#01.01.16

Welcome back! Everything is completely back to normal definitely! 

He listened carefully as the Patron spoke, watching every inch of her like a hawk, the way her hands clutched together, the slight sweat on her forehead that would go unnoticed by most. She spoke of clumsy thieves, violent murderers. She spoke about the murders of her children as if they were something spectacularly horrible but to Charles, they sounded messy, disordered. It all sounded not quite right. It was so convenient, these seemingly amateur thieves knowing the whereabouts of the children and of the prizes, taking both in quick succession. The patron's grief for her kin somehow did not feel complete. There was a hollowness to it. 

As the patron gave an asinine threat, the Nest erupted. Charles rolled his eyes.  He watched impatiently as she was whisked away, waiting for Lillian to give the go ahead, as she always did. Waiting for every idiot in the room to have an opinion and demand for it to be heard loud and clear.

The Nest exploded with excited, frantic discussion. Charles sat in silence, lighting a cigarette and glancing sideways at his cousin who leaned in for discussion, asserting her rightful place as Head Magpie. Cute. He listened to the hum, eyes studying each thief that sat at the large table. He would not speak until he was spoken to, his opinion was not required until he chose to make his voice heard. Right now, he was observing the chaotic discussions, most of which were fuelled by greed and desire -- stupidity hung heavy in the air. Charles exhaled a puff of smoke, contemplating their options. 

Taking his seat at the colossal table that sat in the middle of the Nest, Charles watched as the rest of the thieves filtered in, each taking a seat in their rightful places. He was at the opposite end to the masterminds, near the end of the table. A seat he’d chosen because it gave him opportunity to view them all from a distance. It was a good seat, until Alessia Capecchi sat down next to him. 

Without so much as glancing at her, Charles rose, pushing his chair back in against the table and turning his back on her. As she had figuratively slapped him in the face at midnight, he returned the very same figurative slap, this time in blatant view of the entire society. He paced down the length of the table, people still adjusting themselves. He reached the other end of the table, closer to his uncle. Ciro had just sat down next to Evie. He tapped the boy on the shoulder. “You’re in my seat.” He nodded, with every expectation that Ciro would move, because if he did not, Charles would make his life a living hell.