the crooked hand

He had been spending the last thirty minutes discussing the state of their branch's finances with one of his senior colleagues, a pin from the company on his lapel, and a glass of wine in his hand. If he had recognized a few clients among the guests, and another few familiar faces, he hadn’t had the chance to go speak to any of them just yet.

Unfortunately, there were people he couldn’t tell off, and these old hags unfortunately fit the bill. They were the sort to make a lot of fuss about nothing, and he had to be discreet about his distaste for them. And so, when the earsore abandoned him to give his bladder a rest (who the fuck spoke like that except for fucking dickheads?), It didn't take Langdon long to pick a new best friend and approach them with his usual shit eating affable smile.

No, Oliver is not here for the event - Oliver has an agenda. (The day he doesn’t he’s six feet under.) He stands something like an omen, and finds Narcissus easy in the crowd. That jagged grin Peterson has is as good a beacon as any, trademarked at this point, set with an ease that comes with hunger and bite. Oliver’s matches it with a tone more like a switchblade. He’s taken care of matters and now follows due process. “Tell me why you were being followed.” Past the gristle and fat, straight to the bone.

“Four and a half." He says, tone appropriately cut and measured, before reaching for a knife to slice said tomatoes with with deft precision. Maybe he uses a little more force than necessary when he does. "We don’t want it to be too acidic.” It's a nice night - he's missed his husband - no need to ruin it, but the the subject of children is… tense. Always has been. It would be easier if Theo didn't want them, it's worse because he does.  

“She was a good banker,” Theo says, and then - because Theo can’t help himself and has evidently found a fondness for sleeping on the couch - Theo adds: “But I’m hardly surprised, starting a family tends to change people.” 

It would certainly change them. There isn't a world wherein Theodore raises his child as anything other than a Jabberwock. There isn't a world wherein Luis lets him. The tomatoes go into the bowl as the smell of the spices permeates the kitchen. Theo leans over to hand over the chopped vegetable. As he does, his nose finds the crook of Luis’ neck and buries there for a moment. An olive branch - his lips press a kiss to that column of skin. Let's not fight about this tonight. He murmurs: 

“This is certainly the most creative way you’ve decided to approach this conversation.” 

And then he pulls away: "Besides, aren't our cats enough?" He adds airily. 'Luis! Your cat is trying to murder me' he'd howled just that morning as Panettone had waited for him right at the top of the stairs. (Poised and ready to send him tumbling - his calico is the greatest ally for the Jolly Rogers, Theodore is certain of it.) “Not to mention, we’ll never have to fight over what sort of school to send Panettone and Tiramisu to.”

The office is silent. The sounds of sin stop dead at the doorstep and even the ajar door manages to stifle the cacophony of the casino. Rafael appears at the threshold, a little less like Raphael at the gates and a little more like Charon at the river. 

“Looking for leads.” Theo bites out in reply. Right now it’s a print out of the casino’s security detail for the last few months. His eeking exhaustion means just about everyone oozes suspicion and Theodore is this close to a murder spree, to hell with any due process. Better safe than sorry, eh? He tosses a ledger of obsolete codes onto the desk and opens another. In the mahogany lacquer of his office, Theodore is no longer constrained by the shackles of his controlled demeanor. He de-muzzles around Rafael, allows himself to snap and snarl, bare his teeth, all he wants. He scoffs at his comrades’ assessment. A bitter sound with a razor’s edge. “If one more look-out comes up with some tin-foil hat conspiracy of what happened to Malachi, I’m going to blow my fucking brains out.” He mutters darkly, just loud enough for him to hear. Theo holds out a paper — for the other to take a look. “Dead end, yeah?” 

It’s as good an invitation as any. Rafael steps into Theodore’s office and quietly pulls the door back into place, as if he’d never passed through it at all. It’s a privilege to see the other man anything less than composed - Rafael understands this, because the same could easily be said of himself. They’re similar in a lot of ways, have experienced a number of the same milestones, but he doesn’t envy Theodore the position he finds himself in now. All Rafael wants is to make things as easy for him as he possibly can. “That would be a terrible waste,” he comments mildly, as close to joking as he ever really gets, “And it would ruin the rug.”

