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Alexandra Mikaelsson

"Well ain't that fantastic!"

0 · 780 views · located in The Bronx, New York

a character in “Untamed Things”, as played by AmbrosiaVAC



| Full Name |
Alexandra Riley Mikaelsson

| Nickname(s) |
Red, Alex

| Ethnicity |

| Age |

| Occupation |
Legal Secretary

| Height |

| Weight |
128 lbs.

| Eye Colour |

| Languages |


Alex has what can only be really described as a very "Forward" personality. She isn't afraid to confront someone, and though sometimes almost comically modest, isn't afraid to show whatever may need to be shown. Despite this, she is surprisingly tactful when she needs to be. Other times not so much. It's almost like a coin flip with her when it comes to these things.

She's also a girl who knows what she has. Being like her, petite and beautiful, doesn't leave much room for maneuvering around those facts. She isn't very materialistic. She's perfectly happy with her rather-large sized apartment, a warm dinner, a cold beer, and some TV. It's just the way she likes things.

Her job isn't something she's always comfortable with. Being a medically-discharged 4-year veteran of the Marine Corps, Alex has a tendency to love to move. Quite counter-productive with her living in a city and all, but it's one of the reasons she loves to go clubbing; sitting behind a desk all day means that she has all her energy to spend at night.

However, there is one reason she's fond of her job. She has a very good understanding of how the law works and how to get around it. Her "extracurricular" activities aren't always following the law. She has very recent history of mild drug usage and uses her inheritance from her parents and her hefty income to "help out" some people who might need it, and her contacts include several different kinds of people. Gun Runners, Drug Dealers, and Gangs alike. As for protection? Well, she has a friend for that too. Not that she can't take care of herself.

All in all, Alex is a party girl with a large bank account and a life outside the law.


Petite, curvaceous, fit, and beautiful, Alex is the kind of girl that can make others jealous. She's a rather tall girl compared to most. Her body is extremely tight with very little excess fat. She's made sure to stay in the best shape possible all her life, especially since being discharged from the military.

She's a marked person, with multiple tattoos on her body. Her tattoos would include:

Most of her tattoos were gotten post-military, with the EGAs being done while in the service.

What she wears depends on what she's doing. Often, her usual work attire will consist of a short black pencil skirt, either a white or red dress shirt, and a pair of black heels. It never really differs from that. While off of work, she will wear a variety of different things. Though her favorite outfit is a pair of dark jean shirts paired with a sheer black see-through blouse and a pair of either converse sneakers or heels.

So begins...

Alexandra Mikaelsson's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins
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Image"Products are good, you gave us the money, IRA'll run us the weapons by next week. Just like they said they would."

The Russian-accented voice called out to Alex in the apartment as she lifted a cold beer from the counter to take a swig. She'd first laughed when she first met her "partner" in crime. Honestly, who expects to actually meet a Russian arms-dealer like you see in the movies? Now, however, after nearly a year of business with the man he had become one of her closest friends.

The man in question, by the name of Nikolai Arsov, came out rocking his usual attire of black jeans and a very form fitting black muscle shirt that accented that wonderfully fit body of his that Alex sometimes caught herself staring at for too long at any one time.

"How the hell do you even know they'll make the delivery on time, Nik?" She questioned him. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"Not to worry about. They get 10 percent of what we get when we sell the guns to the drug dealers and gangs. If they get it to us on time."

"10 percent isn't that much..."

"With what the drug dealers especially are paying? They won't want to miss out on that kind of money. They'll probably just use it to funnel guns from Chechnya."

"Fair enough," Alex paused for a moment to check her watch. "Sorry to cut it short Nik, but I have to run."

"Not a problem," Nikolai's reply came out rushed as Alex walked up to give him a quick farewell hug and bolted out the door.


Alex paused in the doorway before heading out on the street. Making sure that nobody could see her, Alex opened up her cross-strap shoulder bag and drew out what was one of her actual legal handguns. Making sure it was still on safety and fully loaded, she slipped the small firearm back into her bag, closing the zipper and heading out the door.

The young woman was dressed in a lighter blue pair of jean shorts with a loose-fitting grey crop-top that exposed very little above her navel. The outfit was complete by a black cross-strap shoulder bag, a pair of brown-lensed gold-framed Aviator sunglasses, and a pair of DC black and white Hi-tops.

Overall the look gave her the air of youthfulness that many would have said belonged to her. Youthfulness she felt was long gone considering her work with many members of the criminal underworld of the Big Apple. Not to mention making her look incredibly sexy, too. She walked down the sidewalk to her car, a red 2013 Audi R8 that had been a gift from Nikolai. She liked the car, but it was nothing compared to her ever-beloved bike that was sitting locked-up tight in a garage owned by Nikolai. The man did a lot for her, so much that she could never repay him for. But as she sat in the drivers seat staring at a two-week old crack along the bottom of her windshield courtesy of a rock from the top of an SUV on the George Washington bridge, she didn't think he'd be able to fix that for her.

