scales and silvers — rafael &. ignacio [jb]

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

↳ RAFAEL SALAZAR

The justice building was okay. Comfortable.

A little below his preferred size, but the two upholstered lounging chairs made up for it, one of which was hosting a dramatically sprawled out Rafael, a half full glass of fire-whiskey by his side.

His mouth burned. The alcohol had sanded down most of the edges of his nerves, but some remained, sharp with perpetual doubt. He had made a bold play, a risky gamble. Of everything Rafael had, he had wagered himself as an investment. Not coins, not property, but his own flesh and blood. It would be a surprise to those who had called him a narcissist in the past, but Rafael wasn’t exactly planning to die.

He simply had to play it right. As his mother said, the world only had two kinds of people: the pieces, and the players. The word ‘game’ made up half the title of this whole endeavor, didn't it?

A creak in the door tousled him out of his thoughts. Oh, right. He owed a few ‘see you soon’s, and who was better to start with than the man who taught Rafael how to hold a gun?

“Ignacio,” he greeted as the man entered, a mirage of a smile playing across his lips.

“Welcome, welcome.” His arms opened cordially at the room. “It isn’t sophisticated by any means, but it has a particular charm, doesn’t it?” He turned to the table by him and the rest of the firewhiskey on it. Rafael poured a glass and offered it to the other.

“So,” he drawled. “What are your thoughts?” He had confided in Ignacio of his scheme, simply because the older man’s loyalty was the kind Rafael liked: purchasable. That, and there was a calculatedness to the man too, being an assassin and all. “Are you going to call me smart … or delusional?”

Rafael drew something out of his pocket then, and danced it along the knuckles. A bullet. Ignacio’s, to be exact, borrowed from him they spent killing a man together.

“Did you manage to sneak your gun in?” he asked casually.

Always an ulterior motive.

[rook]

ignacio moya

You have been here before, moving silently across these elegant floors, leaning against the great varnished doorframes, glancing out the wide-angle panorama windows. On the rare occasion you are required to accompany Valentino to business meetings you have found yourself in this most regal of surroundings.

Do you think yourself out of place? You are meant for the streets and alleyways, not administrative offices and function rooms. Whilst you reject these alien surroundings, you acknowledge that there comes a time where you must trade bloodshed for pleasantries - when a problem cannot be solved with brute-force, but instead with well placed words and an exchange of promises.

You fear, though, that on this occasion there is not much you can do for your favourite young Salazar.

"Ignacio. Welcome, welcome! It isn’t sophisticated by any means, but it has a particular charm, doesn't it?"

Rafael greets you like an honoured guest, offering generously the revels of his ascension. His rise from boy to man, man to tribute. He is playing the most dangerous game of all, rolling the dice on his life chasing a pipedream.

The Salazars have always been reckless, keen to strike first, make the most of an opportunity - he is no different. Rafael has ambition dripping from his fangs and now has his eyes set on altering the course of Panem by cementing Seven amongst the Career Districts.

It is a noble move. District Seven deserves more than a reputation for processing lumber efficiently. However, his speech at the Reaping is the first you have heard Rafael mention anything about supercharging Seven's place in Panem. You wonder if he has thought this through.

"So, what are your thoughts? Are you going to call me smart... or delusional?"

A deep sigh escapes the cavern of your lungs. You look for a break in his resolve, any cracks in his confidence, but as of now you find none - his bravado is steadfast.

You remain silent in contemplation. The truth is that Rafael's decision to rise into the limelight and try to put Seven on the map is both admirable and concerning. He is, of course, very capable of delivering on his vision. He has Salazar blood, and has had ample resource to train for such a moment.

The palm of your hand begins to rub the nape of your neck - it is unlike you to be anxious. Have you grown to care for young Rafael? Perhaps, assassin, you have grown soft. Is it all that red wine you drank in the summer sun, whilst gorging yourself on salty foods? Or has your guard just dropped now that your assignments have become more fleeting, and Valentino is requiring your services less? You've become emotional. Emotion distorts you.

He takes out the bullet from your escapades together not three weeks prior. You wanted to make him pull the trigger, but you weren't sure if he was ready. He'll have to be now if he wants to come home again. You prefer to work alone, but skulking through the alleyways tailing leads for hours on end goes much faster when you have someone to talk to.

Another sigh from deep inside your core - this one in surrender. You remain powerless in this domain, your work in the shadows and influence among the meek have no authority when the Capitol sink their pearly white teeth into the District.

"Did you manage to sneak your gun in?" He asks, speaking like a child does playing grown-up.

"I don't need a gun here." You tell him firmly, crossing your arms.

He needs to focus.

"What I need is to know that you are all-in on this. If you meant what you said on that stage out there then you must be ready to kill for it." You look this young boy in the eyes, hoping for answers, "Do you think you are capable of that?"