Approaching the desk, he takes the paper Theodore offers him, his forehead creasing in an almost imperceptible frown as he skims the contents of the look-out’s report. The other man’s assessment is correct, of course. “Yes,” Rafael says, nodding his agreement, “I wouldn’t trouble yourself for such a vague physical description. All of our people ought to know that they’re looking for a man with a burn on his hand - anything less is a waste of your time.”

“For my part, I’ve been working with my connections in the media to keep Malachi’s name out of the papers - at least until we have an acceptable story to tell them.” It won’t last forever. Journalists are like sharks, and they already have the scent of Malachi’s blood from his childhood disappearance. All Rafael can do is hold them off, provide the gang with the gift of time-enough to explain things on their own terms. Time the Jolly Rogers hadn’t had before the news of Eliza Crawford’s arrest had broken.

Having yet to take a seat, Rafael instead rests his hand on the back of the vacant chair, pausing for a moment as he considers how best to proceed. Honestly, is the only answer his mind supplies him - as if he isn’t always candid with Theodore in matters such as these. “I must confess, I didn’t come here today to speak about Malachi,” Rafael says at last, his expression grim. “Lilliana came to see me. Last night.” He feels no guilt over the admission - he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong - except for the fact that he’s adding something else to Theodore’s already overladen plate.

Theo opens his mouth to offer a rare word of praise, of thanks even, something he can't remember saying in a long, long time -

But the truth stops the words on his tongue. Rafael reveals why he is here and just like that the tables turn. She’s back - smoke in the fireplace behind him not unlike the smoke that curled from the fire Theo set to Lilliana's house. She's back and Rafael, of all people, is the messenger.

Theodore sees it for what it is of course, the honesty of a comrade who understands the weight the action executed, the act of confessional no matter how unholy the crypt bearer. Oh, of all the people for Lilliana go visit first - straight to the innermost circle, to the people Theodore was least likely to turn away. It’s tactical and decided isn’t it? Has to be - offering her the excuse of sentimentality is the last thing on Theodore’s mind. 

For someone Theodore likes to pretend is dead, Lilliana does an awful lot to remind him that she is far, far from it.

Finally -

“Is this a confessional or did she have something to say of note?” Theo hisses. It takes him a second to realize his words slip through gritted teeth. It’s almost a regret that Boone isn’t here, and it’s not the three of them circling his desk. 'Why is she still alive?' Boone would demand and Theodore would have to let out some sort of answer, make it finite, definite, rather than letting the jarring silence of his non-answer ricochet around in his mind like it is now. Being with just Rafael is both better and worse, it's a quiet understanding.

And then, before he can stop himself - damn him - he finds himself asking: “What did she want?”

Knock knock

Knock Knock

Meagan’s knuckles were more persistent than the driver’s willpower, forcing him to lower the window she had kept rapping against without sign of stopping. The moment the cool air slipped inside, her voice decided to join it, wrangling its way through like a wild snake.

“You can’t park here,” she informed with a smile, all-knowing, all-powerful, all-empty of both. “This space is reserved for a v e r y special guest of the Lighthouse Advocacy Group, which I personally know is not you, so I will need you to move this vehicle immediately.”

“He’ll be leaving shortly Mrs. Finley, no need to bring out the teeth. You can save those for the reporters.” Theodore speaks up, as placating as can be as he steps between them to pull his forgotten scarf from the back seat. He pats the door closed and his driver peels away immediately as requested, leaving her precious spot empty once more. 

He turns towards her, all pleasantries. Which is... not much on Theo.

Phoebe’s little incarceration stint is badly timed and it leaves her locked out of the Casino for the next three months - for better or for worse. No, it’s most certainly “for worse,” because the result is that Theodore is out one of his best con artists for the next 90 days. In the Crimson King’s opinion, the real sin here is not necessarily the slight of hand Phoebe attempted, but the fact that she was caught at all. There’s no notion of luck to entertain about the situation because that would require Theodore to believe in matters of luck in the first place and he really doesn’t intend on starting now. He’s is a man that strictly believes in the tangible capabilities of a person and the buck stops there. Phoebe’s tendency to be underestimated is a gift in itself, and he’s seen what happens to men who are foolish enough to fall for the charade plenty of times. Theodore holds a respect for finesse and maybe that’s why he’s so disappointed in her, he expects better from Phoebe, knows she is capable of better. 