So she did what she was able to in that moment. The glove compartment was opened and sifted through until the woman produced a card with a name and number on it, given to her by a trusted acquaintance when he'd seen the crack in her windshield. Of course, the name wasn't particularly for the auto service but for far more illegal endeavors, but she'd think that the Spitz Rollins listed on the impromptu card would appreciate the extra business. She dialed the number on her smartphone, the words "Money is money," running through her mind.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan
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Just like that, Hazel was off again. Belted up and took off. Spitz guessed it was up to him to close up the shop. So he heaved down all garage doors except one, bolted the hatches and shut down the lifts and the generators. The thud of his boots followed wherever he walked, but in any other way the carport was noiseless. Everyone usually knocked off early on weekends, and he was left to grunt and mumble to the silence about how he always got dicked into closing by himself. He paced along one wall, flicking switches. At long last, one flickering beam of light remained in the middle car pen. Below the swinging bulb, parked and polished, was a charcoal colored Dodge Challenger. Spitz preferred to keep it in the shop rather than off of the road he lived; he'd probably wake up with the windows bashed in or the car gone all together. Even if the car was briefly nearby, it never stayed overnight. He wasn't going to risk a Hemi slipping through his fingers like that. A few smug notions crossed his mind while he settled into the driver seat which was draped over by a towel so that he wouldn't damage the leather with work grunge.

The engine roared with pride and glory, rumbling the very concrete below. Jerking forward, the Charger surged for a moment, then screeched into park again so that Spitz could get out and lock up the last door. He gave his place of employment a mock salute before whipping the automobile out of sight.

Overhead the sky lowered and grew dim. Gray masses circled into view, the moon hatching over a dusky horizon. Spitz pulled up to a somber apartment complex, fifteen stories high and showing every bit of its age. It wasn't much, but it was home. The way Spitz saw things, he didn't need a nice crib anyway. He was barely around, usually on the go. Convenience was a key factor where his home was concerned, he was only on the second floor and never had to worry about taking too much time getting in or out. As he made his way down the main hall he could hear the electrical operation of flickering headlamps. "Things is a safety hazard, man," he snorted to himself as he unlocked a series of latches on his apartment door.

The keys from his car skittered across the surface of a small table in the living room, catching the edge of the burnished glass and nearly falling off of it. But they steadied to a stop as Spitz disappeared into his bedroom and tossed a pair of straight leg jeans, a black Obey hoodie and a white snapback onto his bed.

He was in the midst of showering the shop's grime from his body, grating a wash cloth against his muscles when his phone began buzzing from the sink parallel to the stall. Kicking off the faucet with his foot, he pulled the shower door open to let otherwise subdued steam erupt and coat the pale green bathroom walls in condensation. Droplets of water rolled down his torso. With a grunt, he wrapped a towel around his waist and seized the phone a few rings short of it going to voicemail. He didn't recognize the number - but he always had to risk it, there was almost always money potential at any given time, with any given caller.

ImageHer name was Alex. Bearing in mind the tone of her voice and her inquiry, she had a car problem and maybe a little drug lust on the side. She was perfect for his type of clientele, didn't sound too bad either. With a smooth reply, he told her, "Meet me at Mick's tonight ma, we'll get your shit all squared away. I got you."

The phone call was over quickly and he was blotting the towel down his abdomen before taking a once over in the mirror. To say the least, he definitely wasn't unsatisfied. With an arrogant, bright grin to the reflective surface, he nodded then walked back to his bedroom to throw on some clothes. He loosely laced a pair of black Ostrich Double Buckle Gucci boots onto his feet then snatched his keys off of the edge of the table once again.

He took his car to an off alley, just a street or two from Mick's. Figuring it was best to leave his product line in the car, he tucked his duffel bag under the driver seat before getting out of his Charger. When he walked into the bar, he carried himself with an heir of cockiness and shook a great deal of hands before finally sitting down by himself in a corner booth, lighting a CAO Bella Vanilla and ordering a drink. He figured if Jaylene was there she would roll her eyes at his bottle of Ciroc, but she couldn't fool anyone into thinking Mick's was a five star joint, no matter how many of her fashion slaves pinned banners and makeshift cloths to the tables. His jaw tightened as he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, then respired, letting it curl into the air with a smirk.


ImageNearly losing her feet, Jaylene spilled into Mick's with her arms full. It seemed like she was sped up to double time as she weaved between tables, topping them with precious party favors and mock-champagne center pieces bursting with bits of orchid and cherry blossoms. Anything she could to do to help the dreary atmosphere of the vast floor plan would be appreciated hopefully, by any attendants. She sighed at one point, rinding off her jacket and carrying over her shoulder as she made sure everything was in place. It was a pain in the ass, doing all the bullshittery that her boss was too lazy to do themselves.

