. A temporary reprieve before her inevitable return to the eternal fire.

The second?

Revenge.

The mob had agreed to provide her with tracking and disposal assistance for one kill after the job was done. She had to take the deal. She couldn’t sleep knowing the Father was still out there, doing god knows what to others just like her. And hell, who knows– maybe it’ll all be worth it if she can banish a demon from Earth.
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Harpo's Diner

Claire's stubbornness used to infuriate him at times. Most the time, he had loved it, as that fire in her - no, her passion - was all that had defined her and made him whole. Of course she didn't want his money. She had never wanted anything from him. At least, nothing monetary.

Or maybe not. The rub of her hands on her arms went up and down, up and down, up and...

"Claire."

But she was leaning toward him now, the moment of uncertainty gone. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the waitress exiting the kitchen with their food as the former love of his life uttered seven words that made his eyes spark with life.

“I’m not leaving till the motherfucker’s dead."

Jaxon's eye twitched. For the first time since that phone call, a seed of doubt entered his heart.

The key to lying meant skating as close to the truth as possible. Claire, she was...smart. Smarter than she had any right to be. She was picking her words carefully, he just knew it. Who did she mean by such a simple statement? T Grizz, the pimp? Or some cholo from their side of town, someone much nearer and dearer to their hearts?

Could she mean that priest? Or was that simply the next target after--

"Hope you two are hungry!" The waitress chirped.

Jaxon stared blankly as she put the two overfilled plates of food before the estranged pair. So he'd ordered a hamburger after all. Not that it meant anything; his appetite for food had gone, consumed neatly by another appetite entirely. His eyes locked onto Claire again, flat.

"Who are you talking about?"

Even drunk, he couldn't play dumb. There was a sharpness in his eyes that belied the wheels turning behind his skull.

He wanted answers.
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE



Location: Harpo's Diner

It was small, almost imperceptible if you didn’t know what to look for. But Clarisse knew. Jaxon was beginning to question her story. Again, she dug her heel into her calf. You dumb bitch. You stupid, stupid whore.

Did he suspect her now? Had she ruined everything before it had even begun?

Dumb fucking sl-

She blinked the self-hatred away and squared.

“The Father. He still works at St. Joseph’s. Still holds private studies.”

Her anguish began to peak through, her eyes holding deep pain. That she didn’t have to fake. It was all too real.

“Jaxon, I came back home for a reason. I don’t have a plan, I have no idea how I’m going to do it, but mark my words, that bastard will be dead before the month is over.”

Clarisse looked down at her plate, then back up at Jaxon. “My appetite’s gone. Besides,” she glanced down at her phone. “It’s late. I should probably go.”

There was a slight hesitation in her voice. But she was already combing through her purse, fishing up three crumpled dollar bills. “At least let me get the tip,” she murmured, searching with desperation for just another dollar. When she found nothing, she paused, before grabbing Jaxon’s hand.

“Thank you for dinner. And… for everything. I mean it.”

Her brown eyes held his for a moment too long before breaking away. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Clarisse stood up to leave.

She had laid her trap. Claire had nowhere to go from here, it was painfully obvious. But she was just stubborn enough to walk off, unless…
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Harpo's Diner

The difference between love, true love, and infatuation was simply a matter of the imprint one's feelings towards another left on their heart. Infatuation glanced and skittered off the heart with nary an impression, remembered in one moment and forgotten in the next. But love? Love held on. Love lingered long after words claimed it was gone, curling up in the heart and burrowing behind the walls of muscles as its shield. As Claire spoke both truths and suspected lies, he felt it unfurling in his chest, unbidden and unwanted. His best friend's warning rang in his ears.

Don't trust that white girl, man.

But he still loved her.

God. Of all the times to suddenly feel something again. Was this the alcohol talking? Or had he withdrawn so fully into his own nihilism that any spark of life started by external stimuli was enough to make him lose himself?

And that voice, those words. Jesus. Mentions of the priest touched on a buried anger; the man's eyes closed for a long moment, as if he was in a stupor. But he was thinking. The drinks had muddied his thoughts, and yet he sat there, thinking...

His eyes peeled open, red and unfocused.