And yet, he doesn’t greet her with anger. His own feelings on the matter have blanched since her ‘one phone call’ to him on the eve of the incident. Theo’s hiss of rage through the phone line has mellowed to disappointment (to exasperated humor - though he’d never admit that out loud) and Theodore now meets the whole affair with a sort of sober acceptance. Time to batten down the hatches and weather the storm of the next 90 days. 

When he arrives, it’s all polite airs and correctness, a kiss on her cheek. It’s more than likely that there’s a pair of wandering eyes not too far off taking this whole interaction out of context, blowing it out of proportion, but the formalities are a pedigree he’ll never shake. The soft question is not unexpected, not really. Who would Phoebe be without that yearning for her beloved limelight?

“Come now Phoebe, have I ever been the sort to indulge such requests?” There’s no doubt the Red Rose misses its favorite thorn. “But I’ll give you this, we left too much money on the floor last night. Some of these lookouts, you’d think they’ve never conned a man before.”

He notes the hangover. Raises his hand to hail a waiter, snaps with all the authority of the pistol for their attention. They’ll need at least another pitcher of water for her. ( And they’ll need to keep her away from all open flames. ) “It seems you found a way to enjoy the evening regardless.”

@}-,-‘–.

If there was one person Phoebe was both eager and rather terrified to contact post-arrest, it was Theodore… but of course he had to be the first to know what had happened. At least to the best of her knowledge he didn’t have a ready contact (aside from her) in the prison she’d found herself in so she felt he was the best person to alert to her arrest first. Then, came her father. When it came to fearing one man’s reaction over the other, her father was no comparison. She was like him in many ways, but as the only child and the only girl born into the Robertson family in several generations, Phee knew she held a light in her father’s heart that could do no wrong. Theodore however… Phoebe knew she was replaceable. She was expendable and she was skating on thin ice now she had been arrested.

They were in public, and Phoebe knew the man in front of her was all about subtly when the occasion called for it and thankfully their meeting at the café called for just that. She leant into his kiss, her nerves settling ever so slightly at the intimate greeting. Surely if he was still upset with her, he wouldn’t have indulged her with such a greeting.

Her lips curled into a gently amused smile when Theo denied her the simple ‘yes’ she had been seeking, even if she knew he wasn’t about to simply agree with her and compliment her outright, the follow up to his comment told her all she needed to know. She wasn’t one to leave much money on the floor if she could help it – it was what had gotten her in trouble in the first place after all – so she took his comments as slight praise to her abilities. Somehow he knew her better than she knew herself because the moment he ordered another jug of water for the table her, her mouth salivated at the thought of hydrating herself through the pain in her head.

“How is Mr. Mendelson? Was he any trouble? He’s inconsistent with everything,” Volatile, incendiary, a little too handsy. Not to mention - the man played Russian roulette with his ballots. Thorn in his side, pebble in Theo's shoe if there ever was one. “I can’t imagine it was easy.” There, a bone. Let it not be said that Theo wasn’t giving. Benediction over brunch.

Praise kinks aside, there is a curiosity for how the exchange went down. Theodore is protective over those he considers close. And Phoebe is his as far as he’s concerned. For a man who'd raised all of his brothers and sisters, concern is still somehow an ill-fitting suit on Theodore, one he tries on anyway. His clients have come to expect a certain cut and dry nature with him and that’s all he can offer now, though he likes to think Pheobe practically thinks of it as home. 

“Tell me the story after we order. I want to know what was so eventful.”

The table is private, the restaurant vetted. Not one bug amongst these pristine hedges. Sharing the story with all of the details wouldn’t be a breach of any security. He peers down at the menu. 

“What are you in the mood for?”

Maybe just stupider than Theo gives Jack credit it seems. A complete lack of survival instinct if anything. “Oh, a call wouldn’t do. An in-person meeting felt necessary for this matter.” Theodore interjects, cutting off Jack’s quips at the knees. 

“You see officer, it seems there’s a rat skimming off the top of two of my shipments - and I don’t take kindly to people taking what’s mine.” A gloved hand slips into his pocket to pull out a small baggie of two capsules. Theo knows most people don’t care about it, but it really is an efficient little feat of engineering that Rune has manufactured here, a sort of elegance that one only comes to appreciate after a lifetime of proximity to narcotics. Beautiful in its own way - and most importantly his. No, Theodore doesn’t take kindly to people taking what’s his. He goes downright feral. He holds it up. 

