#buds.

Lounging in her room, waiting to see if Claudia would ever manage to make it to their impromptu gathering before the night was over, it’s one of the few and far between moments in which Babyface feels truly young. Like he doesn’t have to worry about the success of an empire, the competition getting harder and harder, the temptations a little too real. Just a bottle of scotch and a nice night with friends, but there are things she’s dealing with, too. 

“So do you know how much it’s up to now?” he asks, although, he’s not particularly interested in the number. It would’ve been more fun if it was for someone he didn’t consider a real friend in a sea of falsehoods and fantasies. When Babyface goes on his words sound teasing, but there’s a sincerity behind them. “You know, if you want I can always roll in at the last second, put up one franc more, give all the fuckers something to be pissed over. Then you can do a few lines in the privacy of the Red Room, no strings attached.”

"Ah! There you are, Effing--"

Harry's hand was already on the man's shoulder before he noticed the pallor of his skin. Wrinkles creased his clear brow as he bent, trying to catch the hunched man's gaze.

"Did something happen? I say, did you know Jerry jumped overboard? He's fine now, but what a damned fool. Who's to say what hides in the Thames!"

A clap on the earl's back, as though he could set him to rights. A certain scent, sour and over-sugared. Harry's frown transformed to a wry grin.