infamousxmarlowe‌:

elliot managed to keep a clear head despite the threat in front of him, able to offer a bit of quick wit in comeback to marlowe’s comments. yes, they liked him alright. marlowe knew they could be an intimidating presence but there was no fun to be had when surrounded by cowards. they needed someone with a little bite, someone who could at least stand tall in their presence. a flicker of their eyes was the only sign of approval offered to elliot’s apology, though the fact that they took their leave without acting out like a child scored was much more significant. “i hope your darling bodygaurd has a nice insurance policy. i’d hate for him to get hurt in the line of duty and leave anyone behind.” they offered in way of warning, again letting their annoyance at the other man’s presence be known. 

If anything, it was the clear threat to Mac’s life that had Elliot bristling slightly, a burst of anger breaking through his fear - but still, the caution remained. He felt the weight of the knife in his pocket keenly, the press of the cold blade against the skin on his chest. It felt too solid, too heavy for something of its size. He watched them warily as he took a tentative step backwards, jerking his hand for Mac to follow at a safe distance. “I’ve imposed my company on you too long.” He let his voice carry in the cold night air. “Thank you for-” His hand rested on his pocket, their keepsake burning against his fingers. “-this enlightening evening.”

tammy-vanderbilt‌:

“You’re such an arse, Eli. I don’t know how I put up with you.” Though Tammy’s smile could answer that question easily: Elliot was one of the few people who got to see that particular, honest smile, free of any agenda other than happiness. He was probably the only person who’d been there for Tammy while he was still finding himself, before he even had the courage to tell his father – and that was why he felt so guilty about that incident.

“I know, I was just testing you.” Tammy poked one of Elliot’s dimples playfully; they were honestly adorable, no matter how strenuously he argued otherwise. “Oh, like I’d ever want you to.” Hearing the fierceness in Elliot’s voice gave Tammy a rush of warmth, knowing he was loved and protected in a way he’d only really begun to understand afterwards. “The only thing I’d want you to do is help me lace their wine with strychnine or something.” His way of saying let’s move on, please, quickly jumping subjects. “Ooh, I think I have a pinterest board for that–” This must be their fifth beach wedding, not to be confused with the scuba diving wedding, which they’d managed to talk themselves out of after watching too many videos about haunted wrecks. “If we do get married, we’re going to have to renew our vows every year just to get through all these–” he pulled his phone out, scrolling through board after board of wedding ideas. “Are we still having the reception on a yacht?”

Elliot snorted, throwing an arm around his shoulders and tugging him close to his side, where Tammy tended to fit perfectly. “You know very well why you put up with me, and vice versa.” It was a common enough sight, the pair of them being disgustingly close and affectionate in the public, and despite it being almost mandatory at this point for the two of them, their actions still earned enough furtive side glances that Elliot wanted to roll his eyes and throw his hands up in exasperation. 

“Strychnine? I could probably get Erin-” His assistant, god bless that poor woman’s soul. “-to get us some.” He could already tell from Tammy’s expression that he didn’t want to dwell on the matter further, and though Elliot still had some choice words to say about his sorry excuse for parents, he let it slide for now. He’d just tell him the full details of his vengeance plan when Tammy was ready. “How many sections do we already have on that board?” He squinted at Tammy’s screen, watching him scroll through near hundreds of pictures. “-oh, that’s a nice suit.” He spoke absentmindedly, when Tammy landed on a velvet-crushed dark blue suit, matched with a dark grey tie and pocket square. “-and honestly, knowing my mother, we’d need a fleet of yachts to accommodate the guest list she already has in the works.” 

opheliajmes‌:

“we were such a small town, it was mostly my family.” a happy memory pulled from no where. she talked to people so rarely, to make it to a conversation about her past was almost unheard of. but she could manage it, return for the kindness he was showing without ask “i was the youngest of eight.” the past tense given without effort, it had been so long without any other option. “some people will find an excuse for a gathering no matter the age.” but it was enjoyable, a bright spot where everyone was together for her and there was nothing in the world that could touch them. “uh—yes. sorry, the answer you’re looking for is yes. though nothing compared to manhattan i’m sure.”