“Look familiar?” His words are clipped. It’s a dare. There’s grainy footage from a dash cam that’s all the incriminating evidence necessary, a last minute addition that the Jabberwocks had slapped onto their transport vehicle and one that had apparently paid off. Like catching a figure in the corner of your eye, the camera has caught Jack’s little hold up just at the periphery of its frame. “Well?” Theo demands, voice lower now. The shadow of the foyer cuts a dagger across his face. The Crimson King goads from those inky depths.

“How many mistakes do you plan on making tonight, Seo?”

Jack remains silent for several heartbeats, eyes on Theodore as he considers his somewhat limited options. From the outset he knows there’s balls all point in lying. Theodore wouldn’t have made the journey to Jack’s front door without tangible proof. In all the years they’ve been acquaintances he’s never known the man to waste time on unnecessary endeavours. He likes that razor-sharp focus about Theodore, though more so if it’s directed at something or someone else. Eventually breaking the stalemate, Jack shrugs.

“Figured you wouldn’t mind terribly seeing as you have so much of that shit.” With his back towards the hallway leading further into the flat, Jack starts taking slow steps backwards, one by one. Reaching his gun is a priority now. Even if he knows just how well Theodore handles a knife Jack reckons that, should it come to blows, he’ll have the advantage. He’s younger, faster, and on home territory. “We all have to make a living somehow, Theo. A cop’s salary just doesn’t quite cover it.” His unfortunate compulsion towards gambling certainly takes a toll on any pay checks — but Theodore knows that well enough. He is, after all, one of the main reasons Jack had fallen into that hole.

“Don’t tell me the years have taken away your predilection for scolding. You always responded to it so much better to it than praise.” Theodore all but coos. He's not one to play with his food unless he knows he can pick his teeth with the bones. And with each passing second Jack's giving him more and more reason to leave nothing more than his bones behind.

Another few steps from Jack, and Theo’s had enough. A sharp click! and there’s his blade, steel catching a small sliver of light in the dark hallway. 

“Stop moving, Jack. Whatever it is you’re trying to get to, it won’t be faster than my knife, I can promise you that.” A few more strides and he could grab a wrist, slit a vein, leave Jack here to bleed out for the rats in the walls. And Theo? Theo would crawl into bed next to his husband and sleep easy. He closes the distance between them, approaching like an eclipse. 

“Here’s the deal: I don’t take theft lightly. I'm a little territorial, Jack. you’ve want something of mine, you’ve got to ask for permission. I’m going to need you tell me you understand if you want me leave here with only a warning.” 

Theodore wonders if Jack is still a gambling man, wonders how much Theo himself is to blame for it. 

where: jabberwocks pharmaceutical lab

when: 1:32 am

Evening turns to witching hour, witching hour turns to something unholy, and Theodore heads down to one of the Jabberwocks labs - Death turned King. The Jabberwocks are going on day six of Malachi's disappearance and Theodore grips any unease that threatens to bend its way through through the gang by the neck. He urges scrutiny, measured caution, till they can get to the bottom of this - 'there are no targets on your backs but don’t give them an opening to put one there' - but his own sleep schedule has been shot to hell. 

A retinal scan unlocks the pharmaceutical bay, but Theodore has to grope around for the lights to get them to wink on. He intends to be methodical about this, over turn every stone until he’s searched all their ancillary avenues of revenue for even a wisp of a clue. Besides, what else is he going to do other than wander like a waif if sleep eludes him? There’s a text on his phone telling Luis not to wait up for him. It’s identical to the one he’s sent every night for the last week. 

Theodore’s over by the capsule filling machines when the door clicks open. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t question the insomnia he knows his cousin has been plagued with since their childhood years - simply points at the capsules cases next to the machinery. “Are these new?”

He knows it’s excessive to wear a piece even here, considering the aggressive security, but Rune is rarely without a gun, anyway, and even more so these days. Paranoia, certainly, that’s been hanging over him like a thick fog since the day his parents died. It’d numbed over nearly two decades, but with Malachi missing, all of his nerves have been kicked back up to eleven. It’s exhausting, and he can’t help himself.

