𝐵𝐿𝒪𝒪𝒟 𝒫𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒞𝐸

tagging: @burialnetwork

1. due to his french ancestry (more direct from his mother’s side, as she’s french, but it’s not like his father ever let him forget that this had been their family home ever since their ancestors made their way to england from france nine centuries ago) he had to not only become fluent in french, but also keep in touch with his roots (which seemed pointless to brax because he had this idea of himself that he’d be the first malfoy to carve his own path, but he went along with it because he didn’t want to know what would happen if he didn’t), and of course learn the savoir vivre by heart, indulge in french cuisine (you try feeding snails escargot to an 8 year old) and know everything there was to know about the wixen history of france. 

2. he spent his winter vacation in chamonix, where he learned to ski and the basics of figure skating (he can glide on ice without falling flat on his face) and bonded with his maternal cousins over hot chocolate and macarons (hating everything, from the people to the tasteless sweets). he stopped going there and traded his place with a very kindly worded letter, expressing his deepest regrets for not being able to make it that year and how much he missed everyone when he got his current job as a potioneer, claiming that he couldn’t get any time off (the worst part would always be the fact that he was the black sheep not only of the malfoys, but of his mother’s family as well, as his father cutting him off wasn’t a secret anyone ever intended to keep or to view as a secret to begin with, worsening his shame).

3. still, unable to escape the british side of the family, every sunday they’d gather around the rather long and empty dining room of the malfoy manor, abraxas and his parents, and they’d have a roast “as a family” as his mother insisted, which was followed by tea and crumpets. those family dinners occurred up until abraxas left for hogwarts on a weekly basis, but the tradition was kept alive whenever he was home. after his graduation (and his eviction from his own home) his mother wouldn’t take a no to her invitations to sunday roasts (disregarding completely the fact that abraxas wanted nothing to do with her or his father and it took a couple of years to not get his stomach in a knot at the thought of such family gatherings). 

prosperina’s  lips  twisted  up  into  a  slight  smirk.  “no  mr.  malfoy.  seeing  you  is  just  the  icing  on  the  cake  of  this  day.  i  cannot  give  you  all  the  credit  for  my  sudden  penchant  for  champagne.”  she  smiled  politely  at  the  bartender  as  she  accepted  the drink.  “it’s  a  rather  grim  affair  altogether  isn’t  it?  i  would  be  shocked  to  find  anyone  in  particularly  amiable  spirits  at  such  an  event  -  whether  they  were  happily  acquainted  or  not.”  she  pursed  her  lips  for  a  moment  before  taking  a  sip  of  her  drink.  “i’m  simply  concerned  for  mr.  potter.  it  cannot  be  an  easy  day  for  him.  i  would  not  wish  it  on  anyone  -  not  even  you,”  she  teased,  the  smile  on  her  lips  a  little  more  genuine  this  time.  “enough  talk  of  the  somber  though.  if  i’m  to  be  in  your  company  you  might  as  well  amuse  me.  certainly  you’ve  done  something  worthwhile  and  entertaining  since  our  school  days  that  you  can  distract  me  with.”

she smirked, she teased, she drank and she talked. abraxas mused silently that some things are just destined to turn out a certain way, and prosperina was one of them. there was never any doubt in his mind that she’d never loose her playful and opinionated spirit, nor her elegance in both speech and movement. and to top those off, in front of him stood a woman instead of the girl he knew, a woman who combined everything she was in harmony and unafraid to show it. 

so she talked and he really listened, not like he pretended to in school. prosperina was obviously done talking about anything related to the memorial, she needed to be ‘amused’ and ‘distracted’, as she put it. abraxas could think of a few ways to deliver, but decided to keep them to himself; this was neither the time not the place to be crude. 

he didn’t reply right away, it was not easy for him to share his life of the past ten years so openly, even to her. “i have a job. a real job, with a paycheck i heavily rely on because i need to pay rent for the shitty hole in the wall i call an apartment. i also have a plant that has not died on me yet, which is encouraging if i may say so myself. her name is iris.” he had barely scratched the surface, but abraxas didn’t think that what prosperina wanted to hear were the endless nights that he’d spent restless, not knowing if he’d make it through the month. or about the time he accidentally fell on broken glass and didn’t care. the lady wanted entertainment, not a sob story. “have you been up to anything other than your fantastic music?”

