Weight of Living

Sylar had the distinct impression that he’d been forgetting something all day - but to his credit, it had been an exceptionally busy day within the department. There had been a mixup somewhere down the line, and one of their number had been sent after the wrong target - but by the time Sylar had been dispatched to stop him, he had done a considerable (and downright impressive) amount of damage, which had left him playing cleanup for the rest of the day while his coworker got to handle the hefty amount of paperwork that came with such a mistake. A busy day, and not a very good one, either.

He sighed as he entered the Flint Estate, shrugging out of his work robes and banishing them to the laundry, thoughts on a single malt scotch he’d been hiding from his guests. But as he turned, he found his fiancé in the sitting room, seemingly waiting for him, which couldn’t possibly mean anything good for himself. Things were never particularly good between the two, but ever since his disappearing act at the festival, they’d gotten noticeably frostier. “Cassandra.” He greeted, voice carefully neutral as he passed her, rolling his sleeves up as he tried to make it to the bar cart without incident, although he had a sneaking suspicion that he was about to be reminded of whatever it was that he had forgotten. 

@cassandragreengrass​

Cassandra did not take this engagement lightly as she knew exactly what it meant for her. She would never have the chance of finding real love or the acceptance she so greatly craved. She was resigning to a marriage with Sylar and the lie and cover that this marriage was. He was gay and he needed a respectable marriage in their society, and she needed independence and money away from her own family who was ready to drop her. Yet, when she agree to Sylar’s proposal, she made sure to make it very clear that she expected respect, independence and freedom, money, and to not be humiliated. 

Yet, he had humiliated her today. Cassandra remembered the looks the chef gave her as she went over the plan for the menu for their wedding reception. Of course the cook had expected both of the happy couple to show up - and Sylar was supposed to be there. But he showed her up and Cassandra acted as if she had known. Though, she still remembered the pitying looks with a fury. After the meeting she stormed into his house, past the stuttering house elf and instructed that she was to wait for the master of the house. She took up residence in the grand room, sipping a fine whisky by the fire as she boiled in anger. When Sylar finally did arrive, Cassandra glared at him. “When I agreed, I said you were never to humiliate me.” She reminded him of one of her terms. “And yet today, you deemed it appropriate to stand me up with the cook so the bloody woman could look at me with pity in her gaze as the wife already isolated from her husband.” 

Flashback

It was a calculated risk - meeting her for dinner. This dinner, to be precise. Sylar wasn’t a man prone to laying his cards on the table, but he didn’t see many other options. And he’d been smart enough to pay attention to the many other options Cassandra had had that she’d turned down. Every move he’d made this far had been calculated, but he was still nervous - an emotion he had grown unfamiliar with. He had no choice but to trust her with some of his most personal information and while obliviating her was certainly always an option if the meeting went south, he would prefer to avoid it. He didn’t know Cassandra well, but from what he’d seen she was proud and resilient, and would be expected to make a good match. A match like Sylar, as far as most people knew. 

The bell above the door jingled in an annoyingly cheerful manner and he stood as she wound her way to their table, moving to pull her chair out for her. He may not display them often, but his parents had taught him manners, after all. “Thank you for meeting me.” Sylar sat back down, unsmiling. After all, he didn’t want to give her any false illusions, as he figured she would not particularly like what he had to say. But he wasn’t betting on whether she would like it or not - he was betting on offering her something the others hadn’t, in a way. It wasn’t like he was one to beat around the bush, regardless. “I’ve ordered a bottle of red, I hope that’s okay." 

@cassandragreengrass​ .

Cassandra hated this game. She loathed how she was expected to marry and to ‘make a good match’ for herself. It was ridiculous that all she was good for in life was to make a good match and to marry well. She was expected to be a pretty little silent wife and to push out babies. That was all she was good for. Of course she rebelled against this image and this expectation of her. Cassandra was extremely attractive, and though she was extremely vain it was often a thought validated by others. Cassandra knew she was extremely beautiful and while she often did preen before others and was proud of her beauty, however it made it so that she probably received a few more marriage proposals because of this. It was always such a laughable thing to her that she was proposed to by almost strangers. Of course she would turn them down or fight enough so that the others took away their proposals. They did not know her! They did not respect her and if she truly was to get married, she wanted to at least have some foundation of respect - even if she truly hoped for love.

When she got the invitation from Sylar Flint for dinner, Cassandra assumed this would be another insulting proposal. He was almost a stranger to her. Of course she remembered him at a distant from school and from social engagements, but they had barely spoken. However, she was going to decline his invitation or stand him up since he was just the same as the rest. Yet, his invitation gave her a teasing tidbit. He wanted to offer her something no one else had. Though she suspected that it was a proposal, his invitation sounded more like business offer. It was that curiosity that had her striding into the restaurant with her head held high. The latest gown from Paris draped across her stunning body  and she felt eyes on her as she approached Sylar. He held out her chair for her and she sat down and picked up her napkin. “It depends on what bottle you ordered.”