Just as the clock struck eight, people were pouring through the doors. Soon-to-be-sloshed femmes squealed and cramped the bar, hoisting themselves up on stools and flicking their hair while they gossiped anxiously. They were all barely a day over twenty one which caused an anxious and exasperated Jaylene to glance them over with an eyeroll of disgust. She had to remind herself that they were all vital parts of her little occasion and she needed to treat them as such, at least while she was in seeing distance of anyone corporate. Once the final touches were in order, she slipped her leather jacket back on and pranced to a few tables to lean over coworkers and acquaintances, chatting about the night's events. As she was pulled away by another conversation, she caught an eyelock with Spitz from where he sat, blowing out billowy streams of smoke from his cigar and smiling smugly at her.

Aide-memoire came again. The thirst, a certain vacancy inside her. That he even forgave her for headbutting him and busting his nose a few years ago in Belleville was a miracle in itself - to see him now, still desirous of her company and hooking her up was just mind-blowing. She had to wonder if it was a blessing or a curse. Leaning off of a booth cushion, she stood and winked at him to signify she fully acknowledged his presence. Whether the curse was soon to come or the blessing, only time would tell.

Otherwise dark and ill-lit, Mick's was now sensational with lavender and turquoise lights dancing over the walls and dance floor. Custom-tailored table cloths streamed over the surfaces in a variance of deep purples and blue. The stage was wrapped in an extempore magnificence, accompanied perfectly with a glossy, new wooden floor Jaylene had placed very last minute. If the bands didn't look good, at least the stage would help them trump their appearance and performance. All wait and barstaff were donned in purpose-designed black outfits with petite white ties, with the exception of a rebellious bartender whose platinum tresses honestly made Jaylene a little envious. Poor girl would have her hands full with all of the babbling bimbos crowding the bar all night. The event was turning into everything Jaylene hadn't expected it to be, even with all her hope. The pout on her lips turned into a curvaceous, pleased smile as she walked towards the stage, a crowd slowly quieting in her wake.

ImageFor a second, her hands fumbled with the microphone as she tried to gather her mental notes and pull the device from its stand. In the fullness of time, she brought herself to smile her usual sultry simper as a spotlight focused on her. Idly pushing some hair from her face, the blond strands swimming through her fingers, she began, "Good evening. I have to say first of all, wow. I mean really, wow." She took a deep breath, trying not to let her stage fright get the best of her, "We really have to give it up for the event staff for making this dream a reality. And of course for Mick, his employees and the rest of the crowd, for really making a buzz about this function. So without further adieu, I'd like to welcome you all to Du Jour's eighth campaign party and introduce our first band hailing from a local record store." A thunderous applaud followed, the lights dimming a bit overhead and casting shadows over a drumset. Quietly Jaylene padded down the few side stairs to watch anxiously and help herself to a little champagne.

She made her way to Spitz' table, leaning against the seat where he was parked, one hand resting atop his shoulder as she sipped from her glass.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan
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Alex took a breath after explaining who she was and what her issue was to Spitz. She heard him pause over the phone, before speaking.

"Meet me at Mick's tonight ma, we'll get your shit all squared away. I got you."

"Thank you," The young woman breathed out, and line disconnected. She quickly locked the smartphone, a yellow Nokia Lumia 1020. She took a deep breath and started the engine, the fatigue of the day's work taking its toll on her especially after the sleepless night. She knew vividly where Mick's was, and also knew that the fastest route there also passed by her apartment. So, revving the engine once, Alex carefully pulled out of her precarious parking space and continued on her way.

No more than 10 minutes later, she was opening the door to her bedroom for a quick change of clothes. She intended just a bit more than asking him to fix her car at the moment after their short conversation, and felt she would need to be a bit more presentable.

So she traded in her crop top for a form-fitting white button-up cotton top and her shorts for dark skinny jeans and a studded black belt.

Sifting through her expansive closet, she pulled out a pair of black knee-high 6 inch round-toe stiletto boots. Eying them for a moment, Alex decided that they were what she was looking for and sat back on her beloved king sized bed. She pulled the boots on and stood, steadying herself for a moment as the transition from sneakers to heels was made. Regaining her balance from its momentary loss she stepped quickly over to her mirror. Deciding that she looked presentable for conducting business, she readjusted her dog tags on the outside of her top and swiped her keys off the dresser, swiftly shutting off the light and leaving the room. She also made sure to grab her black blazer on the way out.

On the street, she slipped the blazer on and unlocked her car. Her bag was still sitting inside, extra cash stashed in a lockbox under the driver's seat. The engine started silently, almost like a purr, and she checked her watch.