Lyall certainly didn’t feel like he belonged. Wearing his somewhat ill-fitting suit, tie that was the wrong shade of pink and a bouquet of flowers that were a tad beaten up but also he had no clue where to place, he couldn’t have stuck out harder. It hadn’t been intentional, but funerals were a new experience in his young life and it wasn’t like he had anyone around to show him how to do it right.

It had been about five minutes into being at the potter house that he had realized the rather large multitude of mistakes he’d made and from there Lyall had tried to make himself scarce. Pay his respects and then try to leave before anyone remembered he was there. Part of him wanted to find Fleamont, who was the real reason he had attended, but that task seemed too large now. The whole place was overwhelming - heaving with people whose political and social skills were far beyond the young Ravenclaw.

As the day got later, it seemed the perfect time to quickly leave until Abraxas’ face was right before him, causing Lyall to blink a few times and clear his throat, which felt like closing up. 

Abraxas. Where to even begin. Lyall tried hard to be nice to the man, but even to someone as dense in social events as him, he could feel something was off. It was like every time he turned around at a meeting or party, there was the Slytherin - just waiting. It made his stomach turn with nerves, like a mouse under a telescope. But he brought up an unsteady smile and offered his hand to shake, trying to hold back the tremour.

“Hey Abraxas…it’s good to see you. I’m, heh. I guess, just be real with me. Did I mess up on the dress attire?” 

Abraxas took a closer look at Lyall and realised the extent of the damage. If he held on to one thing throughout his entire life, that was the importance of one’s image. From the clothes he wore to the cologne that he sprayed on his neck, every single detail about the way he looked was always well thought over. It was a habit enforced on him since he was a child; his father used to say that first impressions held the utmost importance and his mother insisted that keeping those impressions was what mattered in the end. A false or inconsistent image was out of the question. At first he didn’t understand what any of it meant, he just knew that he always had to be well dressed and properly groomed, which was tiring and boring. Growing up he saw that they were right and from a chore, it turned into an enjoyable habit. 

Lyall wasn’t on Abraxas’s good side, he had still to uncover his motives and by nature, he was questioning the man’s true intentions; guilty until proven innocent. He was waiting for him to make a mistake, but so far he could only charge him for being socially inept and having a very wrong understanding of fashion. Neither of those things were what he’d call fatal flaws, amusing was more like it. 

“Well...” he started, but paused, trying to find the right words to express his thoughts. He took another good look at Lyall, from head to toe. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself that made him pity the man, almost want to help him. “If I’m being honest, you could have done with a more... proper suit. You see, the shoulder of the jacket should embrace your own shoulders, it shouldn’t feel too tight or too loose. And while pink does look good on you, I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘memorial appropriate’ colour.” he could only hope that he was not too abrupt in his manner. He really held himself back, there were at least three more points he’d like to made about Lyall’s attire, but decided against it.  “The flowers are a nice touch, though.” Abraxas added in an effort to outweigh any criticism he had offered, and didn’t dare to change the subject until he saw the other man’s expression. 

abraxas + lazarus.

❛  as  a  thanks  for  lunch,  of  course,  brax.  ❜  laz  would  have  pressed  the  issue  of  abraxas  forgetting  his  manners,  all  in  good  fun,  of  course,  had  abraxas  not  said  it  himself  that  he  sometimes  forgot  himself  while  drinking.  not  everyone  could  hold  their  drink  well,  now  could  they  ?  for  a  moment  lazarus  thought  that  he  might  want  to  actually  tell  abraxas  what  he  and  lucius  spoke  of  at  lunch  but  there  was  no  need  to  flaunt  that  lazarus  had  a  better  relationship  with  abraxas’  father.  instead,  he  supplied  a  simple,  ❛  and  to  set  up  another,  of  course.  ❜

he  was  quiet  for  a  moment,  taking  another  sip  as  he  smiled  into  his  drink,  thankful  for  the  dark  colored  glass  that  hid  it.  his  face  was  placid  again  as  he  pulled  it  away.  there  was  a  part  of  him,  one  comprised  of  malice,  pettiness,  and  spite,  that  wanted  to  say  i’ll  be  asking  her  parents  for  their  permission  soon  or  i’m  planning  on  asking  my  mother  for  the  family  ring  at  christmas.  the  kind  of  thing  he  would  say  if  he  were  less  of  a  man  or  deeper  into  his  state  of  intoxication.  and  then  abraxas  mentioned  henry  potter  and  his  shoulders  sagged  a  bit  as  he  sighed.

