Welcome to Gaia! ::

Renamed after the new owner inherrited it, the expansive mansion of pale yellow stone sits in the North-East part of Durem, right at the upper edge of the TCM's turf. Surounded by the well-manicured kill zone...ah, I mean, gardens, the Falloner Mansion is quite astheticaly pleasing to the eyes with it's railled balconies, charming gables, and tall windows...but don't let that lull you into complacency. A seven foot tall, three feet deep cement wall surrounds the complex, topped by two foot iron spikes that look both decorative and deadly. The only entrance or exit visable is a large wrought iron gate big enough for a small delivery truck; the gate is opened by whomever is stationed at the guard house at the time, but only if you provide the correct security information. The gravel driveway winds through trees and rolling lawns, then loops in a circle around an island of flowers in front of the house where a marble fountain gurgles marrily. Large, very heavy oak doors stand guard at the entrance. Guarding them are Tony and Vinnie, dutiful TCM lackeys with more muscle than sense.

The mansion is composed of four wings off the main house, the front wings housing guest bedrooms and those belonging to members of the TCM "family"; the back wings, respectively, house the offices and private quarters of Tarma, the Heiress to the Trenchcoat Mafia's empire, and Hiro, the leader of the Durem branch of the TCM. These are considered strictly off limits without invitation, even to insiders.

Hiro's Wing

Tarma's Wing

The main house comprises the bulk of the TCM's living space. Kitchen, pool, living rooms/parlors, library, formal dinning room, ballroom.

"You owe the pleasure to my choosing to be here."

The barrel of the gun slid along his jawline in a deadly caress as the ebony haired femme tilted her head back to sneer into his face, lips a breath from his. She had come here for a few reasons, but the most potent of them was taking back what was hers. This man, with his easy grin and his tigers soul, was hers.

Tossing the firearm down on the couch beside them, her arms slid around his neck as she slid her body to his, moulding them together. She leaned in a fraction, the look in her eyes daring him to take her mouth even as it bowed up in a smirk.

"Now the question is, what do you plan on doing about it?"

"I could easily slide a knife between your ribs right now and there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do about it."

The Heiress tossed her head haughtily, though there was laughter in her saphire eyes that spilled over her lips wickedly, winding around his senses like smoke. She fastened those lips on his briefly but intensely, a possessive branding that spoke promises of more to come. But for now, business came before pleasure.

Slidding away from him, she downed the contents of the glass in one swift swallow as though it were nothing, then set the tumbler down upon the drink cart. Her back to him once more, the woman stared out of the window into the night, challenging the blackness with her proud, unyeilding stare.

"You've been running this branch of my late father's holdings unsupervised for some time now...though as I understand it, you've only recently gained back the upper hand. Since his passing, I've yet to touch on this section of my inherited empire. Now that things in Barton are more stable, I felt it neccessary to make my presense here...felt."

Her lips curved, cruel and beautiful.

"In other words darling, I'm here to stay a while."

The vixen sneered as she turned to face him, a spark of that imfamously fierce temper snapping in her eyes, burning in her voice as her words scorched the space between them.

"As if I needed your permission!"

Then, as quickly as it was born, her ire melted into a smile. Once more her expression showed only polite interest in the conversation she was having with the man before her; unpredictabilty was one of her many finely-honed weapons. It kept a man on his toes.

"So...how was your meeting? Productive?"

Perching on the arm of the couch, the Mafia Heiress's expression took on a smug tone, the look in her eyes sly as she watched him from under inky black lashes. Another thing that kept a man on his toes: knowing things about him he had never told you. Tarma found it paid to keep tabs on old friends.

An elegant wave of her hand dismissed the question even as she answered it.

"Nothing of consequence. I've left things in Gavin Doberler's care; he took care of things for my father in his time, so I'm sure he can manage things without my needing to over see him on a daily basis."

Letting the unspoken implication about his abilities hang, the Heiress unfolded herself from her seated position, stretching up her arms towards the ceiling with a feline yawn.

"I had my things taken to my rooms. I think I shall call it a night. We'll talk more over breakfast."

"Anything is welcome between you sheets, Hiro, just so long as you can get between it's legs."

Glidding past him with a dancers grace, brushing her body against his in the way she had of harnessing her casual sexuality, Tarma threw him a wolfish smile that was all ambition and no warmth.

"I wish to make it clear that I am here on business. I wont be distracted from that, no matter how good your 'moves' are. I've gained back the status I sought to cultivate for this organization in Barton. My name, the family's name, is feared there, respected there. I want that power in Durem. I want Durem."

The quiet tone she adopted for her next words sliced like a scalpel, chosen to cut deeply. Her eyes watched him, frozen points locked on him in judgement.

"You were given this chance, and you nearly bungled the whole mess. Now you've taken back your toe hold, but to outisders you look vulnerable, weak. Now the scavengers are circling Hiro, and I'll be damned before I'll see you go down as easy prey, especially if you drag my organization down with you."

Regarding the stubborn set of his jaw with interest, the woman tilted her head slightly to observe him with that same level look before nodding slightly, a nod that gave the impression she had found what she was looking for. Stepping in close, her slim fingers plucked the cigarette from between his lips as her other hand curved around the back of his neck.

"Good. Now you may have a kiss."

Smirking, she leaned in to tease his lips with her own before returning the rolled tobacco to it's original location. Those azure eyes, previously so cold, watched him from under thick black lashes with the blue warmth of a summer sky.

"It is pleasant to see you again...Hiro."

Purring his name, she stroked a finger down his cheek before casually easing away to saunter in the direction of the stairs, hands tucked carelessly in the deep pockets of her trench coat as she called back her farewell.

"Good night."

The pale linen drapes shivered slightly as Tarma pulled them back a fraction to watch Hiro stride lazily across the gravel drive to the garage. The ease in his gait was born of a quiet confidence in self that drew her to him. That simple air of a man completely comfortable in his own skin was what made him irresistable to the woman in her. It was the crime lord in her though, that used that capability, and counted it prime among the many weapons in her considerable arsenal. He was a conundrum, her Hiro; easy-going; personable; laid back in his attitude, his appearance...and utterly ruthless when it mattered to him.

Denying herself the pleasure of watching him further, she turned away from the glass-panneled french doors that lead to her bedroom's balcony, peeling away her clothes to toss them haphazardly over the chair that flanked the mirrored vanity. A maid would see to them in the morning, just as a maid had seen to it that her luggage was unpacked, her clothes hung in the armoire, and her things set in neat order to her specifications. The staff her adopted father had kept in his households during his reign were expertly trained to be as ghosts, appearing only when needed, to do exactly as you bid them; it was a commodity that Tarma, a child of the streets, had never grown completely accustomed to. Servants, however, often proved themselves extremely useful...so for the time being, she put up with them lingering in corners to wait on her.

The soft texture of satin sheets greeted her as she slid beneath the coverlet on the antique four-poster that dominated the expansive bedroom. Sighing softly, she burried her face in the feather-down pillow, breathed in the soothing scent of lavender; yes, the staff remembered her preferences well. Reminding herself to give them a generous raise for their thoughtfulness, Tarma drifted slowly into unconciousness, her head so full of plans for the rebuilding of her late father's empire that sleep enveloped her without her even noticing.