Logan Ainsley

It’s instinct, deep and familiar, that tells him Logan is drunk the instant the other man opens his mouth. Not tipsy, not buzzed – really, truly drunk, and not recently either. It’s the consistent intonation of a Logan who has been drunk for, if he had to guess, the better part of the day. Well, that’s one way to handle the impossible situation they’ve found themselves in. He only hopes, a distant worry, that Logan being drunk the entire time he’s here doesn’t make him a credible alibi. 

     “I don’t know how I spent twenty two years without leaving this state, but yeah, you’re right; it’s pretty dismal.”

The fact that Logan’s drunk might, he thinks, be a mercy. The sting of seeing him again ha faded, over the course of a little over 24 hours, to a dull throb, an afterthought somewhere in the very back of his brain, like remembering that time your friend forgot your birthday but deciding not to hold it against them later on. If he’s going to make it through however long he has to spend being back here, he’s going to need someone other than Cecilia to talk to. And a Logan drunk is a Logan who isn’t going to make a big deal out of the fact that they’ve got more history than either of them wants to let on.

At least, he hopes so. 

     “But, hey, that’s what booze is good for, I guess. And at least it costs less on a college campus than in the middle of DC.”

    “Dismal is a word for it, yes.” 

His head tilts slightly towards Nathan. There’s something calculating in the other boys eyes, Logan can almost see cogs whirring in there. It makes him want to cleave him in two, see the moving parts and what they might be chugging their way towards. It sets something uncomfortable deep in his gut, makes a small voice in his head want to lean forward and say stop looking at me like you know me. Its easily quieted, easily ignored, shut down by the vicious fact that Nathan does know him, knows him well despite the years of distance. 

He brushes it under a mental rug, lets a slow smile spread across his face. “They should put that on the brochures.” He agrees. “Can get drunk here for a lot cheaper than other places, because its in the middle of nowhere.” A chuckle. “They’d come in droves.” 

He swallows the rest of his drink, signalling to the bartender for another, savouring the burn of it at the back of his throat. Its easy, then, to let the buzz of the alcohol and the familiar presence quiet his mind. Easy to stop caring about the calculating looks Nathan might have been giving him. A small group gets louder, so he takes it as an excuse to inch closer, all the better to speak and be heard. 

     “Bet no one plays that game with you in DC either.” It pops into his mind, a flash of a memory. Him and Nathan used to spend a lot of nights like this together, alcohol buzzing in Logan’s mind, high off the company. “You remember, right? Used to huddle up at the bar and watch everyone else and come up with our own variations of their abysmally dull conversations.” 

location: Lovell front square date: 24 January time: early afternoon      ( @ainsleylogan ) 

The detritus of the vigil was… honestly laughably. Flower arrangements still sitting around, half melted candles. There were more cigarettes on the ground than campus usually saw, too, and pieces of paper and flyers littering the area. The infamous vandalized portrait had been moved, much to her chagrin – she would’ve liked to see it, couldn’t believe the one time she decided not to go to something because it was fucking stupid, it had turned out to be a dramatic shitfest that she would have loved to be there for. 

She’d swung by on her way back home from her Ancient Greek History seminar, just to see the wreckage of it all, just to get an idea of what she’d missed, and honestly, it didn’t disappoint, very nearly lived up to the stories the rest of the Gravemakers had told her when they’d all made their way back home late the night before..

      “This is fucking hilarious,” she remarked, half aloud, more to herself than to any of the other people milling about, and dropped her own half-smoked cigarette onto the ground to join the rest, putting the embers out with the heel of her boot and lowering her sunglasses back onto her face.

She’s vaguely familiar. Maybe that’s why he’s paying attention to her. There aren’t many faces that jump out at him around Lovell anymore, but he knows for sure that she must have been around while he was. A few moments of thought bring the answer to mind: A Gravemaker. One he’d never spared much thought for. 

     “I’m laughing out loud, that’s for sure.” His voice is deadpan, bland. It’s all this entire situation deserves, as far as he’s concerned. This shabby memorial, the statement that he’d missed being made. Maybe he would be more excited about it all if he’d stuck around for the actual unveiling. But he hadn’t, and he distinctly wasn’t. All he could manage to do was resent the culprit for not just coming out with the whole story so that Logan could be on his merry way home. 