❛  awful.  ❜  his  tone  was  a  little  more  somber  now,  at  the  mention  of  henry  potter.  lazarus  wanted  deeply  to  help  alleviate  the  weight  on  fleamont’s  shoulders,  if  only  because  he  wanted  to  know  how  deeply  the  conspiracy  that  brewed  in  his  mind  ran.  black,  potter,  carrow,  macmillan  …  any  day  now  avery  could  join  that  list.  any  pureblood  man  who  sat  on  the  wizengamot  was  at  risk  now  and  lazarus  feared  walking  the  same  path  of  fleamont  potter  and  that’s  what  it  boiled  down  to.  he  respected  fleamont  and  the  friendship  they  had  developed  but  lazarus  could  not  stomach  the  idea  of  his  father  being  dredged  from  the  black  lake  or  found  in  knockturn  alley.  the  thought  of  it  made  his  fist  clench  in  anger  and  grief  settle  in  his  bones.  ❛  though  i  don’t  know  how  much  i  trust  in  the  system  in  place  to  actually  find  his  killer.  and  with  carrow  and  macmillan,  i  imagine  it’s  only  a  matter  of  time  before  more  bodies  pile  up.  ❜

“of course.” abraxas let his thoughts turn into words, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. of course lazarus wouldn’t dream of humouring him even for a second, especially when it involved matters that were sensitive to him. of course he’d plan to have another meal with his father and he knew that it wasn’t just words. he didn’t know what stung more: the fact that his father saw lazarus more than he saw his own son or that lazarus would go to such lengths as to getting along with his father just to spite him. he remembered that it was more the fact that he cared. that was a realisation he’d made some time ago, deemed his own feelings as childish and tried to push them out, pretend like he was better than that, even though he seemed to forget that pretending wouldn’t get him very far. 

lazarus didn’t comment further on prosperina, but instead focused on henry potter. abraxas was relieved; he didn’t know if he could continue that useless banter for long, but he felt proud to not be the first to give out. besides, his take on potter’s death and his body language grounded abraxas. he was never particularly fond of the potters, but that didn’t mean that henry deserved such fate and fleamont such a burden; no person ever did. he had been worried for a couple of days, seeing the trail of pureblooded bodies that might eventually lead to his own family, or even himself, but that didn’t last for long; he told himself that he didn’t care in particular about death when it concerned those that were bound to him by name. that certainly didn’t erase the tragedy that followed it, and deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. 

something in lazarus’s change of demeanour made abraxas feel more at ease, him showing any kind of genuine emotion reminded brax that he was still a person, no matter how hard he tried to dehumanise him in his mind over the years.  but if he let his guard down and be willing to have an actual conversation, he was more than happy to oblige. these were the moments that reminded abraxas that lazarus could’ve been his friend in another life. “do you think it’s just one person behind all of this?” he didn’t waste any time stating facts, like how likely it was that both mcmillan and carrow would share the fate of cyngus black or henry potter. he liked to entertain the thought that it was just a coincidence, that the deaths and disappearances weren’t linked, but a feeling in his gut told him a different story. “are you suggesting we take matters in our own hands?” he asked, carefully lowering his voice. distrust in the system was one thing and turning into vigilantes was another, which should be treated delicately. 

maybe he was feeling a bit more bolder than usual - that was the beauty of festivals, wasn’t it? so easy to get lost in the enjoyment of it all - he was in a good mood to say the least, better than expected. ignatius had a funny relationship with grief - it was that quiet sadness that snuck up on him every now and then and perhaps an event full of mourners wasn’t ideal, but there were things that were bigger than him.

“what can i say, i’m a funny guy –” the boy shrugged, boyish grin stretched at his lips. he was far too many pints in and he wasn’t surprised that it was a bit obvious, “a bit more than i’d like to admit” he chuckled, sheepish smile stretching at his lips, “remind me to find a way to floo home – apparating doesn’t really feel ideal anymore–” the last thing he needed to worry about was splinching. shaking his head as he gave his shoulder a pat, head tilting for him to follow, “we’re in for a night of fun?” it was rhetorical - or at least he hoped, he was sure he could entertain himself for the evening, it wasn’t too hard with what was running through his blood right now, but company made it all the more fun. 

there was no way that abraxas would let himself or ingatius apparate anywhere. he’d come to appreciate walking to the nearest hotel or house that would have him or just waiting to sober up, which was usually accompanied by the sunrise. he liked to find a spot with a view, and just watch the sky change colours while he tried keeping himself from getting lost in his own thoughts; alcohol and thinking rarely made a good combination. “don’t worry, we’ll both get home in one piece.” he tried to reassure ignatius but perhaps the mischievous gleam that hadn’t left his eyes didn’t help much.  he turned to follow the man as thoughts of how they could spend their evening rushed through his head. 

