casillas-fc

[casillas-fc]

hollywiston​:

It had been a day of errands and bitty tasks that had left her feeling disorganised. Holly had checked most things off of her to-do list, and grocery shopping was the last achievable thing but the thing she also hated the most. She should really do it online but that would’ve been a useful thought three days ago when her fridge wasn’t almost empty. 

She busied herself with finding a basket after bustling herself inside, sighing when she had to take a bunch of discarded receipts out of the one she’d chosen. With her attention elsewhere momentarily, she didn’t clock the fact that she was about to walk headlong into someone’s shopping cart. Holly let out a yelp as the cold metal hit her leg and then toppled forward in a somewhat ungraceful manner, her basket clattering to the floor. “Sorry! I’m sorry - oh my god, I’m embarrassing…” Taking a step back she gave the cart a wide berth before looking up at its current owner, a face she really recognised. “Ohhh,” realisation hit her, “you’re Dante Casillas.” @casillasfc​

-

Dante knew by now that hoping for a day to be uneventful was foolish. There was always something in this town, something that would piss him off unbelievably and leave him in a sour mood for hours to come. Usually had to do with Americans being Americans. Well, always did, really – you can see why he's not so lucky in going to sleep with a tranquil mind – but he was optimistic today that he'd developed enough tolerance against the yanks that they would not bring him down today. Plus, he just needed to go outside once: groceries. In and out. Easy. 

The random woman walking into his cart doesn't even phase him, he is determined to find his own version of zen ( coincidentally, the name of a podcast he'd been listening to ) and only brushes it off. "Careful!" He warns a moment too late, after accidentally hitting her leg with the cart. "Sorry. Are you ––"  Meaning to do the right thing, he wanted to check on her. Make sure she was okay. Then a familiar look crosses her eyes, and he deflates as soon as he recognises it. 

Pursing his lips, Dante can do nothing but surrender to the sheer annoyance that washed over him. "Fuck." He mutters under his breath, looking down the aisle by reflex only to make sure no one else was around. "Yeah... yeah, I am." A pause, he frowns at her. Turning it back around on them sometimes did the trick. "And you are?"

#hollywiston #ic. #holly001

[casillas-fc]

   –  𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐒,

NAME: Dante Olano Casillas BIRTHPLACE: Santiago, Chile DATE OF BIRTH: August 4th, 1980 ( 41 years old )   OCCUPATION: Football Manager Soccer Coach @ NY Gotham FC FORMER OCCUPATION: Professional Footballer: Attacking Midfilder ( Chelsea FC, Liverpool FC, Real Madrid ), Captain of Chile's National Squad MARITAL STATUS: Single RESIDENCE: Manhattan, SoHo CHILDREN: Theodore "Ted" Knight ( son, 10 years old )

  –  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘,

A former soccer football star across the world, Dante was notorious for his temperament. The kind of man who would sooner grunt than greet you with a smile, he is nearly always wearing a scowl on his face. At the same time that he has a reputation for being utterly un-personable, he is known for his reliability. Dante has always been a rock among the team, the man others would look up to when searching for guidance and leadership. Though he doesn't make fast friends, once you are in his list of esteemed close ones, you are there for life. The man is as loyal as he is angry – and he is always fucking angry. On the pitch, he was known for playing with a vengeance, and it made him a ruthless and invaluable player to every squad he had ever been in. In real life, however, he is finding the world more difficult to navigate.

 –  𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖,

BEGINNINGS: The son of a Chilean diplomat, Dante grew up travelling the world and having football as his one constant. It was how he connected with people around him, how he made friends no matter where he was. Football was more than a game, it was his life. The Casillas family eventually settled on the UK as their longest place of residence. In London, Dante expanded his taste for the game and attracted scouts while playing minor leagues, until one from Real Madrid finally poached him. That was where his professional career began.

STARDOM: Having played in some of the world's most notorious football clubs, Dante made a home for himself at Chelsea FC, where he played for over a decade. He was the team's captain and MVP, playing Attacking Midfilder with raging game and potent kicks. They used to say that Dante performed miracles on the pitch, scoring impossible goals and making the ball defy gravity. They called him El Infernal due to his aggressive game and the fact that he made the other team's life a living hell.

RETIREMENT: A knee injury last year drove Dante to retirement, though he was far past his prime by then. Still playing for Chelsea, it was during one of the team's toughest seasons that he suffered his injury. There are those who claim he did it on purpose, as an excuse to get out while he was ahead. His only comment on the rumour was typically Dante: Fuck off.

