You're my favorite song

As the housewife of a nobleman, she was a certain image to maintain and it was evident that she meticulously tended to that image. There was not a thing out of place, both about her and the home she kept. A finely decorated home was not complete without a perfect wife to greet you at the door. He had seen glimpses of her entertainment before, the smile that was plastered across her face. She doesn't wilt beneath his heavy stare or his blatant exploration, she just met his stare evenly, her eyes never leaving his face.

But when he broke the silence, inquiring about her beloved, that perfect image cracked. Her tone was clipped, spoken with quiet frustration that was threatening to bubble over. Interesting. Always the instigator, Odysseus had no issue exploiting the rush of heated emotion that rose to the surface. Senka tossed back the rest of her drink, swallowing the booze in one gulp. He would take a drink from his cup. He didn't get the opportunity to say anything though because she was rising from her place on the couch, her tight body unfurling as she excused herself. Odysseus simply inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Tracking her movements across the room, she returned to the bar. The wolf tossed back his own drink then, rising silently from his chair. Odysseus moved with surprising silence, considering his size. Long strides would eat up the room despite his lazy pace, bringing him to the bar. Stepping up beside her, he would set his glass down with the clank of glass against wood. {Do you mind?} Amethyst eyes bore into hers, his voice a low rumble from deep in his chest, the sound warm and inviting. He stood far enough that he wasn't touching her, but he stood closer than he should. Her body heat licked at his side and her scent filled his nose, giving him the opportunity to drag it into his lungs.

lift with your knees, atlas—

With little else to break the quiet in the foyer, she isn't unaware of his approach; he may be stealthy for his size, but the aged floorboards groan softly beneath his footsteps, much like they do Augustine's. She swivels an ear back whilst rummaging the shelves behind the bar, pulling down the gin; the sound of glass on marble makes her pause, and her head cants to the side at his question. Senka nods without looking at him, grabbing the aged whiskey before she turns back to the bar, finding him close enough to be borderline inappropriate.

She should step away, but she doesn't.

Senka wordlessly refills their glasses, and this time, she leaves the bottles on the counter. Her paw lingers on the smooth surface of the bar, her nails drumming rhythmically against it as she finally turns her olive eyes back towards Odysseus, only to find him staring at her. Again.

Her head tilts quizzically to the side, and there's almost a challenge in her eyes as she stares back at him, lifting her glass to her lips. She wants to ask him so many questions, none of them appropriate. Why is he here? What sort of business does he conduct with Augustine? Who is Odysseus, really?

And why won't he stop looking at her like he's the hunter, and she's prey?

—the heavens are a burden

code & art

my demons come to play

The floorboards groaned beneath his weight, giving away his other quiet approach. It wasn't enough to draw her gaze though, only an ear flicking back to capture the sound. He could wait though, having always enjoyed the long game. Business man or not, he was a wolf and he hunted his prey. As his glass hit the bar top, she paused before nodding and grabbing the bottle. He could only guess how long she would entertain him tonight, but he planned to take advantage of every moment. It was time for him to get back on the proverbial horse.

When she should have stepped away, she didn't, lingering just a little too close beside him. He wouldn't press further, but he would linger, remaining steadfast beside her while she poured their drinks.

Judging from the way her nails tapped the bar top, the clack a sharp sound, she had something on her mind. Would she ask? As she finally looked up at him, he thought she might. Its adorable, the way she cants her head, questions colliding with a murmured challenge. "You have questions." He commented before taking a sip from his glass.

It was then that he would pull away from her, taking with him the heat that radiated from his body. He sauntered back towards his chosen chair. "So ask." The way he spoke was self assured. He didn't ask if she had questions, just as he didn't offer her a chance to back pedal at his observation. Swirling his whiskey in its glass, he would finally look back at her, gesturing for her sit before he did. Brutality was second nature to him, but he stepped into the shoes of a gentleman just as easily.

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(This post was last modified: 11-15-2023, 09:33 PM by Odysseus.)

lift with your knees, atlas—

"You have questions." Is she that obvious? Senka glances at her already half-drained second glass of gin, and realizes with a soft sigh that she probably is right now. The alcohol has addled her just enough that her expressions are more open and honest, whether she wants them to be or not. Then Odysseus is walking away, and she closes her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow and quiet breath.

Before she follows him across the foyer, she tops off her drink.

"So ask," he says as she nears, and Senka finds him lingering by the armchair, playing the part of a gentleman. She arches a brow, but takes up her prior spot on the sofa all the same—perhaps just a bit more sluggishly than before. If she asks, will she get a truthful answer? Senka appraises him more openly, as if searching his face might yield results without her having to ask, as if she might find a chink in his armor.