14 minutes. She smirked. It was going to be an eventful night.


A very short while later, Alexandra found herself pulling up along a sidewalk about a block away from Mick's. She stepped out, slinging her bag across her body and shutting the door behind her. She locked the car behind her remotely as she walked down the sidewalk. Her steps were solid and confident, and her attitude slipped into what Nikolai affectionately called her "Succubus mode".

The distance to Mick's was eaten up quickly, and she opened the door and stepped in just as a young blonde girl was up on stage. The words spoken flew in one ear and out the other as Alex's eyes scanned the people in the room. Just before the lights dimmed, her eyes locked on one man sitting alone at booth in the corner. Bottle of Ciroc on the table, cigar in hand with Ostrich Gucci's on his feet. His smirk almost solidified her belief in that this was the guy she was looking for. As the lights dimmed and the room grew darker, she flipped her hair once and put on her best alluring smile.

Walking closer she saw the blonde from on stage earlier lean against him. Alex bit her tongue, and could only hope that she knew about Spitz's "extracurricular" activities outside of his legit mechanic work.

"Spitz Rollins?" The name rolled off of Alex's tongue as she stopped in front of the booth, bright smile still showing and her lithe form displayed nicely under the clothing she wore.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kaleb Dean Sivaj Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Madigan Kennedy Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins
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An illustrious rivulet of fluorescent teal light cascaded over Jaylene, her legs crossed as she stood and her posture tilting towards Spitz. Smiling at him over the brim of her glass, she nipped at the champagne in slow swallows before finally uttering the words, "Thanks for coming." No sooner than the glass had reached its last bubbles, a diligent waiter with striking azure eyes politely took the empty ware from Jaylene's hand and scurried off towards the bar. Raising her brows, she puckered her supple lips, "Damn, they're good, huh?" She nudged Spitz with a playful jab, her hand even caressing the back of his head in a genteel way as the petite digits traced his braids.

Subdued lights turned the stage obscure. Even Jaylene was on the edge of her seat, so to speak. She'd never physically met the band or truthfully looked into them. Admittedly she was going into the entire thing blind with sky-reaching aspirations. A Du Jour collaborator almost passed Jaylene, shortly thereafter pausing and backtracking a bit to greet her with his ornate grin that stretched from ear to ear while he pocketed his wallet.

"Miss Sullivan, a divine pleasure," he exclaimed as he took his hand in hers.
"Thank you," she replied gracefully, "So good to finally meet another editor."
"I hear great things, honey - I just wanted to tell you that if you keep this kind of shit up," he gasped for a minute and clasped a hand over his mouth, "Excuse mwah French. Nothing will stop you from taking over corporate headquarters."
"I wish," she oscillated her head for a moment, "Thanks so much."
"Keep these little twinks prancing around in those waitstaff costumes and I'll be lubricated and ready within the next hour," he giggled, waved a wiggly-fingered hand at Jaylene and cavorted off, "By the way, there's an abundance of models in here dying to get on your line. Take a look, half of em' ain't bad lookin'! Ta-ta!"

ImageAn awkward expression traversed over Jaylene's face as she looked back at Spitz for some reassurance that the conversation actually did in fact occur. Pleadingly, he put both of his hands up as if to say 'beats me'. She laughed quietly, her olive eyes now trained on the stage where band mates were calling their bassist to the front. She would have trailed the spotlight with her sights if Spitz didn't nudge her, causing her to straighten and lean away from him upon the new arrival that was inevitably a customer of his. Her attention span shortened.

"…Everyone let's call Kale the male to the stage."

Kale? Her mind spun wildly out of control for a minute. A bottomless agony in her stomach writhed, the phantom of intimacy and secrecy existing within its amniotic sac. She could feel it coming to life again, coinciding with that ache for her vices. When she reminded herself that just because she didn't often hear the name, didn't mean Kaleb Sivaj was the only one with it, she was calm enough to divert her attention from the band and back to Spitz and his fittingly dressed, attractive new brunette friend. The time spent waiting to introduce herself was hacked open so that recollections could bleed in. She snatched another glass of champagne shamelessly from the drinks Spitz ordered.

She'd left them without a word. Her friends. What was worse was the night Kaleb and herself shared, unbeknownst to their friends or anyone except the housekeeper, for that matter. Funny, it was the night that she cracked the bridge of Spitz' nose with her head that everything got so wild and out of hand with Kaleb. His darkest secret followed them both all the way home, snubbed out by the fire they sparked while rediscovering each other in Jaylene's bed. She could clearly recall the splintering light coming through the window and the scorching inward pain that belonged to her, just evaporating into nothing. And she took his torture, made it her own. The frailty of the image in her mind would have made her quake if she didn't so soon take a big swig of champagne, the only memo of reality being the tinkering of her Tiffany and Co. charm bracelet against the glass.

