❝ don't be a scaredy-cat. ❞ tone carried a warm but teasing lilt. it didn't detract from her excitement to share her sport with another, even if only for a simple trail ride. narisa secured the bridle's noseband before pulling the reins over the horse's head and holding them out for the other to take.  ❝  duchess is a favorite amongst beginners for a reason. she's not going to bite or run off with you. ❞

dark hair whips over her shoulder as henrietta fixes narisa with a pointed gaze, amusement and mock offense curving her lips upwards. "i'm almost positive i was the braver kid when we were growing up," she states with feigned finality, a politician's confidence bolstering her tone, the kind meant to disuade argument. movements are cautious as she takes the horse's reins from her old friend's hands, a pang of envy at risa's ease washing over her, the way it was completely obvious to henri that this was risa's element stirring a mix of emotions that didn't bode well together inside her chest. try all she wants to chase that same spark of passion while working for the senator, it was always more obvious in narisa's presence all henrietta had was a cheap imitation, something manufactured by duty instead of genuine love. "i may not be an olympian, but i'm no beginner. it's really not my fauly my horseback riding dreams were crushed because someone told naive seven year old me horses are onmivores. i mean, even you have to admit the thought of a horse eating meat is unsettling—sorry duchess," she adds in afterthought, patting the horse's velvety muzzle.

ingrid's  elbow  rested  against  the  table,  fingers  tracing  the  stem  of  her  wine  glass  as  she  glanced  across  at  henri.  the  restaurant's  lighting  was  low  enough  to  make  everything  a  little  softer  -  the  noise,  the  pace,  the  pressure  to  be  anyone  but  herself.  “ you  have  no  idea  how  rare  this  is  for  me. ”  she  said,  a  quiet  smile  pulling  at  her  mouth.  “ no  red  carpets,  no  interviews,  no  one  asking  what  i'm  working  on  next  -  just  dinner  with  a  friend  who  doesn't  need  a  headline  out  of  it. ”  she  raised  her  glass  a  little  in  the  other's  direction.  “ you're  doing  me  a  public  service honestly. ”

sometimes it was easy to forget the grandness of her world until it was laid out for her, ingrid's comment providing a stark reminder that although the blonde across the table was someone henrietta considered a close friend, to most of the world the bianchi was nothing but the glamorous movie star gracing their silver screens. "i really don't know how you do it," she comments, a soft laugh escaping as she considers just how unequipped she'd be for stardom. too many prying eyes—though politics what no better as of late, the way pop culture had found a way to bleed in and celebrify those who had no business becoming celebrities. "you're doing me a favor too, you know. i just about lost my mind this election cycle. this has to be the first free night i've had since june." at that she leans forward, attention draped like silk over the other, soft in its sincerity. "go on then, tell me about all the things the tabloids don't care about."

𖥻 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱.  𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 @aff1uent 𖥻 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:  van rensselaer family home

not even the familiar embrace of the van rensselaer family home—which had always been henrietta's safe haven, a welcome reprieve from the coldness of her own childhood residence—was enough to completely cut the tension away, especially once left alone at the table across her former flame. she'd been trying hard not to replay the last time they'd been alone together, halloween night a hazy fog she wasn't sure she truly wanted to cut through, equal parts terrified and mortified by what she may discover. so of course nicholas would bring it up, the question nearly causing henri to choke on the sip of wine she'd been downing, the gulp significantly increased until half her glass was empty by the time she set it down. "well if that was the plan, we're off to a pretty shit start." a pause, manicured fingers pulling at the hem of her skirt, one of her nervous tells. for someone normally so eloquent, the deputy chief of staff found herself fumbling in the dark for the right words. "let's just consider it a harmless lapse in judgment."

