henry

“Don’t tempt me. But I already went through half the trouble of fasting this morning and putting some extensions in. Now the dress is zipped and I’m putting heels on. It’s too late — I’ve committed.” Gazing into her reflection, she began threading her earrings through each hole while simultaneously watching Henry go through the motions of buttoning his shirt, applying beard oil, and finally getting into his shoes.

“We should at least make an appearance in case we need an alibi. But we both know it isn’t going to take you much to convince me. We’ll stay for one drink, two sorry-ass Owl City covers, and then you and I have a date with Queen Elsa and a vat of popcorn with the kids.” Before, Mirah wouldn’t have been caught dead missing a birth control appointment. The idea of kids in all their messy, sticky, fussy glory seemed beneath her. Now, after meeting Roland and Lela…and after assuming the role of their mother over the last several months, Mirah had weaned off her birth control in the hopes that Henry would hit the trifecta in knocking up another woman. So far, no cigar. But until then, she happily attended tea parties for Lela and custom-built LEGO castles with Roland and Henry. Her little family. 

“The nanny’s got my new cell, right? In case anything happens? Will you grab my bag? Here, I’ve got the wax pen. I’m gonna take it in between my boobs in case we get checked at the door. And you better not give up your side piece. You’d have to be a dumbfuck to show up without so much as a rock and sling. Here, babe, I got it from the safe. Are we taking your car or mine?”

For a second, the man wears a faux pout, tilting his head. “I don’t know Mousey’,” he shrugs, something resembling a smug smirk going over his face as he goes on, “I think I’d be pretty good at getting you uncommitted.” The words were something they both knew held truth. When it got down to it, the two of them couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.

After getting his slacks pulled up, he walks to the dresser before putting his shirt on. He grabs the open bottle of wine, throwing his head back to take a few gulps. If he was going to make it through tonight with an actual smile, then he’d be needing a lot of this. Now, he moves on to his shirt, being careful with buttoning it up, as to not miss a button.

The nanny’s got my new cell, right?

Pausing, Henry thinks for a beat, before shrugging and muttering out a low, “I dunno.” As long as the nanny could get ahold of him, he was fine. Granted, Mirah was much better at answering the phone than he was, so he should have just given hers over in the first place.

Finally, he puts his fedora on, glancing to where her bag was and picking it up. At her question, he lets out a deep sigh. “Don’t make me drive, please. If I have to go, I get to drink. I’m not driving.”

   Abigail, for the most part, had alternated between the bar and dancing with the crowd. She was putting her couture outfit to great use, lighting up the space she occupied as much as possible. Still, a lull came every now and then, as she coyly sat atop the bar stool, keeping a watchful eye on most folks; there were more faces that needed identifying, faces that needed knowing for the Syndicate member. She was to make up for her absences now, in minding their enemies, that is.

   Her perched observing was cut short, however, by the question thrown her way. Turning to the voice with surprise painted on her features, the brunette broke a nervous smile on her lips. “Oh?” She was pacing herself though, so she promptly declined being bought a whole new drink. 

   With a coy hand on her chin, Abigail had quite the answer. “Maybe just a sip of your whiskey? I’ve been sipping champagne for a while now, so colour me curious as to what your taste is.”

Maybe just a sip of your whiskey?

Henry only needs to think for a few seconds, lips pursed as he did so. “I don’t see how that could be a problem” he replies far too smoothly. While he had been someone who often preferred to keep to himself, promoting the abuse of alcohol was something he stood by, proudly. It was a poor habit—or addiction as some may call it—to develop, but at this point in his life, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hell of a night we’re having, huh? I’ve only almost stuck a fork in my eye once so far. So needless to say, things are going pretty smoothly.”

   Most of the Scarlet Dahlias were names and faces the eldest Whitlock was trying to familiarise himself with. Being as he was the successor to his father, he needed to know anyone and everyone in the gang, which meant being friends with them, too, in order to understand better. However, not all of them were quite the established success he’d hoped it’d be: case in point being Henry, whom he was still feeling for.

