money / motive

“dolce and gabbana?” he repeated, his tone verging on incredulous, followed by a slight laugh. “well, should we really be surprised?  money can’t buy taste, or class, for that matter.” at bridget’s mention of the queen, he felt himself having to stifle a sigh. while it was flattering to even be considered an appropriate candidate, there was something about the youngest windsor that didn’t quite click with him. she was too quiet, too polite, too amenable - and not to mention, she was fifteen. and so, whenever they were invited around the palace, he always ended up having to spend at least half the time hiding away from her (and her immediate family). “god, i wonder how long it’ll take her parents to realise that perhaps it isn’t the best fit? i mean, last time i checked, she was still served sparkling apple cider in lieu of actual champagne, so personally, i’d probably hold off on the idea of getting her engaged just a little while longer,” he spoke as the music died down, the quintet busy flipping the pages of their sheet music. “absolutely. the quicker we’re out, the better.”  

he ignored her first statement. he didn’t think bringing up the fact that their parents wouldn’t have shown up regardless of sabrina’s sentiments, would do her any good considering her current state. “listen, sab -” he began, mind racing for a way to break the truth to her, only to be broken off by the realisation that she’d pushed him. the impact wasn’t enough to move him. not even an inch. god, when had she gotten so weak? “amelie sabrina balfour, will you just sit down?” he followed, not realising just how harsh his tone was before the words had already left his lips. he was nothing if not frustrated - being overworked and having to watch his younger sister let herself deteriorate wasn’t exactly a healthy combination. “how can you just stand there and tell me that ‘i don’t care’ about you? everything i’ve done has been in the interest of making sure you could lead a fulfilling, addiction-free life. why don’t you understand that?” he paused, taking a deep, unsteady breath before continuing. this was all uncharted territory for him, and he wanted nothing more than to turn the clock back ten minutes so he could have avoided his own little outburst. but here they were, and there was no going back now. “alright, then tell me this: had it not been me, who would have taught you to read - hell, to speak even? i’ve done nothing but try to keep you on the right track, but i’m out of my depths now. so why can’t you just accept that you need this?”

at this point, he’d done this so many times that most of it was pure muscle memory - guiding her movements, all the while steering clear of the other people occupying the dance floor. “competition? hardly,” he scoffed, making no attempt to mask his disdain. “i suppose i should take them more seriously, but then again; how can i, when their whole business model is based on ‘quantity over quality’? it’s all so... tacky. terribly nouveau riche.” he couldn’t help but feel the queen’s eyes on them as they moved, fully aware of the agreements the royal family and his own had come to back before either of them were born. “though i can’t help but feel them being invited is some sort of .. sly dig at me for not having spent more time with eleanor. speaking of; how is your baby cousin? and more importantly; how do i best go about avoiding her?”

“tell me about it,” he sighed, his left hand locking fingers with hers as he positioned the other at the small of her back. “truthfully, i still don’t see why your uncle insists on inviting all these... plebs. i mean, not meaning to sound haughty or anything, but if you struggle to hold a fork properly, then should you really be here?” his voice was lowered slightly, in an attempt to prevent his words from being overheard by any of the people around them, though he supposed it was a sentiment he wouldn’t abandon even if confronted with it. “duly noted, your royal highness,” he all but laughed, leading her into a slow viennese waltz. “though i have to admit: stepping on your toes? i’m slightly taken aback you’d think so lowly of me. surely, after god knows how many years of these elitist tea parties, that’s one thing i should be able to manage, no?”

techincally speaking, the event had only been on for about an hour or so, but alistair was already bored out of his mind. he supposed galas could be exciting ( given you were a first-time attendee or someone who really enjoyed networking and forced small talk ), but by now, he’d been to so many that if anything, they’d become routine. the same people, the same conversations on loop again and again for hours on end, only to be interrupted by his parents insisting they needed to introduce him to someone (”you never know when a connection could come in handy, chéri”). and so, as soon as his parents were too deep in a discussion with the chancellor of the exchequer to notice him going missing, he made his way over to perhaps the only person more bored than him: bridget. “you wouldn’t mind if i steal the princess for a second, would you?” he asked, the question clearly rhetorical as he linked his arm with hers. 

