HBIC

What was the saying? You can't have a rainbow without a little bit of rain? Surely they didn't know what the fuck they were talking about.

Mustering her courage, Leyla took a deep breath and started walking past her.

"Well shit, she doesn't even need a costume to be fucking terrifying."

“Terrifying?” she echoed, the word rolling off her tongue like silk over a blade. “Mm. I’ve been called worse.”

A soft, amused hum followed — but there was nothing warm in it. This was a woman who took the comment as a compliment… and a confirmation.

Her eyes swept Leyla from head to toe, unhurried, assessing, like someone deciding whether their prey was worth the effort.

“Though you should be careful saying such things out loud,” Delphine murmured, stepping just slightly into Leyla’s path — close enough to touch, close enough to unsettle. “Compliments have a way of sounding like fear… when delivered under your breath like that." The faintest, razor-sharp smile curved her mouth

At his last remark, she let her eyes return to him — amused, sharp, and entirely unreadable. “Tricks?” she echoed, letting the word linger. “No, not tonight. I find the treats far more… productive at this present time.”

Then, with a faint tilt of her head:

“Though between us, Félix?” Her voice dropped to something velvet-soft and dangerous. “London becomes dreadfully dull without the occasional trick."

She sipped her champagne, smile never wavering. “But don’t worry. I’m perfectly civil—unless provoked.”

She clicked her tongue, the sound sharp against the low hum of conversation. “Well,” she murmured, half to herself, half to Delphine, “if there’s one thing we know about our dear hostess, it’s that drama is never far behind. Hopefully less bloody this time—but with her, you can never quite tell.”

Her tone curled into a quiet snarl as her eyes flicked toward Lara, a brief, cutting glance that said far more than her words.

“Ophélie,” she murmured, lilting the name with that effortless Parisian grace, “London seems to draw us all back eventually.”

She took a sip of her drink. “Less bloody?” she echoed, tone dipping into a dry, velvety amusement. “Ma chère, if there’s one thing I’ve missed, it’s a little blood. This city gets so… dull without it. Especially when it's not our blood that's spilled."

The smile she offered next was warm enough to be welcoming, but carried no real softness — only the poise of a woman who remembered everything.

“But you look well. France must have treated you kindly.” Her eyes sharpened, just slightly. “I trust you’ve learned a few things worth bringing home.”

Valérie might have hated Lara's sick event each time it reared it's head but that didn't mean she wasn't going to come and support those she loved. Still, she never looked forward to the yearly anxiety attack it brought on.

If only she took drugs like the rest of them. A habit Val had never developed and very rarely wondered what life would be like if she had. It certainly would have made nights like these easier though.

Nestled into a booth, the Commandant nursed her drink, feeling it slowly warm in her hand. She'd need a new one soon. A shadow fell over her just as she contemplated heading to the bar.

"Join me for another? This one's gone warm."

"What's your drink of choice tonight?"

Well, witnessing Giordana's fight felt a little bit like he'd just committed a crime.

With a glass of cognac in hand and a grimace firmly painting his weathered features, Varden sought out an all-too-familiar face amongst the French crowd in an attempt to cleanse his fucking palate. Often, she proved a safe haven when he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of company, and as was a surprise to none, tonight was one of those occasions. Varden's own fight wasn't any kind of looming anxiety—it was only ever going to go one way, and they all knew that—but some of the match ups for the other French fighters concerned him.

Taking a sip from his own glass, he extended a coupe of champagne in the direction of the blonde as soon as she was in earshot. A sight for sore eyes, as always.

"Not overly attached to Olivier, are we?"

Seeing Varden's familiar face gave her face a much-needed smirk, the frown lines in her forehead receding as she sipped the end of her own drink before reaching out and taking the one offered from him. She was both pleased to see him and also wanted to smack him for participating after everything he'd been through. But he was a big boy, he could handle himself. Didn't mean she had to like it.

Her smirk became a little wider at his question. "God, no. I think it's no secret how annoying I find the man. He even knows it. Our 'relationship'," she rolled her eyes, "is tenuous at best." Her smile faded a bit. "Was a little surprised when I saw your name, though. How did Val take it?" She asked taking a sip of champagne, her not so veiled attempt at mentioning her dislike of him being hurt again. God forbid anyone realize she actually cared.

Odile had almost backed out when they'd taken her phone: she was aware of the rules but with Laurent sitting in a hospital and his condition up and down at the best of times...it'd left her feeling less like herself, and more like a woman who needed to cut loose. It was in that mirror, where Laurent was herald as the play boy, the party animal -- tonight, she'd honour his inability to attend in the best way she knew how.

Total carnage.

"See, and this is why you run things -- always prepared." she peaked a glance over her shoulder. "I see you haven't got the BFG in tow today. Did you actually give Olivier the weekend off?" she was aware of the indifferences the pair shared, even if she noted their inability to let the other go, also. He wouldn't have been working there that long if she hadn't. Delphine was a force to be reckoned with. "Lead the way. I need a pick me up, before I get someone to actually pick me up."

At Odile's comment, she let out a genuine laugh and make an arm gesture. "What can I say? I know what my people need," she teased. She wanted to ask about Laurent, but wasn't sure if she should bring it up or not, especially since their phones had to be given up.

"Yes, he's free to do...whatever the hell it is that he does." She said, waving a hand in the air. "The last thing I need to deal with is living in a poor tent with a Rutherford and Olivier hovering over me. That would add extra stress on both sides but most especially mine." She admitted. "Plus, I need a break from the guy." She linked her arm with the other womans and started walking away from their poor tents. "So...any idea on the type of 'work' we're supposed to do to earn drinks around this place?"

"That's why you drink."

"Well apparently... I have to work for my drinks. Thank you so much for the reminder."

She was definitely going to find out.

"For the children, right?"

"That's what everyone keeps saying. Don't know how many people are simply saying it to convince themselves that this might not be a total shit show," she said, taking a hand through her blonde locks.

"It's for the children, they say." Odile mocked under her breath, regret evident, hand reaching up to smooth down her (some would say) too-short skirt, as she slid her sun-glass hidden gaze carefully across the wooded area: thank god she'd paired this with boots...nose wrinkling in a form of disgust at the reality of what her weekend was going to look like.

Turning, her eyes found the nearest person, "Tell me you've got anything, a joint, a fuckin' line. I've got cash." The idea of leaving her phone behind, with Laurent in the hospital already wasn't helping. "I think we're all gonna' need it this side of the estate."

Delphine reached into her pocket and took out a carton of cigarettes. She shook one out and handed it to Odile. It wasn't a cigarette, but a joint. "I smuggled some in. I knew we'd need it for all the bullshit," she said, winking at the other woman before handing her a lighter.