closed starter    :   henrietta  whitney   * @aff1uent

what was there to say about desiring your own demise? she'd always been one for self-preservation, practiced caution so perfected it came across effortless, nothing but a beautiful picture of restraint restraint restraint. and yet nothing was as undone in daniel's presence, like merely existing within his orbit stripped her of something vital, defenses pooled like the silk fabric of a nightgown laid at his feet, her innermost convictions his to ravage. it was terrifying; it was intoxicating. it was something she couldn't stop sober, much less now with the stimulants clouding her bloodstream. henrietta feels his presence the way a gazelle must feel the lure of the lion right as it realizes there's nowhere to run, that there's no option except to tilt your neck and wait for teeth to sink into flesh. she lets herself be led, for once freed of the fear of being caught, of what it means to be seen alone in a room with daniel hwang—like the scandal from the last time she was found doing just that didn't still hover over her name like a guillotine. it's unexpected, the compliment stealing a breath of air from her plush lips. so much so that she drops his hand, electricity sparking in protest between the little space that separates them. "he seemed to appreciate it just fine tonight," henri says, though what did it say about her she intended the words like a challenge, rather than a defense of the man being spoken about? perhaps tomorrow she'd blame the inebriation, or halloween itself; there was something dangerous, after all, about wearing a mask. tonight, she simply steps closer, manicured hand lifting his chin, keeping their gazes locked. "and what do you know about what i need, daniel?"

dark brows shoot up in amusement, the look she fixes him with less than convinced. "save some conscious for the rest of us, will you?" the words are meant to tease, yet henrietta can't help but feel they ring true in current company, the oldest montero embodying what she sometimes felt was a coveted moral compass—friendship with her ex fiance aside. "you certainly could have picked a worse costume to repeat." eyes rove over in approval, candor drawn out by more liquor her liver probably should be handling. a bat-shaped bendy straw is brought to her lips as she continues to stare, forehead suddenly scrunching in drunken thought. "you've really never wanted to dress up like something else? like, i don't know, a pirate. oh, or neo. that would be fun." it seemed, in that very moment, there was no matter on earth more pressing than convincing benny—who was little more than her acquaintance—to become her life-size dress-up doll. the only hiccup? through the fog of her intoxication, there wasn't anything henri came up with as a way to state her case except widening her eyes even more, a silent plea.

a startled yelp escaped her lips upon realizing that someone was standing beside her; her focus had been entirely on the planetary exhibit, which looked like a set from a movie under the red lights, preventing her from noticing that she wasn't alone. hands raised defensively — if she shoved past them and ran then surely they wouldn't catch her. plan was derailed by recognition.  ❝  oh my gosh, hen! ❞   she lowered her arms, one hand resting over her heart.  ❝  you look like you stepped right out of an exhibit. ❞

it was rather apocalyptic, every displayed planet bathed in red; the longer the night stretched, the more it started to feel like one long dream, a distorted reality far, far away from henrietta's real life. the sight of narisa helps keep her mind from fuzzing too far, the familiar face a tether even when donning a disguise, drawing henri closer. she hadn't meant to scare the other; in fact, narisa's exclamation rattles a jerk out of henrietta, jittery after the generous bump her last trip to the bathroom had allowed. "i guess i kinda do," she acknowledges with a laugh, thin shoulders shaking with it. "though your costume's definitely more fitting for this room, princess."

his path, originally toward one of the safe rooms, diverged upon seeing another hiding from a mummy who was quickly closing in. careful to evade the creature's sightline, minho crept closer to the person and extended his arm.  ❝  come with me. ❞   mere seconds later he realized he could've seized the opportunity to quote terminator two — though his costume didn't align.

she couldn't remember the last time her heart had raced this much on halloween. henri had never considered herself a jumpy person—in fact she was nothing if not notoriously steady—but there were many things being intoxicated and chased by costumed actors inside an enclosed space seemed to negate. one manicured hand rests against her bare chest, as if to settle the frantic organ after the words that seemed to float down from nowhere had startled her, the other grabbing onto the arm extended to her with little hesitation. "christ, those things are freaky." neverminded the fact that henrietta was the one with pointed teeth and blood dripping out from painted lips. "you just saved my life."