“of course we’re in for a night of fun.” he replied, his tone more serious than he intended as he concentrated on their options. they could go mingle with the crowd, dance to the tunes of the band, but that would probably mean that after a while they’d find themselves more... interesting company and that was not brax’s intent. not for that particular night at least. “have you met our lordship, the goat?” he offered, willing to start with the festival’s main attraction, sure that more would follow. 

tagging :   @burialnetwork​  (task 002)

additional information: these are the thoughts that keep going around in abraxas’s mind as he lost the position of second in command in the knights of walpurgis. 

and i raised myself out of the ashes  /   there were times when i thought that my heart would stop  /   running for a bleak horizon  /  locked in my obsessions

there’s a heavy glass ashtray on the coffee table, almost full with butts of half extinguished cigarettes, surrounded by ash. abraxas made a point of always emptying and cleaning his ashtrays before he left his house so this was the product of the last couple of hours. the room was dark and he wouldn’t  be able to see past his nose if it weren’t for the vibrant street lights and the small light bulb in his cooker hood that he always forgot to turn off. he held his fourth half full glass of whiskey in his right hand while his left put out another cigarette. he blew the smoke and in its faint shadow as the little light shone through it he could almost lose himself. 

almost two weeks ago, the knights had been reformed and abraxas knew that it was time he took action. he had spent the better part of the past decade working in order to insure that he would not only take more responsibility, but more power. the fact that lazarus was chosen to lead in tom riddle’s absence instead of him should have been a red flag, but he chose to ignore it. he spent the days of lazarus reign -if he could call it that- watching his every move, waiting for him to make even the smallest mistake, which abraxas wouldn’t waste any time time using it to his own advantage and rise on the ranks of their organisation. besides, the fight had always been between the two of them and with lazarus out of the picture, abraxas was the obvious -if not the only- choice for the job. 

the knights of walpurgis were like a second home to abraxas. tom brought them all together in a time when he needed a cause, something to give him purpose and most of all, opportunity to prove himself and rise. he never intended to take tom’s place, which was a thought that crossed his mind during his first month in the organisation. but that would mean that he was ready to step on the very man who helped him, whether he was aware of it or not. abraxas was many things, ungrateful being the headline of his personality, but after losing everything, he learned the hard way that he should count his blessings in whatever shape or form they came in. and the knights, in more than one way, were a blessing. if he were to dethrone tom, he’d be turning his head from the man he wanted, he needed to be, letting everything he’d worked to become just go down the drain. he had put in too much work to let it go to waste like that. and if anything, abraxas was loyal. that was his ticket to the knights, aside from his untainted blood status and he intended to do right by tom, turn a blind eye to a few things if that meant he still served the same purpose. 

when lazarus was announced as second in command not too many hours ago, he shouldn’t have been surprised: he had seen it coming, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it and spend his time daydreaming about the day his worth would eventually be recognised and the things he would do with the power that came with the position. good things, of course, to honour the cause of the knights of walpurgis. but still, he wasn’t enough and that was a slap to the face that stung more than he could bother to let on and in a way that he knew all too well. it was the same sting that he felt when his father locked him out of his own house. when he had nowhere to go, nothing to his name but a pack of smokes, the clothes on his back and his wand. he rose himself out of the ashes and he expected to do the same this time around. 

still, as he laid back in his couch, replaying everything that happened in the past couple of weeks and especially the events that took place a few hours ago, he didn’t allow himself to feel sorry anymore. this was yet another chance to be better, to do better, to prove himself. a tired smile worked its way on his lips. maybe there was a part of him that knew that this would be in vain, maybe there was a part of him that knew that it mattered that he felt like he had something to prove as much as it was futile. but none of that mattered as his eyelids suddenly started to close and his body felt heavy. the last thought that crossed his mind as the little light that illuminated the room faded away, was himself, alone, yet serene as if everything had worked out in the end

privacy:  warded

tagging:  lyall lupin / @mr-lyall-lupin​

abraxas could not stress enough how much he loathed every second he spent at the potter family manor with every fibre of his being. there were too many people he didn’t want to engage in conversation with and the number just kept on rising with every person whose eyes he met. but he was there, out of his own volition and he had to make the most of it. 

he’d already been at the memorial for a little over an hour; he had come with a purpose but spotting lyall lupin made him think that maybe he could take a little detour and focus on another project of his, as he liked to call it. lyall didn’t seem like a person abraxas could trust, like he didn’t... belong. and him being close with lazarus of course did nothing but push his buttons further. he made a very conscious effort to be good around him, to get lyall to trust him, in hopes that in time, he’d make a mistake, he’d slip up and abraxas would be there to take advantage of it, whatever it would turn out to be. 

so, not wanting to be rude, he needed to at least say hello to the man. it was the polite thing to do. and the rest would follow. in due time. he made his way to lyall, a small smile on his face. “how are you holding up?” 