   “Glad to know we didn’t commit a fashion faux pas, then.” There was nothing worst than running into someone with the same exact outfit as yours in an event, suffice to say. Not only that, but Rowan would have given his own self grief if it ever happened. “Besides, I think your outfit makes you look more suave.” he noted, impressed with how everyone rose to the occasion for the 20s theme of the night.

The man lets out a throaty laugh, shaking his head. “You’re too kind,” he says, taking off his fedora and placing it on the counter top. “Us showing up in the same thing would have given me a great excuse to dip out of here early,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to look over the sea of people.

In another world, Henry may have worried over the fact that he wasn’t very close to his potential future boss. He knew he should have tried harder, but he truly just didn’t care enough. The only thing that really mattered to him, was whether or not he’d be getting a check, and his kids were well taken care of.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he lets out, glancing to the other. Granted, he didn’t try very hard to see the guy, but it didn’t hurt to try, even if it was this minimal. “How’re things over at the Resort?”

—

Isla laughed as the other approached her, she was normally a bit more awkward with the older man, but after a few drinks she was much less shy. “Toby and I are both doing well.” She told him with a nod. “He’s off at a sleepover tonight, so I didn’t need to worry about finding a sitter, thank god.” Henry was one of the few people she felt comfortable talking about her son with, though only because she knew him from school drop offs, and it seemed that their boys were becoming friends.

Henry chuckles, tilting his head. He could see that the woman was much more relaxed than usual, which was nice. Life could be a lot more easy without a kid walking behind you, acting as a shadow all day. “Can I get you something to drink, by any chance?” He offers, a smirk spreading over his lips.

Isabel smiled up at the man, getting lost momentarily in his deep green eyes, her cheeks flushing slightly as she turned to the bar attempting to get the bartenders attention. Unfortunately for her, he seemed to be focused on a blonde at the other end of the bar, or at least focused on her assets that were about to spill out of her dress. Isabel sighed and with a shrug she turned back to walk away from the bar. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be tonight.” She told the man who had moved for her

For a moment, the man narrows in her eyes at her, only to glance between her and the distracted bartender a few times. “Hey, wait,” he huffs, and whistles at the guy, which causes him to promptly turn his head towards the noise. Now, a smug grin appears over his face, as he looks to Isabel, winking. “You have another customer, asshole,” he lets out, motioning to the woman beside him, still smiling.

“Can I get an uh, whiskey?” He asks the bartender, his eyes falling on the woman next to him, which brings a new expression to his face. “Would you like anything?”

@abigailprice​

And just as fate would have it, the man finds himself beside Rowan, a silence between him that Henry actually quite enjoyed.

“Shit,” he says, giving the other a once over. “I think my date almost dressed me in that,” he motions to what Rowan’s wearing, shaking his head. “Glad I ended up with what I did.”

@rowanwhitlock​

He didn’t know Isla all that well, and he didn’t really try that hard, either. He wasn’t exactly that friendly of a person. But for the sake of his children, he would try. Even if he hated it. He’d do anything for those kids.

@islaxlewis​

→ 10.16.20 / 6:56 p.m. / Herman Penthouse / @henry-herman​ (closed)

Couture pieces of all lengths, colors, and fabrics splayed about nearly every flat surface around them, while shoes and an assortment of other accessories occupied the ground and her vanity. She wished she could say this wasn’t the norm, but it didn’t just take parties or occasions for Mirah to make a mess like this anytime she was getting ready. Henry generally kept it simple, often allowing her to pick for him if it meant he didn’t have to endure her messes and berating. He’d already promised to let her pick their outfits for their outing that weekend, but Mirah was constantly changing her mind, with several his and hers matching pieces on rotation. 

With only a few hours left until “fashionably late” is no longer acceptable, Mirah sifted through her final choices for the party. His schedule often didn’t allow them time to exchange more than insults and the occasional make-up “quickie”, but even if it tasted like vinegar in her mouth to admit it, she missed him lately. Missed him enough that she was putting additional effort into getting ready as she lounged before her vanity in her strapless and black lacy bra and the matching panties, adding a spritz of perfume to her wrists and décolletage after she finished doing her hair and face. She tried to keep it subtle, deviating from any possibility of allowing him to call her a cheap tramp for wearing too much makeup. He didn’t mean it, of course, but she was determined to make their time together genuinely civil. For once. 

