#dreamsofasphodel

For the first time since she had decided that she might just want to be a lawyer Laurel considered taking a sick day. 

She had thought she detected a note of perverse glee in the firm partner’s voice when he’d told her just which case she was being assigned and with just whom she would be working. The case itself was complicated (as it tends to be when one has many companies, trusts, and property in several countries; several wives; more children; and, not kept many records since before computers became common place) and would no doubt take rather a lot of time and effort, but it was mostly billable and the estate could afford it. It was the man she was working with, one Robert Strathos, that caused some consternation.

She had been the junior unlucky enough (or perhaps stupid enough) to be tasked with calling him up and telling him that he had made a mistake on a file. 

She could no longer recall what was memory and what was fact. She didn’t think he had yelled, but then he likely hadn’t needed to. All she could remember was the feeling of utter embarrassment as the call went on; no doubt a defence mechanism to stop her replaying it in any sort of excruciating and specific detail. All she knew for certain was that he had not been pleased, that the conversation had not gone well, and whoever had told her that his firm had made a mistake was unequivocally in the wrong. 

She glanced down at her watch to find she was precisely on time as she stepped up to the reception desk. 

“Laurel Atwell,” she said, having already decided that she could not exactly hide her identity. Tempting as it might be in the moment, the risk for worse embarrassment far outweighed any fleeting benefit. After all, what were the odds that he would even remember? “I have a meeting with Mr Strathos.”

Money had never been particularly important as a motivation for Ares, and Aaron had felt similarly. Of course, he had grown up in a privileged environment where money had never been a concern and then had enough talent to be successful in a particularly lucrative career. When it became apparent that Aaron had no idea what to do with a fortune his manager had insisted he find a financial advisor and so he had ended up in Robert Strathos’s office. He hadn’t known at the time that Robert was actually Hades and when he had figured it out -?

Well. Knowing that the literal king of the underworld was working for him was endlessly amusing. 

Aaron was sent through to Robert’s office where he threw a thick wad of cash down on the desk before he dropped unceremoniously and without invitation into the chair opposite Robert and propped his booted feet up on the desk. 

“Invest that. How’s the old portfolio going?”

they lift their gaze the moment she enters the room — her normal effect on people. equally familiar and ordinary is the way their bodies seem to freeze and eyes fill with something akin to fear and discomfort. they do not want to be anywhere near her, and it is only their sense of duty which keeps them glued to their desks instead of making a run for it. perhaps she would find it amusing if she was here without a particular purpose. but today, she is here for a reason; and now she needs to find out more about said reason.

“mr  strathos’ office.” it is not a kind request ( she does not request; she decrees, she commands ), but it achieves the desired goal. one intern points wordlessly toward one of the doors a little further down the hallway. atropos turns her gaze away from the group of scared children, attention fully on the room ahead. her heels click against the floor as she strides forward, sound piercingly loud in the otherwise silent office floor.  

she is not a wasteful person; she does not spend any unnecessary time on getting to where she wants to be. atropos places her hand on the door handle, and with a swift moment, turns it so that the door unlocks and opens. the room which presents itself to her is entirely, utterly unsurprising — it is precisely what she expected from the humanized lord of the dead. she lets go of the door handle and makes her way to his office chair with decisive steps. she may intrude on what is his personal space, but nothing about atropos’ appearance, as she sits down, shows any signs of remorse ( because she isn’t ). 

now, all she can do is wait for the man himself to make an appearance. given the kind of person he is, it should not take long — and unsurprisingly, it does not. soon enough, her eyes are not on the still open door, but on the tall figure standing near it. 

“you are late, robert  strathos.” 

The best way in her business was to not make it personal. Yes, Hermione took pleasure in dragging cheating scumbags through the mud, it brough a sense of triumph to her nothing else did. And then, there were the days where a case was as complicated as the one she was currently working on.

In her opinion everything was much simpler and clean when everyone adhered to settlements, or court rulings if it came to that. It saved her both headaches and pent up anger when confronted with stupidity. But today was not one of those days. Following the death of her client’s former husband, his mistress started claiming his house was hers. The will the woman presented was sketchy at best in her opinion, and her client wanted the house for herself. 

This meant Hermione had to talk to more people to solve this situation in a favourable way for her client. Another meeting, this time not in her office nor court, rather at the office of the man handling the dead husband’s estate. 

She didn’t bother waiting once she informed the secretary of her name and reason for her presence, walking into Robert’s office right away. She was five minutes early, shouldn’t be an offence for her to appear then. Her eyes glanced briefly around the room before introducing herself. “Hermione Alden. We’ve got a meeting in,” she lifted her wrist to check her watch, “four minutes. May I?” She asked, pointing with her hand at one of the chairs to take a seat.

The dreaded file had finally been settled and the bill sent out and to celebrate Laurel’s office and Rob’s office had organised drinks under the guise of networking. The file had been an enormously profitable one and the two firms were no doubt keen to create the sort of referrals where it might happen again. Not keen enough however to put a tab over the currently cash bar. 

She was on Tinder and it was fine though she hadn’t met anyone she had even a remote connection with but she’d never yet met anyone who pulled out their phone in front of her saying that he thought he’d seen her on it. But that was the situation here after he had strolled up the bar while she had been waiting to order, pushed in front, and ordered her a crisp chardonnay (something she didn’t want). 

She had looked around silently praying for help though the only eyes she had met had been Rob’s. While they might have become comfortable with each other over the course of the fille she didn’t think rescues should be in his duties so she didn’t hold out too much hope. And then she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted Rob to step in - would he think she was pathetic? Given that he was a colleague she cared far too much what he thought about her personally. 

After approximately two seconds of chit-chat where she had established that he worked at Rob’s office doing something he said words that no one ever really wants to hear: hey, let’s see if we’re a match.

“    that’s  the  lightest  shade    of black i’ve ever seen on you –      ”      knots coil in her stomach  ;   like the sail of a ship trashing wildly before a storm .    but it is not new -- she’s felt this dread once, the perpetual ache resides in her bones without cause, without reason.  wild eyes are tame and full of apprehension tonight,  burrowing into his own with purpose.  “   … you look sick.   happy sick.    don’t tell me -    ”