It does help that he trusts Theo — in general, as family, but also as next in line. A shitty situation could be made so much worse with the wrong leader to step in, but Rune finds the tension in his shoulders unspooling at Theo’s presence. Crossing with a nod, Rune briefly squeezes Theo’s shoulder as be brushes past, moving to turn on the lights at the worktable designated for him, and him alone.

Look, if Rune wants to fuck around and sample their supply, be a little guinea pig for the rush of it, Theodore intends to have a few words about that. Words along of the lines of 'is now really the time?' The last thing Theo needs is the head of drug manufacturing to wind up face-down in a pool only a week after their leader goes missing. If such a thing were to happen, Theodore would find a way to resurrect Rune, just so he could put him in the ground again for the piss poor timing. He’s sure Rune’s sister wouldn’t feel too differently. “We’ve got enough on plate, Rune," is what Theodore settles for and his words are thick and heavy, hanging almost forebodingly between them. Telling Rune to get clean is also not the point of his visit, even if it quickly seems to be turning into it. 

Anything before 11am on a Sunday was too early for Phoebe considering she was usually getting home from the casino as the sun rose, but there she was, sitting idly in the back corner of her favourite cafe at ten in the morning. Post-arrest hadn’t been kind to Phoebe, the magistrate having banned from her preferred place of work for three months in addition to her community service and fine… but she knew there were other things she could be doing with her spare time. Community orders not withstanding. 

Her head thumped softly and her mouth ached for a long sip of cold water so her body could begin the arduous task of flushing the expensive champagne from the night before from her system and when her server finally delivered the bottle of sparkling to her table, Phoebe almost gleefully took two long mouthfuls. She wasn’t allowed back in the casino for a bit, but that wasn’t going to stop her having fun. She knew too many people by now, too many who owed too much money to even step foot back in the casino (for a while, at least) so for now, the blonde was more than happy to refer to herself as a ‘roving’ member of Theo’s team. 

Theo. Speaking of, as she lifted the glass to her lips for a third time, her eyes landed on the king himself and she stood to greet him, “Tell me last night was horrible without me there,” Phoebe spoke quietly, much like she did when she used to call him from jail. The blonde knew it certainly wouldn’t have been an unsuccessful evening, but she needed to know her presence was missed. 

And yet, he doesn’t greet her with anger. His own feelings on the matter have blanched since her ‘one phone call’ to him on the eve of the incident. Theo’s hiss of rage through the phone line has mellowed to disappointment (to exasperated humor - though he'd never admit that out loud) and Theodore now meets the whole affair with a sort of sober acceptance. Time to batten down the hatches and weather the storm of the next 90 days. 

When he arrives, it’s all polite airs and correctness, a kiss on her cheek. It’s more than likely that there’s a pair of wandering eyes not too far off taking this whole interaction out of context, blowing it out of proportion, but the formalities are a pedigree he’ll never shake. The soft question is not unexpected, not really. Who would Phoebe be without that yearning for her beloved limelight?

“Come now Phoebe, have I ever been the sort to indulge such requests?” There’s no doubt the Red Rose misses its favorite thorn. “But I’ll give you this, we left too much money on the floor last night. Some of these lookouts, you'd think they've never conned a man before.”

He notes the hangover. Raises his hand to hail a waiter, snaps with all the authority of the pistol for their attention. They’ll need at least another pitcher of water for her. ( And they’ll need to keep her away from all open flames. ) “It seems you found a way to enjoy the evening regardless.”

who: @jack-seo where: notting hill, jack’s place of residence when: 11:12pm

Even in the absence of their former leader, there are still things to be done. Coins to be counted, ledgers to maintain. And it’s while flipping through said ledgers that Theo catches the inconsistency. He’s on a hairpin trigger these days, a short fuse looking to burn the heart out of anything that strays too close - and by the time he’s done checking everything twice he can practically taste asphalt. 

Still, Theodore drives down to the warehouse himself and counts everything. Reviews security footage. Checks the numbers - twice (gets out his goddamn cellphone calculator). All of this to say — when Theodore lands on the doorstep of one Jack Seo, he’s a wolf at the gates if there ever was one. An arching dagger that should be stopped before it meets its mark. He knocks — and then when Jack opens the door without checking to see what lurks on his doorstep, Theodore  wedges his foot in the door, shoulders his way through so his hand can catch the wooden frame. The Crimson King slips in like a curl of smoke before he is stopped.