THE MOVE: Despite receiving countless offers and career options following his retirement (brands wishing to partner up, a gig as a pundit, assistant coaching for major clubs), it came as a surprise to fans when he made the decision to move overseas and accept the offer of a Women's Soccer Team in New York City, the NY Gotham FC. No one knows why he chose the unlikely club and even worse place for a continued career in football, but when the press decided to ask him, he responded predictably: Fuck off. THE TRUTH: The real reason behind his move, despite fucking hating the US and finding New York to be a cesspit and that calling it soccer is a fucking wankfest, was that months ago a former girlfriend approached Dante to inform him that they actually had a son together. The boy is now ten years old, goes by Ted and had a desire to meet his father. Following his wishes, the mother reached out to Dante, perhaps expecting him to only do the one visit during a weekend and be done with it. Alas, unpredictably so, Dante chose a job that would keep him in NYC near his son, even if it's in a land where people cannot kick a ball to save their fucking life. Well... it's an adjustment.

#bio. #about.

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

Alma didn’t think it was totally the woman’s fault that she called - he was a whole ocean away, but still, she understood completely the absurdity of it. Something that struck her - just, in general, with the entire ten minutes they’d been together - was just how different Dante seemed. Alma felt she hadn’t changed in the slightest. Well, except maybe now she was a lot more…resentful, perhaps, with many people and many things but, deep down, she was still just as gentle as she was, maybe no where near as naive, however. Life had other plans when it raised her.

She followed Dante through the crowd, remembering there’d been a time when she’d drag him by the forearm through one just as this after having just cracked some stupid joke but again - this Dante was so different. She felt maybe he’d been in there, the one she knew so many years ago, but she couldn’t be totally sure.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, pursing her lips in a smirk. She slid into the booth, releasing a breath as she did so (conscious breathing, a thing she did often thanks to her meditation practice). “You know,” she began, unsure if this had been too much of a touchy subject; “I know what happened, you know, with your knee. I wasn’t watching or anything -” not after their history - “the broadcast of the game, I mean. But, I saw it on the news and…I may have looked you up on Facebook once or twice and, I’m sorry. How’ve you been feeling? Lately? I mean…with all of it?”

- 

Dante had always been the closed off type. Few words, fewer smiles. Alma had been one of the select people who had ever gotten to see a different side of him, one that was slightly more open. Nothing drastic, but definitely significant for a guy like him. Their reunion had not brought him back to that point yet, and part of him doubted it would. Not for any fault of hers, but simply because he may as well be incapable of being anything close to that again; too many years of resentment and bitterness did not exactly make for a more sociable person, just a sometimes wiser one. 

His injury was a tricky subject, especially because he didn't have many people he cared for approaching it. With reporters, it was easy to just brush it off. Even more so with strangers who called themselves fans. A simple fuck off and he would be on his merry way. But with her, well, he couldn't quite follow that path. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he looks down at the shapeless wooden patterns of the table they sit at, tracing them with his fingers. 

"You weren't watching?" He asks curiously, clinging to that notion as he looks up at her. Suppose it was fair; he didn't exactly go to her plays. He did, once, but wasn't about to tell her as much. "Got used to it, I dunno." He says dismissively, shrugging his shoulders. "Hurts sometimes, sometimes I forget about it. It's shit, but ain't nothing I can do about it." Reaching up, he rubs over his beard for a moment, considering his options. "What about you? How've you been feeling since..." He doesn't know why the word gets stuck at his throat, but it does. "You know. Gregory."

#almalewis #ic. #alma001

[casillas-fc]

Santiago Cabrera as Cristóbal Rios in Star Trek: Picard 1.03 “The End Is the Beginning”

#portraits. #partial nudity tw #blood tw #body image tw #smoking tw #wound tw

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

Alma stepped inside, the thought striking her then how close to home this felt. The music (some kind of upbeat Irish folk, if she had to guess), the three old men sat near the bar with their pints laughing one second then the next, with eyebrows raised in absolute shock - and they say women loved to gossip - the chatter, the mahogany furniture and the fact that Dante had been beside her - it all reminded her of the days they’d visit the pub back home, the days before Gregory had an affair, the days before she and Dante’s big fight; before Gregory’s passing.

She took a deep breath as she stood before the crowd, waiting for people to bloody move, but then she heard Dante’s last words and it made her spin on her heel - “over the phone? She told you over the phone that you had a son?” A beat in which she stared, her mouth slightly agape, “were you in New York at the time or still in London??” she attempted, again, to get through the crowd, one of the men with his back turned to her laughed and yelled at an obnoxious volume before stumbling back towards her. She moved away in time, disappointed that he hadn’t fallen. “You know, this whole time I thought I rarely visited pubs because I don’t have friends but I’m starting to think it’s cause of idiots like this one.”

