nobody's fool .

[charlotte lemeir]

The way the morning light pooled through the kitchen turned white walls into honey and cast a highlight on Vegas Lemeir's forehead. She lifts a thin hand to veil the sun from her eyes and drops herself off the stool to pull the blinds ever so slightly. “Well, you know your dad, he'll go for the negative rather than the positive,” she speaks to her daughter via her iPhone. “Don't fight it and if he sends a tracking device, wear it,” she smiles at the screen and her daughter's face grins back at her. It's 2PM in South Africa and 8AM in New York; Vegas feels her heart pull with miss for Charlotte when she notices a glob of dirt on the tip of her nose. Morning coffee gossips over video help her miss her daughter less, but once they both hang up she can't help feeling ill with empty nest syndrome (though her youngest is absorbed in a National Geographic in the next room). She watches as the young brunette turn to nod at something in the background and starts to feel dread, as she knows what's coming. “Break's over, mom,” Charlotte pouts, her eyes big and sad, “I love you.” Vegas blows a kiss into the screen, “love you always. Touch base when work is over.” With that, Charlotte is gone and everything is a little more silent. The brunette takes the last sip of her coffee, which tastes vaguely of coconut milk and honey. She pulls her hair down from a bun and ruffles the roots with her fingernails. A panicked “mom” comes from the dining room, but Vegas doesn't rush as she hears these two dozen times a day. She takes her time walking towards the noise, pursing her lips when she sees Ethan sitting and breaking the no laptop before 7PM on weekends rule. “Oh my god, mom, she's dead,” Vegas looks puzzled, her hands landing on the tiny shoulders of the nine year old and peering into the screen. World's Oldest Known Sloth Dies of Old Age, she reads the title. Ethan is fixated on a video of the sloth moving slow motion across the screen, “well, baby, I think she lived a long, happy and slooooooow life.” He looks a little concerned, but smiles a little when she drags out her words, “maybe she's faster in sloth heaven.” Vegas smiles and dabs a kiss on his wild hair, making a mental note to book him a haircut later this week. “I bet she's a tri-athlete. Monica is picking you up in half an hour, so you better get your butt into gear. I think she's taking you and Logan to the trampoline park, fun!” Ethan shrivels his nose, like a trampoline park is the last place he'd like to go, but he gets off the computer anyway and reluctantly makes his way upstairs. There's a knock at the door and Vegas glances at the clock. It's more like Monica to be half an hour late rather than half an hour early... did she get the times wrong? “Ethan! She's here, faster!” she shouts up the stairs as she walks past them to the door. Vegas pulls up the door ready to delay with chit chat, but is surprised to see a more familiar face than Monica from the PTA meetings. “What...” one raised brow is joined by the other when it clicks, “weekend, Saturday.. breakfast and physical. Shit, I'm so sorry, come in.” She waves Caesar in as Ethan hops down the stairs, clad in the world's most mismatched outfit. “Ethan, come on, you know how to dress,” he looks down at his neon shirt and huffs. “Sorry, we're chaotic,” she shuts the door behind Caesar and hears Ethan yelling as he slugs back up the stairs, “we're not chaotic, you're chaotic. Hi Caesaaaaaar!” Vegas shakes her head and smiles, “he's going out, I'm staying in. I forgot about this.” ......................... notes: aisha van buren this is full of rambles BUT YAY music: clap your hands say yeah

[aisha van buren]

Saturday, June 10th 2017. On the weekends Google Cal took the place of Caesar's sardonic PA, set to bother him constantly with the days activities. The day started with a rundown of what was to come; a PT session at 8am, Vegas at 10, lunch with Tate at 2pm, a date he'd forgotten to cancel at 7. These were accompanied with warnings ahead of their start times, a countdown that started 4 hours before, then 1, finally 15 minutes. Addresses were programmed in ready for him to transfer into Uber, traffic warnings were eerily on point. On top of this came general reminders, notes about how many steps he'd taken since waking, prods for emails he needed to reply to, booking numbers for flights he was scheduled to take soon. Were it not for the fact that she had been the one to set them up, all these notes on how to live his life would have allowed him to replace Nicole with his Apple watch. God forbid it ran out of battery on him.  Caesar stood in the shower, letting the hot water whip away the sheen of sweat from his training session. His trainer was a perky little thing, minute, her dark hair pulled into a slick high ponytail that swung as she darted around him, monitoring his form. It occurred to him how very old he had gotten. Though undeniably pretty, and despite having her toned body pressed up against him as he stretched, he'd felt not a twinge of attraction to the girl. Far from, he looked upon her with some sort of paternal concern, wondering whether this gig was really enough to see her through in ever-expensive Manhattan. When they parted he had promised to recommend her to everyone he knew, leaving her a hefty tip that he hoped she wouldn't take as a come on. As soon as he got out the shower he whipped out his phone, typing out a quick message to Nicole. Good PT. Can you leave her a positive Google review when you get a sec? Or do you think that would make me seem like a creep? Genuinely not trying to get in her pants (too young). Satisfied that he'd done his part for her business, he'd barely hit send before he got a reply. You're only as young as you feel. Got it. Will mention that you've recommended her to your life partner, that'll throw her off.  Getting dressed with a grin on his face, he slipped the phone into his back pocket and checked himself in the mirror. Usually his reflection didn't illicit much angst, but today, knowing he would see Vegas, who knew him best in his prime, he frowned at how much he'd aged. It was all the more infuriating for how little she had. Finding himself in an Uber en route to hers, he had a rocket kit under one arm, another of Nicole's errands well performed. Soon he was there, knocking on the door. When the face he knew so well emerged, a wide grin cracked across his own, her lack of recognition immediately evident. "Oh Veg. Didn't your PA block the time out?" he said, entering before he's been invited. He holds the rocket kit out to Ethan as he's greeted by him, his grin widening. Despite his poor track record with his own, he had always been a sucker for kids. "Hey buddy. Your mom mentioned you were into rockets, so... get your dad to build it with you, alright? Imagine what she'd do to me if you wound up sending it through the kitchen window." As the child retreats, Caesar turns his grin to the woman in question. "I can go if it's not a good time. We can sync diaries, I'll get my people to call your people."  ......................... notes: i can't write but i will forever <3 them music: nick cave & the bed seeds