to  appear  unaffected  is  a  skill  he  has  long  mastered.  and  yet  it  seems  wasted  in  the  presence  of  one  who  has  seen  him  unmoored.  still,  he  makes  the  attempt.  if  not  for  its  effectiveness,  let  it  serve  as  a  reminder  of  what  should  exist  between  them.  the  change  in  disposition  is  almost  immediate,  the  mask  settling  into  place  as  he  reacquaints  himself  with  the  role  momentarily  abandoned.  to  be  perceived  as  untethered  by  someone  like  her  is  to  leave  oneself  open  to  attack.  she  is  nothing  if  not  a  predator  dressed  in  the  finest  of  fabrics.  both  the  innocent  flower  and  the  serpent.  tempting  in  a  way  reminiscent  of  a  siren’s  call,  spelling  your  doom  even  as  you're  enveloped  in  her  mesmeric  presence.    “   i  don’t  enjoy  losing,  even  when  the  odds  are  stacked  against  me.   ”  it  speaks  of  arrogance,  a  trait  he  has  never  attempted  to  conceal;  wielding  it  as  one  would  a  shield.  he  prefers  to  be  accused  of  hubris  than  to  be  seen  displaying  something  as  human  as  concern  for  another.  she  holds  enough  ammunition.  it  would  be  unwise  to  provide  her  with  more.  he  is  already  risking  enough  by  meeting  her  here,  playing  with  an  open  flame  and  hoping  he  won’t  get  burned.  if  only  it  were  that  easy,  to  look  at  her  and  not  be  compelled  to  act  on  her  every  desire.  he  is  but  a  moth,  destined  to  flame.   “  you  and  i  serve  a  similar  purpose,  do  we  not?  tell  me,  does  it  chafe  less,  or  have  you  grown  so  accustomed  that  it  no  longer  bothers  you?   ”   there’s  a  challenge  there.  a  push  and  pull,  a  careful  give  and  take.  he  closes  the  distance  between  them,  permitting  a  closeness  he  usually  forbids  himself.   “   as  for  senator  stratton,  i’m  afraid  i  have  no  idea  what  you’re  talking  about.  ”

it was like watching an intricate piece of machinery, the way he slots every gear back into place. the precision with which he smooths each inch of his expression into something unreadable draws out an ugly desire in henrietta; it was the same urge she remembered feeling as a child accompanying her grandmother in an antique shop, faced with a china plate so perfect all she wanted to do was to smash it just to see if every tiny shard could be as brilliant as the whole. "i imagine especially not when the odds are stacked against you." another blade yielded in quiet swiftness, something feline glimmering in the depths of her gaze as she watches him. arrogance didn't exist in a vacuum, and she knew better than anyone that a hunger like that was often born from the perversion of more idealistic sentiments, like a sense of justice, or the innate human urge to find out just how much suffering you could take and still come out the other side. it was treacherous territory, wading in the muddled waters of what they had in common. acknowledgement like that always came at a price, one henrietta never seemed quite ready to pay. one foot was always off the balance beam in daniel's presence; somewhere deep inside of herself, she could admit a part of her thrilled just as much as it feared the idea that he might send her crashing down. the blade is slid against her rib, this time, his words raising the hair along the nape of her neck to attention, electricity trailing down her spine. "so it did bother you," she says, unable to stop the way her lips draw upwards, the ghost of a grin. but it doesn't hold for long—his questions feel like tests, rabbit snares laid out at her feet, like he's hoping to catch some part of her she herself still wasn't acquainted with, yet. "sometimes i can forget what it feels like." the words are uttered like confession pressed into the palms of a faceless priest. shameful and bold all at the same time, like she was daring him to look. but her throat runs dry the moment he punctures her orbit, mind flashing with all the urgency of a siren to the last time he was this close. and maybe that's why she can't help it, eyes racking up his frame slowly. "strange," henri murmurs, finding his gaze. "usually it feels like you can read my mind."

 he   tipped   his   bottle   her   way   in   a   half   toast   ,   smirk   curling   as   he   let   his   gaze   linger   a   second   too   long.   “   still   ,   you   clean   up   the   joint   just   sittin’   there.   like   watchin’   a   diamond   necklace   sink   to   the   bottom   of   a   pint   glass.   waste   of   shine   ,   if   you   ask   me.   ”   he   knocked   back   a   drink   ,   throat   working   with   the   pull   before   setting   the   glass   down   hard   enough   to   rattle   the   counter.   i   don’t   reckon   you’d   crumble   if   you   wrapped   those   manicured   fingers   ‘round   a   pint   glass.   might   even   do   you   good.   loosen   the   silk   ,   try   a   bit   of   grit.   shit   ,   i'll   even   buy   the   first   round   ,   just   so   i   can   watch   you   pretend   you   hate   it   while   secretly   likin’   the   burn.   ”   he   leaned   in   closer,   voice   lowering   into   that   husky,   half   daring   murmur.   “   what   d’you   say   ,   princess   ?   one   beer,   just   to   prove   me   wrong   …   or   are   you   scared   you’ll   end   up   enjoyin’   yourself   too   much   ?   ”