truth be told; alistair didn’t know if ollie had a criminial record - but even if he didn’t (and let’s be real, he seemed the type), he definitely would by the time he graduated. some things were only a matter of when. all he offered in the way of a response was to give the other a short smile, before turning his gaze back to the spreadsheet displayed on his computer. cost-benefit analysis wasn’t exactly riveting, but even crunching numbers seemed a better option than having to engage in conversation with him. not that it mattered, seeing as he’d yet to make any additions when he heard ollie bring up his sister. rationally, he knew the best option would be to shake it off, let him spew his hearsay, but with sabrina being his biggest weak spot, it wasn’t all that easy. others would have perhaps called it a soft spot, but to alistair, the distinction between being soft and being weak was practically non-existent, and so, he named it accordingly. without looking up, he spoke: “i’d prefer it if you could keep my sister out of this, greene.”

“i can’t believe you still think sending you to rehab was my first port of call, sabrina,” he sighed, making for perhaps the first time ever a conscious effort to dial back the emotions displayed. it wasn’t like him, to get this worked up - but the aftermath of nearly a decade of his sister somehow dodging every method he’d devised to tackle her affliction had caused some wear and tear to his patience, it seemed. “you want me to leave you alone? fine. but you’ve got to stop thinking you ended up here just because i ‘want you gone’ or whatever it is you tell yourself. you need help.” with that followed another couple of seconds of alistair trying to collect himself, briefly occupying himself with placing her medical record back into the attaché case he’d brought with him, taking a deep breath, and then turning back to his sister again. “you’re way into your twenties. you should be able to take care of yourself without me having to parent you by now.”

“judging by your standards of importance i think it’s safe to assume the answer you’re fishing for is never,” he quipped dryly, the corner of his lips pulling upwards into a slight smile as he watched ollie’s change in behaviour. it amused him to no end just how quickly the tables had turned - how ollie had set out to tick him off, and yet it seemed that not even a minute in, he was the one struggling to keep his composure. alistair didn’t know exactly why he took so much pleasure in egging the other on, but ollie’s tendency to burst into anger at the slightest inconvenience offered a brief pause in his own rather monotonous ways of behaving. as his mental soliloquy was cut short by the sound of hands against the wooden plate of the table, he looked up, making eye contact with the other. he was sure ollie wanted him to offer some sort of physical response; for him to flinch or to shift in his seat - but frankly, he wasn’t faced by it at all. “no need to be so livid,” he reprimanded, tone still exactly the same as it had been before he snapped. “and while this whole ... intimidation tactic-thing you have going on probably work with others, i’m not entirely impressed. don’t know if you’re all bark and no bite, but even if you aren’t; think long and hard before you do something you’ll regret. i’ve heard it’s hard to keep a visa if you’ve got a criminal conviction.” 

“asked you if you wanted to be here?” he repeated, the disbelief in his voice almost palpable.  sure, on paper he’d always understood what sabrina’s addiction entailed, but it wasn’t until recently it had dawned on him just how bad it had gotten. perhaps it was his fault, for having spent so much time working - perhaps somehow, his absence had been an enabling factor in all of this. even if it wasn’t, the guilt still sat heavy on his conscience. “god, will you just sit back down again so we can talk this through like actual people?” he spoke, the tone of his voice surprising even him. he’d never been one for emotional outbursts (partly because the ability to have them had been very much trained out of him as a kid), and as soon as the words left his lips, his gaze shifted from her over to the window, not wanting to take in her reaction right now. “what exactly did you want me to do then?” he asked, voice still raised slightly, his distress managing to seep through with every word as he spoke. “pull a mum and dad and just leave you to rot?”