     He takes a sip of his coffee from the take away cup in his grasp -- delicately spiked from the flask in his pocket. “Its all a bit overplayed, you know? Bit cliche. If someone is going to make a show of things, they should at least have the decency to be interesting about it.” 

location: The Stone Mill date: 24 January time: late evening      ( @ainsleylogan​ ) 

He felt like he was wasting time, just being here. The whole day, spend tiptoeing around awkward conversations with teenage Gravemakers and waiting for his phone to ring or the cops to show up, when there were plenty of better things he could’ve been doing. He didn’t even know how to occupy his own time, without work or something specific to do, had ceded to just having a weird nostalgic walk around campus for part of the day, saying hello to a few of his old favorite professors, cataloging what about the campus and the town had changed since he’d last been there.

He didn’t even have a book or something to occupy his time, had gone into the campus bookstore to buy one and had trouble finding even one thing that remotely interested him, had left empty handed. 

By the time evening came around, he was at wit’s end, at a complete loss for something to do, and so he’d made his way to The Stone Mill, hoping at least a drink or three would help him relax, kill an hour or so until it wasn’t ridiculously early to make his way back the Morgue and crash for the night. It was busy, there, which wasn’t unexpected, and he took the only empty seat left at the bar, only realizing who he’d unintentionally sat next to when he lifted his head to order something.

     “Looks like you managed to get your car out, finally. I’m shocked, I hear you never have to back out of a parking spot in New York.”

The bar was a home away from home, familiar in the way that the wooden countertops of every establishment were, regardless of if he’d been in them before or not. He’d sought it out like a drowning man desperate for air, settled into a stool and found himself content to sit there for as long as he could. 

It was ironic. When he’d first come to Lovell, it had felt like relief from a storm. He’d been desperate to escape his life. Now, he had things he needed to be in New York for, things he missed. Thinking of Ruth, thinking of his friends... But the drinks helped him not miss them so much, helped him re-learn how to breathe. 

He’s working on his fourth when the empty stool beside him finds an occupant. He sees the familiar shock of red hair out of the corner of his eye as he takes a long sip. Perfect. Another excuse to be here. 

A huff of a breath escapes him at the words. With another sip, he sets the glass down, a clink against the polished wood. His head turns then, giving him a glance over, smile sliding in place, slick and a bit sharp. He wants it to be sharper, he’s doing his best. 

     “I don’t park my own cars in New York. Sue me for being out of practice.” Someone less practiced might have slurred a word or two, but Logan had always gone about his drunkenness with grace and aplomb. Still, its a different game than when he’s sober. The intonations are different in subtle ways that only a trained eye could pick up on. His glance is calculating, body angled slightly towards Nathan now. 

     “Looks like you’re as horrifically bored as I am. Fucking Ohio, am I right?” 

“I suppose so,” Imogen said. She wasn’t sure if it was her own high expectations or the true disappointment of the people around her. Surely they could be doing better, right? There were so many people in this school and to think that the people of Pax Aurea were of the highest tier, was almost depressing. If these were the best of the best, why didn’t they act as such? Imogen knew what she wanted. Fame, fortune, her own name in lights. She knew what she had to do to get there. Pax Aurea was the way, with it’s glimmering lights and champagne glasses, she could climb her way to the top. But was it worth it? Without the loyalty? What was the point? 

Imogen had always held her own future above that of others, but maybe it was time to let that go. Loyalty was important to her, sure, she always had people she would die for. But was it more important than her own goals? “That’s the vibe I get from Emily. I mean, I don’t really know her that well so I can’t really attest to what she’s like. But I feel like she rules, just to rule.” 

The problem wasn’t with Emily’s power. “I feel like if I went to Emily with a problem, she wouldn’t be quick to help me with it,” Imogen said. “I don’t know, I’d love to be on top, but I don’t know if that’s the reason I dislike Emily.” 

He nodded along with her words. Of course, everyone was different. He wouldn’t be able to pinpoint her every hope and dream from one simple conversation. And god, she was so young. The thought kept popping into his head. She was in her first year, she was a baby, practically a newborn. He could see her going places, but she had such a long road in front of her. 

“What, you’re more interested in the wholeeee... equality, fraternity thing? You want a leader who cares about you?” He pursed his lips, but nodded. “They’re few and far between, i’m afraid.” 