she waits with marbled patience for the end of his condescension to arrive, well-versed in practice after a decade spent in politics among the company of men who never tired of making her feel like there wasn't a subject on earth they weren't better equipped to explain. "oh no," henrietta finally drawls, dark eyes widened. "you mean the shitty sports bar doesn't have macallan?" accented words are thickened by derision, lithe shoulders lifting into a delicate shrug. "guess you can't buy me that drink." her attention is temporarily returned to her phone as her companion doles out what henrietta rightfully assumes is predictable drabble slung towards what he's likely inferred to be her stuck-up nature now that she's exposed herself to be a non-beer drinker. the sight of a new email notification is only slightly more grating, and so she lifts her gaze in time to catch the tail end of his. a laugh passes from her throat, low and amused despite herself, still capable of surprise. "what is it about a woman voicing an opinion that always inspires a man to want to change her mind?" in fact, what had slipped from her lips had been a statement, a complete sentence at that, though henrietta had no doubt that was of little consequence to present company. "i didn't come here to drink, i came here to work. even if that wasn't the case, proving you wrong isn't the enticing idea you probably think it is." at that she mirrors his actions, angling herself closer just for a moment, voice dropping into an imitation of his smokey murmur. "what do you say, princess? one sober conversation. or are you only capable of getting people to tolerate your company once you ply them with alcohol?"

❝    ew,  let's  not  call  it  that.  i  feel  like  an  old  crone  when  you  say  that.   ❞  every  precaution  has  been  taken  to  keep  age  at  bay,  medical  advancements  done  with  ease.  that  reminds,  she  has  botox  in  a  few  days.  this  will  have  to  be  the  last  of  the  drinks  until  then.  and  ❝    oh,  i  don't  know.   ❞  maybe  she  has,  but  it's  not  something  she'll  spill  so  easily.  not  with  present  company.  not  when  it  means  admitting  to  more  than  just  a  one  night  fling.  no,  val  knows  to  keep  just  a  bit  of  secrecy  from  the  other.  ❝    god,  you're  so  serious  tonight,  hen.   ❞  index  tucks  loose  tendril  behind  her  ear,  smirk  growing  on  rouged  lips.  ❝    but  speaking  of  boys.  monty  got  me  homeplate  tickets  for  his  next  game,  and  you  have  to  come.  he  said  you'd  know  just  the  way.   ❞

brown eyes roll, though unlike the previous, this act is laced in amusement. "would you prefer wise?" henrietta teases, knowing full well the other wouldn't be any happier with her choice of synonym. manicured brow arches just a fraction at valentina's answer, curiosity most definitely piqued, but henri's worked in politics long enough to know when it's time to stop pressing. she wrinkles her nose at the accusation, unable to deny the truth in it even if she cared to—which she didn't. "now you're making me feel old," henri concedes with a short laugh. it doesn't come as a shock, she realizes, hearing monty's name pass from val's lips. gossip always travels fast in their circles, so it was only a matter of time before someone brought up the pitcher, especially after the wedding. the words, however, draw skepticism. "did he?" she asks her friend, sweet tone feigning ignorance. "well, so long as it's just you going and not nick, too. we don't need them punching each other all over again."