[charlotte lemeir]

Recent events had caused Vegas to believe she was losing control of her mind. Little bits of information seemed to be rotting away from the distraction that was her disappearing marriage. Yesterday she had thought she had it wrangled and her shit was together. She woke up to a fully revived house plant, and her workday went relatively choas free. When she went grocery shopping, she picked up specifically breakfast items. She'd kept her next morning free even though she usually made a point of taking Ethan out an adventure on Saturdays. She had enthusiastically said yes when Monica Beach offered to take the kids out, despite her recent habit of smothering her children with attention. Subconsciously she must have kept the time slot open for a reason. She had stuck a sticky note on the fridge with “Saturday – C”, which made all the more sense when she saw the grinning face of her ex on her front step. She bites her lower lip, her porcelain features flush as she's caught before she even has to say anything. “She must have forgotten to log it,” her hand brushes a wisp of hair from her forehead. She hadn't quite figured out the scheduling on her iPhone, she was sure it was easily done but she preferred a planner... though hers had sat untouched on her desk for weeks now. Ethan's eyes widen at the sight on the rocket, but he doesn't fuss until he's said thank you. This makes his mom proud with how well mannered he's become. She knows the rocket is all Ethan will be able to talk about for the next five days. Vegas reaches to affectionately ruffle his mop but the boy ducks from her touch and runs upstairs, she's hurt by the reaction and tilts her head. “Thank Nicole for me,” she makes a quick assumption that his assistant had picked up the gift. She's never met the woman, but she's become better at knowing her family and what they like. “He's going out, I'm free all day,” she walks forward into the kitchen. Her bare feet touch the cold marble tile and long denim legs carry her to the coffee maker. “Plus, I only half forgot. The other half remembered to pick up groceries and switch on coffee,” she fills a mug full of hot liquid and passes it to his hands. Her grey eyes lift up to his blue ones, the faint lines that crease at the outside corners of his eyes only seem to make him more attractive whereas on her they just made her look old. “Eyes look clear, not the faintest hint of a cataract,” she stands back a couple of feet to observe him further. “Weight looks good, have you been to the gym?” she teases, turning to pour herself a smaller cup. “I'll check your blood pressure and heart later, I'm sure it's feeling a little sore.” ......................... notes: the otp of otps music: shakey graves

[aisha van buren]

