lextalioniss

[lextalioniss]

"You would," Erik said, all amusement and no bite, a grin tucked into the corners of his lips as he tipped his head back on a faint groan. "That little divulgence is coming to bite me in the ass eventually, isn't it?" He remained that way for a moment longer, leaned against the desk, arms crossed, head lolled back as he watched her out the corner of his eyes. His words were meant to reside in some inexact place between rhetorical and cognizant, a sort of nod towards the exception she'd made for him - spoken and then glanced over, because in his world trust came in minuscule packets that were never openly acknowledged. Except she was doing just that, and Erik was left looking taken aback and a little bit uncertain. He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze down to his arms, feeling the silence unfurl as if it were a corporeal thing, some suffocating presence in the air. Then she spoke again and Erik felt his head snap up, gaze fastening on her before he could temper the surprise. He saw her struggle through it and felt the desire to stop her rise like a tidal wave, felt it slam into him even as some part of him wondered why he was so bothered by it. 

But he didn't. He'd remained standing very still, even after she'd finished and time became another weighty, suffocating thing. Then he nodded and looked out towards the street, his jaw moving as if he were about to choke on the words. "You know what I just realised?" But this wasn't really a question, nor was he about to give an answer, at least not one any sane person would expect. "Ever since that day, I keep entering every conversation with you like it's a war. Like I'm huddled in the trench, feeling the wind blowing my way and waiting for the blast." He waved his hand out in a sweeping, all-encompassing gesture, frustration evident. "Fuck, even me saying this feels like giving ground. It shouldn't, I think. Right? But I don't really know." For a moment there was another silence as he tried to gather his thoughts - errant, ill-defined things - and Erik found his gaze drawn back to her, looking desperate for words that felt just a bit out of reach. "But you keep giving ground. And I look at you now and I realise it's because you're not fighting me. There is no war. Is there?"

Some part of him knew this was probably a misstep - in his mind, this conversation still felt like a minefield - but it was either that or silence, and he couldn't decide which was worse. "I feel like..." He trailed off, the words clinging to his throat until it felt like he would choke on them. This was precisely why he'd avoided this as long as he did. Everything felt like the edge of a blade, like walking along a precipice. "It feels like I'm only capable of saying the wrong things. I say things and I see you flinch. And if I say I hate that feeling, you'll flinch again. Or you won't because I'm not the only one in this room gritting my teeth and keeping shit down. Which is fine, you've bared yourself enough while having me pointing a gun at you. Except now I feel like I owe you." He pushed himself off the table fully intending to go to the window where he could turn his back to her and not bother with keeping his expressions in check. "Fuck. Wrong again, right? Now I made it sound transactional." With a sigh, he turned around and crossed the room back to her, coming to a halt only when he was close enough to give her a very good view of the warring emotions on his face. "Back at the country house, when I lost it when you had every reason to back off - you didn't. Do you remember that? You didn't just say it, you came to me and you touched me. That... it grounded me. I've spent weeks trying to erase everything that came after from my mind because I wanted to remember you the way you were in that moment before everything went to hell, the way you felt. Safe. And that terrifies me." 

At some point, he realised now, he'd leaned in pulled forward by the force of his own words as he struggled to get them out. Now he straightened up, pushing down the bile in his throat as he closed his eyes and tried to recentre himself. At his side, his hand flexed - once, twice - the feeling returning back to the tips of his fingers. "You were right about one thing then," he said, eyes still closed, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. "I'm not a danger to you. But that doesn't mean I'm not capable of hurting you - which I didn't realise I was. And for that, I apologise." He opened his eyes then, to look down at her when he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I promise. But I did, and I'm glad you told me."

He watched her for a moment longer before shaking his head and allowing himself a mirthless chuckle. "God, don't listen to me or my advice." They weren't the kind of words that often left Erik's lips, but at that moment he meant them wholeheartedly. "I'm maladapted on the best of days, even by our standards. Just don't tell my mother, I'm sure she still thinks I spend the nights... actually, I'm not sure and at this point, I'm afraid to ask." Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes as if that could somehow ward off the oncoming headache. He was in the process of pressing the heel of his hand against his eye when Minerva said something that made him open the other one as crinkles appeared between his brows. "What do you mean? There has to be someone Minnie," he said, quite serious, and then as if to soften the blow, "You didn't just spawn here from the ditches of Malebolge as the cops would have me believe." 

Still frowning, Erik made a valiant attempt at levity as he offered her a half-baked smirk and lowered his voice, sounding conspirational. "I'm all bark, no bite. But keep it to yourself, I thrive entirely off my reputation as the beau idéal of misunderstood antiheroes." But when he went to rise an amused eyebrow at her, his smile turned just a bit less facetious, as if he were acknowledging the lack of sarcastic bite to her words. "Oh yes, let's do that, sounds rather practical." He snorted, without malice. "I'll be fine, you don't have to coddle me every step of the way. Though your thoughtfulness is noted. We're not a pair of divorced twelve-year-olds sharing custody of a turtle." Then, after a moment's consideration and a rather impertinent grin. "Though that does sound tempting since then I could just yank at your pigtail or something."

Silence is the only response to his comment, for Minerva is unwilling to derail the conversation as she is more than aware that it will take her days to be able to lower her defenses once more if she gets distracted now. Instead of responding, she takes another deep breath as she keeps her anxiety at giving away too much firmly grasped. She had committed to being honest to Erik, not because he was anyone else, but because he was him. Still, at his words, she cannot stop herself from mirroring his slight smile.

“I would love to touch on you finding me terrifying, but alas, I suppose that is a topic for another day,” she says, jest clear on her tone even as she nods in reluctant acknowledgement. “I won’t deny that it is a sacrifice, but it is one I am choosing to make.”

She doesn’t expect a return of the favor, Minerva just wants him to understand. It is entirely unlike herself, she knows, but she has long since admitted that for some reason the man in front of her had slipped through her defenses. She had unconsciously made herself soft on his presence, and she doesn’t want to lose it, even if part of her knows that she likely already has.

“Yes, it hurt,” she admits through near gritted teeth, a hand raising to rub the bridge of her nose as she debates whether she wants to say more or not. At this point, she truly and desperately wishes for a drink, but she understands it would be rather stupid for her to imbibe throughout this conversation. “I realized later that it is a compliment, but for it bothered me that it was you that thought so,” she says, and holds back the desire to wince at the words. It is more of an admission than she would like, but one she soon forgets as she lowers her hands as Erik trails off, a question in her eyes. One she doesn’t think she will get an answer to, as Erik keeps talking. She doesn’t mind, though, because as much as she realizes that his words do not represent forgiveness, they still tell her a great deal of the man before her. How he thinks, why he acted the way he did.

She had wanted to understand him since the beginning, and this conversation, from amidst all other, is the one that has done the most when it comes to her understanding of Erik Ashford.

“I figure, but— I don’t want to cross those lines, not yet. When the time comes when I must, I will deal with the consequences of my choices, but for now, I will try and hope my disguise keeps the choice away for a little bit longer,” she says, watching as he moves around the room as if he were a prowling predator, all fluid grace and danger. “As, like you said, once I begin making those choices, there will be nothing left of who I was, and no one to remember it.”

It is a brief acknowledgement, one she continues as she speaks despite her desire to smooth it all over by moving along with his point, but she had said she would be honest, and she meant to keep her word. The near silence admission that unlike him, she is alone in this world, with no Astrid or Gladys to hold her chain as he calls it.

“That is something I am clear about, that the notion that you find lovely is the only path that I have ahead of me.”  Love might not be a weakness in his eyes, but whatever she had hoped for regarding their flirtation will lead to nowhere in his eyes, and somehow that realization is the most crushing blow of them all. Not that she allows her eyes to show that, though, focused as she is on memorizing his words so that she can break them down later to understand him.

“I am not asking you, not when I now understand your reasons,” she says slowly, eyes lifting to rest on the side of his face as she spoke with more confidence than she felt. “I merely wanted to apologize and explain my side of things, but your apologies are not something I will demand, nor your forgiveness.”

His desire to protect himself from the possibility of Minerva learning more of him is the final nail in the coffin of her affections, a clear sign to show that whatever her tumultuous emotions desire it is unlikely to happen, and while she is bothered at the thought, she cannot help but interject.

“Rather hard to take you as a man of no depth when every time you speak there is depth to be found in your musings, whether it be regarding a lack of architectural taste or something else,” she interjects softly, but ends acknowledging his point with an inclination of her head. “I will give you the space you want. Would you like me to alert you of my visits as to not to encounter me at your home?”

[lextalioniss]

“How… punctilious of you,” he said, focused on fixing the chain of his pocket watch and without much real bite to his words. The pale face of the watch stared up at him as he watched the tiny hand speed its way through the seconds, then before the minute had passed looked up at Robinson with a slantwise sort of glance and a slight smirk. “At the risk of offending the lady, I must admit I do not want it so badly as to compromise my usual manner of doing things impulsively and inadvisedly.” And what an inadvisable thing it would be. Though Erik was of the opinion that it was still decidedly less so than whatever he was getting himself into right now. Something inside him recoiled at the thought of having this conversation, some wild beast of a thing that saw the candour in her features like an open flame and hesitated, as wild beasts do. If it showed on his features, he tried to hide it, pushed that thing back into the recesses of his mind until he could bring himself to train his countenance into something impartial, and only then did he turn away from the window and the street he was looking down at. 