“Never. Its a current we will always be sucked into unfortunately but you and I have learned to swim” she whispered softly as he pulled her into a hug. Arabella knew full well he was not an intimate being and he still wasn’t truly. For one such as Arabella herself who was as old a friend to him as any Abraxas had made some exception for her. A prideful creature would like to think herself the only woman for which he’d make an exception but she wasn’t so foolish to believe that.  “I am glad to have taught you some things even if they are only half lessons”. Wrinkling her noise ever so slightly she pursed her lips together. It was almost as if she’d eaten sour grapes. Giving the floor a little kick, Brax knew her too well. “We arrived rather respectably early as you know mother simply cannot abide by tardiness or arriving at less than the upmost respectable  of times. Many times though. Many times. Screaming would make too much of scene I’m afraid and my temples are throbbing the cloying smell of perfume is getting to me. Seems everyone needs to smell like they’re a bowl of rancid potpurri”

Her words almost got lost in his chest, but Abraxas caught the gist of it. And learn to swim they had. They had been born into this life and up until a time, that was all they knew. Abraxas could even go ahead and say that he was happy then, blissful in the smallness of his world that never expanded more than a day at a time. Little by little, things started to change, or maybe he started to change; all he knew was that suddenly he was getting sick of all the theatrics and the politeness. There was no escape but groaning about it to Arabella and he enjoyed that that had remained a small staple in their relationship, in his life. He could only smile in response, though it was highly possible that Arabella wouldn’t see that smile. Maybe, if he were lucky enough, she’d sense it and not think of him as rude, but that was more wishful thinking than anything else. 

“I’m glad that you’re taking what you can get with me.” he said while slowly letting her go of his arms. “Ah, Mrs. Crabbe... wouldn’t dare to expect anything else” he sighed as he thought of the time he’d spent under her roof. He dared describe it as a blessing in a very, very good disguise and preferred to leave it at that. “Seems like you and I” he paused to down the contents of his glass “need a drink and to desperately get away from this stench. If you’ll follow me, I’ve acquainted myself with the way to the bar and the bartender alike.” he offered his hand for Arabella to take, ready as ever to have a drink with a friend. 

abraxas + lazarus.

your  goal  to  misinterpret  my  words  only  to  throw  them  back  at  me  with  a  few  words  changed  is  truly  oh  so  clever,  abraxas,  how  ever  should  i  beg  for  mercy  from  your  razor  sharp  wit  ?  if  lazarus  were  about  four  drinks  deeper,  perhaps  he  would  have  said  it  out  loud,  but  he  could  only  laugh  in  response.  ❛  that’s  good  to  hear.  i  owe  him  an  owl,  after  lunch  the  other  day.  i’ll  be  sure  to  send  it  tomorrow  morning.  ❜  another  sip  from  his  drink.  ❛  funny  to  advocate  for  change  and  then  you  mimic  the  way  i  speak.  though  i  suspect  that’s  your  love  for  irony  showing  through.  ❜

 restlessness  was  not  beneficial,  not  when  it  was  unfocused  and  easily  changed  but  it  was  to  be  expected  that  abraxas  would  still  be  contending  with  an  issue  that  lazarus  had  long  since  understood.  if  this  were  another  life,  if  they  had  been  born  into  different  families,  roles,  or  times,  perhaps  they  could  manage  a  friendship  with  one  another.  that,  though,  could  not  happen  until  abraxas  stopped  measuring  himself  against  lazarus.  to  be  used  as  a  benchmark  only  inspired  a  competition  that  wasn’t  fair,  it  was  like  playing  a  game  with  an  expert  when  you  are  only,  at  best,  an  intermediate  player.  who  could  expect  to  win  a  chessmaster  when  they,  themselves,  had  only  just  learned  the  names  of  all  the  pieces  ?