She's never cared before; Augustine's politics, above- and below-board, were his own business. Senka would greedily take anything he offered her, and toss aside any consideration of the rest. But now, he has left her with spare time on her paws and anger in her heart, and the sinking sensation that he has not been entirely honest with her. The rift between them has been growing, but for the first time, she wonders if she truly knows Augustine at all.

Despite her suspicion that she will only get a half answer, or none at all, Odysseus had pressed her to ask, and she finally does: "what manner of business do you have with my husband?" She is tired of the lockbox of Augustine's secrets—a box whose existence she had never given a second thought to before. Now, she wants to break open the latch and throw open the lid, consequences be damned.

—the heavens are a burden

code & art

A delicate brow lifted before she took her seat, curling back up on the couch. Alcohol slowed her movements as she made herself comfortable. He would find his own seat, reclining back just as comfortably as before. From a young age, his presence had taken over rooms. The man exuded raw confidence that often blurred with arrogance. It wasn't something he thought about anymore, how his looming aura might make others feel, though he likely wouldn't care. His glass lingered in his grasp, fingers holding just the rim as he swirled the liquid slowly.

{"Security."} He would answer. The question wasn't shocking. It also suggested that she was entirely in the dark when it came to her husbands more sensitive dealings. Security was the loosest term he could use to describe his dealings with Augustine. He kept an eye on the mans younger brother, ensuring he stayed out of trouble and kept the family name from being tarnished. What he didn't expect was to be so damn busy.

It was his turn to ask a question, unbeknownst to her. The rules of the game had been set. {"Have you kept yourself busy these last few weeks?"} Referencing once again Augustines absence, he would return to his earlier question. Had she filled her days with anything and everything or had she been locked behind closed doors, wallowing? While he might have been asking for his own selfish reasons, there a well placed hint of concern buried in the growl of his voice. If she was paying attention. But surely she was feeling the affects of her drinking, she had been tossing the clear liquid back like it was water. Maybe it was...

lift with your knees, atlas—

"Security." Senka snorts, and combined with the way her eyebrows arch, it's obvious that she doesn't believe him. It's a half truth at best, but she'd expected nothing more than that when she'd posed the question. Odysseus is close-lipped in an entirely different way than Senka; she keeps quiet out of obedience and civility, whereas his is bred from discretion. She can respect that he keeps his secrets guarded, but frustration blooms to know that at least some of those secrets involve her husband.

Before Senka can press further, he's firing a question back at her, and she begins to understand—this is a game, and she has to figure out the rules—and the stakes—for herself. There's something in the tone of his voice that she can't quite place, and she studies Odysseus with slightly narrowed eyes, trying to tell if she's just seen a crack.

The silence stretches, and a faint, insincere smile finally touches her lips as she answers. "Yes," she lies, holding his stare. If he's going to give her stilted one-word answers, then she is more than happy to return the favor. She feels as though he's burrowing under her skin, trying to peel away the layers of her and see what makes her tick. There's a voice in the back of her head that says he shouldn't still be here—that he never should have been here at all.

She ignores that voice.

It's her turn for a question. "How long have you been working for August?" she asks, her query followed by a slow sip from her glass. This whole encounter has 'bad idea' written all over it; Odysseus is incredibly close to realizing, if he hasn't already, that Senka is not remotely as insipid as she appears. There's a keen intelligence lurking behind her soft olive eyes and vapid smiles—and it wants to be let out.

The alcohol dulls little more than her good sense and her poker face, but it's enough.

It's bound to get her in trouble.

—the heavens are a burden

code & art

The ghost of a smirk lifted one side of his mouth at her scoff. A knowing glint would appear in his eyes. More than just a pretty face she was smart too. Then she likely already knew that he was going to offer her only half truths at best. ("Its true."} He said, shrugging board shoulders. Sorta true. {"We are in a time of war, a man in his position can never be to careful."} God forbid rumors circulate, or worst, someone ends up with blood on their hands. It did make for excellent blackmail. Who would turn against you when pressured if you knew where they buried all the bodies, proverbial and otherwise.

His smirk only grew when she smiled at him, her lips lifting in a well practiced, fake smile. She gave him a one word answer. And if he were a gambling man, he'd bet that it was a lie. A dark brow arched in silent challenge, he had embellished his half true, she could enlighten him about her lie.