- 

This was precisely the sort of environment he thrived in, though there was something inherently off about this one. Likely because it felt like an imitation rather than the real thing; the old men in there were likely from the Midwest or some equally rednecky shit, and the usual unspoken pub etiquette ( everyone minds their own fucking business ) seemed to be lost within those doors. Even the smell of mahogany felt off-brand, fabricated rather than earned from years and years of withstanding mindless drunks. The place was not ideal, but he had to make do with what he had. 

Dante stands close to Alma as a precaution, using of his size to put some distance between her and anyone approaching them from behind. "Yeah." He agrees readily, thinking he definitely had the right in this one. But then, he hesitates. "I was in London, but still." It did not escape him that doing the whole thing over the phone was in fact very him. There was a reason he had fallen for Victoria, and it wasn't because she was sweet. Dante steps back as she does, casting a baleful glare to the stumbling stranger. Looking back at her, it softens. Slightly. "It can be both." He says simply. "Come on." Then starts to guide them through the crowd, shoving away the yanks in their path and kindly telling some to fuck off. Looking menacing in these situations was a gift of his. When they reach a booth, he urges her to take a seat with a hand motion. "You know this ain't a real pub cos none of them even batted an eye at me." He mentions while sliding to his seat, failing to sound like he was bragging. "I either get a free pint or called a wanker. No in between." 

#almalewis #ic. #alma001 #smoking tw

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

He was definitely right when it came to fame. Granted, Alma hadn’t been nearly as famous as he was but she was quite well known in theatre circles and she was approached every now and again by a fan of one of the plays she’d been in. It definitely wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be - if anything, she was far more lonely now than she ever was and no one took her seriously. What she hated the most were all the snide comments about whether or not she was maybe being too dramatic. God forbid she felt a thing or two.

The news of him having a son, for some reason, seemed so peculiar. Dante - a son? Maybe it was that they’d only known each other in their youth but picturing Dante as a father was a difficult thing to do. “Oh, christ, a son,” the words left her with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, I mean, this place isn’t so bad. It’s definitely not London but I don’t know…”

She shrugged her shoulders, taking a left at the corner, her eyes seeing The Houndstooth pub a few blocks down. “I sort of like the yanks,” she grinned in a way she knew he’d absolutely hate. “They have a sort of…rawness to them that I appreciate. I don’t know, they’re more open with the way they feel and they express it - even anger. The English are too polite for me sometimes, y’know,” she paused. “And uh, I’m sorry, you’re a father? Dante Casillas is a father. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Not that he was a dramatic type. If anything, he was the exact opposite of it, not reacting to most thing the way other people did, if at all. But even he expected a little more of a reaction from Alma at the mention of his son. It had nearly made him pass out when he found out; part of him wanted a little more shock. "Yeah, a son." He says again, eyeing her as if laying out a test. Was that all there was to it? Jesus. 

Her compliments on the bloody yanks is enough to make him forget about his expectations and simply roll his eyes, also letting the typical grunt of displeasure echo at the back of his throat. "English people in theatre are polite." He counters. "Football's different." As if he needed to explain it. In a way, it was a little odd to think about how different their worlds were. And they had been for such a long time, he had to wonder if they could meet in the middle again.

It's when he is opening the pub's door for her – Christ, is he glad that it's a pub – that he hears something more like what he'd expected. "Thank you, yes. Fucking mad, innit? Imagine how I felt when I got the fucking phone call." A beat as they enter the establishment. "Yea. It was over the fucking phone."

#almalewis #ic. #alma001

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

Alma was stuck. This must’ve been what limbo felt like, except she had a choice - up or down, left or right, to go with him or potentially never see him again. Dante had been well aware of how stubborn she was, there was no doubt. He knew that as soon as she had her feet planted somewhere, she was practically stone, unwilling to move an inch. She gulped, inhaling deeply through her nose before releasing it in one good go through her mouth. She refused to cry anymore for all this, at least in front of Dante. Her tears felt like forgiveness and as much as she wanted to (maybe she even had), she wanted him to know just how badly he’d hurt her. Still - his apologies, his words, everything was sincere. She was an actress - she could tell. But forgiveness had always been her monster - one she could never face.

“You’ve apologised enough, it’s gotten old,” she shrugged, a hint - a hint of a smirk toying with her lips. She crossed her arms against her chest, wrapping her jacket around her like it’d been a cardigan and at his question, gave a single nod to the right. She sighed quietly, feeling simultaneously comfortable around him, yet peeved beyond comprehension. Time was a funny thing - how so many years could go by and suddenly, she found herself dropping into a familiarity around Dante as if they’d continued their friendship the whole sixteen or however many years it’d been since they saw each other last.

“So…you’re also massively tired of being alone,” she turned to face him, “what’s that about? I thought you were this famous, globally recognised football star?”

-

If she hadn't taken up the offer, he would've just resigned himself and given up. It wasn't that he didn't think this wasn't worth fighting for, but he knew better than to insist being somewhere he wasn't wanted. Most of all, he could not think of what else to do other than just being honest. It was, truly, all he had to give. 