She sipped aggressively at the red wine he poured her before he’d hopped into the shower, already upsetting herself with a completely made-up scenario she’d concocted about something Henry hadn’t done yet, like always. Yet being the operative word because she had no doubt he’d call her a slut at least once that evening. This was how half of their fights began. Another percentage went towards her assumptions and bouts of violence, while a small sliver were directly his fault. She’d never admit to being the problem amid them because their relationship seemed to work either way. No one else seemed capable of putting up with her while simultaneously putting her in her place. He tolerated and even appreciated her dark humor and cold nature. 

He stepped out of the bathroom with a towel woven around the bottom half of his body. If she hadn’t already irritated herself with the scenario she’d imagined of Henry insulting her, Mirah would’ve fallen to her pretty little knees and inevitably made them late for the party. Instead, she stood up quickly, wriggling into her dress before huffing over to where he stood idly thumbing through his phone. Mirah gathered her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, silently motioning for him to zip up her dress for her. 

“Don’t forget. You promised me. Even if it’s pulling teeth to pretend like you’re having the time of your life, remember I’ll sneak in a nail filer in my hair and jab it right into your handsome little face if you so much as make a fat joke or throw singles at me like I’m a cheap whore.” She’d lost count of how many times throughout their relationship he’d done that, making a habit of carrying them on his person exclusively to throw them at her or tuck them into her skirts and breastlines anytime they were in public. “Now that that’s outta the way. I picked your suit for you. Is that the Hugo Boss cologne I bought you? You’re finally wearing it?” The sourpuss look melted right off her face as she stared up at him suggestively over her shoulder before laughing. 

“Is it too late to stay in? Redbox that movie Roland’s been begging us to take him to and stuff our faces? At least I wouldn’t have to suck my stomach in all night just to fit into a dress. You already know I’m a cow.”

Henry had always been very selective with the people he allowed in his life. He had become even more selective of people when it came to his children. He could handle whatever the world had to throw his way, but he would refuse to put his kids through anything that they didn’t have to. Mirah was no exception to this rule, yet she had somehow made her way in, against his own wishes. No matter what he had tried to scare her way, which included literally telling her to stay away from him, she always came back—or—he always came back. The relationship they had was an odd one, but things were going smoothly, as smoothly as they could with the two of them, at least.

So, as she was getting herself ready in his room, he took his sweet time in the bathroom, showering and getting himself ready. He deserved at least a little time in isolation, after agreeing to go out and surround himself with some of the worst people this city had ever seen. If it hadn’t been for Mirah, he probably would have elected to stay home and relax with his kids. He was actually still considering it, depending on how getting ready went.

He exits the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his hair already combed to the side in accordance to her highness’ wishes. He gives a flat smile, watching as she turned around. He didn’t say a word, simply zipping the dress and dragging himself over to where what he would be wearing, lie.

“Could you even fit any bills in that?” He asks giving her a once over, which quickly reminds him of why he puts up with her bullshit so much. She wasn’t bad to look at.

Is it too late to stay in?

Once again, he looks at her, eyebrow quirked, lips pursed. “It’s never too late to stay in. I think I’d enjoy staying here over figuring out how the fuck these suspenders work.”

@henry-herman​

Isabel had been enjoying herself enough, even though she had come on her own. She had danced with a few people and even had given a quick impromptu concert to a couple of her friends that had asked.  But now she was parched and headed to the bar to grab a drink. She had found her way to the end, but she was too sweet to really push her way in to get a drink. After a few minutes she finally tapped the shoulder of the man in front of her. “Excuse me. Do you think I could squeeze in here and get a drink? Please.” She asked the tall man standing in front of her.

There wasn’t a single place in the world that Henry hated more, than events like this. The fake friendly conversations, all the way down to the uncomfortable outfits. Nothing about these were fun. The only thing intrigued him in the slightest matter, was the potential female attention he could get. He may have come here with a date, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d be going home with her.

Excuse me. Do you think I could squeeze in here and get a drink? Please.

The man promptly turns, offering her one of his grins as he steps aside.

“Of course, my apologies.”