#verik

“They do get dull,” Violet agreed. The names and faces in Pureblood Monthly had impressed her back when she was Little Old Vi from the Gutter, but now that she knew what a real gentleman was like, the wizards and witches who demanded his presence at their parties–more like pissing contests between the rich and landed, really–paled in comparison.

“But we could throw our own parties for a change? What do you think? Really serve our fellow countrymen? I’ll bet the folks we break bread with have never truly experienced being catered to by an inspired chef and a seasoned mixologist in the same night.”

She smirked. “Think about it: you make a beautiful roast, and I do a mean bloody mary…and they’d never know. It would be a thrill!”

Erik had been to every party, every gathering of every kind that he could remember. He’s memorized every face, and for nothing else than to cure his sure boredom knew most of the gossip that had entered the room. It was a dance he knew all too well...it was why he was as popular as he was. He knew how to play the game and play it well enough that no one would want to get on his bad side. 

And if someone did without him knowing....well...they never did last long. 

Anyone who hadn’t been his new bride wouldn’t have even known how tired he was of just standing around making small talk he didn’t want to make. Putting on his perfected socialite smile to appease the masses. 

He took a sip of his drink when Violet spoke of her little idea. 

Erik’s eyes sifted, drinking more slowly as he gazed around, vividly picturing what she described. Pulling the glass from his lips, a small genuine smile pulled at his lips as he watched others eat and drink, imagining them eating what he served, complimenting on the meat, being merry, all the while unknowing what they served them, eating the people they spoke false pity on.