At the semblance of a smirk ( more than that, it was something akin to the banter they had on the olden days, closest they'd gotten to it ), he cannot help but breathe out in relief. "Thank fuck." He says, again lacking a filter that should've kept that thought only in his head. No, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that this meant she had completely forgiven him and they could pick up from where they'd left of, but it was a start. For them, it was more than good enough. 

Dante begins walking down the sidewalk by her side, hands now stuffed in his pockets and eyes aiming straight ahead. "It ain't all it's cracked up to be." He deadpans. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm in a country that doesn't even fucking call it football." From his lips, it sounds like a death sentence. Considering for a moment if this was a conversation for another time, he decides to come out with it all at once. "I have a son. Found out about him months ago, an ex of mine got pregnant and never bothered to tell me. They live here, so I moved. It's not like I had shitloads of friends in London either, but god, I hate this fucking place."

#almalewis #ic. #alma001

[casillas-fc]

Roy ‘Angry’ Kent.

#isms.

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

She gulped, knowing full well that she couldn’t have held on for much longer. She was convinced that he was actually sorry but god, to forgive him so easily felt like climbing mount fucking Everest, honestly. But she missed him, she missed him so fucking much that in the past - it was almost unbearable. The amount of times she’d had nightmares of Gregory’s passing or found herself so lonely she was almost desperate, she had looked him up on Google and even found the number of his agent once, but then she’d remember his words and could never go through with it.

And then he said it, then he confessed to having missed her and she caved. Tears she’d wanted to cry for a long time fell from her eyes and rolled down her face, which had only worn a frown. “It’s not like I enjoy ripping you to shreds, Dante,” she paused, surprised at the sound of heartbreak in her voice. “I don’t want to be this way to you,” she struggled to tuck a few flyaways behind her ears. “Gregory died, you know,” she said abruptly, sniffing again and nodding; “yeah, a few years ago. And the only person I could think of was you. The whole time, can you believe it? - her voice trembled - seriously. I was devastated. Absolutely devastated. And depressed. You know, the whole nine yards, whatever that means - she waved a hand - and all I could think of, besides Greg of course, was just how badly I wished you were there. I was, am, actually…so fucking lonely. And I was being used and treated like I was some useless extra for years - still am. And I wanted you to be there so bad because I needed you and almost my whole life, you were my pillar, the one constant in my life and I hate that I feel that way, but here we are,” she took a deep breath, having held onto that for years. She let a silence fall between them, to take space for several seconds before adding, “told myself I wouldn’t cry but anyway.”

-

In a way, she had been the only true friend he's ever had. After fame, those things would get blurry. People - too many people - would approach him for interest, for the things he had and the reputation he held. At the beginning of his career, it was difficult to discern them from the real ones; so difficult, in fact, that he made sure to find a way to push away the realest person he ever had by his side. With age and experience, Dante also became too familiar with regret. Even at his peak, he was lonely. He missed talking to her about nothing at all, missed having somewhere to go to celebrate a win or wallow after a shitty performance on the field, he even missed arguing with her. Well, at the very least he got that back, didn't he? In record bloody time, too. 

"If it's worth anything, I'm not exactly fond of it either." He mumbles, too quick to speak before thinking. Never having found much use in having a filter, Dante had a serious honesty problem. His publicist particularly hated him for it. With half a mind to take a step closer to her and maybe pat her arm ( he didn't do hugging, never really had, but could be convinced to open an exception for Alma ) he stops himself at the revelation that makes his heart sink. A quick Facebook search some years ago had taught him she ended up getting back together with Gregory. In the photos, they seemed happy. He'd been glad for her then. "I didn't, no. I'm sorry-" 

And the only person I could think about was you. He can't face her. He should, by all means. He should give her the decency of maintaining eye contact, but his gaze drops down to the ground and he rubs the nape of his neck nervously. Christ in fucking hell, he wasn't equipped for this. What should he even say? What could he even say? Dante looks back up at her, and there isn't a single inch of his face that isn't riddled by guilt; the man is mortified. Crushed. More than he'd been in a good while. Deciding that there isn't much he could say, there may be something he could do. Nodding lightly, he takes a step closer to her. "D'you wanna get a drink?" He asks, letting silence linger for long suffering seconds before continuing. "I can't go back in time and be there for you, but I can do that now. If you still want me to. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll apologise how many times you want, and come to every show of yours, and… get you better fucking flowers. Okay? I want to be there for you. I'm tired of being a prick, and massively tired of being alone. I dunno what else to tell you, I'm no better at this than I was twenty years ago, so… you can either throw that shoddy bouquet at me or let me buy you a round. What's it gonna be?"