As he's thanked by Ethan it strikes Caesar as two things, 1. formidably polite, and 2. reassuringly sincere. He had never been one to doubt Vegas' capabilities as a mother, in fact he had been the one to obsess over the idea of their shared progeny as a teenager, back when she seemed resolutely disinterested in the idea. Ethan was the perfect child, polite but likeable, bookish but not meek. He was the child he would have loved to have had. Charlotte was not dissimilar, though she had inherited Vegas' feistiness, and consequently her vocal distaste for his own misbehaviour. If Vegas had made him feel bad as a teenager, Lottie made him feel outright disgust with himself as an adult. "Not a problem," he said to Ethan, smiling sympathetically as the boy ducked away from his mother's touch. Not that perfect then. His face fixed into an expression of mock hurt, a hand raising to his chest as though wounded. "Nicole was under strict instruction, I'm the one who deserves the credit. Do you think she reads my texts?" That was quite a good idea, actually. "No, I'm the one who told her, and signed off the expenses." He follows her into the kitchen. It's a beautiful place, but Caesar is a man who has spent his life in beautiful places, lucky enough to have been born into an immensely wealthy family and to have benefitted from all the trappings that accompany it. But there is more to Vegas' home than just a tasteful manifestation of hard earned wealth - it's a family home, well decorated but lived in. Caesar had gone from a mansion to a boarding school to penthouse after penthouse, and nowhere he had been had this quality to it, a quality he had longed for for as long as he could remember. Even with children of his own he had not achieved it, what with shared custody and a string of younger girlfriends, none of whom were willing to trade in luxury for homeliness. Being in a home made his heart ache, just as the scribbled notes on the fridge and school report on the kitchen counter made him regret the life he had so stupidly thrown away. Not that this showed on his face. "I'm glad I'm important to you on a subliminal level, that's the only one that counts." Again without invitation he starts rifling through her kitchen, pulling out flour and eggs and bacon, as well as a whole array of ingredients he wasn't sure how he'd use but felt inspired to improvise with. "This is an extremely well stocked kitchen," he noted, a high compliment from a man who relied on outside influences to keep his own pantry in shape. With plenty of food arrayed on the island countertop, he finally made eye contact with her again, a more genuine smile replacing the smirk. "Do you always do your medicals visually? They must be giving doctorates out like candy these days." He flexed, before waving a hand for her to stop, mock bashful. "I might have had a PT session this morning," he took a sip of coffee, his eyes breaking contact for only a second, "just for you."  Was that true? It wasn't until he said it that he realized it was, since he usually gave himself the weekends off. "Anyway, how are you? Really."  ......................... notes: i faked a phone call to leave dinner and write this in chunks. i've also had quite a lot of red wine so soz about this, i keep giving you nothing! NEXT TIME. music: my housemates wondering where i am

[charlotte lemeir]

Vegas sits back on the chair she had been perched on not even a half hour ago and sips at her coffee. It's strong, uninterrupted by the sweetness of sugar and milk; she was sure to regret this decision when her stomach inevitably began to protest. She watches as Caesar's tan hands pull open pantry cupboards, standing evenly as he surveys the treats she has to offer. A smile pulls the corners of her lips as she feels a comforting wave of nostalgia. She'd spent most of her early twenties hunched over a table with glasses at the tip of her nose and books splayed everywhere, as she reached for a box of sugary sweet cereal Caesar would bat her away and make her a breakfast feast. It's funny how despite circumstances somethings never change, they could take a time machine backward and they'd still be here. “Sam loves to cook, I'm still untalented in that area,” she could cut open a person but could hardly boil water. His arm flexes and his bicep grows twice in size, “it shows,” Vegas gives him a playful wink, leans her elbow on the counter and her chin on her hand. She couldn't remember the last time she had time or the motivation to work out, it must have been before Ethan was born. He asks his question and she smiles a little, looking down at the counter before leaning back to look at him. “A little tired,” more like exhausted, and it showed. Dark circles rim her eyes and she'd lost some weight, the sleep she got was thick with dreams and with the absence of her sort-of husband her time away was non-stop. “Okay!” Ethan reappears in the kitchen, looking more tidy than he had previously. “Much better. Teeth brushed? Hair brushed?” the boy nods confidently, and his feet shuffle back and forth in a pair of Converse. Vegas reaches for her wallet and fishes out a couple of twenties, “for Monica, okay? Be nice, use your manners and have fun.. I really mean the last part, I know trampoline land isn't your choice venue but at least try it.” Ethan makes a face at the mention of trampolines, an activity so trivial in his mind. “Look, there she is,” she watches as a red mini-van pulls into the driveway and steps off her chair to guide him to the door. Vegas bends down to pull him into a hug and pushes her pillowy lips to his cheek. “I love you, you're going to have so much fun,” the boy groans a little, and peaks around the corner to wave goodbye to Caesar before bouncing down the front steps and into the car. “He hates trampoline land, can you tell?” she shakes her head and smiles. “Anyway, I'm fine. A little tired, everything's kind of,” she makes a tipsy gesture with her hands, “it'll work out though. Everything will land together and not apart.” She takes a sip of coffee, “my life is boring, tell me about your more exciting one. When's LA?” ......................... notes: ily for it. tysm music: shakey

[aisha van buren]