“Did I?” Slipping back into his usual mien, he offered her a slight smile that might have been interpreted as penitent, if Erik was ever capable of looking as much. “Yes, I suppose I would prefer it more rough-hewn, if only to make you seem a bit less terrifying.” Part of him wanted to tell her she sounded the part even when her anger was unrehearsed, in that dim hallway at the country estate, but that seemed inadvisable too in this tenuous moment of peace. Erik pushed himself off the sill to walk towards her, his gaze careful as he observed her. “It takes something out of you, doesn’t it? I’m guessing even the fact I’m allowed to see as much on your face is a sacrifice.” Stopping a few feet away he stared at her for a drawn-out, quiet moment before dipping his chin. “Appreciated.” Then, before that thing in him could recoil at the softness of her smile, Erik looked away, swallowing it back. He wondered what it would be like to have that kind of control of one’s own inner world, the carefully controlled lowering of walls, when his only came to the surface carried up on boiling waves of rage and feeling. He wondered if she knew that is what had happened that day, and this was only the shell of him, woefully inadequate to return the favour. Or maybe he didn’t want to return it yet, maybe something inside him was still smarting at the way she’d looked at him that day. Erik looked at her for a moment before strolling away again, to pour himself a drink. 

“Do you know? When I said it that day - I don’t even remember the words anymore, it’s mostly a blur… When I said it, I didn’t even deem that part of the conversation a relevant one, it was merely a statement of what I believed to be a fact.” He played with the crystal stopper of the decanter, turning it over in his hand as he watched its slanting edges catch light, silent for a moment. “That hurt you, didn’t it? Not offended, hurt. That’s why you lashed out, that’s why anyone lashes out. I thought it such a ridiculous notion - I still somewhat do - that I didn’t even entertain the thought. Why would you care, whether or not I thought you a threat? If anything, I thought a woman such as yourself might take it as a compliment. I don’t spook easily. It takes a well-versed player to unsettle me.” He fell silent as he finally stoppered the bottle, and remained so as he took a sip of his drink and closed his eyes for a moment, his breath drawn-out and strained.Then he was turning around and strolling back towards her, stopping only when he came up to her, thoughtful in his perusal. “But you are not a woman such as yourself, are you? Which is…” Trailing off Erik realised he was unsure as to what it was that he had meant to say. Unfortunate? For whom? Robinson, because in this world unscrupulous people thrived more so than those who cared about principles or even other people? Himself, because it would’ve been easier if she was who he’d thought she was? He drew in a deep breath and shook his head, as if to drive the thoughts away and turned away to take another sip and settle himself. 

“It’s a good play. Rattle your tail so you don’t have to be forced to bite,” he said eventually, a mirthless sort of chuckle leaving his chest. “I fell for it. So it works, apparently. It’s just that… this world. This fucking world Robinson.” Erik drew his lower lip between his teeth until it went white, letting out a hiss of air as he slowly shook his head. He propped himself against the table beside her, swirling the remaining liquid and watching it glitter in the dim afternoon sun with an ironic smile on his lips. “It will force you to do things that will cause you guilt, tail or no tail. There are no lines it won’t make you cross, eventually. Until there’s so very little of you left you will wonder what was the point at all.” He finished his drink and looked sideways at her. “And then… unless you find someone like my mother and my grandmother to safeguard the memory of you before this world took you apart, you will lose it altogether and you will forget.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rueful more than anything else, and he cocked his eyebrow at Minerva in that sort of familiar, playful way. Except there was nothing playful at all about the cadence of his voice as he said. “And that is not a suggestion, by the way. I, personally, suggest you don’t. Letting yourself be forgotten is… a lovely notion, a sort of mercy, if you will.” He both dreaded and coveted it, the idea of no one being left to be disappointed, no one left to be taken away, to be held above his head like a guillotine. “Do not mistake me, I’m not Vera, I’m not telling you love is a weakness, to cast it aside for power. I’m telling you it is a chain. Do not chain yourself, or others. Because I am as much their chain as they are mine. They hold their breath every day, waiting for Vera to come to their door in the middle of the night, the same way I did when father died. And I… well. I don’t think you’d like to know what I think every time I fire a gun. I don’t much care for it myself.” Which was to say, Erik did not much care to speak of it at all, to anyone. 

He gazed out in front of them, looking for all the world as if he himself had just caught some end of a truth he’d been searching for. Humming thoughtfully, he looked down at his glass before finishing it off. “I suppose I’ve just realised something.” He didn’t turn to her as he continued on. “Yes, I suppose I did consider you a threat, your actions a ploy. I know that to be a mistake now, though as I said - I will not apologise for being paranoid. But perhaps a more relevant thing to the topic at hand is that I didn’t want you to know me, as they do. I still don’t. I want you to take me as I am, anger issues and an endless capacity for violence and absolutely no depth to speak of. Do you understand?” He turned then to stare at her, a sort of fiery intensity behind his eyes as he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “I am selfish and possessive. I do not share. And they are the only good thing in this world I can still believe in. And you walking into that… pocket of space which I consider the only precious thing I have, well that fucked me up enough to lose my cool. Which is not to say I will try to keep you away - I have no right to that, that much even I am aware of. But do give me some space to be unsettled. It’s rather tricky pretending I am not who I am when I see you with them, knowing you have already seen and will see what I really am. Not a handful, as Mother sees me, or a rake as Grandmother does - but something so much worse.” 

[lextalioniss]

"Oh, very much so. I do delight at it -- like a child caught stealing cherries. It's a thrill." He was squinting at the slanting sun as he said it, a distant sort of quality to his voice as if he were merely going through the motions of his answer, without much heat. Her reaction had caught him slightly off-guard. It wasn't that he was surprised she'd taken note of the intricacies of his reply - words were her job, after all - it was that some part of him had said it expecting her to dismiss him, hoping she would. In his mind she'd chuckled, unconvinced, and called him out on this bold claim that he'd suddenly grown level-headed and restrained. She was supposed to think nothing of it -- after all, paranoia was sort of Erik's thing, not Minerva's. He clenched his jaw and lowered his eyes to the ground, focusing instead on the smooth, glinting surface of the cobblestones beneath their feet, sullen and mildly unsettled. "To be fair, it doesn't take much to provoke me," he said as if that would suddenly resolve the discussion. But the urgency in her voice still rang about his head and Erik let out a sigh before casting a glance around them. "You were supposed to be the voice of reason here, Robinson. Tell me I'm being paranoid, that it's nothing." He didn't mean to sound accusatory, though there was a juvenile impulse in him to do just that. He wasn't particularly keen on letting go of this moment of respite he'd just gotten and instead focus on the weight of the target hanging on his back. "I have half a mind to call you overprotective." He glanced at her, though his attempt at a smile was abortive at best and a grimace at worst. He lowered his voice, tone growing meaningful. "We'll talk about it in private. This city has far too many dark corners and good vantage points to listen from."

Forcefully, he shoved those thoughts into some deep, dark crevice of his mind, still feeling them gnawing at his subconsciousness but so used to it he could easily slip back into their less intense topics. Minerva laughed at something he'd said and Erik didn't bother trying to remember what, just used the familiar sound as an anchoring point to stabilise himself once again. It didn't matter anyway, the whys and hows, he just liked the familiarity of it, and it had been a while since she'd laughed so easily in his presence. "Who says I'm denying it?" He cast a glance her way, an easy, languid sort of smile slipping across his lips, and didn't elaborate further. This was easy, uncomplicated - him with his insolent smiles and her playing along with the over-the-top charade he put on half the time. If at the beginning of their conversation, he'd been far more intense in his avoidance of any sort of true meaning to their conversation, now he felt his mind grow hazy and pliable with time and ease. Their conversation oscillated between thinly-veiled insinuations and occasional brush against true intentions, and when Erik heard the plead in her voice this time, he was far too exhausted to genuinely fight it. "I heal like a dog, so it truly will be only a few days," he said, half-amused, "But I'll lay low. Just for you." 

"Ah, ye of little faith." But she did have a point there. Erik still wasn't sure what to expect of their conversation after the business of the day was done. And by that, he meant that he wasn't sure what to expect of himself. He'd kept his cool at the party, for the most part anyway, but Minerva had a way of getting under his skin and pulling at something raw inside him, that thin string that just barely held closed the dam inside him. There was no sense of duty to stop him today, no audience that would keep him leashed. He looked at her for a moment. "I was aiming for innocence, but if we do get that far, you might as well tell me about that uptightness of yours. Didn't know it was chronic." He smirked at that, feeling insolent, before slipping back into the lull of their conversation.