“come off it, greene, i highly doubt you listing your ‘latest conquests’ constitutes anything close to a ‘very important matter’,” he replied with a scoff, brows raising just a smidge at the impersonation. truth be told, it didn’t matter much what ollie said and didn’t say, the mere fact that he was speaking in the first place was enough to annoy alistair. hearing the words that followed, however, the expression of annoyance was quickly swapped for one of amusement. part of him toyed with the idea of letting his little secret slip, but he’d seen ollie angry before, and the thought of nursing a black eye for a month seemed to weigh heavier than the prospect of winning whatever petty argument this inevitably was going to turn into. “au contraire.” he said, moving the papers slightly just to make sure they were out of reach. “though i suppose the fact that that’s what you choose to bring up does raise some questions: things on shaky ground between you and bridget?” he paused, pretending to think, before following with: “oh no, forgive me. you’re not together anymore, are you? huh, even so, i’d wager some of your former sweetheart’s actions were enough for anyone to question if you were ever actually ... together. certainly were for me, anyway.”

the sound of her laying into him caught the attention of security, who poked their head through the door to check if everything was alright. before his sister got a chance to reply, he offered them a quick shrug and a dismissive wave of his hand; after all, this was nothing new. “just hit a nerve, that’s all,” he offered up as an excuse, his voice apologetic. it wasn’t until security had left the room that he turned to face her again. “you’re in no position to cut any deals right now, sabrina. i’ve been lenient for years, but i’m not about to watch you waste your life away like this. no chance in hell.”

@oxcn

“ mind your language, angel. all this cussing .. it’s unbecoming. not a good colour on you.” if he was frustrated with the situation, he didn’t show it. he just sat there, listening to his sister as she rambled on, neither body language nor facial expression giving away any indication of actual worry. at her accusation, he shook his head slightly. “i’d love to trust you on this, but you don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to lying about your sobriety. they’re only doing what’s best for you.” with that, he wrapped his hand around hers to guide it away, shaking his head yet again. it was almost as though he could sense her next point before it materialised: “and, before you bring it up: you’re staying. and that’s final.”

he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at sabrina’s little outburst. it had become almost routine now; her messing something up, having him fix it (or at the very least, cover it up), and all the while convincing herself that he was somehow at fault. “listen, darling, i understand you’re frustrated with ...” he spoke, his hand making a slight gesture to indicate what he was referring to, his nose almost instinctively scrunching up in disgust. “... all this, but you can’t really expect me to believe they’re lying about your files when we’ve been speaking for ... what is it, a minute and a half .. and you’ve already lost your temper, now can you?”

he’d been postponing the visit for well over a week now - the hope that this would be the time his parents decided to pull through and take over the parenting role alistair had been fumbling with ever since his sister was born, but alas, they seemed to be in no hurry to rush home from france. so there he was, in lieu of their mum and dad as per usual, perched at the edge of her hospital bed, her records in hand. “so, i’ve talked to them, and they say you’ve still got another three months to go before they’ll consider letting you out again. but of course, that’s contingent on you actually cooperating this time around.”

he couldn’t help but to feel relieved; at least it wasn’t about his sister going off the rails again. a rumour about the twins’ paternal lineage could be salvaged, if need be. the stories about sabrina, however, were a tad more … intricate. mostly in that they weren’t just rumours. «well, can you really fault the press for trying to make a livelihood?  i’m sure they’ll ease up on us as soon as eleanor gets married or, god forbid, pregnant.» he deliberately chose not to deny nor confirm the rumours - sure, the kids were most definitely his, but if coco had ever strayed? that was a different question, and one with a different answer at that. «well, as much as i trust your brother has my sister’s best intensions at heart, i just want to make sure her… affinities are dealt with correctly. how i’ve been? you know, the usual — work is a bit more of a round-the-clock venture than i had anticipated, but it’s good. i’m good. and yourself?»

he supposed he loved coco, in the most domestic sense of the word. after all, it was hard not to feel the slightest bit of affection towards the woman who had brought him his three children. «emergency business call,» he explained, bending down to lift zeph (who had been relentlessly tugging on the fabric of his suit) up. it wasn’t a new thing, that alistair would disappear mid-event to deal with a crisis in management, only to return two hours later. and even though technically, he was only working a little less than a hundred hours per week, he was always on the clock. «i’ll take the kids off your hands for a bit, how about that?»