At full speed she swung back into physical existence. In a robotic sort of way, her hand had come out to meet the brunette's without Jaylene being fully aware of it. A clandestine mood swallowed the pub, its front platform glowing a feeble orange before the band concluded their set. In its shadow only radiated the soft hues from center pieces, giving the bar a sort of enigmatic, underwater look. In the brief moment of darkness Jaylene established the composure she needed, introducing herself deferentially as a fashion editor of Du Jour, then thanking the femme for coming to the show. Whether it was drugs or cars, the Sullivan woman didn't really want to know. But she slipped away, respecting business.

Pinching and flattening herself through the audience, Jaylene clutched a petite briefcase under one arm, careful not to lose it in all the commotion. Before she dared have any more to drink, commerce and negotiations had to be handled. After she met a few models and paid the band, she was free to cut loose. And honestly she could hardly wait. The past few weeks had been long. Seemed like she never got a day off since relocating to The Bronx for Du Jour. For once in her life she felt herself working more than playing. Dismissing the notion or any potential regrets, she pushed her way through until her hips were bumping right against the platform where the musicians were almost done clearing away their equipment. She slunk off to the far side, a shadowy lower section of the stage where she cracked open the briefcase to retrieve an envelope full of cash haphazardly labeled 'Music'.

But what her jade eyes met next couldn't have been told in advance. Even with the pithy unsettling moment when she heard his name. For all that, now it was confirmed. He wasn't an apparition in preceding times. Burnt sienna eyes substantiated a homesickness and candor she wasn't ready to confront. Mick's self-made twilight surged between Kaleb and Jaylene, their words mutually retained by what she speculated as pain, bitterness, and bizarre recollection. A chain of desperate 'I'm sorry's arose in her throat but never made it all the way out. Instead she was speechless, her business-trained android mannerisms taking over again as she imposed the white envelope full of cash, thrusting it toward him wordlessly. Her perception ingested every detail of his handsome veneer, glossing what memories held of him and taking his appeal to a whole new level. But still she couldn't quite digest it. And she couldn't speak. Here she was face to face with Kale, her best friend, her unlooked-for lover whose very lasting impression even still brought chills to her skin to this day. She booked his band, and she didn't even know it. All at once she felt empty but unabridged. Stupid. Senseless.


Nothing surprised him or excited him much anymore. Well, except the skimpy outfits that looked like they were painted on half the girls that showed up and their willingness to be social and outgoing. That at least, made any event compelling. What kept him enlivened was the Ciroc and the incubating anticipated race that would come after-hours. Hazel wasn't anywhere to be seen just yet, and he wouldn't, for any chance in hell, use the Charger in a race should she decide not to show. But he wasn't surprised by Hazel's lateness, she had a habit of pregaming. He wasn't surprised either, to see Jaylene's lustrous silhouette tearing a path under the blinking lights, her likely issued clothes from Du Jour itself and her hands multitasking between placing business cards on tables and pointing in various directions. In between a drink, he texted Hazel asking where the fuck she was at.

He ashed out the cigar, its lasting smack of vanilla soaking into his tongue. Sepia eyes glanced back and forth, his complacent mien never changing even slightly. When he locked eyes with Jaylene, he sensed a familiar impression. He wasn't new to this; she desperately needed a fix. From the looks of her though, she was as clean as a whistle.

She took the stage, drifting towards the microphone with a certain uneasiness in her eyes that most wouldn't distinguish. But Spitz knew. He raised a glass as she spoke, a few following his cue. She had the throng of them cupped in her hands and she hardly knew it but, that was the splendor that came with her. Always did. Not shit changed, he thought to himself. Sometimes even he was dumbfounded by how much time could ameliorate and keep the same person all at once. A resounding ovation took the bar by force as Jaylene left her post, propping the microphone on its stand and letting the light fall dim in her aftermath. In a way, seeing her like that up on stage as a picture of health and glow before a crowd, he hoped she'd never go back to the drugs. She looked good. Made. Professional.

Spitz' vision trailed towards the bar where a unique blond was shuffling through alcohol. He recognized her - he wasn't a stranger to Mick's. She stood out among the rest of them, taut ivory lace wrapping her torso and a bold, small skirt. His best, wordless impression was that she was spewing confidence and frankly didn't give a fuck about much. He made a cognitive note to keep an eye on her and get a word and drink or two in with her before the end of the night. Maybe even invite her to the race, but it was all up in the air. He was known to leave with a few girls on many occasions. To the left of the bar came another doll-looking girl, eyes as wide as the moon. Just from the looks of her he could tell she was here to potentially get a place on a line. Du Jour's line. Maybe make a few connections. But shit, wasn't that what everyone was here for in some way or another?

His eyes were cast away from her when a gruff voice broke over the microphone and a bright beam dripped around the contour of none other but Kaleb Sivaj.

