#I love the little background relationships of the Acheron/Vanserra family unit so so much

[flowerflamestars]

Course Correct snippet

Tie yanked off his neck, folded careful enough to hide in an inner pocket without making a bump, Eris unbuttoned his collar and met her eyes in the mirror.   “Cunts across the water here yet?”   Nesta just lifted the glass of fruity, terrible wine to her lips. White for a garden party, Morrigan had purred, insisted, when Nesta tried to dodge. A perfumed headache in a glass.   Eris ran a hand through his already perfect hair, tousling the deep red. “We playing beard, Archeron?”   “No.” A slink across the room, a mean face that made Nesta despite herself, breathe. “Feyre wants a balanced table.”   “She learn that from Downton Abbey?”

“Be nice.”   He slipped the wine glass out of her hand instead, waving it beneath his nose with a moue of distaste. “Christ. Why do rich people spend so much money on fucking trash?”   “Taste?” Nesta offered, leaning back into the coolness of the wall. Marble, in place in exactly one location of this echoing, empty house: pretty, skylight studded bathrooms. Bone white nightmares, but at least they weren’t pretending to be comfortable or cozy.   Without bothering to check if she actually meant to drink it- he knew better- Eris poured what was probably an obscene value of white into the grey moss of a planter. Careless of  anemic looking ferns, lush orchids blooming colorlessly upward. Flipped the glass in his hand to dangle by the stem, hip propped against the slab that made the sink.   “How bad?”   Nesta shrugged. “She’s been tablescapping for two days. Freesia and bowls of oranges everywhere. Three cakes. Three different bakeries.”   Eris shook his head. “They’re going to eat her alive.”   A rainbow romper, flowers in her hair. Feyre was overflowing with enthusiasm. Brightness. Just because Rhys was following her around like an ink-dipped puppy didn’t mean the Lord Devlin was going to be equally charmed.   “What do you know?”   His thin mouth tipped, ever-present sharp expression rendered scathing. “Bunch of posh fucks who held onto their ancestral wealth and think they’re special for centuries of inbreeding. What do you know, Archeron?”   Nesta rolled her eyes. Smiled, unwilling. Pressed her shoulders to grounding stone one last time before straightening. “That you have an in with Nox.”   “Right, because I’d be working for my father’s firm if I had an in with”-   “Eris.”   He sighed. Crossed his arms. Light-catching brown eyes and unreal hair, he looked about as out of place as Nesta already felt, buried under this whole pale mausoleum.   “They don’t like Rhys.” A shrug, one thin shoulder rising. “Typical fucking racism. But they like money. That’s all I’ve got, unless you’d like to hear about the quality of cock Rhysand’s lawyer is walking around with.”