“A family of eight?” Elliot did not miss her use of was, so he prayed that by injecting some levity into his tone, he’d bring to the forefront only fond memories, not painful ones. “That must have been such a wonderfully noisy household.” He thought of his own brothers and all their childhood roughhousing - stealing his favorite toys, smearing mud on his brand new clothes or laying on top of him while he squirmed away in a desperate bid for freedom. He wouldn’t have traded it for the world. “I am the youngest of 3 boys and while I love my brothers absolutely, growing up I’d always wanted to have a little sister.”

tammy-vanderbilt‌:

“I said I was sorry.” Tammy pouted, though it did little to ease the guilt. He couldn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about, something stupid, a black eye a client had given him, but it had gotten out of hand. All he could really recall was the feeling – Elliot had tried to touch him, probably to diffuse the situation, and the reflex had been a primal, defensive one. “I still am.” And don’t you know it, he was tempted to add.

“Is that because you know better or because you know I’d disown you if you tried?” He could’ve said look what happened last time, but last time was something they never talked about. Last time had turned into Tammy silently promising to make life very unpleasant for Rafael if he ever dared to show his face again. “My mother wanted me to marry you, actually. I’m not sure whether she’d be pleased or disappointed if I actually did.” It would mean his parents wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t exist anymore. “Hmm, we’d have to pick a location. What d’you think of a European wedding?”

“Oh if only sorries could erase that scar that night left on my soul.” Elliot spoke in dramatic tones - ones he’d only use around Tammy, his friendship with him being singular in that regard. In fact, Elliot always tended to always inject levity and humor when it came to that memory, because if he truly revisited those nauseating feelings of anger and helplessness that rose up in his throat like bile when he first saw Tammy supporting his black eye - well, he would be left in a dark mood for the rest of the evening. 

“I’m not that hopeless at choosing partners, Tam-” Elliot’s cheeks dimpled, his mind casting thoughts of him away and locking them behind steel doors, never to be opened. “-but you know no relationship of mine would ever stay its course if you disapproved of my partner.” There was just once exception to that statement. The one time Elliot refused to listen to Tammy had ended up with his heart broken at his feet in exchange of all his trouble. “Like I’d give a damn about their fucking opinions.” His tone developed a slight edge, every time Tammy brought up his so-called ‘parents.’ Elliot often fantasized about taking down their business, dismantling piece by piece, but such thoughts didn’t make for polite conversation. “But if you ask me, I think we can afford something far more exciting. A private Pacific beach front? At sunset? Now that sounds like something to write home about.” 

miguelxcardosa‌:

If Elliot’s ambition was to keep Miguel at bay by denying him, it was unfortunately only making matters worse. The last sentence garnered an open mouth, rows of teeth gleaming, tongue unfurling as it wagged from side to side. “You will hang me up, child of Roths?” he asked, steps like a cat, closer and closer with enthusiasm oozing from every pore. Head tilted, drawing a breath away from the face as the eyes laid its claws into him. “You. Me. The wall! Pin me there, child of Roths. I will be your art.”

A hand slipped into the other’s pocket, fishing around just to jostle the wallet inside around its confines like a playtoy. “You are with the knife and the cheese,” commented, cipher only known to him in the room. “You buy many, many things. You cannot buy me! I am already yours! Priceless! Take me home!”

It was almost instantaneous - he approached, too near for comfort, presence and scent overwhelming, a gleam in his eye as his hand slipped into the confines of Elliot’s pocket. Elliot jerked back, his hand reaching out to grasp the other man’s wrist, squeezing it painfully in warning. 

His whole body was tense, his gaze as sharp as his tone as he bit off. “I’d like for you to get your hands off me, right now.” He felt more than he saw Mac there, his body poised, ready for the take-down. “Trust me, you don’t want to wait until Mac loses his patience over there.” He jerked his head over to his bodyguard, his voice rock steady. 

zoemarshallxrp‌:

“A classic!” she immediately dogpiled on, a gut-instinct reaction. She was such a sucker for the franchise, but it wouldn’t have mattered too much what opinion he had; she would have agreed to anything just to get on his good side. It seemed to go a bit tenuous when she tipped her hand, though. The tone in his voice, that cautious tell, made her wrap her arm tighter around him, subconsciously defending her place as she looked up at him.

