.. pound of flesh

[Deleted]

It seemed a ridiculous thing, to be so nervous. It wasn't until he was safely in the backseat of his ride that he realized he was wearing a suit he had last worn at his uncle's funeral, almost two years ago. It was a Thom Browne ensamble, a charcoal so dark it was barely distinguishable from black in most light. He had evidently been in a sombre mood when dragging it out of the depths of his closet that morning. Very much unlike the usual euphoria he would feel when leaving work early, today he might have been grateful for the distraction - Seven's continued silence was becoming unbearable, and if he hadn't had a particularly taxing data report to put together today he might have had to hurl himself from the roof of the building. Conversational and confrontation when needs be, Seven's lack of acknowledgement spoke louder than any yelling might have. He was in the doghouse, and not at all at ease with his position underfoot.  Because what had he really done, after all? There was certainly guilt there, but this was down to Seven's lack of response. Checking his phone for the umpteenth time that day, he slipped it back into the silk lined pocket inside his suit jacket when he saw that only his critics had been in touch. Since the news had broken - god, it felt like weeks ago - he'd had nothing but disapproving messages, from friends and family and Twitter followers alike. Mostly Seven's. Mostly obscene. Indifferent to hate mail, he wondered whether he should call Seven ahead of his arrival, but decided it was probably too late for that. He'd been struggling with decisions today. Every single decision made had fractured into a dozen more smaller decisions to make, a hydra, a source of stress that he really didn't need. Did he need to buy flowers? Yes... but what kind? What might she interpret that as? How would he get them there? Should he deliver them in person? Roses were too cliche, right? How much should one spend? Eventually he'd decided not to get flowers after all, much as he'd abandoned many ideas for gifts. After all, as he kept repeating to himself, he'd not put a foot wrong.  Ignoring how untrue that sounded even to himself, he watched as ever more familiar brownstones slipped by the dark windows of the BMW. So close. So close that he had to urge himself to muster up some courage, managing to do so just in time to arrive outside her house. He smiled at the doorman and though it was a gesture returned, he couldn't help but think the smile he got back rather waned. "Uh, could you call up and tell Seven her sister's here? We've, um, had a bit of a falling out. Probably best to go into this tactically." Trying to remember that this was his fiancee and that they were having their engagement party tomorrow, he flopped down onto a sleek couch to wait for her to buzz him up, a small part of him secretly hoping that she just wouldn't. TAGGED: seven elisabeth harper MUSIC: nick cave. NOTES: THIS READS LIKE ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

[seven elisabeth harper]

To: [e-mail] From: [e-mail] In the Loop February 6, 2014 at 07:21AM In case you’ve not heard. Your finest welcome to becoming the next Mrs. Woolfe. Consider this an engagement gift. Will see you tomorrow, darling. - Violet Woolfe While usually she was left reading between the lines of Violet’s (literal) hate mail, this specific email left her trying to figure out what it was her fiancé was trying to say, but most importantly, to who. Minimizing the work she should have been doing, she logged out of all of her media outlets, and directly into his. Following the conversation in real time proved to be a harder task than she’d originally thought it to be. Too wordy, too quick, too curious. Each message coming from Nate’s end of the conversation leaving her to feel more and more uneasy. He was a shameless flirt, that much she knew and accepted, but there was something different about this. Or maybe it was his proclamation that the mystery girl, end opposite, was everything him and his mom wanted and more. At least that was how it sounded to her. She wasn’t sure, but more importantly, she wasn’t so sure why it surprised her the way it did. Maybe it was the next ten emails she finally opened, all from Maddie, the wedding planner, who was already nearing an aneurism over the engagement party alone. His timing couldn’t have been worst, she mulled over in thought. The venue had been confirmed, dinner and alcohol finalizations alike, and here her fiancé was planing a little date for the night before. The more she considered it, the more comical it became. He couldn’t be serious, he just couldn’t - until every question she set him up to answer with the truth came out easy lie after easy lie. One day, eleven hours, and seventeen minutes had passed since dreadfully opening the worst email from her soon-to-be mother-in-law yet. Almost the same amount of time passed since she’d last responded to her fiancé. While he claimed he was working late, and taking potential new clients out for a night on the town, she made herself comfortable at the West Village apartment she’d refused to give up. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, the almost peace and quiet, finally allowing her to catch up on her own work that had been pushed aside, for the sake of last minute planning and trying to catch Nate in as many lies as possible. The V piece done, and the Harper’s Bazaar piece was well under way when the vibrating of her cell phone began. Why would Louisa be here? She absentmindedly wondered, giving Henry the go ahead to let her up. Past midnight on a Friday especially, she should have better things to do. But despite her creeping suspicions, she shoved her laptop aside and rose to her feet. A swift unlock of the solid oak door, and she was in the kitchen prepping a glass of tea for her and her sister. Licking the left over honey from the spoon, she turned over her shoulder to face the doorway. And the question of the week, once again, why was she surprised? Of course, she mumbled beneath her breath, pouring the cup of tea for her sister down the drain, and taking hers to her spot at the kitchen table. She ignored his presence as best she could while faced with him in the flesh, which wasn’t close to good enough. Eyeing him up and down, she began questioning his obvious sketchy choice of apparel. Why are you wearing that? She asked, fingertip lining the rim of the glass before her. A little bit dressy for what was it? The Standard? MUSIC: naaadaaa. NOTES: i'd say better late than never but this was so bad it'd be better never.