Vegas mentions her absent husband and Caesar can't help but feel a twinge of discomfort. Sam was the missing part of the puzzle, the perfect father figure to complete the picture postcard family. Though he knew it was partially to get a rise out of him, his daughters constant mentioning of her step father never failed to wound him. It was an easy comparison to make. Sam, the hard working, dutiful husband and father. Caesar, the overindulged manchild who seemed to forget he even had children. The few times he had met his rival had been civil enough, but the air was inevitably cooler when they were forced together, Sam's practised politeness clashing awkwardly with Caesar's rogueish tendency to treat him like he was a visitor in Vegas and Charlotte's lives, his greetings always imbued with a slight edge of surprise. Years of this had surely grated on Sam, but if it had he was too big a person to let it show. This did not endear him to Caesar one bit. Still, he would never acknowledge this to Vegas-- it was so much more fun to make it look like it was all in her husband's head. "For all your many, many talents, you've never had the makings of a housewife," he said, remembering the handful of times she had tried to cook and almost burned their apartment down.  As Ethan's seen off, he makes a show of craning his head around the kitchen door, ostensibly checking to see if this Monica was hot or not. Really he's watching as Vegas sees her son off. This was one of the many, many things that he had missed over the years, these images of Vegas as a loving mother. When Charlotte had been young their meetings were plagued with a coldness that took years to thaw, her maternal manifestations more territorial and protective than nurturing. He was glad they had managed to get past those times. "I got the idea. So. You were saying, you're tired," he says, busying himself with strips of bacon and a baking tray. He avoids her eye as he speaks, hoping this would lighten the question and encourage a more open response. He's in luck. Slotting the tray into the oven, he turns back and looks at her properly, noticing the weight loss, the slight air of a woman not at ease with her situation. There seemed to be a barely perceptible slip in her mask now that Ethan had gone. It was the first time he'd seen her present anything but a perfect front in a long, long time. His eyes hold hers for a moment longer than is comfortable. Looking away, he starts getting a bowl together for pancakes. "You don't need to keep up the optimism for me, you know," he said, barely looking up as he mixed flour and sugar with milk. "It's shit, what's happening. With your marriage, I mean. You don't need to qualify that by saying it'll get better, though I have no doubt that it will. Wallow for once, V. I promise it's fun." He laughs at her statement, shaking his head. "You don't know boring until you've lived my life. Crisis meetings about a pop star tweeting support for Trump, abusive texts from my daughter, abusive tweets about me from my ex wife. Tiresome doesn't begin to cover it." He pushed the batter to one side, ready for later. "Anyway, this physical. Want to see a medical marvel?" he leaned on the counter, his smile turning conspiratorial. With a hand stretched out, he nodded at her to feel his wrist. "Take my pulse. Goes through the roof every time we're alone together, even after all these years." ......................... notes: IL THEM. truly poop tho, but i am hungover af. music: nick cave & warren ellis

[charlotte lemeir]

Though Sam and Vegas were slowly edging out of each others' lives, he was still very much an member of the household. They fell asleep in different beds, left for work separately and when they interacted it was minimal and for the sake of their shared child. The end of their relationship was much more graceful than the end of her and Caesar's. This is owed to experience and the type of person Sam was. Sam was very obviously still here; he was a ring on her left hand, clothes in the dresser drawer and a ten year old wedding picture that hung prominently behind her. With Caesar she was much harder and he was gone immediately. Ring and clothes mailed, any pictures shared thrown out with the trash. Their home became her and Charlotte's home, she remembers being so bitter over him that she called the police to get him to stop knocking at their door. Her two failed relationships lived and ended as polar opposites; she truly picked two men who couldn't be more different than each other. This realization made Vegas feel defeat, as clearly two wrongs made her the problem. “Excuse you, I still don't have a house cleaner,” the idea of someone else cleaning her mess bothered her and made her feel too privileged. Chores were strict in the household and even her ten year old participated in daily dusting. Her eyes watch as he peels thick cuts of bacon and lays them on a tray. This task that she somehow would have failed, he does it with out thinking. His eyes catch hers and she's unable to hold the gaze; always afraid of being too vulnerable. Her lashes flutter as she looks down to her coffee, which has all been drained except for a tiny pool of cold brew. “I've wallowed enough. I'm so sick of wallowing,” she leans toward to drop her empty mug in the sink, “it was a slow decline, I think it was time.” She speaks of her marriage like a sick elderly patient losing his battle and in a way it kind of was. They both knew it was gone, they just didn't want to say it. She smiles slightly at Caesar's mention of his life and frowns when she realizes it actually is drab. “Have you thought about taking a step back? Not retiring but hovering right on the button. It might lessen the load, because all of that sounds like total hell. Maybe we should buy ourselves an island to live on for the next how-many-ever years.” “This physical,” she smiles and repeats his words. When he leans over she can smell his aftershave and it gives her a little rush. Vegas laughs and shakes her head as she reaches to close her hand around his. Her thumb rests on his wrist and his warm skin pulses quickly under her touch. She counts the beats for a moment before letting his hand fall, “racing! I've still got it. Nervous or excited?” She defers the potential awkwardness by answering for him, “you should be excited. That bacon's from the good butcher.” The bacon begins to waft through the air and she slips from her seat to turn the over light on. She crouches down to look at the bacon as it begins to bubble, “we'll check your blood pressure when your hearts not beating like you've ran a marathon.” She looks up to him before standing up, “ex wives, bratty daughters and Donald Trump make me worried about you.” ......................... notes: sorry this is hardly anything but il them etc music: staves

[aisha van buren]