“It would be really nice, anyways…” she went on, trying her best to mimic those puppy eyes that ought to have worked; not that she had had much practice with them until now. “You’re like this gen’s Rockefeller. It’s rare to like… have that sort of status, and… I think, you know, it would be smart to get the right kind of image out there.”

Her lips were drawn in to wet them, hesitating to answer him at first. It wasn’t as if she could flaunt a major publication like The New York Times at him, but she forced her head up a little higher, faking the confidence until it felt like it could be genuine. “I work for Ampersand. It’s up-and-coming! We’re online-based, so maybe you haven’t heard of us just yet, but that’s better, right? If you don’t like what you read… you could just… buy us out. Heh!–Oh my, God I’m not blackmailing you. I really write better than I talk, you have to believe me.”

Elliot did not know whether to be amused by her or to be wary of her, so he settled for a curious mix of the two. She kept the flattery up, something that would usually put him on guard, but his instincts told him to let it slide for now. After all, it would be ironic for him to cast judgement on their first meeting when people acted like they knew him simply from a few tidbits of gossip and a handful of meaningless conversations. 

“I don’t think my image has suffered any blows recently, though I’d be hard pressed to claim that I’m this generation’s Rockefeller.” He kept his tone mild, bland, his usual manner when dealing with the press. Any show of emotion would after all could be taken and contorted into a number of things. He recalled the last time he expressed his hearty congratulations for a newly engaged couple (the proponents of which had tried propositioning him on separate occasions) and that was apparently interpreted as him being jealous over one or the other (they never could settle on which one). 

“Ampersand?” Elliot tilted his head, curious despite himself. “So no print form whatsoever? Interesting. What kind of news do you focus on?” The corporate part of his brain began working a mile a minute, despite his placid expression. He’d heard of them, in passing - online platforms getting much attention from his media and advertising teams for their growing reach and popularity. “How long have you worked as a journalist there?” 

tomasdevisser‌:

The clap on the back almost caught him off guard, swaying forward from the impact, just a tall lanky bean with no grip. Would honestly be nice to just donate the money to people, to him, just to think how much more he could pay his staff. “That’s the plan, then we can always count on your patronage, earn the big bucks,” he laughed but honestly wouldn’t charge their investor for the cost. None of it would’ve been possible after all without his belief in them. Though sometimes Elliot was a little stubborn on the payment ends whenever he does come by the visit. “I know.. and– it means more than you know,” Tomas didn’t always have a very strong back bone, knowing outside of the kitchen he’d give in to a lot of things, suggestions, comments, critiques, and he just got really lucky, with Elliot. Or his own vision would’ve certainly been lost in the muddied selfish world. 

“Oh yeah, absolutely, since the very beginning, all I saw on your face when we met was green card,” he felt comfortable enough to joke, the year long business partnership growing into a comfortable friendship.

Elliot bit back a smile at the way Tomas’ swayed slightly with a mere slap on the back, not that Elliot was by any means physically strong though he leaned more towards lean than lanky. With others, talk of money and investments in social gatherings was honestly off-putting for him - and, as was his luck, most of his business partners tended to use such events to schmooze and get ahead. When it came to the artists he sponsored though - Elliot always had a soft spot for all of them. He recalled a time when he’d been too bitter, too envious of their ability to create freely while he questioned his own talents every time he picked up a pen or palette. He withdrew all his support then, a move that had his mother worried for days on end, his moods dark and volatile - something wholly opposite from her usually sweet, mild-mannered youngest son. With time however, Elliot learned how to be content with his position in the art world - lending his money, his prestige, and sometimes even his delicately-worded opinion - where it mattered. He would still grow wistful at times, whenever he saw a piece that particularly moved him, his fingers twitching as if trying to grasp the handle of a phantom brush. 

“Was that a proposal, dear Tomas?” Elliot grinned, leaning forward, his tone conspiratorial. “I’ll accept if you admit that it was my dashing good looks and charm that caught your eye, not just the promise of permanent residency.”  

birdiedrke‌:

“glad we could be so agreeable.” she smiled, although the body guard wasn’t exactly her favorite addition to the group. of course he was good at this job, but she had an eye for the people lurking in the shadow. the one thing that was learned from her run in with law enforcement. be aware. was she a threat or was he simply doing his job? time would tell! “i would say something but now it seems like i’m the one who’s going to owe you. that just won’t work!” he’d gotten her into the off-limits gallery without so much as a please, and he was right, people trafficked in favors not money. “i sure hope its a van gogh otherwise i came to this party for nothing. what am i going to look at? not poldarks!” they’d been easy enough to understand, so she set her sights a little higher. a new plan midway through the night, but it just added some excitement. 