#almalewis #ic. #alma001

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

“I-” the word caught in her throat. She had expected this, honestly. She had expected (even hoped, if she were being honest with herself), that if they had run into each other, this exact argument would happen, there was no question about that. But what she hadn’t expected, however, was the emotion she felt - besides the anger - but the grief. She hadn’t only lost Gregory then, but Dante, too. Who had been the very first friend, real friend, she had ever had. They were inseparable. And in a single night, he was just gone. She hated that he nearly made her cry (though she was stubborn enough to make sure she didn’t shed a bloody tear), hated that even at fucking thirty-eight years old - she missed him.

“I can’t do this,” she said finally, rushing past him only to stop and turn again. “You were the only person, in my whole life that believed in me, Dante. The only person. Not even my parents cared enough to do so. But you always did,” she took a step forward. “Always. I had expected you of all people to be there, even now, if you can believe it. Sometimes I think of you when I’m about to go on stage and I imagine what it would be like to have had you there all these years. But you sort of broke me, you know. I mean, in a way, that night helped me. I woke up one morning with a fire in me that said no matter what, regardless of what you or my parents said, I would make it. So, I guess you helped a little, but you broke me,” her lip quivered and her eyes, she could feel, had glossed over. She had almost turned to walk away but her feet stood planted firmly against the pavement; “why did you even come to see my show anyway?” she sniffed, the back of her hand coming to rub her nose, “what - to liberate yourself of this guilt you’ve carried all these years and go along your merry way?”

-

Despite the triumph of having shed a tear when a powerful piece of theatre moved him (words he would never say aloud, probably), Dante was not in touch with his emotions. In fact, that single moment of choking up in the dark might as well have been the extent of his capacity for the evening. What he feels standing before Alma now is nowhere near the hurricane of emotion he can see in her eyes, it's something much more subdued. Mostly, it's shame. With some poignant peaks of frustration poking through, for his temperament was something he had never been that great at keeping at bay. And fuck if she didn't make him feel like he was a teenager fighting with her over which movie they were gonna watch that evening again. 

"Can't do what? We've been out here for twenty seconds!" He says in a formidable show of diplomacy and self-control. His lips part to say something more, but this time he has the good sense to shut them without a word. Resigned and duly embarrassed, Dante nods and listens to her with his fingers pressing harder against his own hip bones. "Alma, I didn't –" He doesn't know how to finish it, maybe there was no good way of finishing that sentence. "I'm really sorry." He feels his chest and throat tighten, something he had not predicted as well. This was much worse than that one scene that had him back in the theatre. 

"Because I missed you. I've… I've been wanting to reach out to you for some time, but I just couldn't do it. Then I heard you moved, and – well, I moved too, just recently, then I saw your face on a bus and I figured now would be as good a time as any to see you again and apologise." A beat, he shakes his head. "Look, this isn't me trying to unburden myself, okay? It's me wanting my best friend back." Fuck, that felt cheesy. "Or at least try to get her back and give her a chance to rip me to fucking shreds in the meanwhile because I know she'd feel better about that, if anything."

#almalewis #ic. #alma001

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

He most certainly hadn’t said great, she decided, realizing that apparently he was a fucking liar now, too. She stood with her arms by her side, fists clenched as she stormed her way up to him, and without looking once at the flowers, she snatched them from his grip, her eyes boring into his so hard she could’ve burned holes in his stupid, fucking head.

“Oh, wow! You fucking gave me a standing ovation!” she yelled, interjecting. “Oh? Was that you whistling?” She interjected again. “Good for you! Good for you, Dante! You cried! Everyone cries when they see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime!! That’s the whole bloody point! Jesus - fuck! I want you to say you’re sorry, Dante!” at this point - her voice had been raised a level so high, passersby, in New York City of all places, were actually looking at them. Not that she noticed, of course. 

“You told me I wouldn’t make it! Don’t you remember? You said I was talent-less and now you’re showing up with white flowers?? What’s this? A fucking peace offering? I want to hear that you’re sorry. Actually-” she paused, her voice lower now, in a way that would’ve scared even her had she been on the opposite end. “Don’t. Because you probably meant what you said, didn’t you?”

- 

Now this was more like the reception he was predicting. Ironically, he was no more prepared for that than he had been for the less aggressive variation. Christ, she didn't even look at the flowers. He spent half an hour picking those. "Careful with the-" The flowers, he was gonna say, but her shouting and rather baleful glaring were enough to keep his mouth shut. 

Dante looks at her with widened eyes. Decades of getting yelled at by refs and coaches did not prepare him well enough for the fury of an Alma scorned. When she finally gives him an opening to speak, he raises his voice just as high as hers, though less angry and more frustrated. "I was going to tell you I was sorry but you started yelling at me for something I didn't do!" He too didn't give a single shit about the people passing by, even in London where they actually could recognise him. 