"    if    we    seat    senator    ocon    and    ambassador    wyler    at    the    same    table    ,    we    wont    make    it    to    after    dinner    coffee    and    we'll    have    a    room    of    undercaffienated    senior    members    on    our    hands    ,    so    please    ,    revise    the    seating    chart    ,    "    the    device    lingers    by    her    ear    for    a    moment    before    she    drops    the    call    .    an    inaudible    huff    slipping    past    her    lips    ,    masked    only    as    a    warm    smile    given    to    the    other    sat    beside    her    ,    just    sweet    enough    to    disarm    .    "    sorry    about    that    ,    "    a    brief    wave    of    her    phone    in    the    air    between    them    before    setting    the    device    down    on    the    bar    top    --    screen    down    ,    as    always    .    "    where    were    we    ?    "    her    gaze    flickering    between    them    and    signature    drink    now    brought    to    rouge    stained    lips    .

an involuntary wave of dread dances down her spine as she pictures the pairing, the words inspiring a rather crude pantomime. a quick finger gun brushes her temple before the same hand circles back around the rim of her glass, lifting it towards painted lips for another a sip. coraline's apology is waved away with nothing more than a sympathetic glance, all too understanding of the demands gala season brings. "i don't think you understand how much i love how good you are at your job," henrietta laughs, normally tensed muscles at ease in a combination of liquor and fondness for the other girl, familiarity allowing for a much needed moment of reprieve in what was an otherwise hellish week. "or else i'd have to be the one stringing these events together, at least when your dad's involved." nose scrunches just at the thought of it, manicured fingernails tapping against the bar top as henrietta reels her mind back towards their last topic of conversation before cora's phone had rang. "somewhere in the middle of promising each other one work free night out, i believe." the statement is delivered free of accusation considering henri herself had paused not even ten minutes prior to exchange a series of needlessly lengthy emails. "at this rate, we're overdue for a bachelorette weekend level of debauchery the way our nights out keep turning out."

there are some truths so set in stone you can't argue their validity; for example, henrietta whitney doesn't do sportsbars. fact, and an obvious one if her body language is anything to go by, though the dress she sports—too smart, too expensive— certainly does the trick if it wasn't. so why was she still lingering, wholly out of place like someone had brushed her into the wrong painting? like most of her headaches lately, the senator was to blame. henrietta was sure she was meant to take it as a compliment, the way he'd cherry-picked her to track down a wayward donor and steer him back in the right direction in a manner only she so often could do. and yet, with the acrid scent of cigarette smoke and sweat clouding her nostrils, it couldn't feel like more of a punishment, especially when a voice that rings with memories of a home she'd left behind reaches her ears. she stiffens automatically, a reflex after spending the better part of her early twenties hounded by manchester boys whenever her and her prep school friends would dare abandon tried and true london for a taste of something less polished. she'd waited too long to react, she realizes, as the invitation to sit is presented, one henri considers warily before coming to terms with the fact that open seats seemed to be scarce. finally, she turns, cheekbones catching the light as she assesses her companion for one, maybe two beats before failing to recognize him as anyone noteworthy. "i don't drink beer," she proclaims, sliding into the stool, one lithe leg crossed over the other. a frustrated glance is cast towards her cell phone screen before she drops it against the counter. "just liquor. top shelf, if you're buying."

❝  hold  still.  ❞  while  slurred  and  barely  audible  beyond  the  thumping  bass  coming  from  the  speakers,  it  was  a  command  all  the  same.  ❝  i’m  trying  to  fix  -  ❞  words  trailed  off  as  fingers  brushed  errant  strands  of  hair  away  from  their  face.  angel  stepped  back,  a hand  falling  to  slender  hips  as  she  inspected  her  work,  cheeks  only  dimpling  in  a  smile  once  she  was  satisfied.  ❝  perfect.  ❞ 

it strikes her, like it always does when veins are clouded by the vice she can't shake, that life is much simpler than she always believed it to be. temporary high breaks henrietta's world down until all that's left behind are the most basic building blocks, shackles of a life laden with expectation and complication abandoned in favor of sensation, sound and touch the new altars she kneels before in worship. angel's voice reaches her like something divine, and just like the stories of chosen prophets in the bible, henri heads the command. pupils are blown wide, flashing lights reflecting off of dark irises, a shiver of electricity coursing down the notches of her spine as the other's fingertips brush her hair into place — a gesture henrietta finds futile. a laugh cracks open from deep within her chest, eyebrows raising in amusement. "another dance, and it'll look like a lion's mane again," she promises, because this version of her isn't concerned by something as useless as appearances.