“Yes, I’m the very soul of agreeability.” Some part of Elliot wanted to rear back, reassess the person he was with and what they were doing before continuing to go on with what he was beginning to realize was not as random a scheme as it appeared to be. He’d been taught to be infinitely cautious at an early age, where just about anyone could attempt to hurt his family simply by trying to get at their weakest link - him. Elliot had never been a reckless child, too focused on his art, hours and hours spent in his studio dreaming, sketching, painting. Even after he gave all that up, he stuck to the straight and narrow, climbing up the corporate ladder by following the path his father paved out for him. He snorted, contemplating how his ‘teenage rebellion years’ manifested in his late twenties, and decided the hell with it all and continued following the blonde towards this so-called Van Gogh. “So I’m assuming all of this has been part of your elaborate plan and I’m just the name and money you needed to get it going?” 

opheliajmes‌:

she nodded in response to his question. it was hardly necessary to give her a title of any kind. all she wanted was to blend in to the background, to be categorized as a nobody. it was the new way of her world. it buys her enough time to catch her breath. sitting apart from the party. perhaps the galley was nice when not overcrowded, the quiet walls suddenly less overbearing. “it’s a shame.” to stretch out something that was so presentational. the dresses and the parties in exchange for a never ending battle of conversations. she couldn’t imagine it, how it must tire. “it was such a nice tradition.”  but with all things, likely called dated and shoved off. “at least for one night i can help.”

“Oh.” Elliot spoke carefully, tilting his head as he considered her once more. He’d met a handful of muses that had been upfront to him about their identity, but most tended to keep him guessing, smiling coyly or mysteriously whenever their words implicated a life beyond his own mortal one. In fact, if he were hard-pressed, he could only name a few muses who knew he knew off the top of his head, and those people were acquaintances at best. He did not think he actively avoided them, ever since Rafe had walked out of his life, but ever since he’d given up painting, his art - perhaps some part of him was still broken, still scarred, reluctant to meet someone who could have that type of power over him again. “I guess, over time, it had lost its meaning.” He hedged, not wanting to push but curious despite himself. “Did you enjoy a similar experience when you were younger?” 

tammy-vanderbilt‌:

“Careful, darling.” If they’d been alone, Tammy wouldn’t have hesitated to throw himself at Elliot, or straight-up climb him so he could reach, but with all the eyes on them he simply gave him a playful grin. “I might be little, but I still have sharp teeth.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re into that–” Not that Tammy even needed to ask, Elliot’s track record spoke for itself. “Pretty much the only thing he has going for him is that his dad’s rich. He doesn’t even have a position in Livingstone & Chandler.” He was pretty sure Mrs. Donaghue’s ulterior motive was an excuse to see more of Livingstone Sr., although even then there wasn’t much to attract a woman except wealth. Tammy almost said so, except Elliot’s words make him choke on his champagne, trying to suppress a laugh. “Pure? You wouldn’t know the meaning of pure if it gave you a popsicle.” That devilish grin again, slipping his arm into Elliot’s. “As for the proposal, it might be. If you want.”

“I know.” Elliot’s tone was utterly dry. He made a show of rubbing an old scar on his forearm, feigning a wince as if it fired off in phantom pain. In fact, it was the memory of that day that would truly never fade from both their minds - they had gotten into a heated argument, with Elliot practically bellowing and Tammy’s voice near-deafening, and by the end of the day they found themselves in the emergency room, Elliot needing stitches and Tammy curling into his uninjured side on the hospital bed, body language utterly repentant. 

Elliot made a point to lord it over his best friend, on several occasions. 