"Stop. Don't be stupid."

He came to his feet too, bracing himself against the table. She had a purse over her shoulder; he wondered if it was there. The tool to his unfortunate demise. Even knowing this, he still didn't want her to go.

God. She was quicksand, and he was sinking.

"Don't be stupid," He repeated more adamantly. "I'll pay - you just go to the car. You can stay with me tonight and we'll figure something out in the morning."

No they wouldn't.

"Don't worry about it."

Another lie. He moved past her, fumbling for his wallet as he approached the incredulous waitress staring at their unfinished meals.
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE



Location: Harpo's Diner

Truth be told, Clarisse had hoped he’d let her walk off. Let her disappear into the night, headed towards her certain demise. After all, she’d have failed to complete her mission. There would be hell to pay, of course. But she was ready for that.

Yet, despite everything, despite her abandonment, despite the years apart, Jaxon still cared about her. Loved her, even. She could hear it in his voice. He had slipped back into his role as her protector, her caregiver. The one person on earth who could take her problems and turn them into distant memories, if only for a moment.

She was furious at him for it.

Don’t be stupid, he’d said. Clarisse wanted to scream the words back at him. Don’t be stupid. Don’t fall for this trap. Don’t make me have to do this.

She took a breath. “Fine. One night. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

She wanted to look back at him. Let him stare into her eyes, see the deceit that lay behind them. But she didn’t. Instead, she let him walk past her as she stared straight ahead. Then, without another word, she walked out of the diner and to the car.
 
JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Harpo's Diner

It took longer than necessary for Jaxon to get into the car. He'd scanned his card the wrong way, and the waitress' voice had fallen against the fog surrounding his head, her words a listless whine...Something about turning the card, the bill, the food left on the table. It all become one blur of ceaseless, meaningless sensations after a while. He felt like his eyes closed again at some point; they blinked open into the night air, and he saw Claire's slender form duck into the car.

Another absence of time and thought and light; the world passed by in streaks of lights and shadows, and the gangster sensed that they were in the car, that they were headed home, that Claire - the woman, the lover, the ex-lover - was besides him still. He felt his head turn to look at her. The fluorescent lights from the street signs washed over her, and he took in her face bathed in hues of red and green, his own eyes somber.

Before Abuela died, she had tried, more than once, to extol upon her grandson the virtues of Catholicism. Truth be told, he believed in everything she had taught him. Sins, damnation, karma - he believed in it as much as he acted in their names. He had figuratively bloodied his hands in the name of absolution, and sometimes he wondered if fate would eventually come for him. That's what he saw when he looked at Claire: Karma, with rosy cheeks and chestnut locks, as beautiful as she was deadly. Was it his time? Should he let it be his time? How sweet the kiss of death would be on his own terms.

But...were these his own terms?

The answer did not come to him until after he had already sent the damning text on his phone, his face growing cold as the car dipped into the driveway to his home. For someone second only to the Templet's gang leader, Jaxon's home bordered on laughably modest. The two story bungalow was tucked into a corner of suburbia far removed from its neighbors, the large plot of land separated by an impressive tree line. If not for the guard discreetly smoking a cigar as he kept watch on the porch, the house would have been entirely unremarkable.

Jaxon's voice was rough to the guard as he approached him.

"Go home. You're done for the night."

@Karo

[ooc: soooooooooooorrrrrrrrrry it took so long]
 
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CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE



Location: Jaxon's Home

The car was deafeningly silent. The entire ride, Clarisse didn’t say a word, simply looking out the window.

She was making peace with things. She’d tried since she was first given the assignment, tried to truly remove her emotions and accept that this was the way things had to be. And every time she’d come close to accepting the reality of it all, something would come tearing down her new walls and the guilt and despair would come flooding in.

But she had no choice.

She was still angry. Angry at the mob, angry at Jaxon, but mostly, angry at herself. Nails dug into skin as she clenched her fists, releasing them only when she felt she was about to draw blood. How did she end up in such a situtation? Forced back home, then forced to destroy the one person who ever brought her peace.

She glanced over at Jaxon, then back out the window. The city melted into the suburbs and soon, the car was turning into the driveway of an unassuming two-story home.