"Of course I remember, Alma, it's what I came to apologise to you for! Yes, the fucking flowers were a peace fucking offering!" He didn't think it would've been that on the nose. The salesperson told him it was a good idea. Ugh. Blinking as she lowers her voice and sounds awfully like her mother the day she found out he stole their car and hit it against a lamppost (which, ironically, Alma had been there for), Dante swallows dryly. "No, I didn't." He argues, letting a sigh of frustration leave him as his hands came to rest on his hips. "I was twenty, I was an absolute prick, of course I didn't mean what I said to you! I'm sorry I ever did, alright? I shouldn't have. I was a twat, but I've been trying not to be one anymore."

#almalewis #ic. #alma001

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

~ * ~

Alma gawked at him. Emotions rose in her akin to a kettle, just seconds away from the whistle going off. Cheers? Good job? Was he fucking serious? Good job? What she couldn’t stand was the fact that some part of her, deep down, maybe her nineteen or so year old self, had actually cared about what he thought, even then. He was one of the first (besides her parents) that had made it abundantly clear that she’d get no where as an actress. And yet here he was - the sodding tool - with good job.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I’m sorry but, good job? My performance in there was a hell of a lot better than good. It was great. It was brilliant. Did you hear the applause? It wasn’t just good, Dante,” a beat - funny how seeing an old friend, a friend who was more than just that to her, someone that knew every one of her secrets, every one of her desires, everything about her childhood and her parents and Gregory and the list went on; funny that after years, it was like no time had passed. “I see you haven’t changed.”

-

Well, this was actually going better than he expected. He wasn't exactly relieved for it, he was very much grimacing and recoiling ever so slightly when her voice starts to get particularly empowered by anger, but he found solace in knowing he had a good argument to counter that, at least. "What are you yelling at me for? I said great job! Great was literally the word I used! I agree that you were brilliant!" It did indeed seem like no time had passed at all between them, the phrase which hear means that they were still as quick to argue with each other as ever. Perhaps, if luck would have it, they would be quick to make up too. 

But Dante wasn't about to make his own life any easier. "Do you want the sodded flowers or not?" He says irritably, slightly shaking the bouquet in his hands. "I came here, I saw your play, I did a fucking standing ovation for you, by the way. The high whistling when you came out? That was me. Fucking yanks can't whistle like that." He has definitely missed the entire point of waving a white flag between them, which was meant to be the bouquet of white flowers that he was now sort of… rudely gesturing with. "I bloody cried during it, for fuck's sake. I don't know what else you want from me."

#almalewis #ic. #alma001

[casillas-fc]

almalewis​:

to: @casillasdante​ where/when: outside of the nederlander / 10p

She’d been doing this long enough now but Alma still cringed any time she saw her own face on an enormous billboard, staring back at her. She was stood outside of the Nederlander theatre, sporting a gray sweater and dark jacket - the Manhattan air a little chillier that night. Her face had been puffy from not having slept the previous night and her hair had been in slight disarray after the show she’d just had - Judy Boone, the role of a mother she was frankly tired of playing.

It was dark out and around her had been a buzz of people, actors, fans of the show and even members of the orchestra conversing about who knew what and all Alma could do was stare blankly at her own face across West 41st. It was honestly the strangest sensation seeing yourself everywhere - haunted by your own face on buses, bus stops, billboards tacked against skyscrapers and she had this unrelenting desire to just rip them all down.

“Alma?” called the woman who played Mrs. Shears. “Did you wanna come with us? We’re going for drinks.” Alma shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. It was always the same question and she always had the same answer. Truth was, as much as she enjoyed drinking, she really wasn’t very good with other people. And that was a funny thing to think then; considering the fact that when everyone began sauntering away, her eyes landed on someone she thought looked familiar. Her eyes narrowed and…she could’ve sworn she’s seen him before, there was something about his eyes she felt she couldn’t quite place until she took a step forward and; “Dante??”

Of all the people she could’ve met in New York, outside of the Nederlander, no less. “Dante? W-what are you doing here?? Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in -” she paused, “did you - did you come to see my show??”

-

No, he wasn't much of a theatre guy. Dante was hardly a movie guy, he generally avoided situations where he had to be around too many people, always preferring the peace and quiet of his home without any wankers talking through the movie or laughing too loud. And after a particularly jarring night at an immersive play where a funny little actor thought of picking him out from the crowd to participate, he was even less fond of live theatre. 

But this was a different beast. No, not because he was fond of the play – though he might have shed a tear during it and would surely kill any witnesses who could've seen it – but because of one of its stars. 