“Just because I’m ‘into that’ doesn’t mean I lack the good sense of actually pursuing anything with Livingstone.” Elliot pointed out matter-of-factly. He had a type, yes, but he liked to think he was flexible with it, his attraction to another person not solely defined by their looks and the way their ass looked in a pair of good jeans. “And hush down, will you. You know as well as I that compared to our esteemed peers, I’m as pure as it gets.” He smiles, a touch smugly, leaning into Tammy’s touch without thought, always at perfect ease. “Awww...you know I’d marry you in a heartbeat, sweetheart. You’re the best person I know, after all.” 

jessamine-bj‌:

“Better than making an arse out of yourself in front of everyone.” Jess found himself liking Elliot more and more, the down-to-earth honestly refreshing. Oh, your ancestors would be turning in their graves.

“At the risk of sounding old-fashioned, I’d say Van Gogh. Or Rembrandt, or – anyone who can paint a figure without turning it into an avant-garde commentary on the nature of man.” Perhaps he was making it too obvious, old-fashioned was certainly on the nose, but the longer he kept up this facade, the more Jess realised it simply didn’t suit him. What he wanted to be was just Jess, not a muse, just whatever he could piece together of his former self – yet that person was long gone. That person made fun of Elliot’s ancestors, laughed with everyone despite the ghosts on his shoulders; now the ghost itself was talking to the latest Mr. Rothschild. “You certainly seem to have good taste yourself. Or is the whole world missing a secret passion for Poldark’s horseshit?”

“Ah, that’s assuming that everyone else’s opinion matters in the grand scheme of things.” Elliot had a strange position in his world, too rich and influential for anyone to say anything truly against him, and yet still so mired in the expectations of others that he was forced to operate within a stringent set of boundaries. He was not a scandalous person to begin with, whatever exploits he got into embarrassingly tame in comparison, but how much of it he wondered was because of his own inclinations or those imposed on him by virtue of his privileged birth? 

“Ah, yes. People may say that is a common answer, but I find it just speaks to the universality of their art.” Elliot’s eyes clouded over slightly, thinking suddenly, of his own work. He told Rafe once that he was sometimes scared to paint people, because everything he created, he pulled from his own life. Most of his work consisted of landscapes, but of places others might find odd - a heavily cluttered attic, a side street in Venice leading to no where, the New York skyline from his high rise in the early hours of the morning. Yet on the rare occasion he painted someone, it was always so painfully detailed, the arch of their brow, the slope of their shoulders, the hollows of their collarbone, shadowed, in the afternoon light. He wonders if the other man would have enjoyed it. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. I’m afraid I won’t be purchasing Mr. Poldark’s art anytime soon, but his dedication to his craft deserves an acknowledgement.” 

rxmandrake‌:

roman digested the other man’s words–small, tidy well-meaning bits of insight from someone who apparently had nothing concrete to offer on the matter. the quickness of the sentiments felt wrong; a generic response, too well prepared. he knew it was likely just the detective in him reading between the lines, seeing enemies where none existed. roman allowed for a heavy silence to fill the air, the thump in his chest the only indication that time was continuing to pass. eventually he nodded, a slight huff escaping through his nose. “yeah, that’s about the answer i’ve been getting.” 

while he was willing to believe that those he’d talked to tonight may not have known his wife personally ( what was a single painter, in the scheme of things ), roman knew that there were people in this room who knew about the strange world she belonged to. the world of high-stakes art, of passion and betrayal. roman crossed his arms. “if you were to look through a list of all the artists who’s work hangs in your home or that you’ve sponsored, would you be surprised to know how many of them are dead or missing?” because roman was willing to bet the number was pretty damn high. it’s what had brought him to new york, out of every of city where this was happening. 

Elliot felt a flush crawl up his neck, suddenly ashamed. He was well aware that his empty platitudes were just that, and yet in order to fill in the painfully awkward silence, he used those meaningless social niceties that he and Tammy often mocked, scorned even. He could already hear his best friend’s chiding tone in his ear and he felt even more deflated. Toss him in a group of high society vultures and he could navigate like a seasoned professional, but when faced with real people with real emotions, he was at a loss. 