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Sprawling about, everywhere but where he was supposed to be, Erik felt twelve again. He'd used to stall like this back then too, all charming smiles and agonizing slowness to his movements, less-than-eager to move on to some topic of study that didn't hold his interest in the same way languages or literature did. Except his tutor didn't use to grace his pleas and attempts at distraction with that indulgent smile that painted itself across Minerva's lips. Erik revelled in it for a moment before chuckling. "Perhaps that's what I'm afraid of." And perhaps that wasn't a lie either. But Erik could hardly elaborate on that when he himself wasn't sure what exactly it was that he was feeling, so he said this with a sort of airy, playful smile that alleviated the seriousness of his voice. He'd promised her this. It did not matter how he felt about the topic when Minerva had made it so clear that she had to do this for herself. He pushed himself off the windowsill and sauntered over towards the closet. "You sure you don't want me to pretend it's not big enough?" he said even as he opened the door to the closet and peered inside to find the folded clothes where she usually put them for him in emergencies. "I couldn't tell if you liked the unbuttoned waistcoat or were offended by it. Perhaps sometimes it's the same thing." This time he was being impertinent for the sheer sake of it. He didn't do it to piss her off or derail the inevitability of their conversation, but simply because some part of him still thrilled at the cat-and-mouse game they used to play, at expecting a certain reaction and getting another instead. 

He offered her one last smirk before slipping inside, suddenly engulfed by the warm, close air, smelling faintly of something that was very distinctly Minerva. He didn't let himself dwell too much on how familiar the scent was, or why he recognised it immediately and instead focused on the buttons of his shirt as he raised his voice so she could hear him through the half-shut doors. "So what is the first order of business? Are there bullet points I should get familiarised with?" He came back out with the bloody shirt held up in front of him as he inspected the damage. The splatter of blood was haphazard, not abundant as with firearm damage, but abundant enough that it couldn't be fixed. And besides, there was a much larger patch of blood on the forearm, where he'd been cut with something. He rolled up his sleeves as he walked back towards her desk, careful not to stain the new shirt, and dejectedly tossed the ruined shirt on a wooden armrest where it couldn't ruin anything. "I'll just start wearing all black." Leaning his forearms on the back of the chair in front of her desk he tipped his head slightly as he watched Minerva for a few drawn-out moments of silence. "For the record, I don't require apologies," he said and continued before he could get her blood pressure to skyrocket, "But you expressed that you do, so here I am. Just wanted to get that out in the clear." Then, hesitating for a moment, he decided to get another thing out in the open, one he wasn't exactly sure was a mutually understood thing between them the way he'd thought. "I just... I don't think I took you for someone who'd apologise, or feel guilty for that matter." His eyes narrowed as he searched her face, mapping out the expression with the careful devotion of a mapmaker observing seemingly new grounds. "Before you get worked up, it's not a bad thing. It's just that --" Trailing off for a moment he searched his mind for the right words. Everything felt too loaded with gunpowder and he was standing in the midst of it with a lit match. He sighed and looked at his hands where he was playing with the ring on his finger, a slight frown between his brows. "Never mind. You wanted to speak your part?" 

“As much of a rhetorical question as you want it to be, Ashford,” she insists, eyes lingering on the shadow of a smirk on his lips before she drags her eyes away, the very giggle he is alluding towards on the edge of her own lips, the taste of it coating the back of her throat despite the knowledge that it will not come to fruition. There is a weight to her shoulder’s that won’t allow her to take as much true delight on the situation as she can until they have stopped sidestepping the elephant of the room. “It would stifle your charm, I suppose, I do have to give you that,” Minnie concedes, a sharp curve to her lips showing her own amusement. She keeps that curve in place, even when she feels one of his fingers brush against her throat, pulling at the pearl necklace that lies there. Her throat dries at the action, and part of her wants to swallow to moisten it, but she is fairly sure he would notice if she did, so instead she arches a brow and widens her smirk. “Oh, Ashford,” she croons, eyes dark and playful. “You barely brushed the surface of what I like,” she says and then her eyes slip away as she shrugs. “As for a reprimand? Well, you are partly right so doing so would be moot. I do believe I do that enough, but I can increase my tempo of it if you are interested.”

“Either or, either and,” she replies primly, another eyeroll following as he keeps talking. There is no denying his words, not when that part of their dynamic, and yet she can’t deny the faith she has placed on Erik. Granted, her faith is placed on his abilities, and not usually on his claims. Minerva is well aware of Erik’s predilection towards irritating her, well aware that he seems to enjoy their repartee too much to let it flow smoothly, without any stones thrown at it. They both enjoy the give and take of their conversations, the flow of their jabs and witticisms an inexplicable draw.

“Pardon?” Minerva asks, eyes narrowed at his words. It could be nothing, she hopes is nothing, but someone going out of their way to provoke the new consigliere so soon after he was promoted could not mean anything good. Not for him, not for the Vincelli and not for her. She will have to keep a careful track of all the rumors the soldatos deign to give her, hit the speakeasies to head the whispers. It is most likely nothing, but it would be better if they try to prepare herself otherwise. “They provoked you? If that is the case, I would like more detail on the provokers, just to ensure I keep my eye out for them.”

A bark of laugh escapes her at his mock offense, the worry from his admission set momentarily aside to focus on the more amusing topic of conversation.

“You are well aware of who I work with,” she says, her only explanation of who she believes her first biggest headache to be. Vera is many things, but a second best is not one of them. She has made sure to excel no matter the situation she is excelling at, and right now she is excelling at giving Minerva the most headaches between the two. There is no denying that Erik is a close second, but his boss edges him out rather quickly. “Careful now, Ashford, anymore and it would seem as if you want my eyes on you,” she drawls, mimicking his words for emphasis, unable to avoid the comment when it fits so well upon their established dynamic. Not saying anything would be much more noticeable, much more telling, and she has already told him too much in this matter whether he notices or not.

“Do try to avoid it, however, of you must at least for a couple of days,” she says, the silent plead loud enough for Ashford to hear, she is aware. “Just until your wounds close, so that I don’t need to drive you to the hospital next time around.”

She nods again, feeling as if she has been doing too much of that lately.

“Do illuminate me on how you plan to sharpen my edges, Ashford,” she says, eyes narrowed for a moment as she glances away as she tightens her jaw in mild annoyance but unable to deny that her tongue will likely cut him once more. It’s an instant reaction, one that she had cultivated as her most ardent defense against the world. One that she cannot stop herself from using once she feels attacked. “I can’t deny it, but I will attempt not to cut too deeply.”

Another laugh escapes her, and she can’t deny that she has laughed more on his presence than she has in anyone else’s for a while.

“Vera? A soft spot for anyone?” She laughs again, shaking her head in disbelief, smirk turning into a genuine smile of delight at his choice of words. There is no denying that the implications that follow could be construed as an insult, but she is well acquainted with Erik’s belief on her skill, so she allows that implication to brush her by, a wicked grin crossing her lips as she rolls her eyes a third time in so many minutes. “Oh, plenty of woman appreciate it, but Vera has not had first hand knowledge of it,” she tells him, amusement more pronounced on her face than ever before on his presence, true delight dancing on her eyes as she shakes her head. “And because I am calmer now than I was in September, I can tell you that it is not about the Vincelli’s charm, nor rank, but about the individual.”

Erik Ashford would be someone that in any other circumstance would get the demonstration he implied he wanted, gladly. Unfortunately, the current situation made it just about the worst thing she could do or tell him. Things are too fragile as they are, and sex never has done too much to fix a messy situation, just make them worse.

She ignores the comment about the bruises, even if part of her files it away just in case.

“Do you promise?” Minerva asks, sarcasm thick and deep even as she tilts her head curiously. “Because we both know I could talk all day to prove a point, and getting checked for a concussion would be proving a point.”

The desire to deny Erik her weakness is there, but she nods instead. A slow deliberate thing to accent, pulled out of her by sheer stubbornness and her own desire to fix things.

“You did indeed, and we can talk about why in my office if we get that far,” she admits, once again nearly reluctant but as willing to extend the olive branch as she had been during the party while she was drunk. Still, she takes the opportunity he gives her to take a deep breath and gather herself.  “I appreciate the not asking, however,” she offers with a nod and a brief snicker at his last comment, an indescribable fondness on her chest. “And yes, likely. I was much more uptight than right now.”

Once they walk the office, a wash of renewed confidence washes over her, the knowledge that she built the place brick by brick. It’s something she takes pride in, something that brings her relief, and just an edge of calm to her current worries.

“Some people perhaps, but I am well aware of your own self-image through our interactions to identify the fact that you are being shrewd,” she admits, head tilting as she examines his smug smile with a raised brow. “I suppose it’s true, but you are rather too pretty for me to belief yourself humble and I am too sharp to show my embarrassment. The disadvantages of working together, I suppose is that we see each other enough to notice things,” she continues, voice calm even as her heart races as he gets closer. Chin tilting up, she keeps her eye contact going until he breaks it himself. “But alright, I will call it shrewdness from now on.”

She allows herself one last laugh to fortify herself for the conversation that it’s to come.