If he had been in London still, Dante might not have taken such a leap. He wouldn't have put himself in Alma's immediate line of fire, recalling all too well how the woman held and tended to her grudges. Most of all, he wouldn't have bothered facing such massive amounts of guilt and shame for the things he'd said to her all those years ago. The boy he'd been in his twenties was a person he no longer recognised, a person he very much wanted to keep buried and forget. Alas, he knows that he will be resurrecting the aforementioned little prick tonight, should he come face to face with Alma Lewis. Because he wasn't in London anymore, he was in New York, overcome by an unbearable sense of isolation, desperate for some genuine human connection. He just wanted a friend again. 

Waiting at stagedoor, the man holds a program and a bouquet of flowers that are worse for the wear ( he had to keep them stored underneath his seat during the play; truly had not thought this thing through ) and waits with his heart in his throat for the familiar face to come out. When she does, he handles it splendidly, having any and all decent words escape him: "I saw your face on the bus." Dante explains, as if that's enough. Then, he offers her the shitty bouquet by suddenly holding out a rather stiff arm. "Cheers. Great job." 

#almalewis #ic. #alma001 #he is a WORDSMITH

[casillas-fc]

maiv-liang​:

@casillasdante​

“Ju​st the handsome man I wanted to see,” Maiv said as she walked directly to his table and plopped down. Mainly, she’d walked into the bar and hoped to find someone. Dante wouldn’t have been her first choice because she knew she’d have to keep their conversation going, but he was nice to look at which made up for his stony expression. “Did you already order? I could pay half of your food if you’ll let me pick at it?” Maiv was a small woman but she took a lot of place whenever she was in the company of people. Her presence was known and that could be overwhelming…. to everyone but her. “I want some nachos, let’s order some of that. What about some drinks, what’re we thinking? One shot? I think so too.”

- 

One might wonder why a man brings a book to read at a bar, and one would find the answer to it if they learned said man grew up reading in pubs, and could only find the right amount of white noise to concentrate in one of them – or something, similar, at least. Point was, Dante was there looking for some peace of mind and time to read his book. He was not looking to be interrupted. Which, of course, had to mean that Maiv would show up. 

Knowing better than to keep trying to read, he closes the volume in a swift move and turns his attention to her. "I dislike you deeply." He says without any emotion, or intent for that matter. That kind of thing coming from him was nothing if not usual. It may even be because he expects her to ignore it that he says it. "I already have a drink." Point out Dante, indicating the half-full pint of beer by his side. Then, a beat. Fuck it. "But I will eat the nachos."

#maivliang #ic. #omg i love her sdjkfhafsd

[casillas-fc]

nikiszfm​:

-

When he didn’t pressure them to share any more information, Niki smirked softly to herself. It was nice, the fact that he said enough to answer her questions, and at the same time didn’t pry into her life anymore than they had to him. It was a nice balance, and already a conversation they wouldn’t mind continuing for however long Dante could spare. “It’s a story for another time, maybe lunch perhaps? Don’t want to share all of my best stories during our first conversation.” They joked gingerly, sipping at their coffee slowly.

“From what I’ve heard, the doctors and nurses really do get up to Grey’s Anatomy level relationship drama. Here’s hoping I can stay out of it? I’d like to survive a lot longer than most of those characters after I finish my residency.” They joked with a hum, one brow quirking up a little in surprise at Dante’s comment. That definitely wasn’t something she’d expected to come from him, it felt like she got to see a little into what he was like during every day life. “Oh! Nephrology is the internal medicine study of kidneys and kidney function? I had to have a kidney transplant in high school, so it’s been an interest of mine…for obvious reasons.” They responded casually, a shrug lifting their shoulders before they sipped their drink.

Hearing his profession…and everything else that followed, a surprised expression crossed her features. “So our—” She motioned between the two of them. “Football. Not the American kind? You know, it’s actually nice hearing someone refer to it as that again instead of soccer, for a change.” Niki returned, smirking. “How long have you been a manager?”

- 

The idea of lunch sounds better to him than he'd predicted, making Dante visibly perk up. She was a Londoner, she'd been around here longer. "Lunch." He agrees, looking her way with a hint of eagerness to his eyes. "D'you know any good kebab places here?" The man had been dying to find one that could even be a match to his usual haunt in Richmond. "Every fucking restaurant near me is shite and overpriced."

He almost smiles at the prospect of real life hospital drama, such was his fondness for the fictional kind. "They really do die in that, y'know. From natural disasters, mostly." Points out the man, very matter of factly, as he takes another sip of his coffee. "Hope your hospital doesn't flood. Also, don't sleep with your attending." He nearly sounds fatherly giving the valuable advice, he'd been trying that tone on for size as of late. "That fucked over Meredith."

