Is that so? What on earth did my Puppy say to him, I wonder?
(Nothing less than Ramsey the Rancid has called down on himself, certainly. I was half a breath from strangling the fuck myself.)
He’ll have to tell me when I arrive at the bar for his rescue.
Which ought to be soon, as I am leaving my temporary port of safety for my forever safety, forever home, forever husband. 😌❤️
In the meantime, do, yes; Daddy insists that you have a drink. A Gold Rush for my Honey Pup, who chose an ideal meeting point, and who requested his drink so prettily!
A Gold Rush from which Daddy will take one sip, while seated on his Puppy’s lap. I believe we both deserve a little throne time, hm?
[ He’s sent the message and moved from the plant’s cover, has made it all of five steps in the bar’s direction when there’s voice at his back, entirely too close: ’Darius Scarlett. I never would have thought.‘
Oh.
No.
For shit’s Jesus ass-grinding son of a rot-written fuck’s sake no.
He should keep moving, ignore the voice or pretend he didn’t hear. Only there’s no feigning when he’s already drawn to a halt, shoulders tensing, gathered upward, and she always did observe too close for his liking. When his hand’s clenching too-tight around his phone, and her voice has been joined by another, less familiar but not unknown: ’It’s been some time, Scarlett.’
And a hand at his elbow, he doesn’t know which of their hands and he doesn’t fucking care; the answer’s offensive either way.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He turns, not yet looking at his ex-wife or her husband. Attention fixed instead on shrugging off the hand (it was the husband’s, fucking Hancock) and lifting his phone. If he’s going to be drawn into this for even a moment, he’s going to message Enri first.
And get the fuck out of this as soon as he can.
(As soon as he can. If he can. Fuck knows he’d like to turn heel and stalk off right now, but he’s rooted to the spot, lost to incomprehension because he can’t quite believe this is godsdamn happening, and no it shouldn’t matter and no it shouldn’t bother him and certainly shouldn’t stall his motion, but the last time he saw this woman was across a godsdamned courtroom, looking infinitely godsdamned pleased with herself, and for shit’s sake did Esma bribe them into making the trip jesus christ??) ]
[ … ]
I underestimated Esma’s fuckminded audacity.
[ … ]
As well, I’m beginning to believe. Quite firmly. That she instructed these shits to intercept us.
[ … ]
My ex-wife is indeed present. As is her husband.
It isn’t anything I can’t handle. Be there as quickly as I can, Love.
Alongside your drink, order one for Daddy, won’t you?
I’ll still expect a sip of yours, of course.
Nothing’s so sweet as what’s touched by my Puppy’s lips. 😌❤️
[ He keeps his phone in his hand and folds his arms - yes he knows it’s a defensive posture and no he doesn’t care - cocks his head and speaks unhurried, voice even, ’Ursula. Andrew. I’m afraid I lack the patience for your shit just now.’
The response comes from Andrew: ’Language, Scarlett.’ Then clearing his throat and indulging in one of his self-proclaimed ‘hearty chortles,’ ’Ah, my mistake; you never could help it. A couple decades apart, and I forget how crass you are.’
Darius would like to point out that he remembers very well how much of a self-satisfied stuffed shirt Hancock is, but Ursula’s speaking already: ’There isn’t any need for hostility, Darius. Here I nearly thought you might let bygones be bygones. We’re all of us friends here. Old acquaintances. And we’ve come such a long way.’
The words don’t matter, really. What Darius sticks on is the fact of her presence and the question of how and how quickly he can slip away. And. Fuck it. While he’s got the phone handy, he’s going to message Sen, as well: Would you kindly, please hurry yourself along. She’s fucking here.
When he looks up, it’s with a raised brow, expression unamused in the face of their smiles. He glances around, sees no current method for escape, and shakes his head. ’I’d no idea you and Esma had grown so cozy.’
A smile from his ex-wife.
A beat and a laugh from her husband, a look shared between them. Then a look of pleased pity that Darius does not like at fucking all.
He likes the words that follow even less: ’No, my, no. It wasn’t Esma who invited us. It was your brother. He came over last month; Deforest always was the best-mannered of you. Where is he, by the by?’ ]
no subject
(Nothing less than Ramsey the Rancid has called down on himself, certainly. I was half a breath from strangling the fuck myself.)