“Do make yourself comfortable, we will be here a while,” she says dryly, eyes lingering on the undone waistcoat for a moment before she focuses back on Erik as she walks to her desk. “Erik Ashford? Blushing? That will be the day,” Minerva says, before she takes the recent batch of paperwork from her desk and settles down for a long couple of hours. “Let’s begin, then.”

____________________________________

It's getting ridiculous, she knows, the way her eyes linger on Erik’s frame again and again throughout the day. As the time passes, he pays less and less attention to her, eyes wandering, and that is when it begins. Eyes lingering on the slope of his neck, his open waistcoat— She makes sure not to linger for long, in case he starts paying attention out of nowhere. She doesn’t have to worry, she knows he has long checked out from the paperwork, but the worry lingers exacerbated by the conversation they are about to have.

Minerva is finishing the last document, her signature lingering on the bottom of the page when Erik speaks again, and she holds back a sigh. Setting her pen aside, she glances up and shakes her head, bracing herself for whatever is to come.

“Not truly, I mean to apologize after all,” she reminds him, hands coming together as she settles them on the desk, eyes meeting his as he lowers his face and responding to his smile almost by instinct. “Yes we did,” she says but before she continues, he mentions the change of clothes and she nods. “And yes I did,” she admits and gestures towards her coat closet, by the door to her office. “They should be hanging inside, please feel free to change there, it should be big enough.”

[lextalioniss]

"Was that a rhetorical question?" He'd been watching her out the corner of his eye as he said it, head bent and hands shoved into his pockets. The morning light slanted in such ways that the smirk on his lips was but a shadow, even as he shook his head. "You can giggle all you want, Robinson - not that I object, mind you - but you know perfectly well that this predictable scenario would be quite tragic for the both of us." If he thought that this logic could be considered highly objectionable in light of recent events, Erik did not voice it. Sure, a more utilitarian approach to their dealings would've likely saved them the trouble, but trouble felt like such a quintessential part of Erik that he hardly ever considered the alternatives. "It's just like architecture. Like that thing the Germans are testing out. Bauhaus. It's fine, very clean, very... functional." He said this the same way one would say mundane or tiresome. "But in my soul, I'll always be an Art Deco sort of man." And then, as if to emphasise his point, he caught his finger briefly against the necklace around her neck before placing it back. "And I think you prefer your things gilded." He raised his gaze back up to her eyes and smirked before turning to continue their stroll. "Though do feel free to object and reproach. I try my best to be at least somewhat deplorable for that precise reason."

If he was being fair, Erik himself had assumed the grace period following his promotion would last considerably longer. He'd never say it outright, but a good portion of the trouble he got into was intentionally allowed to spiral out of control either because he couldn't bring himself to care about the consequences or because he couldn't be bothered with control. There was something cathartic and familiar about the ritual, something to ground him, something to make him feel real. "Expected or hoped it would continue for a tad bit longer?" A chuckle followed his words as if to emphasise that it was less a question than an involuntary reflex. "Oh, don't answer that. Your faith in my claims is such a sparse occurrence I dare not question it too much." It was a strange talent, the way Erik had a way of speaking that made a genuine truth come out sounding like a sly falsity. He supposed that too was a way of keeping the people around him on the edges of their seats. "It was supposed to," he said eventually, squinting towards the gleaming rooftops, "Last for a while, I mean. I didn't lose my shit on a night out or grow careless on a job. I reacted to a provocation, one I couldn't ignore after a while." Though careful not to insinuate too much, not to make it sound like at other times he did grow deliberately careless or unintentionally volatile, he wasn't exactly sure why he was explaining this to her. What did it matter? The results were the same - cracked skin and bloodied shirts and Robinson straightening it all out with cool efficacy. He watched her out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment before deciding to nip this thought process in the bud. It was too early to be paranoid, too early to let the thoughts overwhelm him again. 

"Only second biggest? Are you trying to make me envious Robinson?" This, on the other hand, was a familiar sort of play, a well-trodden path. His voice was low and overtly offended, the frown between his brows at odds with the way he pressed his lips into a tight line to hide the smirk in the corners. "Careful now. I was spoiled rotten and bathed in favouritism as a child and now I ache for that favour. Which is why I feel an impulse to do something disreputable just to prove a point." Then his features leaned into that smirk he'd been holding back and he chuckled softly. "Though I suspect I only have to follow you back to your office and that will do half the work for me." It was a joke, one could tell from the off-hand way he'd said it, but Erik supposed it only worked because there was truth to it. If one was to go by how their conversations had ended in the past few weeks, headaches almost felt like an inevitability. And saying it felt like walking the very edge of a blade. "I don't doubt your edges Robinson - but that doesn't mean I won't try to sharpen you to a point. I'm sure you won't hold back from cutting me with it either." 

He'd never given much thought to Minerva's relationship with Vera, now that she had mentioned it. He'd seen them interact, of course, but Erik didn't pay the same amount of attention to Vera's mien as other people might have. Even when he doubted her motives it was hard to make himself pay attention given that he'd spent years in comfortable familiarity with her. But if he was being fair, compliments directed at Vera had never been on his repertoire - the cogs of their relationship were so finely tuned that their interactions boiled down to either smooth efficiency or comfortable silences. "Oh no, I still am easily swayed, as you so politely put it," he said, entirely unconcerned with his own characterisation, "But perhaps it is Vera that has a particularly soft spot for you?" He'd turned to look at her as he'd said it, eyebrow arched as amusement flitted across his features. There was a moment of hesitation there, constructed out of a beat of silence and a barely-controlled smirk, where Erik weighed stopping there against speaking further. But it was such a lovely morning, and Erik always thought ill-considered decisions shouldn't be reserved only for the nighttime. "Especially if Vera is one of those people telling you how good you are with your tongue. I know she appreciates that in a woman." And even as her eyes wandered away and she had returned to whatever their conversation had been about a second ago, Erik still looked thoroughly amused by this diversion. "And since we're pretending not to be at each other's throats right now, I almost feel compelled to ask whether it's only reserved for that notorious Vincelli charm. Just in case my new rank brings me close enough to it for a demonstration." He looked at her for a moment longer, a sly smile at his lips, before breathing in and looking away, "But I won't - we're not that good at pretending, and I prefer the bruises on my neck surface-level." 

And even if both of them were aware that much of it was pretense, Erik could appreciate her spinning her words into something much more unsentimental. It allowed him to not dwell on it too much, even if some part of him wondered why she'd cared enough to be so precise with her words. Or perhaps cared wasn't the right word for it. Everything about their recent interactions felt like a careful exercise in reading comprehension and diplomacy, and Erik was growing impatient with it. "How... pragmatic of you." It was an indulgence, for both hers and his own sake. Though he wondered if he should've acknowledged it at all, this way in which she'd deftly placated him before it spun out of control. He leaned in slightly, even as they walked, his voice lowered as if he was just about to say something thoroughly salacious. "Keep taking like that and I might actually go make sure I don't have a concussion." 

As she spoke, Erik turned over his words in his mind. They'd been said lightheartedly, almost reflexively - a thing to distract from the topic at hand - but some particular part of them had snagged against her, and now Erik was watching her carefully as she spoke. They were at the entrance to the building now and Erik stopped in such way that his body obscured the entrance as he narrowed his eyes slightly. "I've touched a nerve, haven't I?" he said thoughtfully, head slightly inclined to the side as he watched the emotions slip across her features, indecipherable. It wasn't really a question he'd needed an answer to - he could tell he did accidentally brush against something in the way her lips curved and her voice got drowned out by something inside her. "Hmm," he hummed, vague sounding, "I don't think I've ever seen you falter like this before. Or I have, but not..." He'd meant to say sober or in this setting, but for a moment his thoughts ran away from him and he thought of how hard it would be to fake this sort of reaction, this quickly. He'd never doubted her capabilities, but this felt far-fetched, even to his paranoid mind. He looked away from her, as if to give her space to recuperate, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, a slight frown between his brows. "I don't think you wanted me to hear it, so I won't ask. Though I will say, I do wonder what you looked like before you learned the look of dry irritation." He looked back at her for a moment, hand resting on the door handle. "I imagine like someone I would've stayed away from."

It was cooler inside, the thick walls keeping the temperature constant against the whims of the outside world. Erik followed the familiar path in silence, waiting for her to continue the conversation when she could slip back behind her mask. "Oh, I'm being shrewd, not restrained." He said as he looked down at her at the top of the stairs, something overtly smug about the way he smiled, "I've found people like a certain amount of unawareness when it comes to my good looks. Adds to the charm. Like that little thing you do with averting your eyes - all sweet and bashful, as if I'd embarrassed you. I almost bought it." He waited for her to come up before he turned around to face her, intentionally close, eyebrow raised. "I don't. Just like you don't buy my play at humility. But it makes it so much more fun, doesn't it?" Then he was walking towards the door, voice carrying behind him, "And besides, restrained is another one of those things I would rather not be seen as." 