Then, this conversation already taking a spin that he was not prepared for, the older man next words had him absolutely floored. Elliot’s eyes widened in shock, and though no words left his lips, his mind was working quickly, furiously picking out names and discarding them, filling them away for further scrutiny. How many artists had he sponsored in his years as a patron? Too many to count, but with each name crossed off on his mental list - dead, missing - his heart grew colder and colder. “Are you suggesting a common cause for all of this, then? That they are not separate, wholly unrelated incidents?” He cannot help the harshness in his tone, his incredulity, his desperate need to know none of it was true. 

infamousxmarlowe‌:

as he spoke marlowe’s gaze drifted down to the knife in their hands, fingers gently running over the sharpened blade–nonchalant, though well aware of their surroundings. the corner of their lip twitched upwards, though they didn’t lift their gaze. “i like to think i bring out the best in people.” eli continued to talk, offering a thoughtful perspective on the matter ( or at least, what a mortal would consider a thoughtful perspective ). 

a low noise rumbled in their chest; a growl of dissatisfaction at the sharpness of his comment–intentional or not. marlowe was… offended, at the reaction. flicking their eyes up from the blade, it was clear that his response had annoyed them. “it has a reputation, yes.” they bit back, snapping their palm shut around the knife. “for good reason, as you’ll find out, if you’re not careful.” while most would see it as a threat, and in a way it was, the words were meant as a warning: marlowe was honest when they’d said eli entertained them. it would be such a shame for him to end up getting himself killed.

close enough to touch him, marlowe reached out and playfully pinched eli’s cheek. “but you will be careful, won’t you? yes, i think you will.” they smirked, raising their other hand towards his face to reveal the knife. “you wouldn’t want to disappoint mother by getting yourself killed or anything terrible like that.” instead of using the knife against him, they simply let it drop into the pocket of his shirt. “a gift. to our long and.. amusing friendship.” 

Elliot felt his body spasm in an aborted attempt at a tremor. His heart rabbited in his chest as they moved closer, movements slow, considering, and he cursed himself at his ill-thought answer, its message having the opposite effect to what he had hoped. He felt like he was balanced, teetering, on the precipice of something unknowable, dangerous. Elliot could feel his stomach ready to leap into his throat if he fell off the edge. 

“Mother-” He tried to wet his dry lips, his words coming out in a dry rasp. “-would commend me for being careful, and would want for me to offer my apologies in times when I did not intend to offend.” There was no time for false bravado here, Elliot wanted to get out of this situation with his skin and soul intact, thank you very much. He barely held back his flinch as the knife slid into the pocket of his shirt, the blade cold against his chest. “Thanks...I’ll keep it close to my heart, then.” 

tammy-vanderbilt‌:

Tammy had to stand on his tiptoes to return the kiss, despite already wearing heels – even then all he could reach was Elliot’s cheek. “I swear, one day I’ll cut your legs off at the ankle so I can actually reach–” Though there was no real malice in it, kissing him on the other cheek to make it look vaguely intended.

Sipping his champagne, Tammy glanced back at Mrs. Donaghue. She looked distinctly pissed off. “Obviously what she isn’t blind to is how much of an arrogant prick you are. Though her first choice was Adam Livingston, and I heard his dad had to post bail after he crashed his Corvette into a police car, so perhaps you might have a point about the good upbringing. I’d marry you in heartbeat, for what it’s worth, Adam Livingston be damned.”

“Ah, what a vicious little thing you are.” Elliot sighed, patting Tammy on the head, knowing he’d hate it and doing it for that fact alone. “I know you love me too much to hurt me, so any threat of yours is as good as useless I’m afraid.” Pure affection laced his tone as he dropped another kiss on Tammy’s cheek, making a show of bending at the knee in order to reach his level. 

“Adam Livingstone?” Elliot rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Okay, I’ll admit, he has that rugged thing going for him, if you’re into that kind of look-” And Elliot kind of was, but that was beside the point. “-but he’s reckless, rude and refuses to take responsibility for it. Of all the men to throw Emily’s way, Donaghue chooses the worst man-child.” Elliot shook his head in commiseration for Emily’s plight. At least his parents were willing to consider Elliot getting wed to anyone of his choosing, as long as he loved him and they loved him in turn. “Awww...was that a proposal, Tammy? You’re making this pure boy practically blush!” 

jessamine-bj‌:

“You must be great fun at parties,” Jess said drily – really, he’d appreciate the change, or perhaps the nostalgia of listening to Kingston drunkenly try to explain how Ophelia was a figment of Hamlet’s imagination. 