The Notting Hill residence is certainly an upgrade from the apartment they’d tumbled into when Jack was 18, but then again, who’s really to say? It’s not as if Theo was paying much attention to anything other than the body bending in front of him back then. He’s finally gleaned some patience for observance, set the smolder of his gaze to ‘melt’.  And if his latest fuckery is anything to go by, Jack’s just as foolish as ever. Tonight, Theo’s here as a warning, an omen. A foreboding symbol that doesn’t discount the literal knife in his pocket.

“Hello Jack. You’re both bolder and stupider than I’ve been giving you credit for.”

Both the recent development of Crawford’s arrest and the muted whispers that Malachi Liddell has turned into smoke and disappeared have proven themselves nothing short of a goldmine for Jack and his team. Both Jabberwock and Jolly Roger shipments are still coming in like clockwork, and the internal tumult London’s dregs seem to be suffering through is serving to keep anyone of concern nicely occupied. They’ve hit near ten handovers in the past months which has in turn been lending itself to raking in quite a fortune off re-sold drugs. And it’s not only Jack’s bank account that’s been thriving; with precisely targeted raids and more and more low-level dealers from both sides ending up behind bars, it’s only a matter of time until a promotion rolls in and he can add another stripe to his uniform.

In sum, there’s very little Jack expects might have a chance at stopping this trajectory of success.

Theodore showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night unfortunately serves to prove him wrong. Barely back from a twelve-hour shift and still recovering from a physical altercation, Jack doesn’t do much other than watch as the former invites himself in without much preamble. An unexpected visitor if ever there was one. Not quite cocky enough to mistake this for a pleasant social call, Jack briefly regrets having left his weapon on the living room table.

“You see officer, it seems there’s a rat skimming off the top of two of my shipments - and I don’t take kindly to people taking what’s mine.” A gloved hand slips into his pocket to pull out a small baggie of two capsules. Theo knows most people don’t care about it, but it really is an efficient little feat of engineering that Rune has manufactured here, a sort of elegance that one only comes to appreciate after a lifetime of proximity to narcotics. Beautiful in its own way - and most importantly his. No, Theodore doesn't take kindly to people taking what's his. He goes downright feral. He holds it up. 

“Look familiar?” His words are clipped. It’s a dare. There’s grainy footage from a dash cam that’s all the incriminating evidence necessary, a last minute addition that the Jabberwocks had slapped onto their transport vehicle and one that had apparently paid off. Like catching a figure in the corner of your eye, the camera has caught Jack’s little hold up just at the periphery of its frame. “Well?” Theo demands, voice lower now. The shadow of the foyer cuts a dagger across his face. The Crimson King goads from those inky depths. “How many mistakes do you plan on making tonight, Seo?”

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, don’t they say? It rang true for Lilliana Byrne-Liddell on this particular evening, as she sat in the back of a black cab, with airpods on her ears and anxiety pumping in her chest. She kept her sights set out the window, taking in the city scenery more than she ever had before. After spending an entire year away, off on holiday, Lilli returned with a newfound appreciation for her hometown. The buildings were practically ancient, they were a constant as they weren’t changing anytime soon. As a child, Lilliana hated the older buildings in London. Forever old, never new, never modern, never with the times. She had found them drabby, but worst of all, she had found them boring. Now, as the cab passed them, and they began to become nothing but a blur in her vision, Lilli realized she was wrong all along. There was beauty in them. Lots of beauty.  There was history, there was struggle too, but most of all there was perseverance. How lucky for them to be something that stood the test of time, to have remained intact among all these years. 

The cab stopped at a red light. Yes, London had lots of lovely architecture she was being reintroduced to, but there was one building in particular Lilliana was not keen on seeing. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the silhouette of a place she once knew well. The building lingered in her peripheral like a bad omen, while the words BYRNE FINANCIAL shined down on the back window of the cab briefly. The light turned green and the cab continued on its way. 

It’s too late to backout now, Lilliana reminded herself. 