He felt a little bit lighter in his steps due to the conversation, and the passing of old familiar spots. The walk back to the Domus was as natural as breathing, still muscle memory. As they neared the building he slowed, taking it in with fond eyes. “Sometimes people just don’t get along, I guess. How would you want her to go about things, if you could pick?” He asked, gesturing her forward as he did. 

When they reach the door, he leans against the clean white wall beside it, waiting for her to unlock her key and let him inside. 

   His face pissed her off, and really, that was the only thought that Wesley had when she marched up to his peaceful little perch with his little coffee cup and his little fucking smirk. Fuck that guy, like honestly - Wes remembered the way he’d waved off every single one of her concerns. Well, how did he like it now she was right?

  Marcus was dead. She had found him - she never really gave credit to the others she’d been with, and in her own retelling of it, often left them out. Now, a smirk of her own twisted Wesley’s lips gruesomely, and she intentionally too a step closing, glowering down. 

  “How about an apology then?” Wes asked simply, eyebrow raising, the low reading light glinting from her nose ring. “Sorry for not fucking listening and you were right, Wes.”

An apology? Logan wracked his brain to try and even remember her name. She’d been that girl, the one Marcus always followed around. He’d never thought much about her. Never had the time or energy to care about her. 

And now she was talking to him. Maybe it’s because he’s exhausted, maybe its because he’s a dick, but he can’t really remember what she’s talking about. Maybe its a mix of both. In his fourth year, he hadn’t had much time for anything that wasn’t rowing, school, and sex. 

    “This is in reference to...?” He arched a brow at her, wanting her to fill in the gaps. It had to be about Marcus, but he couldn’t remember actually talking to her about all of it. 

Imogen was not one to betray people. If Emily had shown her more than condescending distaste during their first encounter, maybe she wouldn’t be badmouthing her to the previous president. But since it hadn’t gone according to plan, there she was, taking shit like she was the queen of spreading rumors. Imogen had a lot to learn, and there were things she probably could learn from Emily. However, she didn’t care to follow someone who didn’t see her potential. Imogen had potential, and she’d be damned if she were held back by someone like Emily, someone who already had it all. 

“I may be a bitch, but I don’t hate people without good reason. I’m not going to hate anyone simply because they’re on the other side of the tracks, you know?” Imogen found a lot of the Gravemakers to be incredibly intriguing. There was Laura, who she had made friends with right away. And Silva, who, while Imogen hated to speak to, was fond of in a different way. Admiration maybe? And then Beaux, and if Imogen were being honest, Beaux was someone she had looked up to from day one. 

“I agree, they have some alright people over there, not that I would ever tell them that. But, everything so far has been alright. Pax is okay. Initiation was good and all. It’s just, not everything I expected, I suppose. Emily especially, I expected more.” 

     “High expectations going in, eh?” He shakes his head. That’s always rough. He feels like its always the people that want the most from Pax Aurea that get disappointed by it. He’d never planned on going to university in Ohio of all places, hadn’t even imagined that Lovell had secret societies before he’d stepped foot on its campus. If he’d gone to Harvard or Yale, sure, but Lovell always seemed a little bit random. Still, he’d loved it once he had it, and he had to admit that it had opened doors for him. 

But then again. He was filthy rich. Nearly every door was open to him anyway. “It’s rare.” He muses. “For a Pax President to ever really live up to the hype. You have to have a certain touch for things and some people lack it.” A knowing look. “Some people go a little mad on the power. I saw one or two of those in my time.” 

He’d loved his President in his first year. Tolerated the emperor of his second. By third year, Logan was done dealing with anything sub-par. “It gets better once you get your claws in.” He says it lightly, almost bored by it. “That’s the thing about Pax. Everyone wants to be King or Queen. No one is really happy until they get to the top.” His eyes fix on her, calculating. “You want to be on top, that’s why you’re so disappointed.” 

If there was one thing Logan had always hated about Lovell, it was the fact that there wasn’t even a single Starbucks in the town. He had always hoped and prayed for one. After all, how could there be a single town in America that didn’t have one? All he’d wanted was a Venti Caramel Macchiato, and yet here he was, sulking on the steps of the old reading room with sub-par independent coffee shop sludge. 