Once in her office, Erik fell easily back into the familiar rituals - undoing his waistcoat and heading for the scotch, his movements languid and unhurried. "A shame, really... I did hope for at least some amount of teasing to lighten the mood but I suppose I'll have to improvise." He headed for the windowsill, propping himself against it as he swirled the liquid in the glass and waited for her to settle herself. "But do be careful with all that denial. You know what they say about being too adamant about something. Keep at it and you'll have me blushing." Winking at her over the edge of his glass, he took a deep sip before closing his eyes and leaning the back of his head against the window frame. "As the lady wishes, the predilections will remain unquestioned for now." With a sigh, he nodded towards her desk, "Go on. We'll go over the papers first. You said you like to please and Vera will be decidedly not pleased if it doesn't get done because we got into another fight." 

____________________________

By the time they finished the light slanted through the windows at a much lower angle and Erik was sprawled in one of the chairs opposite Minerva's desk, legs stretched out and head tilted against the backrest. He was balancing his glass on the armrest, holding it still with the tip of his finger placed against the rim and watching its contents glint in the sun with a sort of dazed look of boredom. The part of him his mother had raised was considering straightening up just to pretend he was somewhat interested for Robinson's sake, but Astrid was not here and so Erik simply directed his gaze towards Minerva and raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully quiet. Should I be afraid?" He didn't move, but he did tilt his head up from where it was almost leaned against his shoulder and smiled at her. "We ran out of papers to stall this thing, haven't we?" He let go of the glass, catching it before it tipped and finishing his drink. Then he was standing up and stretching out as he made his way towards the window to look out into the street. "Very well. I'm sufficiently worn out that I will be pliable. Or was it amenable? I have to admit, it was a good decision to do it here." He turned to prop himself against the windowsill and look at her. "I also distinctly remember I was promised a change of clothes. Just no doctors, the bleeding has been stopped a while ago and I feel like this might take a while." 

“And that, above all else, would a shame, wouldn’t it?” Minerva drawls back, echoing his own mocking tone and inflection as a tittering of laugh leaves her lips almost without her permission. It’s at times like this when she realizes why she had fallen into the trap of their relationship being more than it was, fallen trap to the illusion of closeness that that been oh so carefully crafted by accident— or by Erik’s own hand, although she would ignore that possibility until it had been proven or disproven for it meant she had once again done the stupid thing and trusted far too much in a world were trust meant less than she had hoped, less than she had wanted . “Now that I can believe, you have been awfully quiet lately, and I had expected for that to continue for just a bit longer, at the least.”

More like she had assumed that Erik would have to go through either a training phase or be confronted with a level of work he is unused with and that would lead to less than the usual level of encounters for at least another week or so. Minerva had miscalculated, she supposes, when she forgot to add foreign action into her estimates. Shame on her, she supposes.

“Please,” she scoffs exaggeratedly, even as she turns away to track a familiar figure to the crowd and makes a note to follow up with them, because it is rather curious to see him walking around without company at this hour. Thankfully, Minnie is quite capable of multitasking, and continues next to Erik as if she hadn’t found yet another tidbit to add to her growing list of secrets. Those are the benefits of being a lawyer working for the mafia, she supposes, there are secrets she will always be privy off. “I have kept my edge for far longer than I have known you. And regardless, I get plenty of practice, with or without you. You might be my second biggest headache at this point, but you are not my sole one.”

Minerva tilts her head in consideration as she steps off the curve as they cross the street, eyes glancing at Erik from the corner of her eye with mild interest and an entirely new undertone of amusement.

“To each their own, but Vera was quite pleased with my compliments the last time we met, so perhaps it is not that you are merely easily swayed,” she comments idly, the memory flitting through her head as she continues forward. It’s funny, she muses, how there is a steady give and take of information on their banter that clues the other of comings and goings without giving too much away, without meaning to say anything at all. Rather curious, too, that it only happens to her on the presence of the man next to her. “But perhaps I am as good with my tongue as many tell me I am.”

Minerva leaves the double entendre hanging, both having meant to say it and not quite believing she did at the current point of time. She hates to admit it, but even while carefully sidestepping the minefield they will be walking through when they get to the office, conversing with Erik Ashford puts her at ease at an alarming rate. Something to work on, if the conversation ends more explosively than she had hoped. Something to work on, if there is nothing that can be done to fix what has been broken.

“I would appreciate the effort, though, it would make such a nice change of pace,” she admits with a small shrug, eyes wandering away once more.

“I have yet to expand my business, but I aim to excel and to please, and truly, the healthier you are, the easier my job is,” she says, the half-truth dripping from her blood red lips like honey upon a dainty teacup. Her sentiment is sincere, if nothing else, but there is much she is yet to say, for she doesn’t believe Erik will believe her if she does and she would rather not have him distrust her further for the truth. The simple truth, really: that she had grown to care for him, for his mother and grandmother. That she would rather not see any of them suffer needlessly, that she would much sooner have them safe than not. It’s the truth, but Minerva cannot say this. Not with things between the two being as they are.

There is more she can say, too. More she could snap back and keep things at their usual level and yet— With everything, she has become hesitant to say too much.

And yet—.

There are some comments she can’t ignore, not when they force the bitterness and contempt that had led her down her current path to swell on her chest, a sardonic smile coming to decorate her lips.

“I was born dutiful, yes, but I am anything but—,” anything but the dutiful daughter, she wants to say, but the words are lodged in her throat and she shakes her head, knowing they won’t come out now, even if she tries. “The dry irritation look is new, however, learned less than four years ago.”

His words are placating, she can see it clearly, and yet she accepts them as they are, unwilling to start the conversation now rather than hidden behind the walls of her office. Much less public, less prone for rumors to spread. So she nods, tabling the conversation aside.

Then she prepares herself for his reaction relating her confession and can’t help the smile of amusement at his reaction.

Yes, just as she expected.

Funny, how she had felt a level of aversion about letting him know the reason behind her current attire, but that now that she told him, there is none of the dread she had been fearing sitting at her chest. Rather, his smile and laugh send a blanket of warmth through her veins, something she refuses to name stirring on her chest. Minerva has to avert her gaze and look away as he laughs, pretend she is embarrassed b the whole ordeal, lest he realizes there is something aside the mild feeling of embarrassment on her eyes.

His laugh is rather beautiful, she thinks absentmindedly, remembering suddenly that he had not heard him laugh like that in quite some time.

Regardless, she must continue to pretend that the fondness she has realized she holds for Erik Ashford does not go beyond any boundary of appropriateness. They have established that they do not know each other in most ways that are meaningful, after all, and it had been implied he did not necessarily like her presence. Allowing him to learn of her tentative affections would be an overwhelmingly bad mistake, one that she refuses to make.

“You are truly the picture of restraint,” she says primly, wiping the amusement of her face with a well crafted mask as she looks back at Erik with a perfectly sculpted brow raised, giving her an air of mild amusement instead of the fond emotion settled on her chest. “Describing yourself only as handsome? Never have I imagined you being so humble.”

Minerva fails to mention that the sheikh in question would be interested in Erik, not wanting to continue down that path of conversation.

“There is a handful of scenarios where I enjoy teasing, this one in particular is not one of them,” she says simply, not wanting to drag that conversation further with her office getting closer with every step.

“Yes, almost,” she insists, voice clear even if there is an uptick on her lips betraying her words. She does admit the man is awfully attractive, even covered in blood and yet—. “I do think that while you look handsome right now, I can remember more than a couple of occasions where you were truly dashing,” the joy on his face as he had received the news in Vera’s party still haunted her to this day, the way that it took her breath away repeating on her mind when she becomes distracted. But she can’t very well say that, can she? “Alas, those few instances are quite rare,” she sighs in mock disappointment, before rolling her eyes. “Do leave my predilections out of this, will you? I don’t question yours nearly as often, but I can do so more if you keep insisting.”

Her light smile flattens at the near mocking comment regarding the troublesome soldatos, but she tilts her head in acknowledgment, unwilling to touch on the ways the soldatos had been giving her trouble.

“That is all I am asking for, thank you,” she confirms with a nod of acknowledgment, before a brief and wan smile flits through her lips. “No, I wouldn’t lie for something as simple as that,” she is making an attempt not to lie to him at all, but she keeps that truth close to her chest. “You can remain confident on the fact that the most boring, mind-numbing bait ever is not that, but a reality. Unfortunately, there are documents we must go through. Would you like to go over them first?”

[lextalioniss]

"Now, now," he drawled, hands raised in a placating gesture like a man trying to calm the tensions just before it got ugly. "No need for such harsh judgement. Regimented skirts awfully close to such sins as tedious or predictable." But maybe that wasn't an unfair judgement either. Erik had always been a creature of habit, even in the midst of chaos, even in tragedy. Obscured by the the more impressive, violent and unpredictable parts of his life, there was a common thread running beneath it all - a lifeline, Adriane's thread - he came back to it every time, gripped it like it was an anchor. His mother's roses, his father's revolvers, his own bloodied knuckles. His denial of it all. He smiled, because that too was a habit, smiled and played his part. "Ah, but I'll have you know that this time I did not go looking for trouble. It had found me instead." This was not untrue. Whatever tense, violent energy had thrummed inside him for so long was made quite in these past few days and weeks, tampered down to embers by the recent events. Even if he could feel new breeds of fear springing to life in the back of his mind, they were not yet formed enough to bleed into his dreams, to make him go out itching for blood or pain or bad decisions. "But I suppose it had to happen eventually." He said this as if he were speaking of rain falling after a long spell of drought, fixing the cuffs of his shirt as he walked beside her. "Had to make sure you weren't losing your edge."