“Wealthy mothers, they never change.” Jess found himself thinking of the various queens of New York high society and wincing, remembering how many times he’d been pressed into dancing with myriads of faceless, apparently personality-less daughters for the simple crime of looking dashing in uniform. “Arguably a fate worse than the mafia – I know which one I’d choose.” At least the mafia could be negotiated with. The best defence against a woman who wouldn’t know refusal if it bit her on the arse was a swift retreat. “Me? Poldark. There’s a time limit on how long I can stare at meaningless shapes and pretend to be interested, apparently.

“Not really, no.” Elliot confessed with candor, laughing self-depreciatingly. “I’d rather haul up in the corner with a friend and talk to them alone for hours on end that mingle at any one of these high society events.” Perhaps it was the odd camaraderie of sharing a lighter than led to such idle if honest chatter. Still better than dealing with the simpering masses inside. 

“They certainly do not.” Elliot drew out his response more slowly this time, taking another glance at the man, tilting his head in consideration. He’d became a touch more discerning when it came to broad statements such as that, the implication of years beyond his mortal comprehension. Muse? He certainly had the look of a classical artist, the kind often portrayed by media as the brooding genius who only becomes celebrated decades past his own time. He smothered a smile at the turn of his own thoughts, not certain the other man wouldn’t appreciate it. “Ah, if Mr. Poldark’s works are not to your taste, any particular artist that you’re a fan of?” 

birdiedrke‌:

“a friend of yours!” oh to be well connected. it was something she was still working on. accrue enough favors with the well off and you could waltz in practically anywhere. she wasn’t doing bad for herself in the city, but she wasn’t yet at waltz around a private gallery status. “i was just going to ask forgiveness. i didn’t realize i was in the presence of royalty.” the glances that were being thrown at them spoke a lot more to the nature of her companion than his comment about the gallery. clearly they didn’t expect him to be spending time with whoever she was. if she hadn’t worked so hard to scrub her identity from every corner of the internet maybe that would have stung, instead it has the opposite effect. she set up the rules of the game to be so. “you know i’d be very impressed with throwing money around, but i think these guys probably have enough.” that was the mark of these openings anyways. “i hear they’ve got an actual van gogh in the east wing, you game?”

Elliot tried to hold an undignified snort back and he failed. If it were Tammy, he would have quipped back easily enough, ‘esteemed royalty, and don’t you forget it’, but outside the pair of them, people tended to get offended by their off-brand sense of humor. “Well, you seem to have a plan already in mind, I would hate to circumvent that.” He spoke dryly, letting her drag him along the gallery hallways, though Mac always followed at a discreet distance behind. Sometimes he felt it was overkill, but certain instances in the past have let him espouse the adage that it was better to be safer than be sorry. 

“Oh with these kind of people, it’s not money they’re after, but the favors they think I’ll eventually owe them.” That was the currency of the rich amongst the rich after all, taking their advantages anywhere they could. “A Van Gogh, you say?” Elliot let his doubt color his tone, but shrugged it off. “Well, we’d be more in remiss if we didn’t try to find out then.” 

opheliajmes‌:

“miss.” to hear herself addressed so formally despite her inglorious circumstances was enough to stutter her racing thoughts. she remembered, walking the streets of her hometown and how it rung out. how silent those streets must be now. “i—i haven’t heard that in ages.” and even that was an understatement. but she understood enough, how parents could press on assuming that life was incomplete without a partner. “if you’re sure. it’s only a minute i just—” she doubted that there was time or words to describe why a group of strangers were particularly painful for her. and it made for lousy conversation when he’d just saved her no matter the excuse he made. “i didn’t realize it was debutante season.”

“Would you prefer a simple Ophelia, then?” Elliot tilted his head, the weight behind her words, the meaning behind it, far deeper than he could comprehend. 

Muse. He wasn’t entirely certain if his instincts were on the nose, but her statements carried a sense of old hurts, old demons. For memories from a past life to be so vivid, they must have been like scars on her psyche, raw and open. He was so out of his depth he wanted to laugh hysterically. 

“Take a minute, take half an hour, take whatever you need.” Elliot spoke kindly, his dimples showing as he smiled. “Debutante season never ends in my world, so I could use for the constant distraction.”