Caesar rose an eyebrow, momentarily wondering whether or not he should rise to the temptation of a disagreement. Of course it wasn't actually bait, it was merely Vegas stating her own point of view, but ever since he had learned to talk he had been a confrontational person. This was a trait not born of a desire to clash with people, but one that came from a desire to provoke, to play devil's advocate, to get people to talk in circles and expose their illogic. Unlike most people, Caesar enjoyed a verbal sparring and felt no ill will towards those he took on, though it was rare that this feeling would be mutual. Vegas had lived through a great many of his debates at high school, had rolled her eyes when he went off on one and too often made apologies for his rudeness. Maturity had weakened this trait in the man, but he was comfortable enough around his former flame that he couldn't resist, a flicker of his teenage self shining through as he spoke. "Very noble of you to deprive housekeepers of a job. Tell you what, you've inspired me, I'm going to fire Maria today." It was an easy gauntlet to throw down, since he was positive the bait would go ignored. Grinning, his blue eyes flashed mischeviously, daring her to prove him wrong. He busies himself looking for some sort of basting brush, rifling through her drawers as if they were his own. Another trait that had weakened but not totally disappeared as he aged was pettiness, and the idea that he was here rifling through Sam's drawers, using Sam's utensils to make Sam's wife breakfast was in some small way a thrill, since he had spent so many years begrudging the man for enjoying what he had considered to be his. Finally he found one and he used it to brush maple syrup across the semi-cooked bacon. Hearing her reject her marriage made him feel guilty for revelling in it, even for such a fleeting moment. No part of him wanted her to be upset. "You were good together," he admitted, though he couldn't quite meet her eye as he said it. "Are good together. It's not over til it's over." It was not an easy thing to say, much the opposite, since he believed it. God, if his high school self could see him now. He waved away her suggestion of quitting work, glad to be off the subject. "No, no. If I stopped treading water I'd drown," he said, as if that cryptic response settled it. Her fingertips are smooth and soft against his wrist, and her touch sends his heartbeat racing all the more fervently. For a man with an incredibly short attention span, it was genuinely remarkable that she could still have such an effect on him. He was a little hooked on it. "It's both," he says, though she hadn't waited for a response. There was something satisfying in seeing her awkward around him, a sense of the girl he remembered from school, the real Vegas, the studious, oddly shy girl that hid behind an ice queen veneer. As much as she had a hold over him, he still wanted to have a similar hold over her, to use his emotional openness as a shield from the way she made him feel. "Not sure it'll settle anytime soon," he said, his eyes noticeably flickering over her perfect form. As ever he was getting dangerously close to the line between appropriateness and inappropriateness but couldn't stop himself, his recklessness back in full force. "You worrying about me makes me worry about you. I've been nothing but bad news since the day I first sauntered into your life Vegas, and look at you now." As she stands she's closer than he expected, close enough that the urge to touch her seizes him and has to be quickly stifled. "You ought to write me out of your life for good." ......................... notes: finally felt like i was actually hitting some sort of groove with this one idk tho music: nick cave & warren ellis still

[charlotte lemeir]

He's trying to rile her up but she only raises an eyebrow and tells him to hush while batting a hand at him. He wasn't wrong, he seldom was. Though unwarranted, his debates were logical and correct. That was the most annoying part about them, you could be so deep in denial and so caught up in winning when it'd dawn on you that he was right. As bright as she was, Caesar had a way of making her mind collapse and feel stupid. So with the housemaid, she doesn't bother fighting her side. She only watches as his threatening grin fades. Vegas feels ill listening to him talk about her and Sam. She was never quite sure how the two felt about each other, though she did have some of an idea. Caesar probably thought Sam was a goody-two-shoes, as he was so perfect to an outsider. Sam was jealous of Caesar and worried about him. One of their few arguments as a couple had revolved around her ex, as two years ago at Charlotte's graduation party Caesar and Vegas had lost their breath in laughter over too many cocktails. Incapable of making a defence, Sam had said she had made him feel uncomfortable and an outsider in his own house. He was being ridiculous, but she could understand where he was coming from. Paired with their history, Caesar's insistence to pay more than enough child support and make casual drop-ins had caused Sam to resent him. “He was jealous of you. You freaked him out,” she sighs as she says it, her eyes following the movement of his hands as they work. “It's fine,” she concludes, not wanting to discuss it further. She pushes her wedding ring around the circumference of her finger and considers the fine-ness of it. If a year of couples therapy and a New Years getaway to Iceland couldn't fix the demise of her marriage, she didn't think much else would have the chance. “Hmm, you're a workaholic. Don't you have fun?” she says it as a joke, but she's semi-serious. Not that she's one to talk. Her hobbies are Ethan's hobbies, as she very rarely has moments to herself. She wouldn't know what to do if she was told to go have some fun. Go for a walk? Watch so much Netflix her eyes stung? Fun. Both eyebrows lift at him and she looks up from her squat to laugh, “stop, you're too much.” Is he flirting? His tone sounds like it, but she can't tell if it's only Caesar being Caesar. She crosses the question from his mind. She rises, her height falling a few inches below him. “Look at me?” she questions, unsure of what he means. She looks down at herself in her silk blouse and denims. “Look at you, Caesar bad news McCarthy,” she accuses back. His next words make her grin and laugh. She rests a hand on the centre of his chest, the warmth radiating through his cotton shirt. “You say that as if I haven't tried,” she refers back to when they called him quits and to when she quite literally tried to evict him from her life entirely. “I've already lived half my life with you, I don't see myself living the other half without you,” she says the sentiment with an extra layer of sweetness, her hand lifting to her face to brush her thumb across his jawline of stubble as she passes his frame. “I hope you're doing eggs...” she trails offs and pushes her weight to her toes, stretching up at the above self. “And knowing I would be kid free, I subconsciously picked up all the ingredients for a boozy iced tea,” her hand finds the bottle of boubon and she settles squarely on her feet. “I'm a shitty chef but an okay bartender.” ......................... notes: il il il music: nothing