He supposed it was better that this reunion happened now rather than later - while he was still high on success and the illusion of security. While it was still his first instinct to smirk and say something inappropriate to distract from the topic at hand. He would not lose his grip now, wouldn't let the reigns slip. "I would like remain stoic and mildly irritated by flattery like Vera," he said, chuckling, "Tell you I'm not so easily swayed. Impervious to honeyed words." He shrugged, not looking sorry in the slightest. "But, alas. I am a trollop for flattery, and not a particularly expensive one. -- I'll indulge your desires for a change of scenery. Something with colour, I think. And a pretty motif."

He cast a glance towards her as they crossed the street, consternation tucked into the creases that had formed between his brows. "I don't remember Vera noting my health as part of your duties, dear Robinson. Are you expanding the business? Or just growing soft?" He raised an eyebrow, a shadow of a smirk crossing his features before he focused back on the street. He had his hands in his pockets, turning the warm metal of his beat-up lighter in his hand, considering his next move as if this were a game of chess. "At ease. Before you get all defensive - it's a joke. Though I do wonder if you were born so dutiful or have you grown into that look of dry irritation over the years?" So pedantic. So solemn and earnest. Erik halted as the sharpness of her words cut through the air, falling behind her as he dug himself into the spot, hands still in pockets, shoulders at ease. He smiled. "Touchy." Something inside him shifted at the sound of that intonation, like a wild animal twitching its ears at the slightest noise. He cocked his head, observed her for a long second, knew they were in dangerous territory, at least for this brief moment. "Mmm." He hummed, sounding indulgent, tipping his head as if to concede. "My apologies. It's not an act." Then he was walking again, passing by her, gaze trained on something in the distance. "Relax, Robinson, I won't question it, or object it. I told you - I'm not looking for trouble. Not yet anyway."

He was glad for the distraction just then, his fingertips still numb with some repressed energy he'd shoved down when she'd reacted to his words in that way. It all felt a bit too familiar, like he'd brushed against the forest fire while his skin still remembered its burn. Erik laughed instead - a soft, disbelieving laugh. "A sheikh?" He'd almost stopped in his tracks again, but made himself move forward instead, words forming in his mouth that he was unable to get out without chuckling. He started and stopped several times before finally settling. "A sheikh? How.... extravagant." He'd angered her already by bullying her into giving up the details, and he doubted his reaction was helping so he closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed all the juvenile impulses. "Sorry about that. Just one more. -- That's not an olive branch, that's a whole goddamn tree you're offering. A sheikh?" He bit his lip, drew the air in through the nose. "Okay, now I'm done. I will even refrain from asking if he's interested in men - handsome, about 6'5'', utterly delightful. See? I'm improving."

Even as he still smiled, eyes tracing the colourful crowds around them, Erik could feel the storm brewing. It was a scratch at the back of his skull, a dull thud at his temples. You should've seen it coming. He did. But that didn't make him any less reluctant. He drew another cigarette from his silver case, something to calm his nerves during that last stretch of their path. "Oh I know perfectly well what you mean, Robinson," he said as he lit the cigarette, amusement still lining his voice, though fainter this time round. "And I think you know perfectly well what me playing stupid means. Doesn't stop us from playing, does it?" He looked at her then, the smile faint and sly on his lips, as if to say he wasn't about to give in so quickly simply because he felt her apply the pressure. "Oh don't be a tease." His voice had that easy confidence again, the edges blunted once more, a lazy drawl. "Just almost? Doubtful. I think you're into it - the whole up-to-no-good look." He lowered his voice, intentionally vexing. "No shame in that. We all have some questionable predilections."

He stopped when they were near, watching the red tip of his cigarette with keen interest as he played with the cigarette between his fingers. "Aw. Are my soldatos giving you trouble?" They were not his anymore, he supposed. He felt a strange pang of longing for it, for this period of his life when he was simply their capo, a feeling he hadn't yet processed and certainly didn't intend to now. It got shoved down as he took a drag. "They learned from the best." Then he was putting out the cigarette and looking down at Robinson, the amusement in him dampened down to something far less ostentatious. "I make no promises," he said, then glanced down the street, drawing in a heavy breath. "About whatever you think will come of this. If you want to give your answers, I'll listen." He stared at the passing traffic for a long moment before turning to look at her. "Do those papers exist at all? Or did I get baited by the most boring, mind-numbing bait ever?"

[lextalioniss]

Erik let out a laugh - unfettered, easy -  the sort that existed outside the constraints of resentment or contemplation. It was as if her subtle uncertainty had glanced off him, and he continued on without breaking stride. For once, it did not feel like labour - this sort of pretence - instead he found the comfortable familiarity comforting. Could it be considered pretence - he thought - or was it just good compartmentalising? “You make it sound like I’m a feral stray.” His patterns familiar, well-trodden, the outcomes predictable. He prowled these streets like a wounded hound. It wasn’t an unfair comparison. “Well yes, but how is a man supposed to embody the Byronic hero with all this…” he waved his hand vaguely in the general direction of the building, “...flat brownness.” He was not serious, not really, though there was an element of self-awareness in it, tucked into the corners of his lips, a small, private smirk. He sighed, flicking the cigarette away, squinting against the sun as he took out a pocket watch to look at the time. “No matter, I’ll just make sure trouble finds me in a more fashionable part of the city next time.”

He clicked the watch shut, running his thumb against the delicate engravings on its lid - once, twice - as if it were a ritual, and saw Robinson shift to stand in front of him, a tightness to her posture. His head was still lowered as his gaze went up, observing her under his lashes for a moment, like an animal caught doing something it knew it shouldn’t. Regretful only because it had gotten caught. “All that worry Robinson, it’s not good for the heart,” he chided in that same soft, languid drawl his mother employed for when Gladys was being particularly high-strung. It never worked, and he didn’t expect it to work now either, but he knew she’d find the words familiar, maybe annoying even. A slow, nonchalant smirk appeared as he pocketed the watch into the waistcoat. “I’m joking. It’s a line. Please don’t make me dissect it, that makes it lose its charm.” Though it was a lazy mistake - he should’ve known better than to give her something to latch on to right in the middle of his question. “What is actually concerning is that you still take my shit seriously. Concussions pass, all this worry sounds chronic.” 

He was looking down at her, blocking his path, amusement on his face. “Avoidance, avoidance.”, he tutted, a playful, sing-song harmony to his words, before slipping past her. “You could’ve just lied, Robinson. Or tell me to fuck off, which would be fair considering I’m ruining your Saturday. All that act of concern just to avoid a question says a lot.” Not that the specifics really mattered, Erik just found her reluctance and her diligent avoidance curious, delighted by the chance to taunt her. He stopped, spinning around to face her, a hand placed across his heart as if he’d been startled, entirely overdramatised. “You know what had just occurred to me? – I didn’t tell you it had to be you to come get me. Not even my arrogance is vast enough for that.” He raised an eyebrow, amused and unrelenting like a dog with a bone. “I just said competent. Is that it? I am interrupting something - but you came. How sweet. My arrogance is flattered.”

But perhaps he shouldn’t have been so intentionally glib and irritating. He’d made the jokes because he’d assumed no higher purpose to her coming down to the station personally, but now the office was being mentioned and Erik couldn’t help the defeated chuckle that left his lips. “I walked right into that, didn’t I? Bureaucracy.” He’d made the distinction intentionally, as if between the lines one could see the subtext - I’ve been avoiding you because I hate documents, not you. But that wasn’t entirely true either, Erik was just good at handling half-truths. He couldn’t back down now. Play along - unconcerned, lighthearted. “Did I? I thought you burned that, or made a voodoo doll to torture.” The easy way words left his lips and the loose set of his shoulders as he stood in front of her with hands in his pockets was at odds with the measured slowness of her words. Erik pretended not to notice. It’s fine. See? I even joked about it. Let it go. 

He laughed, “No questions? I should hope there would be some at least - Are you nauseous? Do you have double vision? Can you follow my finger? - See? I can practically do it on my own by now.” And he knew all the correct answers. This was particularly useful when one wanted to be left in peace. There was a pause in her words then, as if she might have expected him to object. Erik didn’t want to dwell on the implications of it too much (Should he have objected? Why was this such a big deal?) and so instead he leaned down slightly, voice conspiratorial. “I’m not sure you’re asking the right person. I’m the bloodied one with the split lip. Are you sure that’s not an issue?” This was easy, uncomplicated. But he should’ve known this was leading up to something he couldn’t just twist into a jovial, careless thing. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if defeated, and straightened up with a sigh. “I suppose there’s no point in telling you that I never required those answers when I asked the questions?” When he opened his eyes they were trained on her. He worked his jaw for a moment. “Well since you asked so nicely Robinson, I’ll be amenable today. If you would just relax for two seconds - I’m afraid people will think I have a gun pointed at you.”