History sure had a tendency of making itself known and very present in Scully's life, but as far as Kaleb went, that shit was old news. They'd both been in New York long enough and Spitz was alert to Kaleb's existence and didn't bother to provoke or push at it. Man to man, neither of them cared for the other. The ebbing memory of the kid's conspicuous anger, jealousy and drug problem was enough to keep Spitz safely distanced from him. He didn't have time for that childish mess anymore - life was business, money, and the pleasure that came with all of the above. But the dude packed a solid group of females, so it was bizarre to see his band taking the bar by force without a gathering of groupies close in tow. And when Jaylene floated over to Spitz' booth, swathing the back of his head with her small-boned fingers and drinking her champagne, his inner deviant grinned with muted competition that so far, he'd won. Besides, out of all the times he'd seen Jaylene in the past few months, she didn't speak a word about Kaleb. Not even that crazy ass girl Summer.

Adios homie, he thought to himself spitefully.

He wrapped an arm around Jaylene's narrow waist, letting it stay loosely disassociated while he ordered a round of drinks. Nodding to her gratitude, he shrugged a little and said over the music, "Gotta' support my kins, right?"

What followed then was a confusing situation for Spitz who found the upcoming conversation nothing but hilarious and strange. His jaw jerked a few times as he gritted his teeth, attempting not to bust the fuck up at the blatant gay designer gushing at Jaylene and about the 'twinks' in the bar. When the man in the mint blazer straightened his collar and sauntered off, grabbing a drink from a tray, Jaylene looked at Spitz with utter comical disbelief in her eyes. In response, he put his hands up, surrendering himself to the hilarity. They were being as polite as what appeared to be business partners or comrades, and that suited Spitz just fine. She could dangle off of his arm like a charm all night if she wanted to. But she wasn't the type of merchandise he'd take home and fuck. He could find that mostly anywhere else.

On the thought of divine looking females, coincidentally the sultry tone of one before him spoke his name. His left hand was just about to raise another cigar to his lips when she arrived, simply dressed but drop dead to the last of inch of her. What embellished the young woman more than anything was her obscure hazel eyes and the dog tags hanging from her neck. A few years ago just the sight of dog tags would make Spitz cringe or squirm, but like most things in this world he came to find it wasn't always what it appeared. As the musicians on stage performed what was slowly becoming a crowd thriller, the noise roaring all about and shaking the very foundation of the bar, Spitz straightened his comportment and stuck the cigar between his teeth and flashed the chestnut-haired woman an angled, mischievous white grin, "Just Spitz is good with me."

He nodded to Jaylene whose blond tresses swayed from her waist as she stood in a more de rigueur fashion, extending a hand to the newcomer. In a gentlemanly manner Spitz motioned to the booth for the woman to take a seat. There was business to be talked or inaugurated. Having taken the hint, Jaylene set down her empty champagne glass and excused herself from the conversation. Spitz positioned himself in his seat so that he sat directly across from Alex, a playful inquisitive look riddling his face, like he had droves of questions about Alex herself. And what would have been expected to escape his mouth, didn't. Alternately, he breathed in the succinct silence of the band's finale, "So what can I do for you?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan
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Alex's eyes followed Jaylene into the crowd for a mere few moments, intrigued by the strange behaviour of the obviously preoccupied blonde hostess. She allowed the inquisitive thoughts to escape her mind and the petite brunette turned her full attention back to the dark and admittedly rather handsome man sitting in front of her.

"Spitz it is then," She murmured to herself, inaudible over the assault of sound that was the band playing. Her body moved smoothly to sit across the booth from Spitz and she preformed one of her signature little hair flips as she composed herself for the conversation that would ensue.

Hazel eyes locked with playful ones across the table and Alex tilted her head to the side slightly, her previous bright smile now an amused thin line. She waited. Waited for the questions to come like his expression suggested. But they didn't and the constant noise of music dissipated. In the pause that passed between the ending of the song and the inevitable applause of the crowd was when he decided to talk.

"So what can I do for you?"

"Quite a few things," Alex's velvety and sultry voice managed to stand out even against the din of the crowd. "Since I'd already told you about the issue with my car, I'd like to propose something."

Without waiting for a reply she continued, "A friend of mine deals in a business with a wide but very strict buyers market. Unfortunately, the amount of clientele have declined, and we have more product than buyers to spend on it. I know, considering your business other than cars that you must have some sort of connections to less-than-reputable groups."

With that Alex paused to take a breath, knowing that if she managed to convince Spitz to talk to the gangs that it would wring in a very large sum of money. Gangs wanted to control the streets. To do that, they needed the guns to control the streets.

"I- well, we- would like to ask that you get in touch with them and see if they'd be interested in what you have to offer. To sell your products is one thing; to protect them is a whole other."