[aisha van buren]

Hearing that Sam was/is jealous of him doesn't give Caesar as much satisfaction as he thought it would. Though he had anything overtly obvious, he had spent plenty of time making subtle digs at the man, doing things to remind him that he was Charlotte's father, that he and Vegas went way back. At Charlotte's graduation he had done a hyperbolic impression of Vegas' valedictorian speech, causing the tipsy woman to laugh so much there were genuine tears in her eyes. He had given Charlotte all his old Blair yearbooks, which featured her parents heavily, as well as including lovesick notes to one another in their back pages. He also went out of his way to portray his life as well as he could when forced to interact with Sam, making sure to bring his young girlfriends along, sometimes even his PA. It was childish in the extreme and Sam never gave him the satisfaction of a visible reaction, so he was surprised now that the news that his efforts had paid off was not one that made him happy. The truth was that he competed in the trite ways available to him, and there was nothing in it - being Vegas' past was no comparison to being her present, and being a billionaire playboy was nothing on having the perfect family life. "He shouldn't have been," he said finally, though he knew Vegas knew this. She shelves the subject and he's glad, though his eyes follow her fingers to her wedding band. It should have been his. Laughing, he stops stirring the batter to give her an 'are you serious?' look. "You calling me a workaholic is like Julius Caesar calling Augustus a megalomaniac," he said, as if this were a common comparison to make. It was true that their attitudes to their work were different, though. Vegas did important, difficult and life changing work, where Caesar babysat celebrities for a living. Her devotion to her work was a character trait that she'd had from birth, a diligence and drive that was in stark contrast to his lackadaisical reluctance to put any graft into anything. His devotion to his work lately was not born of ambition but of his usual addictive personality, a crutch that would quickly become unhealthy should he continue to abuse it. It was easier being in the office than being at home on his own. Then again, as he watched her drain her coffee, he wondered if perhaps the same couldn't said for her these days. "I have fun. Too much fun, so much I've ruined it for myself. There's only so many strip clubs in New York, that's LA's main appeal." He grinned to show he was joking. "How about you, when's the last time you took some time for yourself?" Caesar bad news McCarthy was right. Her quip about having tried to get rid of him struck an uncomfortably true note. Those were the darkest years of his life, suddenly a young father of two by two different moms, both of whom would have been reluctant to spit on him had he been on fire. That was probably fair enough. Grateful to still have her in his life, when she says she can't see hers without him he can't help but log the quote in his memory, sure it would be one he'd come back to again and again. "No risk of that," he smiled, a genuine smile this time, one that reached his eyes and had no hint of his usual smugness. Her touch is gone as quickly as it came and he's stirred to move, clearing his throat and laughing shortly. "Alright, hint received," he said, moving to get eggs out the fridge. Bourbon is brandished and his grin broadens. "Mix it up," he orders, pushing a glass jug her way, "and make it strong. I mean really, think too strong, then add some more." ......................... notes: SORRY THIS IS NOTHING music: nick cave & warren ellis still

[charlotte lemeir]