The story they shared was not one he had been expecting, but it didn't phase him. Hardly anything ever did. On the risk of sounding like a prick for expressing condolences or whatever, he goes the other way. "Congrats." On the new kidney, that was, but he doesn't think to voice the explanation. "Yea, our football. Ain't calling it fucking soccer." There was plenty of bitterness dripping from the word. "Bout two months, give or take." Felt like twenty fucking years, though. 

#nikiszfm #ic.

[casillas-fc]

nikiszfm​:

Niki made a soft noise in understanding, nodding along in response. “Sounds like my father a little…from what I can remember. If he’d had his way, I would’ve followed in his footsteps. And believe me when I say that wouldn’t have gone over very well.” It was the simple explanation, anyways. The more complicated one being ‘if my dad had survived he would’ve made me join the Triads’. But that isn’t exactly your typical coffee topic of conversation, hmm? A soft snort escaped her at his words, head tilting slightly. “You’re not wrong.”

The frown they notice is quickly forgotten at the offer to walk with him, which she accepts with a soft hum and a gesture for him to lead on. “Sounds good to me.” She suspected that frowns like that were something she was bound to receive plenty of if they hung around together. Which…actually didn’t bother them as much as one might expect. Frankly, as bubbly as Niki may seem sometimes, they often times floundered for ways to get into conversation with people she met. With patients it was easy, but someone they just met on the street? Different animal all together. Needless to say, they were thankful when Dante spoke first. “I’m a medical resident actually! So in a year or two when my residency’s up, I’ll be a full fledged doctor…and I’m looking into pursuing a nephrology fellowship after my residency. Until then though, resident and I also moonlight as a bartender. And yourself?”

- 

Dante couldn't be faulted for being curious, he was of the belief that people would sure what they wanted to share when they wanted to share it. When she mentions father issues of her own, he nods in agreement and pokes no further. "I believe you." The man said sincerely, for he had no reason to doubt the stranger. He takes another sip at his coffee, always keeping his eyes on the path ahead. The fact that they had not bothered him yet was a plus; this turned out to be a comfortable option for his morning. Secretly, he'd missed having someone to talk to. 

"Hm. Like Grey's Anatomy." Wasn't much of a question, though he doesn't doubt he may regret offering up the reference so readily. Fully aware that he didn't seem the type to watch soapy dramas, he didn't mind feeding into the impression either.  "What's nephrology?" He asks, sparing them a glance as his eyebrows arch up. "Don't reckon they ever covered that on Grey's Anatomy." Coming from anyone else, it would sound like a joke. With Dante, well... not so much. "I'm a football manager, managing the local women's team that no one's ever fucking heard of because this country is full of pricks who like running after an oval fucking ball." Not that he had many feelings about the matter. 

#nikiszfm #ic.

[casillas-fc]

nikiszfm​:

“Consider me intrigued, sounds like the kind of position that allowed you to travel when he did?” She left it as an open ended question, not wanting to push him any further than they felt they already had. Admittedly, Niki wasn’t expecting his follow up comment and the surprise quip made her laugh, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Pulling her hand away, she sipped at her coffee before responding. “Oh? Sounds like an uncle of mine back in China.”

Seeing the man’s expression soften significantly compared to his initial reaction to Niki, their own shoulders visibly relaxed, feeling a little more comfortable. He must not completely hate her. Another melodic laugh escaped her, nodding in understanding. “I mean, in all honesty that makes sense. For me, though, I need something that both has caffeine and also tastes good…after frequent 24 hour shifts its both needed and a treat.” Hearing his name caused her to offer a friendly smile, shaking his hand when he took theirs. “Pleasure to meet you, Dante.” They sipped at her coffee before swallowing in order to answer. “Oh! I was just kind of wandering around actually? Since I just got off my shift at the hospital, my pup’s at home with my roommates…I actually don’t have any immediate plans.” She chuckled before looking up at Dante. “What about yourself?”

"More like made you move when he told you to."  The man says bitterly, not believing the words leaving his mouth. Fuck, had America made him soft or something? Why was he sharing with a stranger? Grunting to himself, he sips at his coffee again. Hm. Maybe it was the vanilla messing with his thought. Yes, that sounded reasonable. "Every family's got a prick, I suppose. Or made up mostly of pricks." His sure was, though to be fair, he was too quick to classify someone as such. 

Dante frowns at the laughter. It wasn't that he didn't have a sense of humour ( well, he didn't on most days ), but he couldn't see what was so funny about anything he'd said. Still, chalking it up to some generational thing, he doesn't take offence. "Right. Wanna walk around?" He offers, already beginning to continue on his way down the sidewalk. He was far from a talkative man, often just saying what he found to be strictly necessary. Recognising there was a need to keep conversation going, he decides to ask questions he typically would not: things that qualify as chatter. He nearly asks her about the weather before a better option comes to him. "So what d'you do for a living? Are you a doctor?"

#nikiszfm #ic.