She also knew that what she was doing without Nik's knowledge was very dangerous. But it was worth it. At best, she'd get Spitz to agree and have someone to keep her company for the night. At worst she'd go home with a few ounces of fun and no reservations.

But hey, it's what she did best now. Guns, Money, Sex, and Drugs.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kaleb Dean Sivaj Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan
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Scully Rollins

Alex's body language was something crossed between predatory and fluent, every curve of her body following in silken motion. Spitz didn't let it carry off his attention, only stole a few glances before she sat down. Beneath the table he crossed one Gucci boot over the other. When she settled in, the expression on her face reciprocated his impish inquiries. While she spoke of her so called proposition, Spitz withdrew the robust cigar from his mouth, tilted his head back and and let a cloud of smoke roll up towards the ceiling. Once or twice, his Adam's apple bobbed rhythmically against his cocoa skin. He let his head hang back while she talked, only choosing to meet her gaze again when she put in her last piece.

"Hold up ma," an astonished, sardonic chuckle flared up from his throat, "You know what you're asking right now?" He respired deeply again from the cigar, the vanilla tainted smell drifting across the table. Spitz shook his head a few times, tugged at the bill of his snapback and continued, "You know how shady all this sounds? You got a friend… with some friends or," two fingers from each hand jerked in a quotation gesture, "clientele. I mean I'm down for upping my cash-flow, but who the fuck is you? I'ma need a little more information on this little scheme before I consider anything."

Without issue, he rose from the table and snubbed out his cigar in the ash tray just centimeters from Alex's hand. He bent slightly so that his face was within inches of hers, his breath emitting a saccharine aroma, "Can't get myself into trouble with no fine ass female without knowing terms, names, locations, and prices." With every bit of criteria, his index and middle finger hit the table. Maybe something more seductive and inviting would have slithered into the air separating himself and Alex if the record that was spinning didn't skip and the familiar voice of Kaleb crawled right inside Spitz' ear drum, causing his head to whip in the direction of where Jaylene had scampered off to. A snide smirk crept onto his face as he put up his hand, "Don't you go anywhere, beautiful."

Stepping down from the booth, he coasted over to the platform where scattered light and displeased voices littered the stage. Jaylene appeared a little baffled, her lips pursed and the hollow of her cheeks deepening with what was either concern or amusement. Spitz couldn't tell - but like Kaleb's bandmate, stepped in and briefly caught a glimpse of what was going on before Kaleb stormed off. Grunting, Spitz shifted his vision from Greco to Jaylene, "Your mans is salty, huh? Been ignoring him too long since you got to New York." Jokingly he made some foul gesture then slipped an arm around the blond plaything. But when she breathed hotly, bit her lower lip and mentioned Kaleb still using drugs, it hit Spitz. They didn't bump heads. They completely forgot about each other. Had no fucking clue.

"Unbelievable?" Spitz scoffed, "Truth, ma, he probably won't stop. Some people don't change for nothin'. Come on. Come get a drink and sit with me and my new friend, grab ahold of some new models, do your thing. Ain't gotta' be worried about nothin'." He pulled Jaylene away from Greco and the remaining pieces of the band, guided her down the stairs and to the bar while giving Alex a jerk of his head to indicate that she should follow.

They broke apart a small gathering of sorority girls, Jaylene politely bumping and squeezing to get a seat. Even though the young woman was their age, her nonmanualism made her appear so much older. Instead of a crop top and cut off shorts, she was in a fashioned sort of business suit, hardly showing any skin. Not the girl he remembered from Belleville. But what she was showing was still enough to make men insane. Her composure only popped at the stitching for maybe a minute or so until she was right back to work again. It even occurred to him that he should ask if she was okay or wanted to talk about it. However, Spitz didn't want to make it a piece more of his business. All he wanted was for the night to go smoothly for everyone and keep his ego steadily climbing.

He retrieved another cigar, lit it, and called for the blond bartender's attention, announcing proudly, "Drinks for all the ladies at the bar on me. Any young, beautiful things needing some line of work in fashion, the editor of Du Jour is right here and waiting." He pointed to Jaylene who waved an intimidating hand that brandished a pen.

Jaylene Sullivan

"What? Have something to say?"

It didn't mean to happen - well, she didn't intend for it. But in reply, she sputtered, laughing and gawking at Kaleb. Disbelief, shitty luck and desolation took her in entirety like a tidal wave. What had already started as toxic continued into a worse, venomous onslaught on Kaleb's part. Her stance stiffened, but one heel-adorned foot anxiously tapped against the floor while he talked. She could feel a slight pique threatening to make a more vicious girl from the past resurface - someone she didn't want to know anymore. Kaleb? He had every right in the world to be furious. To feel betrayed. Because she did him dirty. But the way Kaleb was acting was far beyond volatile, his coffee eyes darkening with wide vehemence as his voice grew louder. And she was sure she couldn't have expected him to just get over it, to be okay and give her a 'hello' handshake or a pat on the back or even thank her for having him at the campaign party. The fact that she looked like a dumbfounded child upon catching his stare probably didn't give the best impression either.