She smiles at his reaction to her calling him a workaholic. His love for Roman history wasn't as much as a phase as she thought it was when they were teenagers. Did you know facts were still did you know facts, so much so that sometimes she caught herself repeating his lessons to her children. So much so that she forced her daughter to take Ancient Civilizations whenever available as an elective. She'd never forget the time her daughter opened up a conversation on who was the worst Roman emperor in history at dinner, she'd also never forget the horror in Sam's eyes as she went into detail about Nero and his Christian candles. She pushed Charlotte in these directions so she would have something in common with her father, as often it felt all too much like she was talking to a mirror. Though Charlotte would be very tight-lipped about her love of history toward her father and would hold it close like a toy she didn't want to share. While Vegas' bitterness toward Caesar had gradually passed, their daughter kept up with hers. The brunette rolls her eyes at his mention of strip clubs. She thinks about mentioning that he might come off as the creepy old guy, but holds back for sensitivity reasons. “I took a bath last night instead of a shower,” she noted enthusiastically. How sad was it that hygiene was considered time enjoyed? In fact, the time hadn't even been enjoyed as not even two minutes into her lavender scented dunk she was out of the steamy water. Baths made her overheat and claustrophobic. “And now, I'm taking time now.. unless you spoil my fun,” she lifts her fingers and flicks it in his direction, “don't spoil it. It's really been too long since I had any.” The moment becomes soft for a couple of seconds as she watches him react and shares a smile with her. It's too much. She feels her heart pick up an anxious beat and she shifts to the other side of the kitchen to run away from the moment. Vegas always felt as though she was hanging over the edge with Caesar, too strong of a breeze and she could fall into age-old affections. She stares at the empty jug apprehensively, unsure about committing to sharing a jug full of alcohol. It's been a while. But she pushes her apprehensions to the side and pulls the jug closer. Vegas pulls her hair into a quick bun, loose pieces falling to frame her porcelain face – hair up meant business. She sifts through the fridge, pulling mint leaves, blackberries, iced tea and cubes of ice. She combines them in the jug along with a heaping of sugar and eyeballs the bourbon in. A quick mix and a taste test... too strong, much too strong. She can barely taste the fruit beneath the overwhelming attack of bourbon. Her face recomposes, “a couple of these and I'll be picking you up,” she warns as she fills a glass and hands it over to him. A few minutes and a half a glass of bourbon-tea later, her cheeks feel rouge and the kitchen smells divine. “I think it's been a good decade since you've cooked for me, but it smells better and I thought you couldn't out-do yourself,” she peaks over his shoulder to survey the status of the eggs. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him work a kitchen, it had to be after Charlotte but before Sam. Vegas begins to put together plates and forks, dancing around Caesar as she does so. ......................... notes: as rambly as this is, this is nothing. I wanted more, but my brain would not give me more. SORRY. music: elliot smith

[aisha van buren]

A family portrait looms on the wall behind Vegas, one Caesar has been trying to avoid looking at too closely. It was a fairly standard set up, the four smiling, blue-eyed brunettes looking like the perfect family unit, Charlotte's head rested against her mother's statuesque shoulder. There was a bond between the two women that ran deeper than he could ever fully comprehend, but he did not begrudge them it. There was no better role model to his daughter than her mother. Unfortunately this bond had excluded him entirely for much of Charlotte's life, with the young girl woefully perceptive to his failings and bitter towards him as a result. Even as Vegas had eased up on him, she had not followed suit... he wondered what she would think if she could see them now, him playing chef for her like when they were lovestruck twenty-somethings in his apartment overlooking central park. He didn't think she would approve. He tears his eyes away from the photograph. "I stand corrected, you're living dangerously indulgently," he said, smiling at her suggestion of fun. One of their many, many differences was Caesar's commitment to baths over showers, one he had tried to encourage her to share with little success. It made sense that their preferences would be as such - Caesar, never in a rush to get anywhere, always opting for the more indulgent option, loved a bath and all its counter intuitiveness. Vegas found them impractical and less hygienic than showers, failing to see the romance in a tub of hot water. Their shared life had been punctuated with differences big and small; Caesar wanted kids early, she did not. Vegas thought it made sense to move into a bigger place in the suburbs once pregnant, Caesar didn't see the issue with trekking up to a penthouse apartment with a baby. Everything from the art on the walls to the books on Lottie's bookshelf had been a subject of debate between the two, but the result was a fairly balanced life, Vegas ensuring things stayed on course whilst he always made sure they had some fun along the way. "Far be it from me to spoil your scheduled allocation of fun. That you forgot about, by the way," he reminded her, firing up the stove and pouring the egg mixture into a pan. Slowly but surely the disparate components of breakfast came together. Turning the grill down, he kept the eggs in the oven to stay warm, turning his attention to pouring batter in the pan and creating thick, fluffy pancakes. Barely perceptibly he glances up as she surveys the empty jug, willing her to accept the challenge. Thankfully she does. Thrilled to be leading her along a path to destruction, he's gleeful as she pours a healthy portion of bourbon into the mix, her beautiful features scrunching up after a taste test. "There's a face I like to see!" He said, picking up a glass and clinking it against hers. One sip reveals it really is lethal. In no time at all breakfast is served, a huge plate of pancakes, maple-coated bacon, eggs and a bowl of fruit hastily thrown together as a nod to health. He smiles at her reaction, settling down next to her and piling his plate high. "I realized early on in life that if you could nail one meal, make it breakfast. No easier way to make a woman fall in love with you than waking her up to a feast the morning after, right?" he said, refiling his glass and taking another hefty sip. The alcohol burned his throat satisfyingly. "Not that I've ever needed much help making women fall in love with me, mind. You were the hardest nut to crack." ......................... notes: i'm super late and gave you nothing i don't know why you tolerate me. music: silence

[charlotte lemeir]