He’ll have to tell me when I arrive at the bar for his rescue.
Which ought to be soon, as I am leaving my temporary port of safety for my forever safety, forever home, forever husband. 😌❤️
In the meantime, do, yes; Daddy insists that you have a drink. A Gold Rush for my Honey Pup, who chose an ideal meeting point, and who requested his drink so prettily!
A Gold Rush from which Daddy will take one sip, while seated on his Puppy’s lap. I believe we both deserve a little throne time, hm?
[ He’s sent the message and moved from the plant’s cover, has made it all of five steps in the bar’s direction when there’s voice at his back, entirely too close: ’Darius Scarlett. I never would have thought.‘
Oh.
No.
For shit’s Jesus ass-grinding son of a rot-written fuck’s sake no.
He should keep moving, ignore the voice or pretend he didn’t hear. Only there’s no feigning when he’s already drawn to a halt, shoulders tensing, gathered upward, and she always did observe too close for his liking. When his hand’s clenching too-tight around his phone, and her voice has been joined by another, less familiar but not unknown: ’It’s been some time, Scarlett.’
And a hand at his elbow, he doesn’t know which of their hands and he doesn’t fucking care; the answer’s offensive either way.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He turns, not yet looking at his ex-wife or her husband. Attention fixed instead on shrugging off the hand (it was the husband’s, fucking Hancock) and lifting his phone. If he’s going to be drawn into this for even a moment, he’s going to message Enri first.
And get the fuck out of this as soon as he can.
(As soon as he can. If he can. Fuck knows he’d like to turn heel and stalk off right now, but he’s rooted to the spot, lost to incomprehension because he can’t quite believe this is godsdamn happening, and no it shouldn’t matter and no it shouldn’t bother him and certainly shouldn’t stall his motion, but the last time he saw this woman was across a godsdamned courtroom, looking infinitely godsdamned pleased with herself, and for shit’s sake did Esma bribe them into making the trip jesus christ??) ]
[ … ]
I underestimated Esma’s fuckminded audacity.
[ … ]
As well, I’m beginning to believe. Quite firmly. That she instructed these shits to intercept us.
[ … ]
My ex-wife is indeed present. As is her husband.
It isn’t anything I can’t handle. Be there as quickly as I can, Love.
Alongside your drink, order one for Daddy, won’t you?
I’ll still expect a sip of yours, of course.
Nothing’s so sweet as what’s touched by my Puppy’s lips. 😌❤️
[ He keeps his phone in his hand and folds his arms - yes he knows it’s a defensive posture and no he doesn’t care - cocks his head and speaks unhurried, voice even, ’Ursula. Andrew. I’m afraid I lack the patience for your shit just now.’
The response comes from Andrew: ’Language, Scarlett.’ Then clearing his throat and indulging in one of his self-proclaimed ‘hearty chortles,’ ’Ah, my mistake; you never could help it. A couple decades apart, and I forget how crass you are.’
Darius would like to point out that he remembers very well how much of a self-satisfied stuffed shirt Hancock is, but Ursula’s speaking already: ’There isn’t any need for hostility, Darius. Here I nearly thought you might let bygones be bygones. We’re all of us friends here. Old acquaintances. And we’ve come such a long way.’
The words don’t matter, really. What Darius sticks on is the fact of her presence and the question of how and how quickly he can slip away. And. Fuck it. While he’s got the phone handy, he’s going to message Sen, as well: Would you kindly, please hurry yourself along. She’s fucking here.
When he looks up, it’s with a raised brow, expression unamused in the face of their smiles. He glances around, sees no current method for escape, and shakes his head. ’I’d no idea you and Esma had grown so cozy.’
A smile from his ex-wife.
A beat and a laugh from her husband, a look shared between them. Then a look of pleased pity that Darius does not like at fucking all.
He likes the words that follow even less: ’No, my, no. It wasn’t Esma who invited us. It was your brother. He came over last month; Deforest always was the best-mannered of you. Where is he, by the by?’ ]