𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔦𝔬𝔫,

no, he would not. that is the simple truth of it. if she wishes to dance with him - however poorly he manages it - he will not deny her the opportunity. even if she does manage to sting his pride. he bears no illusions, of course, that her choice has anything to do with his charms. perhaps she is avoiding more unpleasant partners, or maybe it is something to do with the contrary look in her eye. whatever the reason, he does not intend to probe it too deeply. after all, his presence in her world is fleeting and the motivations of sharp-tongued heiresses could not, under any circumstances, be considered his business... she has made his evening more intriguing than it otherwise would have been - that is enough to have made venturing out this evening worth the effort.

@shivawne said: you're a lousy dance partner. (she's starting off on a bullying note fr)

he glances up at her, surprise briefly clouding his face before an apologetic smile takes its place. " i might have told you as much before we began, miss roy, " he says, his hand taking hers once more as they go down the dance. he still finds it strange that she is dancing with him at all - a sentiment no doubt shared by the gathered company. compared to much of the crowd, he is a nobody. a penniless doctor with a respectable, but ultimately unimpressive name. a man who'd spent his morning in cramped hovels tending to the ailments of fishwives - and free of charge at that. hardly a suitable partner for one of the most eligible young ladies in the country...

he knows full well that he has only been invited tonight to make up the numbers of young men in the party. the truth of that does not offend him - as diverting as it might be to look into this world for an hour or so, he would much prefer to be at home with his books... all the same, he is by no means insensible to the charms of an attractive partner, even one he is as ill-suited to in skill as he is in station.

@shivawne prayed: "you're a real piece of work." (x)

❛❛     is that a hint of frustration i'm detecting,  ms. roy  ?     ❜❜     his gravelly voice reeks of condescension.     ❛❛     or,  forgive me,  is it mrs. wambsgans ?     ❜❜     a manicured brow lifts toward the sky as a smirk slithers on ancient features.     the author is rarely this acerbic with his clients.     usually,  his shrewd tongue remains dormant,  snubbing the temptation to engage in such petty remarks—a professional in every sense of the word.     however,  this was no ordinary client standing before him.     she was siobhan fucking roy.     and when she called (back, that is),  you fucking answered.     as the only woman in the roy circus,  she was in a prime position to detail every heinous,  fascinating,  juicy thing behind the doors of waystar royco.     and who was henry to decline the opportunity ?    

as he stands,  he plops his moleskine journal atop the beautifully crafted desk and begins to pace.     ❛❛     i'm sure many around waystar would have the same to say about you,     ❜❜     his head cranes in her direction.     ❛❛     actually,     ❜❜     a pause.     ❛❛     i can attest that they've said much worse.     ❜❜     slowly,  his arms crossed over his chest,  and he stops.     ❛❛     when you called my office back,  siobhan,  you knew what this meant—the gravity of this book.     ❜❜     lips purse slightly as his feet begin moving again,     ❛❛     hell,  if i remember correctly,  you said some rather unsavory things when i first approached you about the idea.     ❜❜     henry laughs softly.  when arms uncross,  the writer begins to talk with his hands,     ❛❛     you even came to appreciate the idea of telling your story,  yourself,  in your own words.     ❜❜   

“i can attest that they’ve said much worse,”  henry claims,  and shiv is thoroughly amused by it.    she wonders who he’s spoken to;  gerri?  eva?  karl?  her brothers would all use far more colourful language,  so they’re out of the running immediately.    finally,  she lets her phone screen fade to black,  and carelessly drops it (almost throws it,  actually) onto the cushion of her desk chair,  hands clenching into fists that then rest on her hips.        ❝    yeah, of course i did.    you’re basically handing me a fuckin’ knife and asking me to stab my whole family in the back.    ❞        familial betrayal,  of course,  is practically a roy tradition at this stage.    nothing like votes of no confidence,  thinly veiled threats,  and publicity stunts staged as family therapy sessions to bring a fucked up dynasty closer together,  right?

" yeah, ha-ha laugh it up, just remember i'm not the one who'll be smothering you in aloe later. " he points to himself and then her on respective pronouns, though there is no venom in his tone, it's said with a tint of fondness. he'd done it before, wrapped her in a white sheet on the yacht because it 'draws the heat out'. he misses when he could sit and nod and listen as she handed him perfect little letters, stamped siobhan roy and be told to deliver them on time this go around. she still has that energy to her, bossy : you're not playing it right. he bumps her shoulder with his own, grinning down at her before he nods.

the sun is bright in the sky, an endless expanse of blue above them. connor has for once detached himself for willa to show his baby sister the ranch. pride sitting warm in the center of his chest as they walk side by side. leon in the gator not far behind them, but @shivawne had mentioned privacy, and there wasn't a single place more private in the world.

it's nice to have her here, even if it seems she's uninterested. connor much prefers to believe his family simply plays hard to get in their own way.

if we get heatstroke, i'm blaming you.

so all she does is scoff.

Work your magic.