Saint sits at his usual table, green eyes lingering across similarly toned bottles as his index finger taps against his notepad in a patient drum for his sibling to arrive. Fashionably late is becoming Remus’s new norm, now that his brother lines himself not only with War, Bellum, or husband duties but that of a prospecting Prime Minister too. And perhaps in some ways, Saint envied it, the way those around him dig their teeth into their own divine creations whilst the only thing he’d seemed to be able to concentrate on was the loss that carves a cavern in his chest. One deep enough now, that most of him is left hollow, and numb; a suspiciously dangerous thing for a man who already lived his life with the impulse control of an enraged gambler, willing to bet everything on the flip of a double-headed coin.

“Quarter of an hour late to a lunch I’m paying for, now, that’s not very good of the right honourable gentleman, is it?” Saint grins, chin poised high as he waits for Remus to join him at the table, before permitting ideas to spill to a man who had always been much better with business than him. There should be more pressing things to share, perhaps the detail he chooses to keep hidden, the news of his engagement stays close to his chest in the anxiety now that he’s uncertain Kitty would even live to attend the ceremony. But that was just it, all this worrying, all this mourning and endless fixations he holds in Juno’s absence eventually pulls his mind to consider the possibilities of his worries. So in typical Saint-like fashion, he detaches from his emotions, and turns to work. Because evidently, there is human nature in the need to be safe, for your loved ones to remain unscathed from the vicious world in which his own family only participates in. And where there is doubt, there is the opportunity to capitalise on disadvantage and forge it into a power and monetary gain.

With a waitress approaching, Saint requests for their usual bottle, a red cabernet typically shared between the Wardens when plotting their schemes, and to be accompanied by a charcuterie board. “I’ve been looking over the plans for your manifesto,” he starts, catching his brother’s attention with parliamentary jargon, but not with the typical instinct to challenge it, rather Saint aimed to get his brother into power with the help of his own ideas. “Legalising weaponry, it’s smart. Especially if you sell it to the public correctly, it’ll put Bellum Nova at the top of the fucking stock market. But I think I have something else-- maybe better,” he pushes his notebook across to his sibling, notions, and calculations scribbled onto a page, safe from hackers in its masterful form of ink and paper. “It all comes down to safety, right? Security. Bellum has its own products, sure, but they all revolve around weaponry.”

The bottle of wine is set onto the table, glasses filled before they're left in their own company again and Saint can resume. “I want to form my own sister company to Bellum Nova, one that focuses on security technology and devices. We can start selling in the UK market without a law even needing to be passed. And when we get you in the House of Commons, we can offer free installation of such devices to every British household and public space in the country. War would have eyes and ears on every corner, of every street, and no one would be any wiser, because it would be my branding on the cameras- not our parents.” He leans across, flipping over the page to detailed diagrams worked on with Kai throughout past two weeks, seemingly normal CCTV systems, cameras that fit flush into walls, locking systems that can only be opened by reading DNA, voice activated alarms, all created with War at the heart of it, as the priority of their empire becoming the one that is unstoppable. “I’d need your help,” Saint waits, analysing, eager of a response. Because although it feels that he were back to trusting no one, not his fiancé, or his own fucking Horseman, at the very least, he’d manage to hold onto an ounce of faith for Remus.