Lovell was the worst, and he hated that he loved it, hated that he could still sit here in his favourite spot and watch the world go round and feel at home. 

He toyed with his phone, considering ringing home. But he’d talked to everyone that morning, and if he rang too often, he would feel pathetic. He’d call for Ruth again before bed-time, wish her good night, tell her he missed her. 

It’s with a sigh that he takes notice of the figure approaching him. 

     “Sorry, but unless you come bearing good coffee, I’m not in the mood for chit-chat.” 

The fact that Logan thinks it’s hilarious that he is, somehow, the prime suspect in a murder case is simultaneously a great vote of confidence and, at the same time, the most endlessly frustrating experience he could possibly be facing right now. But– and fuck, he had been trying to consciously avoid actively thinking the phrase “prime suspect in a murder case” up to this point, just to keep his cool.

 Car in park, now, he leans back, taking his hands off the wheel. It’s not the most convenient place to be having this conversation, but he’s not planning on letting this conversation last any longer than it has to. At one point in time, Logan had been the easiest person in the world to talk to – and they’d done a surprising amount of just talking, for whatever they had been – but he doesn’t know, anymore, what it would be like to talk to Logan, even if he were in a better mood, and he’s not really sure he wants to find out. 

Because listening to Logan laugh, listening to Logan express everything he’s been thinking all day but hasn’t been able to say, he’s already finding himself wondering, in the back of his mind, what it would be like to patch over the rough scar across his mind that covers the end of senior year, the beginning of his post-Lovell life, the struggle to adjust to a life that suddenly had a Logan-shaped hole right in the center. 

      “Yeah, really thrilled that I spent the morning recounting my college sex life to a bunch of cops but, like, whatever. Don’t think it made a difference, seeing as apparently I’m not legally allowed to leave the state until they tell me I can. As if I don’t have a fucking life to get back to or anything.”

One last snort of laughter couldn’t help bit make its way out of Logan. It was all just so...so silly. “I’m sure your sunshiny attitude really helped to sell the story.” He said, a flourish of a hand movement encompassing Nathan in his entirety. 

He inches backwards, realising belatedly that he’s drawing this out for too long. Its idiotic. Nathan is the last person he wants to talk to, especially after the mess he’d left them in when he ended things. But there had always been something addicting about Nathan, something that Logan could never shake off. He was compulsive, as a person, and he’d always been drawn to broody hapless redheads. 

He shakes his head, wetting his lips, and wishes it was summer so he could slide on a pair of sunglasses and really round out his dick persona. 

     “Anyway, really, truly. Good luck with all that.” He clasped his hands in front of him, paining on a mockingly sincere expression. “They’ll realise you’re too hapless to kill a man sooner or later, and you can go back to whatever...throughly exiting life you have waiting for you. Just hope they hurry it all up. I’m stuck here until they get a clue too.” A slick grin. 

Another step back, moving toward his car now so he can make his departure. But then, a look back. If he were wearing sunglasses, this is the part where he would slide them up. He just can’t fucking help himself, he never can. 

     “If you ever need to go over your alibi again, you know where to find me.” Slow and sardonic, a mockery of the past. If you want me, you know where to find me. A smile then, perhaps vicious, and a wag of his fingers. 

     “Ciao.” 

Imogen didn’t regret speaking her mind. She didn’t care if her words made their way back to Emily. What would Emily really do about it? Confront her? Kick her out? That wouldn’t change anything. Imogen could easily find a home elsewhere. While she was intrigued by the idea of Pax Aurea, she wasn’t completely attached. She was fascinated with the idea of loyalty, and she had always been one to pledge herself to those who would do the same for her. Though thus far, it didn’t seem like anyone would be willing to jump off a bridge for her. So, Imogen refused to let herself get attached. She wouldn’t fall in love with Pax Aurea knowing full well that she might not stick around for the long haul. 

She found her loyalties elsewhere, in people like Beaux. While she hadn’t joined the Gravemakers, she had taken great interest in Beaux. Imogen would be loyal to Beaux. Imogen wasn’t in the market of hating the Gravemakers. Imogen didn’t hold irrational hatreds over the heads of others. She would be friends with who she wanted to be friends with and Pax Aurea was just going to have to deal with that. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated on everything.” Imogen loved to gossip, especially about herself. The best way to get your name out there? A really good rumor. One that will leave people guessing, wanting to know more. Besides, they’ll never think you started it yourself. 