The call had come as a surprise, an early morning call from her office to let her know of Ashford’s new whereabouts at the NOPD. For a moment, she hesitates, looking down at her painstakingly chosen outfit and thinking back at the invitation to a Saturday brunch with a dashing businessman. She thinks of the invitation almost longingly, knowing that despite the distance between meetings, she remains as foolish as ever regarding the unacknowledged emotion she holds regarding the consigliere, but even then, she is aware that she has already made the decision. Erik had asked her not to send someone else, not even when they are in conflict and —  Well, now they are not not in conflict. Their conversation the balcony hangs between them, and despite her desire for things to go back to how they were before, she cannot allow for his questions to remain unaddressed.

Even if she is missing quite the brunch for him, even if she knows her reasons have to do with the desire to mend bridges and close the gap that she has recently realized has always existed.

The procedure goes smoothly, wheels of the political machine greased due to her connections and her words, and soon she is exiting the building, wondering if Erik had chosen to remain or had left her behind due to the unacknowledged tension between the two.

She almost sighs in relief, as she sees him as she exits the station, a weight she didn’t know she held lifting from her shoulders. This is a beginning. A beginning, and hopefully not an end. God, she hopes it’s not an end. She had jumped far too quickly into the current situation and now she is not sure she will be able to bear it if it’s an ending.

“Isn’t the 4th a bit too far from your usual routes?” She inquires, words slipping her lips before she realizes it, falling back into comfortable patterns despite her mixed desire to move beyond those. Minerva pauses midstep at his words, however, head tilting and eyes narrowing as she absorbs the information even as her brows begin to raise in incredulity. She makes the executive decision to sidestep the inquiry in order to focus on the more important side of the conversation. “Concussion?” The word is repeated slowly as she moves to stand in front of him, hands finding their way to her hips as she looks at him with a concerned gaze. “Ashford, your blood might be all inside your body at the moment, but a concussion is equally concerning.”

She snorts regarding his died comment despite herself, fondness settling on her chest despite her desire to fortify herself against it.

“I offer a counterproposal. You left a change of clothes on my office a while back, and we need to review some documents regarding your new position sooner rather than later,” she says voice slow and measured. “I also happen to have a doctor that does not ask questions on call, to check on that concussion of yours. On top of that, your Gladys diet will remain unblemished. It does, however, mean that we will be walking on the same direction if that is an issue,” she pauses, considering her words before speaking again, albeit more hesitatingly this time. “And I believe I am more than capable of giving you answers —  If you are amenable, of course.”

[lextalioniss]

closed starter - @elpresidentclocation - police station time - Saturday, late morning

Erik was never particularly fond of the NOPD building, though not for the reasons one would assume given his affiliations and track record. It was an ugly, muscular structure of oat-coloured slabs and barred windows, a massive monolith to order and discipline, entirely rid of any sort of character. It felt like dead space, like something malignant growing in the midst of the city, slowly sucking all the colour and whimsy from its surroundings. The city was alive in his mind, and these sensible constructions almost felt like wounds upon its flesh. God, he sounded like Gladys.

It was sometime in the morning, the sunlight thin and watery, insubstantial against the bare skin of his forearms as he leaned against a pole, waiting. He'd rolled up the sleeves to minimize the sight of bloodstains and was tapping a cigarette against the case, antsy, wondering if he should just head home. It'd be easy to say he had to leave because he was an unsettling sight for the Saturday morning crowds, except Erik was always a bit unsettling, and never particularly concerned with it. And why would he? He'd said it himself - it would all be as it had been before. He tapped the cigarette once again and lit it. It was his first since they'd taken him in sometime during the night, and he closed his eyes to revel in the moment. No, not morning. Closer to noon. The city was too alive with noise.

He opened his eyes just as Robinson exited the building, gaze trailing her as she descended the steps. This is familiar - he reminded himself - it'll be easy to play along. So he did. "I really should start getting caught closer to the 4th district," he said thoughtfully, as if the statement wasn't entirely vague and cryptic. He cast another glance at the building, then pushed himself off and walked towards Minerva, languid, unconcerned, mildly irritated by the design choices. "At least that Egyptian Revival abomination of a station has a fucking modicum of personality. Though it is a bit ridiculous."

He held the cigarette to up as if to take a drag, ready to head away, then stopped with the filter held just shy of his lips, eyes narrowing as he turned back and got a proper look at Robinson. "I'm only just noticing - must have had a concussion - but aren't you all dolled up?" He blew the smoke out, considering her, a sly tug at the corners of his lips. "Don't tell me I'm interrupting something." But his words lacked due consternation, and he ended up sounding thoroughly amused - which he was, in all fairness. "Well, I'll be quick then. To answer the usual questions - yes, most of my blood is on the inside, where it's supposed to be. No, I'm not going home. I'm going to Gladys' townhouse, and she is much less fretful than mother so all the blood that is on the outside can stay there without causing distress." He tipped his head sideways, still observing Minerva with an amused glint to his eyes before he cast his gaze down the street, in the general direction of his grandmother's house. "I do usually stick to a strict diet of no Gladys before noon but..." He hummed, thoughtful, then looked back at her. "I must beard the burden valiantly. So, are we heading in the same direction or pretending not to?"

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“It baffles you, doesn’t it? —how in the junkyard of the heart, those hours, those days, still shine—”

— Ann Fisher-Wirth, from “Milagro of a Sacred Heart and Three Beech Leaves, Each Mottled with Green and Crimson,” Orion Magazine (vol. 41, no. 1, Spring 2022)

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“A deep sigh — an interview with a knife.”

— Marina Tsvetaeva, from Selected Poems; “Much Like Me,” (via dostoievski)

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4. how many scars does your muse have?

Plenty, I think - some more prominent than others. It's not easy to pinpoint the exact number with a character like Erik who is prone to both violence and recklessness and has a fairly thick dossier involving everything from childhood wilderness to WWI and the job. I feel like there are some he's only vaguely aware of, either too small to be noticed in comparison to others, or forgotten with time given how used he's gotten to them. It also doesn't help that he's not particularly inclined to deal with them properly (much to his mother's dismay), so some are there because he couldn't have been bothered to tend to them. I feel like that's sort of part of his character - in a sense that with other charries I put much more thought into specific scars because they tell a story and they leave much more of an impact.

With him, I think there's a few that do still impact him and that he avoids dwelling on because they're mementos of bad moments in his life, so I'll mention a few. There's an array of shrapnel scars on the left side of his body, silvery and scattered all over the place. If asked he'll only say they're from shrapnel and dating from the War - which is true, but the full story is that they're from the particular blast that killed Ezra. Erik figures if he'd gotten himself closer between him and the blast he would've been able to save Ezra's life, so these are a sore spot. It's also the point at which he'd injured his knee that still sort of malfunctions from time to time. A more recent one (or rather several) are the ones he'd gotten after Vera broke the news of his father's murder and showed him the body - these are located on the knuckles of his right hand, where he used them to punch a mirror.

There's another one in his hairline that's only visible when he wears his hair closely cropped or shaved. He actually likes this one. When he says he himself doesn't remember how he got it, that's true. His mother does though, vividly, considering he'd gotten it as a kid when she was out on a walk with him and there was a lot of blood involved (whatever 'a lot of blood' means by Astrid's standards - it could be nothing). Another fond one is a burn on his forearm that he'd earned trying to cook something for his grandmother with Selina (an artist friend of his) not long before she'd died. He remembers her telling him it would become her mark on him, though at the time he didn't know it would be one of their last shared memories.

I'm sure there's more from both knife and bullet wounds scattered all over - some from work, some from the war, but this is already unnecessarily long hahah

[lextalioniss]

Christina Marie Brown, Chronic Illness

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“ things must be catastrophic if you’re calling me at this hour. ”

Erik toyed with the receiver he held in his hand, the bakelite smooth and warm under his fingers. He'd held it for a while before finally calling. "Is it late?" he said innocently. The grandfather clock tick-tocked, its hands firmly in that strange hour that left one wondering if it was still night or the very start of dawn. "Pray tell, why must you always be so defeatist?" His tone was casual, the words unspooling like a caught thread, the amusement in them a carefully constructed front. It wasn't something he did on purpose, per se anyway, it was just that he didn't have Vera's innate talent for getting to the point. He preferred to take his time, not in any particular rush to get the bad news out. "Perhaps I've simply missed the sound of your voice. Though these new contraptions hardly do anyone any favours. So tinny." But that was a lie, one that neither of them believed. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Vera's company, but rather that the two had always functioned much better in productive silences and constructive conversations rather than the awkward attempts at camaraderie. He couldn't remember when he'd figured that out. Maybe the knowledge had always been there, maybe it's why it worked - he'd never had his mother's desire to see Vera as anything less or more than she was.