Vegas rolls her eyes and follows his lead as he piles food on his plate. Her portions are less large than his are but they're definitely indulgent and there's no way her eyes are the size of her stomach. Her plate is a warm palette of reds and browns, everything is soaked in a pool of golden syrup. “Anything worth it is going to cost you a bit of work,” she layers a silver fork full of bacon, pancake and egg, and shovels in into her mouth. She hums her praises as she chews, the taste of warmth and goodness practically touch her soul. “Are you sure I can't persuade you to retire and become my personal chef?” she jokes as she fills another forkful, “I could pay you in bad jokes and sing you cheesy proverbs.” The air hangs with nostalgia. The way the sunlight beams through Caesar's mousey-golden hair, the maple-bacon scented kitchen, and the flirtatious banter – she's driven wild with nostalgia. This could be twenty years ago, but this could even be ten years later. On route to her mouth, a fleck of maple syrup lands on her silk blouse. So elegant, but horribly messy. “You are a talent in so many ways,” she settles the fork on her plate and leans back into the stool. The brunette cleans off her drink and looks back at the damage done, she's made it halfway through her plate. “Thank you... I've missed this. Honestly, I have,” she scoops up his plate and begins to load up the dishwaster. “Sam can't do breakfast nearly as well, everytime he served me burnt bacon I dreamed of this. ” ......................... notes: I promised short. music: oitnb

[aisha van buren]

If there was one sign of a satisfying meal, it was silence. As the two sat comfortably together, the only sound for a moment was of cutlery scraping against the plate, or the glass as it was returned to the table. Despite all his appearances of carefree friendliness, there were not many people in the world Caesar was this comfortable with. Nor are there many people he felt he knew better. Glancing at her plate, he knew there was absolutely no chance of her finishing even half the food she'd piled up. "Spoken like Vegas LeMeir," he said, though he didn't disagree. If there was one thing growing up had taught him, it was that some things were worth working for. He laughs breezily at her comment, tilting an eyebrow and turning to face her. "I could easily be tempted, so long as it was a live-in situation. Could sell some property to compensate for the hit I'd have to take in my annual income, or are you thinking a few pancakes and some bacon is worth a six figure salary?"  As he places his glass down and refills it, the warmth of slight drunkenness starts to creep over him. His eyes settle on her for the umpteenth time that morning, but he's drinking her in now, her skin warmed by the sunshine, her perfect bone structure framed by tendrils of dark hair. For a minute it's easy to pretend that nothing had changed between them over the years. He's tempted to pull her stool in closer to his, but before he can do so she's on her feet and tidying up, eliciting a groan from the man. "Leave it! I've missed this too, though not your neat freak ways. Part of kitchen duties is doing the washing up, leave it," he insisted, getting up and stepping behind her, reaching around her to take plates out of her slender hands. Leaving them by the sink, he spun her round to look at him, leaning against the counter with one hand. "Right, you're getting a strike for mentioning him again. Two more and I'm out," he said, his grin returned. "I think you should go back to telling me you missed me." ......................... notes: POOP. but once a fuckboi always a fuckboi music: silence

[charlotte lemeir]

Most people say that time goes by too last and that life will be over quicker than it started. But for Vegas, the last eighteen years had gone slow. Slow enough that she felt she should be sitting in a rocking chair with knitting needles between her fingers and a long lavender scarf tailing past her knees. There was eight years of arguing with Caesar and acting like a single mother, trying to run her schedule into his so that he at least showed up for her birthday. He'd always show up at more inconvenient times, like right before she headed off for a date or when Charlotte was away at a play-date. Then there was ten years of Sam. Years that were blissfully spent as the perfect couple. Who never fought, who had thought-provoking conversations without ending in 'I-told-you', and who were the envy of all their friends. Until they weren't, until all they did was have passive aggressive conversations. If there was one thing she missed about Caesar it was his vulnerability and his cause to live life truthfully (minus wandering eyes). She thinks about his proposition, her teeth chewing thoughtfully at her lip, “you can stay in Ethan's room! We'll build bunkbeds. God, he'd love that!” She laughs, moving to the sink to run water and soap over the pans before rinsing them. “Actually, it's about balance,” she mentions, running a dry towel over the pans and standing on her tippy-toes to hang them back on their hooks. “You cook, I clean. Or I cook, you clean.. or maybe in that situation I'd clean, since eating my food is punishment enough,” she smiles as she walks past him to grab the remaining dishes. As he plucks them from her hands she pouts a little, her brow furrowing at the centre and her eyes becoming saucer-like. “I was giving you a compliment!” she argues, though knowing it wasn't fair to compare her two ex-lovers. The situation is becoming more cat and mouse as she's gated in by her arm. She listens to his words and spills into laughter, her head toppling forward to lean on his chest. “I think you're a drink ahead of me,” her hand rests on the crook of his shoulder and strokes upward to the back of his head. “I've missed you so so much,” she says softly, teasing as she hovers a little closer. “But this food needs to be put away because I want breakfast for dinner,” she stops kneading his neck and moves his arm so she can start putting things in Tupperware. “Can you fill me another drink? I want to be more on your level.” ......................... notes: shitttty. love them though music: sylvan esso