𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔞 𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔟

            when people made the claim that wedding planning was exhausting, they weren’t lying. for every decision that was made, ten more dilemmas seemed to pop out of the woodworks. and perhaps most excrutiating of it all was the seating plan. they’d been fiddling with it for weeks, and no matter how they delegated seats, it never seemed to work out. « ---- i don’t think this will work, darling, » he remarked, eyes scanning the newest draft. « there’s no chance in hell we can put my siblings on the same table. if we do, the whole reception might go up in flames --- » with a slight tilt of his head, he took her hand in his. « everything ok ? you seem.... distracted.» @mcmoirs

elizabeth: you know i can't. mum and dad would have my head

            «  consequences, huh ? » she let the word roll of her tongue, had a proper taste of it (though, admittedly, the only thing she could register was the aftermath of cheap wine on her tastebuds). « you make it sound so ... official. consequences are for people who get caught planning to elope. this, my friend, » and with that, she pressed a baby pink nail to his chest. « is just casual. what’s the worst that could happen ? » at his next remark, she scoffed. « can i  m a n a g e ? you underestimate me, vigo.» 

          « had this been fourth grade, i would have totally agreed with you. » she leant her head against his shoulder, hand reaching out to give him a quick tap on the tip of his nose. « you know what, parrish ? you need to stop asking questions and start looking for solutions. we’ll just pick the lock. duh. » 

             « frankly, » he began, followed by a short scoff. « i don’t. you lot should consider yourselves grateful that i take time out of my busy schedule for enquires from actual members, and that’s saying something. » his features soften a little at the sight of the paper cup. « no milk, right ? go ahead, it should be somewhere on the table. » there’s a slight pause. « honestly ? boredom.» 

              alistair, whose expression had now taken the form of a human question mark, just looked at his sister.  « my car ? » he repeated back, toast still in hand, unsure of what to actually say. « are you high ? you can’t have crashed my car, sab, because, » and with that, he fished the keys out of his pocket. « i still have the keys. » 

                « strange. » for someone whose entire life had revolved around the various stages of the life cycle of drugs, the idea of sobriety seemed almost foreign. « let’s strike a deal. we go up, but we don’t drink. and we don’t talk about god. » 

              as much as it pained her to admit, the dumb 10pm curfew wasn’t entirely irrational. their dad had plenty of enemies, and it would be naïve to think that none of said enemies had ever toyed with the idea of getting to his children. but, even so, lia hated it, and when possible, tried her damn best to evade it. nights like this made the task a whole lot easier - ollie, being the hypocrite he was - had been out all night, and she’d seized the opportunity to go out and have some fun. for once. but, wanting desperately to sleep in her own bed ( and to avoid the questions she’d probably garner if she tumbled back home at 7 in the morning, had arrived at their flat less than ten minutes earlier, hair ruffled after a tumble in the sheets and heels still on her feet. « out for a cig. your lovely girlfriend doesn’t want me smoking inside, remember ? » 

             « so, you don’t drink ? » she asked, making her best effort to ignore the comment about .. she who must not be named. was it petty of her? sure. did she care? not one bit. slipping the bottle back into the bag, she shurgged. « not even if we pretend it’s sacramental ? » 

              « oh yes, of course twin intuition would apply to us, considering how similar we are, » he mumbled under his breath, tearing off a corner of his piece of toast before dipping it in his coffee. bread halfway to his mouth, he stopped dead in his tracks. « i’m  s o r r y ? you did what now ?» 

              « we could get caught, » she repeats, her tone a poor attempt at mimicking his. « i’m disappointed. do you really think i’m that much of an uncoordinated drunk ? i’ll have you know i’ve had 2 - nay, three - glasses of wine - and i am feeling absolutely stellar, thank you. » and point seemingly disproven by her inability to stand upright. « no trouble. tell me what you want and i’ll fix it, on the condition that’s rosé, because that’s all i have in my bag.» 

                love. the second the word slipped past the barrier formed by his lips, lia felt herself having to battle the blood rushing to her cheeks. « first of all, » she almost hummed, her slight intoxication seemingly drawing out every syllable. « he won’t. last i checked, he had plans. » the last word, plans (read: plans with his girlfriend) practically dripping with spite. « and secondly: so what ? you’re not scared of him, are you ?» 

elizabeth: it's very /public/

            « tea ? » she laughed, shaking her head. her left hand found its way into the abyss of her handbag, only to emerge ten seconds later, clutching a bottle of red wine. « don’t know if it’s any good. nicked it off my brother’s girlfriend. you drink red wine, no ? isn’t that like ... some catholic ritual or some shit ? » 

              « illegal - ? no, » he quipped back, fingers tapping absent-mindedly against the wood of their dining table, eyes scanning the figure in front of him. « but i feel like i know you well enough to know you’re not here because you’re ‘concerned for me’. so spit it out, ames, what is it ? what did you mess up this time ? » 

       there were few things that stressed alistair out more than not having anything to do. balancing, school, whatever work his father delegated to him, as well as keeping the riot club somewhat presentable, constant pressure was nothing more than his new normal. and, consequently, when the work had been done, double & triple-check, sent off - when it was time for him to relax, slow his heart rate a little, he found himself increasingly agitated. and much to the other person’s dismay, he underestimated his own anger, and in response to a question he didn’t quite catch, he all but snarled: « god, what is it now ? » 

               « ah, don’t make that face, » the blonde all but  p o u t e d, practically tugging at the other’s sleeve. it was a friday evening, and much to her dismay, nothing exciting had happened yet. « we’re just gonna sneak up to the college roof to have a drink. what’s the worst that could happen ? come on ----  »