It was strange talking to someone she had never met before about her distaste in Emily. It wasn’t something she minded, it just offered a strange feeling. Like maybe she shouldn’t have been doing it. Though Imogen didn’t believe in mistakes. The two began walking towards the Domus Aurea and Imogen turned her head slightly to look at Logan. “So, what would you like to know? I’ve just recently started here so I don’t know much. Though I can tell you for sure I’m not fond of Emily. Her hatred for the Gravemakers seems silly.” 

His eyes stayed on the girl, even as they moved. The raw potential in her was interesting, as was her honesty. A satisfied smile crossed his lips, pleased that she was going to be so helpful. An odd little duck, so quick to flock to someone who might be useful to her. It was transparent, but she had known who he was, which means she cares about the powerful people in the world. He knows the type. 

     “That’s what I like to hear.” He mused, pleased. He liked above all to know everything that was going on. Back when he’d gone here, he’d been the king of gossip. It was fun, knowing everything about everyone, discussing it to death sometimes, and being the story on everybody else's lips. He still was, in New York, but nothing could beat petty teenage drama. This would satisfy a craving he’d had for years. 

     “Lets take this slow.” He murmured. The Gravemaker comment didn’t surprise him. He’d already guessed that their little peace treaty might be rocky sailing with him and Nathan gone. Age old feuds didn’t fade away easy, and people loved hating each other. They loved the drama of it, loved that it gave them a reason to feel superior. A soft hum. “Hating them is petty.” He agreed. “Most of them are, I shudder to admit it, just as cool as we are.” 

     “Just --- tell me about Pax now. What’s it like? How’re the people? You don’t like the way Emily leads, why?” 

there was something nice about seeing logan again, something comforting in seeing the person that’d put her on her path to this. to pax. she lifted her chin and laughed, accepting her alcohol with a gracious smile on her face.

seeing logan after all these years, there was something refreshing about it. something that put her at better peace with the messy world she was currently trying to get through. and yet there was something there that made her feel more like a child than a person who knew what she was doing. more lie a freshman new to pax and new to a world that she’d never really fit in to until very very recently.

“ how’ve you been ?? ” she asked, giving her head the curious affliction of a tilting question and a half formed smile on her face. emily took a sip of the oddly coloured drink with a laugh. life was wearing down on her bones as she struggled to keep her head above ground, trying to figure out how much love for the rest of pax was too much love, and how much was too little. she knew that in the past years pax had been… coloured with a crayon she’d never had access to, and now when they’d asked her to create the picture, she’d been trying to make her due without the coloured they wanted. with the colour she didn’t want. “ you mentioned a niece last time we talked. i hope you have pictures. ”

He reclines back into his arm chair, one leg crossing itself over the other. It feels as natural as breathing, sitting here again. Perhaps it might be nice to let himself regress for a few hours, resign himself to the petty drama once again. He did love drama.

     “I’ve been--” He honestly wasn’t sure. He’d been working himself to death. He’d been compartmentalising his life as best he could. He’d been fighting to keep an alcoholic mother and an over-controlling father out of his life. He’d been raising a child. He’d been drinking too much. “I’ve been perfect.” 

Ruth, at least, was an easy enough topic. As long as you ignored the dead brother and sister-in-law that had left her with him, a sorry excuse for a father figure. He downs half of his drink in one go. “Yes, Ruth. She’s a delight and a nightmare, you would love her. She’ll either rule the world some day, or be responsible for its gruesome destruction. And she looks delightful in pink.” He flicks out his phone, passing it over to an album of her. She was delightful. His heart ached with missing her, quite suddenly. He would have to call her in the morning. “She lives with me now.” 

     “You know–” he starts, as he begins to back the car up out of the spot, carefully so as to make sure he doesn’t hit Logan’s car, or the curb, or anything else, and risk denting or scraping the rental car, but he realizes that the window is still up, the door closed, that Logan can’t hear him, so he sighs and presses the automatic window button, waits for it to go down before he does on. “You know, if you weren’t a terrible driver, you could have gotten out of that spot without me moving.”