{"A couple of months probably, give or take."} But this was the first time he had truly paid any attention to Augustines wife. He had definitely noticed her, who wouldn't, but he hadn't considered taking the extra time to spare her more than a passing glance. Until tonight. It was playing with fire but thats what he did best. He stood too close to the fire and risked getting burn. {"Why are you lying?"} The question was genuine even if it was laced with dark humor. Odysseus would take a drink, pulling liquor into his mouth, savoring the burn.

lift with your knees, atlas—

She makes a soft hum in her throat; Odysseus elaborates, only enough to confirm there's a lot he isn't telling her. Senka expected nothing else, and she has nothing to say to that. He's right, of course—she thinks that might annoy her the most of all. She should be grateful that he's so tight-lipped about his business with Augustine, but she can't find it in herself to feel such emotion. Foolishly, she wants this man whom she doesn't even know to be loyal to her.

She doesn't want to be trapped in the dark anymore.

The gears of her mind grind together as she considers his next answer. She has the presence of mind to line it up with the approximate time that Adrian had died, but Senka is incapable in the moment of slotting the rest of the puzzle pieces together. It's natural that Augustine should worry about security in the wake of his father's murder, but Odysseus is no household guard, and he is nothing like her militant father.

"Why are you lying?" Senka frowns slightly, narrowing her eyes at him. "I'm not lying," she hedges, her chin lifting somewhat stubbornly. "A mayor's household doesn't run itself." And it's true—there are things she must do, missives she must answer in Augustine's absence, ledgers to review and bills to pay. Everything that requires her signature, has it.

But as for everything else? Well, Lucielle has been busier than usual.

And Senka has been sleeping more than usual.

"Why are you so interested in what I've been doing?" She's done asking questions about Augustine; it feels like ramming her head into a brick wall, and the growing fog in her mind isn't any help. Granted, this line of questioning is likely not any safer than the last, but with each burning sip of alcohol she takes, Senka cares a little bit less.

—the heavens are a burden

code & art

Her displeasure remained behind her sealed lips, at least for now. The sound she made in her throat suggested that she didn't care for his answer, but it rolled like water off his back. She wasn't his client. Her husband was. His loyalty had been bought and paid for by Augustine and thats how it would stay. For now at least. Odysseus wasn't so fickle as to sway loyalties easily, it was bad for business. His clientele required a certain level of loyalty to their secrets. But once the money ran out? Well, that was an entirely different game.

Defiance glittered in her eyes, her chin lifted as she claimed he was wrong. The corner of one side of his mouth lifted slightly. She claimed there were duties she had to tend to, things that needed to be done to ensure the house continued to run smoothly. He guessed she could do that in her sleep by now, or she had someone that could do it for her. But he wouldn't poke at her any further, opting for a noncommittal hum that vibrated in his throat.

The conversation would change from Augustine to her. He didn't answer her right away. Instead, he brought his glass to lips, pulling the amber liquid into his mouth. Setting it down with a soft clink, his tongue peeked out to flick against his upper lip, chasing away the moisture that clung to dark hair. {"I make it a habit to know as much about my client as possible."} An honest answer. {"What he cares about..."} Amethyst hues flickered around the house. {"What he doesn't."} His eyes landed on her before a small shrug lifted broad shoulders. {"Things run smoother when I'm not caught off guard."} It was a simple fact, one that he had learned the hard way once or twice.

lift with your knees, atlas—

Her eyes never waver from the stoic lines of his face—the alcohol makes her bold, and propriety is slipping away from her. Senka watches the pink swatch of his tongue chase away a bead of whiskey, and hides her heavy swallow behind a gulp of her gin. Odysseys finally deigns to answer, albeit just as vaguely as every other explanation he's given her; she is quiet, her gaze following the shift of purple eyes around the room as he rambles about his clients' needs. When his intense stare lands on her with the phrase, "what he doesn't," Senka's eyes narrow at the implication, and her nostrils flare slightly.

What is it about this man stroking her temper as easily as throwing kindling to a flame?

"I'm not your client," she reminds him sharply, setting her glass down on the nearby table a little more soundly than she'd meant to. "And I don't think my husband's coin in your pocket entitles you to know anything about me," Senka goes on heatedly, her fur ruffling as she sits up straighter, eyes glistening and glazed with the obvious impact of the alcohol. She doesn't like the feeling that he is winning this game—he's gotten under her skin, and she doesn't know how to get him out. All she feels is the flame, fanning hotter and hotter.

Her lips curls briefly, showing a flash of fang. "I'm not a box to check off, Odysseus," she snaps, bristling. She is not a thing that Augustine does or does not care about; she is not a roadblock to hinder him, or whatever else this man thinks of her, and she's lost her sense of self-preservation that ordinarily keeps her mouth shut.

—the heavens are a burden

code & art