Seeing Jaxon’s home, Clarisse cracked a smile. It was exactly the kind of place he’d tell her about when they were younger. During those late night talks where they bared their souls and ambitions to each other, he’d tell her about how he’d buy his abuela a nice house outside the city, away from all the chaos. How he’d then buy himself something nice but modest, away from the noise and prying eyes.

It was bittersweet, his success. They had often talked about their plans for the future– plans that involved each other. In the back of her mind, Clarisse knew it was never to be. She needed to get out, to escape her life and never look back. But it had been fun to dream and hope together.

Tonight, she decided, they’d dream again.

She followed Jaxon into the house, taking stock of the space. It was nicely furnished, but bare of any personality. The walls were empty, the surfaces clean and clutter-free. In the corner of the living room was a bar cart, stocked with top-shelf liquors. Clarisse removed her heels and placed them by the door.

“Mind if I pour myself a drink?”
 
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JAXON ORTEGA



Location:Harpo's Diner

"Wha'eva you want."

His lips twitched. He couldn't helped himself; nearly in a trance, he muttered soon after, "Mi casa es su casa."

God. His grandmother and mother had said that so much that it had become less of a stereotypical joke and more of a rite of passage for any guest to enter the home. He hadn't said the phrase in years. Maybe Claire had been the last person he'd said it to all those years ago. Had the words rung just as hollow then? He couldn't remember, or maybe he just didn't want to remember.

Jaxon trailed after Claire. The house was barely lived in, and it showed. The rooms still smelled like cleaning product, and the smooth, white walls were bare of any family pictures or mementos. Not one smudge or fingerprint remained on the marble counters or glass table tops. His mother used to ask him why he paid maids to clean a house he was never in, and he found he could never answer her. He supposed he liked the illusion of it all: the American dream, as clean and pristine and false as it ever was.

While she went to the bar cart, Jaxon turned on the lamp in the corner. The room and its couches were alien to him; he tried to remember the last time he'd sat on his own sofas as he took a seat in the corner, his eyes blearily peering out the living room window. Some motion out front briefly made his gaze sharpen, but ah- just a guy on his bike. His eyes rolled back towards Claire, watching her.

"So what's your next move? After tonight."

An innocent question, lacking context.

@Karo
 
CLARISSE ELLISON-HYDE



Location: Jaxon's Home

Discerning fingers ran along the bottles, stopping briefly at a bottle of Don Julio. Gingerly Clarisse lifted it, inspecting it in the light.

Memories both fond and fuzzy came rushing back. Nights spent under the trees of the park with a bottle of something cheap and strong. Drunken escapades in the back of the car. Deep, soulful and slurred conversations accompanied by the chattering of cicadas.

“1942.” Clarisse smirked, passing over the bottle and landing on a fifth of Remy Martin. “Remember that nasty stuff we used to drink as kids, the kind you could smell before you opened the bottle? If only we could have seen us now.” Her voice softened, and she smiled ruefully to herself.

And what would they see? More importantly, what did she see? If she could get a glimpse into her life a few hours from now, would she find a detached woman standing over the body of the only love she’d ever known? Was there any other outcome?

Clarisse opened the bottle and began to pour, watching intently as the amber liquid filled her glass and slowly crept well past a solitary drink. Finally satisfied with the amount, she brought the glass to her lips and took a large drink.

She knew she shouldn’t be drinking. The drink at the bar was a prop, a small detail in a bigger plot, but this? This was just to get through the night. God knows she’d need any help she could get.

It was just as she was turning back that Jaxon asked his question.

Clarisse– of course –had an extensive plan mapped out. Her schedule was planned down to the minute all the way up to the moment she stepped on the plane to Paris. That’s where she’d decided she’d settle when all was said and done. It was a city she had no history in; the perfect place to disappear.

Claire, on the other hand, was flying by the seat of her pants.

“Jesus Christ, can I survive the night first?” Clarisse retorted, using the same joking tone she alway did when she wanted to mask uncertainty. “It’s my fight, I’ll figure it out.”

“Anyway,” she breathed, seeming eager to move on from the question. “Can I get you anything?”