He shifts the car into park, still blocking Logan’s car in now that he has pulled out into the street but ready to drive off as soon as Logan gets into the car. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t just drive off, only he’s still not entirely sure where he’s going, from here, and Logan is saying something, leaning down to look through the window and asking him a question and, alright, he’s not having a great day, but he’s not a dick, he’s not just going to drive off while someone is talking to him.

While Logan is talking to him. God, this is fucking stupid. He’s been through this, he did the facebook stalking and the deleting his number and all of the dramatic post-break-up stuff years ago, even though it was hardly even a break up. The last thing he needs right now is to be bitter about something he got over ages ago.

     “My guess is, the same thing you are. Apparently the statements I gave three years ago weren’t good enough. Never thought I’d regret a single bullshit argument for the rest of my life, but I guess here we are.” 

Its -- he doesn’t know what it is, this experience. He’s never seen Nathan mad. Never had to. Their relationship or...or whatever it had been, had never given Nathan much of a reason to be angry. He seems a mess with it now, seems aggravated and upset and Logan realises that he deserves it. 

Come on now, Ainsley. He thinks to himself. No need to self-victimise. “I don’t need to be a good driver, St Leger. I live in Manhattan.” And he knows its useless to say it. Its a useless argument with a pathetic man, apparently holding a grudge. Its a useless situation. Logan misses sensible, well dressed people. Misses the people who don’t look scruffy and exhausted and upset, who aren’t blocking him in, who don’t make him feel oddly torn open inside. All he can do is watch as Nathan moves his hideous car.

He doesn’t mean for the laughter to bubble up in his chest, certainly doesn’t mean for it to spill out of his lips. But he feels torn open, and the reality of all of this is dawning on him as bright as the sun. Nathan St Leger is in the parking lot of a police station, presumably a murder suspect. A hand flies up to cover his mouth, breaking the imperious crossing of his arms, and the laughter is spilling out regardless of it. 

     “Oh my god --” 

He shakes his head. The laughter keeps coming. He feels like a dick. 

     “They think you killed him, don’t they? Oh my god. That fucking fight you had. That’s their running theory? That you and--” A snort. Oh god. Why can’t he stop. “--That you and fucking Jonathan Marko snapped and killed him?” 

They’re stupid. He cannot believe how stupid the Lovell Police Department are. His other hand comes up to rub over his face, chuckles dying down now, though the tremor of them remains in his words. “You set them straight, surely? ‘Sorry, was too busy fucking the guy who reported him missing to murder him, you’ll have to look elsewhere.’ Easy as that, eh?”

The Domus felt like home, familiar, just the right amount of extravagant. Sure, it also felt like he’d gone back in time three years, but it still made being in Lovell a tad more tolerable than it might have been if he’d been doomed to whatever sorry excuse for a hotel the town had. He was just thankful that the drinks cabinet was still well stocked -- leave it to rich teenagers to know how to party.  

He mixes himself a drink, and one for Emily as well. She was as gorgeous as he remembers, and seems to have found her feet in the few years he’s been away. They’d kept in touch, but not overly so. He was mainly troubled by some of the impressions he’d gotten about her leadership. He would just have to see for himself how she was doing, and in the meantime try and enjoy her company as he had used to. She was always one of his favourites, after all. 

     “Drink up. sweetie.” He says, approaching her and handing her the drink. “I demand not to be allowed to drink alone for even a moment while I’m here.” He dropped himself down on to an armchair, his old favourite, the most comfortable one. 

“That it does.” Imogen nodded in response. She was grateful to have run into him. He was everything that she wanted to be. The former president of Pax Aurea and a successful lawyer, following in his footsteps would be easy if she could get herself under his wing, maybe learn a thing or two. If she could find a way to dethrone Emily, Pax Aurea would become a lot more tolerable. It wasn’t that she hated it there, but there were thick cracks in the foundation, it was faulty. 

“My leader.” Imogen wanted to laugh, “She may be president but I don’t follow her. I respect her efforts, but her attempts to control me have fallen short so far.” Imogen wasn’t hard to control. She liked to wander off and make her own plans. Emily hadn’t tried to reign her in and she was thankful for that. But there was a part of her that knew Emily was no match for her. Imogen had been a quick thinker her entire life. She always knew the next step in the plan, the way to get ahead. 