there  was  something  about  the  way  that  abraxas  asked  about  prosperina  that  made  the  hairs  on  the  back  of  his  neck  stand  up,  though  the  smile  never  faded.  he  always  was  good  at  keeping  his  composure  like  that,  even  when  they  were  boys  at  school.  the  unyielding  smile  that  could  cut  through  even  the  darkest  clouds  was  not  solely  brought  on,  though,  by  wanting  to  keep  composure.  no,  just  the  mention  of  prosperina,  even  from  someone  like  abraxas  who  had  drawn  her  ire,  made  something  soften  inside  of  him.  ❛  i  did,  though  she  looks  like  divinity  in  everything  she  does.  radiant,  really.  i  was  at  the  memorial  for  about  an  hour  or  so.  i  saw  fleamont  and  prosperina  while  i  was  there  and  then  returned  to  work.  we’ve  made  plans  to  see  one  another  later  this  evening.  ❜

lucius malfoy was always the one person whose sole remembrance could make abraxas lose his temper, although he knew that if he let himself be guided by his emotions, especially in front of lazarus, he would be playing a game long lost. trying to remain -instead of just appearing- calm took more of his energy than replying to lazarus comments about father dearest, but over the years it seemed to be getting easier each time, to the extent that a thought passed through his mind, which abraxas dismissed quickly in his near-drunken state: what if the problem wasn’t his father any more, but lazarus himself?

not wasting even half a heartbeat, abraxas was facing the issue head on, not trying to evade the slightest that his father had lunch with the son he wished he had instead of the one he had raised. “i would love to hear your side of that lunch. and how come you owe him an owl? if you want to talk about it, that is. i don’t mean to pry.” he said, breaking eye contact just enough so he could glance at the near empty drink in his hand. “sometimes i tend to forget my manners after a few of these.” he pointed with his free hand at the glass. he had been drinking for a while now, that much was true. but he knew better than to not pick his words carefully where lazarus was concerned. 

“but you really do know me so well, laz!” he continued with just a hint of sarcasm colouring his voice. “but i have also come to know that when one must make a point, speaking as they’re spoken to goes a long way. i am glad to hear that your... courtship is flourishing.” a smile stretched on his lips, not forced but not entirely honest either. lazarus going after prosperina, the woman abraxas spent the better part of his hogwarts years trying to woo, wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to him. it was more of a nuance, really, a blow to his ego that he could easily get over, if he wanted to. “it’s a shame, what happened to henry potter, don’t you think?” 

          his  admittance  of  a  change  in  character  intrigues  her,  interest  piquing  —  though  she  knows  better  than  to  raise  her  hopes  to  impossible heights.  a  change  in  economic  status  and  independence  didn’t  directly  indicate  a  change  in  morality  or  ideals  —  this  much  euphemia  knew.  there  were  wixen  of  lower  status  than  she  who  believed  those  with  impure  blood  were  worth  nothing  —  when  a  single  material  object  could,  to  them,  mean  everything.  she  wanted  to  dig  deeper.  she  required  answers,  and  she’d  demand  them  as  she  saw  fit.  

          ❛ so  tell  me  what’s  changed,  mr.  malfoy. ❜     she  insists,  chin  tilted  upwards  as  she  regards  his  face  —  delicate  features  remaining  the  same  despite  claimed  inner  developments.     ❛ i’m  sure  you  understand  that  i  can’t  possibly  answer  those  sorts  of  questions  for  somebody  i  hardly  know. ❜     despite  her  newly  acquired  ruthlessness,  euphemia  still  hands  out  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  when  called  for.  eyes  glinting,  she  waits  patiently  for  his  answer.

and just as he remembered, euphemia knew exactly how to put him in a bind. her question was a delicate subject, she was treading on thin ice, whether she was entirely aware of it or not, while his question remained skilfully unanswered. so there he was, having to respond to euphemia’s inquiry while she carefully  maintained the aura of mystery that surrounded her; he had to give something and he got nothing in return, and that was a situation he despised and made sure he rarely found himself in. 

the voice of his mother pushed him into being polite while he knew that he had to be smart about it. “honestly, it would be easier to tell you what’s still the same.” he prioritised her questions to his own. he scratched the back of his neck satisfying an itch that wasn’t there, trying to come up with answers for questions that were yet to come. if this was the course their discussion would take, he needed to be prepared. “but i do need to know, ms. gibbon... is this about catching up with an old friend or about two people who hardly know each other getting better acquainted?” abraxas took a drag from his cigarette and as he released the smoke from his lungs he noticed that the gleam in her eyes made him feel like the latter was more likely, but he gave himself a margin for error.