#floraigh

This sort of auction was always a family event; though Milo loved his parents dearly, the conversations they created with like minded, supremely well versed folks in the field of fine arts wasn’t particularly his cup of tea. Sure, the story behind Van Gogh’s letter to Wilhelmina regarding his choice of contrast is fascinating and, of course, Milo knew more about the subject of art than the typical normal person, but opening his mouth to provide minimal input would be just be embarrassing.  Instead of lingering around his mother and father, the Frenchman trailed behind some of the waiters who suddenly entered, holding an assortment of fine appetizers. He collected a shrimp cocktail, a bacon tart, and a mini chocolate croissant before pausing in front of Poppy Flowers.  “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” Milo commented, lips curved into a soft smile, “Imagine having someone love you so much that they paint something just for you. Not that that’s what Van Gogh did-- it was moreso out of admiration for a fellow painter, but flowers always have a small semblance of romance, does it not?”

the helicopter ride had been fun ; sure, it had been abysmally early in the morning and he had a distinct habit of being really dumb on helicopters ( it was the altitude or something, maybe it was his unaddressed fear of heights ) but now he was chilling on flo’s sofa with the biggest cup of tea he’d ever held. plus, how many of these country homes did she even have? he should probably take a few cute selfies, just for good measure. who was he kidding, he’d take a few thousand. the lighting here was great. 

                         –––– “ did you see the headline about us in the mail? ” antony began through a mouthful of digestives, absentmindedly scrolling through instagram and glancing up to grin at her. “ great picture though –– we look great. ”

“Oh!”  He stopped his momentary stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth when he realized exactly who he accidentally showered a few kernels all over as soon as he took a seat. Milo, littering the air with apologies, gave Floraigh a happy smile and looked around to see if there was anyone that was going to join her before he moved from his higher level onto the row below him with the help of his long legs.  “Hello Floraigh! Watching some diving today?” He chirped, offering her some popcorn, “Are you here by yourself? I’m so bad at understanding sports, but this one is just about how big the splashes are so I’m pretty optimistic!”

the funny thing was, everyone always called him unreliable. he flaked out on plans with authority figures, he left almost all of his responsibilities on read, he was somehow late to things even if he’d turned up on time, and he literally, physically ran away from uncomfortable conversations. but everyone could always rely on antony to put on a damn good show. so of course he turned up in full force tonight. after all, he was the one selling out for the sake of the family reputation, why wouldn’t he have a little fun while he was at it?

laughing at a comment from the wall of photographers outside, he finally stopped standing so damn straight as soon as they got inside ; gingerly touching his cheek. “ can’t feel my face, ” antony complained. the press could get bad, of course. especially this close to competition. but maybe accompanying the prime minister of the united kingdom was a special kind of feeding ground for them. “ but hey –– ” he raised a hand up, waiting for a high five, “ we actually got through it. ”

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ᴘᴀʏ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ. ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏғ sʜɪᴛ ɪs ᴘᴇᴛᴛʏ; ᴊᴜsᴛ ɢᴏ ғᴜᴄᴋ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’s ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀs ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ sᴏ ᴜᴘsᴇᴛ. ᴄᴜᴛ ‘ᴇᴍ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛs.”

“ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀᴍʙᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ, ʜᴏɴᴇsᴛʟʏ. ᴘʟᴜs, ɪ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴀ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs. ʜᴇ’s ᴀ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟ ғᴏʀ ʜᴜɢᴏ ʙᴏss; ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’s ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ғᴇᴇʟ sᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ɪᴛ’ʟʟ ʙᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ʙɪᴄᴇᴘs.”

it wasn’t often that he visited downing street ; after all, he wasn’t the leader of the house ( small mercies, thank fuck ) and he didn’t really care for bringing up party dissent and going straight to the prime minister like he was an unruly child. and really –– what self respecting upper class british man went running to the matriarch? they went running to nanny, or wasted half their fortune on useless art pieces. but then there was some legislation that forced him to make the trip down to their government’s warzone. 

                             ––––– “ prime minister, ” sarmad greeted as soon as he caught sight of her, rising to his feet immediately and offering a hand for her to shake. “ i’m glad you could find the time –– i hear things have been busy. ” in cabinet and in the society, wasn’t it? 

book / movie asks ( accepting asks ! ) — the westing game: if you died now, what would you want to happen to your possessions?

cc: @braniacphoebe

text meme — for a hateful text ( accepting asks ! )

cc: @floraigh

[text] it's fine, floraigh. 

[text] you can denounce me in front of everyone 

[text] like you SO OBVIOUSLY want to :) 

[text] have fun with the only person i’ve ever loved over your fucking desk