“Oh I don’t give a fuck about whoever this Marcus guy is.” Imogen shook her head, “Haven’t heard great things about him, I’m not here to mourn, or fake mourn. Only to show support to my friends.” Imogen was not the kind of person to let others go through things alone. When she cared about someone, she really cared. There was no half-assing it. Imogen pulled out her keys. “That, I can do.” 

Deep down, Logan was an insecure and viciously vain kind of guy. A horrible mix, really. So he allowed himself the moment to be smugly satisfied. He hadn’t thought much about if people would remember him years after he was gone, but it was vindicating that she did. He could see the calculations forming in her mind almost. She was clearly smart, and Logan knew how to read smart people, had practiced the art for real. She was a girl shaping up to be more than she was. 

His eyebrow arched again as she continued. Honest. A surprised and interested smile formed over his lips, brow arching again. “Well, well, well. Colour me intrigued.” It seemed that his fears were proving correct. This little mini-Pax didn’t support her president. He did so hate when things like this happened. Emily was going to be in danger if she wasn’t careful. People like Imogen were how Logan had become president in the first place, though Emily wouldn’t remember that. He had disliked his president when he was a third year, and the man hadn’t lasted long once Logan decided he should be ousted. That was how Logan had become one of the glorious few to hold a presidential term for longer than a year. 

His eyes lit up at the keys, and he relaxed his shoulders, taking on a comfortably graceful posture. “Tell you what, you can tell me all about it on the walk there. I need to be caught up so I can know what to be imperiously disappointed about.” A wicked smile forms. “Its a fun little game, I’ll show you. Nothing throws someone off more than you knowing all their mistakes before they can pretend like they haven’t made them.” 

He inclined his head for her to move forward through the crowd. “So, lead on, Macduff.” 

Imogen was just leaving. Sure, small talk was her speciality but that didn’t mean she could keep it up for any longer. Faking sympathy made her tired, and she was ready to call it a night. She had run out of ways to say I’m sorry for your loss, without looking like she actually cared. She didn’t want to give anyone the impression that she actually cared for that Marcus guy. The stories she had heard were all bad and since she had never met him, that was the impression she would stick with. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Imogen raised an eyebrow at the person before her. Vaguely useful. She wanted to scoff. She was more useful than anyone else she knew. Fashionable, yes. “Unfortunately, I do.” It wasn’t that she didn’t like Emily. She respected her, respected that she was trying to lead. Imogen just knew that it could be done better, that she could do it better. She had practice leading, and missed the feeling of her followers. It wouldn’t be long before she found new ones, though none of the members of Pax Aurea seemed to fit the bill. No one was strong like her, no one shared in her attitude, her wants and needs. 

“Logan, right?” Imogen had seen him before, in old pictures and on facebook. She was sure Emily had mentioned him sometime in the past. Either way, he was well known in her mind. “Pax Aurea, not a stalker, I promise.” 

His eyebrow shoots up to mirror hers. Maybe he’d found himself somebody actually interesting. A spitfire. Oh, he did so like them with spirit in them. The slow smile creeps onto his face at her words. Unfortunately. It seemed the kid respect Emily very much at all. A distant, presidential part of his brain sparked worry. Was she doing a bad job? Did all of her little followers hate her? Surly, Logan had set a better example of that. Yes, you have to be cruel to be king, but that didn’t mean all your followers should dislike you. If you didn’t have the respect of the pack, Pax Aurea would chew you up and spit you out. Logan had proven that in his third year. But -- no, he could deal with those thoughts later. 

     “Ah, so my reputation precedes me.” A hand stuck out for her to shake. “Yes. Logan Ainsley, The Magnificent. But Logan will do fine.” Another look up and down. So this was what the next generation looked like. She couldn’t be more than a first or second year, and yet he sensed an imperiousness in her that rivalled many others. He’d been the same, when he was around her age. 

     “Don’t worry. I shan’t make you take me to your leader. You’ll do just fine, I think.” He encompassed her with a flourishing hand gesture. “You’re leaving? I can’t stand to be here for more time than I need to. I don’t do...fake mourning. Its uncouth and frankly below my standards, not worth my time. Teenage theatrics bore me now. I was just looking for somebody to let me into the Domus. Which... I assume you can do? My little not-a-stalker?”