When his hand swiped away the envelope containing over five hundred dollars, she gasped with mock disturbance. Really it wasn't surprising but maybe a little painful to know that he was… still exactly who she knew before. Bittersweet but dejecting. She ran a hand through her hair, "Holy shit," she began to deride, her tone a little unintentionally proud, "You're wild eyed. You're still coked out!" Not even a millisecond passed before he shoved her and thundered off. She stumbled back a bit, one hand pressed to her forehead. As much as she wanted to follow him, sweep his silhouette with her eyes and contemplate making amends, she just couldn't.

Spitz was late to intervene, but carrying himself with his usual overconfidence and attempting to eclipse any existing remnants of Kaleb. With ease he stole an armful of Jaylene, hugging her a little to him and making a joke. For a moment, her focal point didn't even remotely involve Spitz.

The oceanic aura of the event she had planned fit so fortuitously over Kaleb. Sheltered sea-colored light followed him all the way through the doors until he had vanished from her life once again. He was an unparalleled image of somehow a happier past life, its seams bursting but sewn over with bad jokes, good parties and corporeal friendships. She suppressed an embarrassed, painful simper as she bit her lower lip then ran her tongue along her bottom row of teeth, "All this time and he's still coked out." Drawing her hand from her forehead, she face palmed and laughed to herself, "Un-fucking-believable."

"Unbelievable? Truth, ma, he probably won't stop. Some people don't change for nothin'. Come on. Come get a drink and sit with me and my new friend, grab ahold of some new models, do your thing."

Even if she wanted to attest, to deteriorate into 'Soda', take Kaleb's side over all other things and bash Spitz in his nose, she couldn't. This time, he was right. Spitz was right! Rather than triumphing over that truth, she felt a little twinge of odd, covetous misery. Silently she grinned, leaned her head into his sternum for a moment then patted his chest with one hand as if to say 'you're right'. But like the words that she couldn't manage with Kaleb, the above did not come either. She shrugged apologetically to Greco before Spitz toted her off to the bar, "Great show. I'll have to put you guys up on more events." Not mine, though, she thought to herself. When they reached the swamped alcohol station, Jaylene managed to ball up all of her affliction and tuck it into the depth of her soul while her outer self began its facade. She pushed the brief case onto the counter top and took a seat.

"I need two shots of Jose Cuervo and my pen and paper. Let me get some shit done with these mannequins." She nudged Spitz gratefully.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan
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The brunette watched as Spitz blew out a cloud of smoke, his head dropping down to lock eyes with her. She held his stare, challenging him to look away. Her light, friendly smile nearly grew when she heard his amused outburst.

"Hold up ma. You know what you're asking right now?"

Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn't be fucking asking, Her thoughts rang out in her head and her smile grew slightly more malicious in nature. The rest of his words passed on as usual whenever she or Nik came across someone that could help Nik out with his business, and it all went almost routine. Until he stood up, snuffed out his cigar so close to her had she could feel the embers, and leaned down until his face was a more than intimate distance from hers. Her smile faltered and her expression took on that challenging look again.

The scent of the cigar overwhelmed her sense when he spoke, "Can't get myself into trouble with no fine ass female without knowing terms, names, locations, and prices."

Her eyebrows shot up and a signature amused smirk came onto her face at "fine ass female", and her mouth opened with a retort when his head whipped around and caused her to follow his eyes to the blonde hostess she had seen before. She watched a smirk crawl up onto Spitz's face and a dark hand was held up to her.

"Don't you go anywhere, beautiful."

And with that he was off, leaving Alex's murmured reply of, "You are just a champion with the ladies" in the dust and walking off to go aid his friend. Her eyes trailed him and she didn't bother trying to read their lips as they talked. She only responded when his head jerked in the universal sign for "Get yo' ass over here". Standing, she straightened out her jacket and walked towards the bar. Only when she got close did she manage to hear Spitz's unique voice over the din of the rest of the bar.

"Drinks for all the ladies at the bar on me. Any young, beautiful things needing some line of work in fashion, the editor of Du Jour is right here and waiting."

"On you, huh? Better hope non of us take advantage of that," Alex said in a suggestive tone as she spinned and leaned back against the bar next to Spitz, her soft chocolate hair falling in light waves down her back and barely touching the top of the bar.

She only stood straight to flag down the young blonde bartender for a moment, her desired drink flying out from her lips quickly, "Jameson on the rocks, please."

And with that she returned to her leaning position and looked up at the ceiling.