There was a moment's silence. He thought he could hear the static across the line as the hush stretched. Maybe his ears were just ringing from the gunshots. "I've got a few new bullet holes in my office," he said finally, tilting his head as he observed the disarray, "This is not much of a tragedy - I think I'll find it rather charming when I clean up the mess. Adds character. However, I've also got a newly dead body - this I find rather less charming." He toed the limp arm of the man in front of him with the tip of his boot. The ring on his finger glinted in the muted light of Erik's desk lamp, familiar. He sighed. "Well, I suppose he's not very lively anymore and isn't going places, so this could wait till the morning but... I think you'll want to see this one." He cocked and uncocked his gun, still unwilling to put it down and too far out of reach. "What is it that people like to say? Always good to see a familiar face? The jury's still out on that one."

[lextalioniss]

Federico García Lorca, from Blood Wedding

Text ID: violent and filled with great sensuality.

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elpresidentc​:

“I wanted time to think before trying to fix things,” she admits, voice soft still as she looks away and taking a deep breath before keeping quiet. There is a thousand words that she feels like they must be exchanged, a thousand things she must say, but he is right. He has been right since the beginning. There is something incredible stupid about having the sort of conversation she wants to have while there is alcohol coursing through her veins. When her judgement is still clouded by anger and intoxication and the good cheer of the deal she had made. No, for their conversation, they would need to have another day, another setting. They had already been toeing the line, having such a heated discussion within the Vincelli mansion while it is full of guests. They had been dancing closely to the edge, in a home full of soldiers of a group that Vera is courting.

Minerva wants nothing more to fix things and fix them now, but she knows better, always has. If she wants a chance to fix things, as she keeps telling Erik, she needs time to gather her thoughts, time to sober up, time to breathe and settle the emotions still raging through her veins despite the cold bath that Erik’s realization had submerged her upon. Her thoughts are chaotic and out place, far from ideal to try and resolve the mess she has created. Far from ideal when in such a tentative situation such as a party.

There is a wan smile of thankfulness in her lips as he admits that he believes her, but at the end, that doesn’t make her feel much better. Not when there was doubt, not when the conversation had given her a glimpse of what Erik thinks of her and she did not like what she had seen. There is something particularly damming to know that a mafia enforcer saw you as ruthless enough to cause them harm, something that takes the wind out of her lungs and makes her want to gasp.

“I think this gives you a pass from my judgement for the next few times I have to go get you,” she comments slowly, taking another breath as she slowly rebuilds a modicum of her self-control. It’s not quite her usual mask, not yet, but she has begun to rebuild that, for when the conversation ends and she has to return to the party. Her disappearance would be notice, so she must stay until the end, even if she now feels as if she would prefer to leave. “It seems my judgment also fails me once I have too much to drink.”

There is something awfully ironic about how the tables had been turned and their usual roles had been changed. The sensible Minnie and the raging Erik, flipped over by a single conversation gone terribly wrong.

“You have hit the nail on it’s head,” she sighs out, eyes flickering to Erik and back into the night as she smiles ruefully. There is nothing else to say, really, when it is more than clear that he is right, that they have misunderstood each other so greatly that they had been speaking past each other without realizing. “I think I can try to answer your question — Just not today. As you said, being drunk is not the best way to talk through the miscommunication and I do want to do this right, despite how I have made myself look.”

Finally, she allows her gaze to return to Erik and return there, a sense of understanding on her gaze as she nods. There is something simple on his words, his admission that nothing would be changed no matter what she said right now. It sends a pinprick of pain to her chest, but it’s the truth. Their working relationship won’t change, but she is not worried about their working relationship. She is worried about the trust she had thought they had, about the trust she had just found out was nonexistent. But she can’t fix that trust now, perhaps not ever. All she can do is try, and trying begins by admitting that this is not the time to beginning to rebuild it.

“You are right, we really shouldn’t have this conversation right now,” she says softly and sends him a small smile and a nod. “I hope the rest of your afternoon goes better than this conversation.”

♞

There was a distinct sense of uncertainty in the air between them. Perhaps it had been there from the beginning, pushed down and obscured by anger and indignation and the chaos that was borne from it. Erik had felt so certain as he’d marched towards her earlier this evening - certain of both their anger, of how it was going to go down. He’d push, and she’d push back. He’d state his case on the work-related proceedings and the immediate discussion would end there, both parties eager to part ways if the weeks prior were anything to go by. Their professional relationship would go on as obligatory things do and the rest… well, he’d learned early on that it did one well not to assume much of anything. Sentimentality was reserved for books and other finer things in life that lacked such severity and had nothing to do with work.

But fixing things? The concept hadn’t occurred to him. Watching her as she’d said it, the furtive gaze cast away from him, it now occurred to him that perhaps he should have, that it had been expected of him. But he’d always been so good at falling short on that particular front. Always so efficient and dispassionate when it came down to it - make sure things run smoothly, bite your tongue and just do what it takes, such frivolous things as sentiments and pride were of no consequence in business. No, it had not occurred to him there were things to be fixed. More importantly, it had not occurred to him that Robinson was the type of person to whom such things did occur. He was at a loss for what to do with this revelation, if it could be considered that at all - she was clearly standing some distance away from him, figuratively. He wondered if she was also realising just how much she’d misjudged him, for better or worse. Worse, more likely. 

Words were coagulated things in his throat and he cleared his throat as if that might help shove them further down. What was there to say anyway? There was no point in asking what she’d meant by it - he’d said it himself, this was not the time. “Yes, I do have a proclivity for not missing, even when nails are involved,” he said distractedly, more muscle memory than a real, corporeal thought. It was a thing that filled the silence as he busied himself with readjusting the holsters hidden beneath his suit jacket, like a child pulling at the ears of its comfort teddy bear. He couldn’t remember when holsters became that comforting cornerstone for him - a long while ago, he supposed. “I’m sure you can, as well as anyone can answer such open-ended questions, but you don’t have to.” 

He straightened now, his body half-turned towards the exit as if the senseless crowds inside were a gravitational field drawing him in. “Whatever you decide, make sure it’s for you. I will make it work regardless - whenever we meet again, it’ll be like nothing happened. I’m good at that.” It did occur to him this time that this might have been the wrong thing to say, that it might not satisfy her or that it might give her something to turn over in her head later on when she didn’t have a part to play. But it was simple, and it was truthful, and Erik gripped the brass door handle for a long moment as if deciding whether there was anything else to be said. In the end, he just looked at her briefly and said, “Enjoy your evening, Robinson.” Slipping back inside, he let the crowd swallow him into much-needed obscurity. 

♞ ________________________________________________ ♞

If it was obscurity he’d been looking for what came next was the polar opposite. The space between their last conversation and now felt like a hazy mirage, laden with an overwhelming sense of elation that rendered Erik euphoric and strange. At least that’s what it felt like to him in those spare moments of clarity between people’s hands clasping his and their fingers digging into his shoulder, demanding attention - he felt strange in his own body as if with years it had grown unused to such happiness as if the muscles in his face tired of the genuine joy, familiar only with ill-advised smirks and clenched teeth. Then he’d be pulled back under that intoxicating sea when his mother tightened her grip where she held onto his arm and the world blended back into that heady elation as he pulled her against him and just laughed. 

Astrid was just speaking to someone’s wife or someone’s mother or someone’s sister and Erik was momentarily distracted by the glitz and glitter around them, his gaze slipping across the crowds looking for any sign that the party was waning. It wasn’t that he minded the moment, gilded and ostentatious as it was - after all, it felt like one of those times of great significance that he’d run through the cogs of his mind over and over again - just that his mother was growing tired by his side, and something inside him was shivering with the desire to be let off the chain and out in the wild. He picked Robinson out in the masses, her face turned towards him, and was just about to avert his gaze when he noticed the intent in the way she moved. Watching her for a moment, he finally nodded in acknowledgement before bending down to whisper an apology into his mother’s ear. His fingers gripped her hand for a second before he let go and shouldered past someone to go meet Robinson halfway. 

“It seems your hopes for a better evening for me did come to fruition in the end,” he spoke, still some way ahead of her, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Perhaps you should hope for it more.” He came to a stop when they were near enough, shoving his hands into his pockets, gaze slipping back briefly to check that his mother was still with that woman she’d been speaking to. “I can’t leave her alone for long.” It sounded like an excuse, he knew, but it really wasn’t. This was Astrid’s first outing to such an event since Henry was killed, and she’d never really been alone before. Erik turned his eyes back on Robinson. “Father was the type to hover - he was never too far off from her. And people tend to still have a morbid need to mention him and ask questions around her.” Erik supposed at the end of the day he was his father’s son, and he tended to hover too. “Hmm. Guess paternity was never in question,” he said offhandedly, then he forced himself to put Astrid out of his mind for a moment, focusing on Robinson instead. Creases formed between his brows for a moment, though not deep enough to be of consequence. “Or am I being arrogant in assuming it’s me you wanted to talk to? If it’s not, I can make myself scarce for a moment, I’m sure someone will conveniently corner me in a second.” 

[lextalioniss]

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CASEY DEIDRICK as Halwyn Teen Wolf | 6x11: “Said the Spider to the Fly”