She was familiar enough with this territory to know that they were approaching her destination. Just a couple blocks now. Lilli’s attention shifted from admiring the city view to nibbling at her nail on her thumb. It was a bad habit she’d had since childhood, but hell, she was self soothing. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to having this dinner with Theo - even if this had been entirely her idea. Truthfully, before hearing the news, Lilliana had no intention of speaking to Theo ever again. She had done her wrongs, but oh, he had done his too. 

The cab took a left. 

Upon hearing about Theodore’s very recent promotion, Lilliana had a change of heart. Not that she gave forgiveness a try, never that, Lilli had a realization. Well, she was reminded of a realization she had long ago. 

The cab halted.

She did not want to be Theo’s enemy. 

Lilliana paid the fare and stepped out of the car. Out of all the restaurants in London, The Ledbury seemed the most appropriate. It had been a family staple, their parents would take the boys there back when they were alive, so Lilli had heard. They’d continued to go after their deaths, it became a place where the five of them would gather often. As Lilli approached the door and grabbed the handle, realization hit and these warm memories turned cold.  All five of the Byrne-Liddell children would never share a meal here together ever again.

She stepped inside of the restaurant. It was mostly empty, a few stragglers, which was disappointing. Lilliana had hoped for a full house. She was greeted by name by the hostess. She was  lead her to their section, the one where William and Audrey had preferred to sit. By surprise to no one, her brother is already seated in their booth. Straightening her frame, Lilliana walked up to the table. 

Show time. 

“Hi Theo,” she greeted, nodding her head as she took a seat across from him. Lilli looked him right in the eyes. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Though she hadn’t seen her brother for a better part of a year, if you don’t count the little run in about six months ago, her heart did not feel fonder. Lilliana much prefered the distance. 

Rafael’s correspondence about Lilliana’s arrival and the request to meet is met with a fluorescent fury that Theodore wasn’t even aware he possessed - an acidic, electric anger not posed at Rafael but at Lilliana for believing she should be afforded any sort of audience after what she’s put this family through. Despite the way of the Liddells, far be it from Theodore to afford anyone anything because of nepotism. Lilliana’s unearned audacity turns him foul. In his books, the water of the womb is quick to run dry while the blood of covenant persists.  

Nevertheless, he has the meeting set up. He avoids home, heads to the restaurant straight from his office. Theo knows Luis would clock his overwhelming anger immediately, and then, worse. sense a hollowed out sadness - something that’s the shape of sadness, the look and feel of sadness, but something that had the core of it burned out long ago. No, Theodore goes home first and it’s a line of questioning that doesn’t end kindly on anybody’s behalf. Straight to the Ledbury it is. 

It is perhaps also worth mentioning that there’s a haunting at the center of all of this - because it certainly isn’t a matter to leave Theodores psyche any time soon. Their brother Weston’s death hangs over the Byrne-Liddell siblings like a pale specter and Lilliana's sudden return is a grave upturned. In Theo’s mind’s eye, there is nothing gray about the black and white and blood of the situation: Weston is dead because of her. Theodore’s tried to carve the heart of the matter of his brother from his chest over and over again, and yet finds he can’t. A year has done little for the wound. The fire he starts to burn down Lilliana’s home six months ago doesn’t even cauterize it.

No, the five Byrne-Liddell children would never share meal together again — and whose fault is that ? 

Why, none other than the person who’s found a seat across the table from him.

Lilliana arrives on time. She’s built like a bird, a reflection of their mother - and even though Theodore knows there’s more to her than that, it has been objectively proven that he should not put his faith in any of it. On some inky dark night Theodore strikes a match and doesn’t check to see if Lilliana is in the house before he sends it up in flames, because the truth is this: Theodore would much rather be down two siblings than just one. It’s a reality far better than the one where he’s raised Lilliana to be a coward, to flee in the face of responsibility - the reality that seems to be his whole world here at this dinner table.

Lilliana looks him in the eye and Theo meets her gaze cold, unflinchingly. His voice is a flatline. 

“First things first, understand that this a courtesy and that courtesy can disappear at any time.” He says and it feels as if the walls close in to trap them at the dinner table. He doesn’t owe her shit. It would do her good to remember that. “You have thirty minutes to say your piece so I suggest you use it wisely.” He's a tripwire drawn tight like a bow.

“Talk.”