toujour purs

"Excuse me," a chilly, low voice said, coming to stand beside them. Todd’s dark eyes landed on Max and the way he was standing, the placement of his hand near his wand, was half threat and half challenge. "That’s mine. I’ll ask that you get your hands off." 

It was only when she saw them next to one another that she realized it at all. Todd Rosier was a five years her senior, would have been in school with them both, but he was more like Max than she had noticed. Possessive and cold, pureblooded and proud of it. Dark hair, pale skin, but more than any of that was the way they stood. Like the world owed them something, looking at the things around them like it was already theirs. 

“Hullo, Rosier,” Max returned dryly, barely resisting the sharp urge to roll his eyes. Todd Rosier was a smug son of a bitch if there ever was one; possibly sleazy but the kind that fit well with the standard dinner guests at his parents’ sprawling yet concealed mansion in Kensington. He was the kind of person Parkinson’s associated with – pureblooded, refined and proud of both, the guest who sipped eight-hundred year old Scotch and made subtle digs at those less awe-worthy than themselves. Normally, it would be right up his alley to befriend the fellow and to perhaps even unite in the common goal of taunting the filthy-blooded girl and owning her.

The choice of words bothered Max, however, even if it was nowhere near the annoyance the hand on the wand aroused in him. Unwilling to show either, on the other hand, he merely mentioned so subtly, casually remarking, “The eloquence tutoring you no doubt received in childhood seems to have been wasted, mate. It’s a she; not a that.” Letting a lewd smirk curl a corner of his mouth up, his hand dragged up to briefly drag over her breasts before he finally stepped back. “Believe me, I would know.”

Once everything was finally, finally set up again - it was always an ordeal. No matter how much preparing she did, something always had to go wrong - Lucy checked her mirror one last time and fluffed her hair again, trying to get it to cooperate. 

"You look fine. Go," Todd said behind her, smacking a kiss to her cheek and a slap to her ass. With a yelp, she turned, catching his lips before she broke from the spot near the performance area. The pub wasn’t big enough to have a proper stage, but there was an area set aside. Todd took a seat, the lights shifted and she began. 

The show went as it always did, drums and guitar and voice all charmed just a bit to be louder, instruments sometimes playing on their own. Her eyes scanned the crowd, stopping for a moment on a pair that were piercing blue, even in the dim light, before she deemed it a mistake and let them move on. For one whole song, though, they managed to drift back and she had to remind herself that she shouldn’t let herself croon to a stranger when her boyfriend was sitting so close to the front. 

As satisfying as it was to see a well-trained animal follow one’s orders, however, the taste of supremacy and power that came with breaking a vibrant, headstrong, alive one was another thing entirely. It was another kind of rush entirely to realise you had the power to break that incredible will and to make them submit. And thoughts like that were exactly why he had been so thrilled to have her out of his life. She turned him obsessive, reduced to his base desires and basically incapable of higher brain functions.

In fact, if he were one prone to histrionics, he might even have been sitting around pouting to himself as he attempted drowning his sorrows in the finest Scotch money could buy. As it was, he had the whiskey part down at least. He was at a different pub from his usual haunt – smaller and less upscale – with a jangly tune echoing quietly in the background that allowed him to observe the people around him in peace until he could catalogue the girl he wanted to take home. Maybe it would be a pair. He could see one that had come in just after him and had taken her robes off by now, revealing a tight skirt and crisp, professional blouse. Nice arse, too. Maybe he could take her home, fuck her against his ornate teakwood desk with that skirt pushed around her hips. Maybe he could bother actually chatting her and her friend up and take them both home. The friend wasn’t bad-looking either; or rather, she had tits great enough that he wouldn’t give two fucks what her face or her bloody personality were like.

Max could have probably kept that thought process going, maybe even put it into action, had the evening’s entertainment not come on then. The voice was deep, smoky, but there was no mistaking the face when he looked up, no way to not recognize the auburn mane glinting under stage lights. She was singing and painfully attractive for a second and nothing was fair, Salazar damn it. Belatedly, he noticed the skinny arsehole leaning in towards the stage with a fucking grin on his face and realized he had seen them before, kissing in a corner when he had been looking around the place before. Fucking brilliant, she was actually trying to prove she could keep a lad interested. What really put the cherry on the cake, though, was that even though the smarmy bastard was nearly hanging off the stage to show his bloody devotion or whatever it was, Weaslette wasn’t even looking at him. Oh no, she had her eyes fixed upon his as she sang and he took advantage of that, not even looking away once until the end of the set, if only to unnerve her.

The presence of a boyfriend wasn’t nearly enough to keep him away either; drawing him in like bait instead because excellent, two people to possibly humiliate. As the set ended, he drained his glass of Scotch, asked for two more and then made a beeline for the cleared off corner acting as makeshift stage. If nothing else, knowing her, at least it would turn out to be more entertaining than chatting a couple of desperate slags up. Besides, he could always take them home later.

angry hook ups            scratches, neck bites, moans, rolling hips, kisses with more teeth than you’re used to and shut the fuck up. we’ve all been there.

                                -listen here-

That… actually is pretty true when I think about it. Well- in certain circumstances. I mean, breaking your morals once in awhile because of an “exception to the rules” circumstance makes sense, but I think the world would be a lot more fucked up if people abandoned everything they believed was the right way to live their lives and treat others, don’t you think? 

They already are- and that’s part of the problem. When they’re too sloshed to charge for drinks and then empty bottles on their own it cuts into profits massively! But again- I can’t fire them. I’m only in charge temporarily.

[Laughs loudly] Thanks for the offer, Romeo, but when I speak of your smolder I mean it in a general sense.

That does sound unfortunate. Seems like firing them and hiring a new, better staff is your only option. Why can't you, in any case? Not your pub?

For a woman as stunning as you, it was worth trying. So.

Do you really think I am? Honestly? No, Parkinson, I just started taking my sister’s advice and kicking pushy boys in the nads when they didn’t take no for an answer. 

That took no time at all, did it? Git. No one invited you to attack my face.

You don’t know the half of it, really. These are just street clothes. Wait until you see what I wear for a performance. 

Hm. There you go. All done.

Your arse is less skinny. Tits don't look too shabby either. Well done, you have truly improved in the most useful of ways.

You’re as vague and weird as ever, I see. Haven’t changed a lick. 

Uh-huh. I believe you.

Pay your employees to do it drunk then. Chances are, they will either become markedly less irritating or you can fire them for drinking at work and hire somebody new. And well...