wickedscul

☢ –

liv took the jewelry box from tristan, letting her hands slide over it as a bright smile came to her face. “oh, it’s lovely!” all was forgotten and forgiven. gifts were an easy way to get back into her good graces. plus, the idea that he had thought of her while he was gone softened any bitterness she had for being left behind. “thank you, i love it.” she smiled at him, “i did miss you, you know? so, why don’t you tell me about your travels? i’ll make us some tea.”

---💀  

The tension slowly drained from his body, now that there was at least one person in the world he could be genuinely comfortable around again. “If only everyone could be swayed this easily.” He smiled and folded his hands where they were resting in his lap. “I’d love a cup of tea, but be warned, that story is an absolute drag. A truly grating experience.” 

♕ ✦ —•

“You are being terribly unfair, Tristan Mulciber.” With his hand on his face, Amycus can smell the cologne he knows Tristan to put on the inside of his wrist every morning. The palm is warm against his cheek. Steady. Amycus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out with a sigh, opens his eyes. “I don’t believe you truly earned your forgiveness. But how could I not now that you are finally back and safe?” And it’s pain, pain, pain not to let this moment mean more than it does. 

—💀

Waiting for Amycus’ verdict felt like touching a wand for the first time, expecting either destruction or magic. Surely that was what it took for Amycus to forgive him. What an idiot he was for actually doing that. Tristan’s hand moved from Amycus’ cheek to the back of his neck where he pulled him in. Into his personal space and then further than that, chest against chest, Amycus head resting on Tris’ shoulder. His other arm snuck around his waist, held him close right there where he wanted him to be. “Let me earn it then,” he said after a long beat, his voice a low whisper and Amycus so close that his lips moved against his skin as he spoke. 

closed starter: @wickedscul​ where: out and about

“Sorry, could you be a bit less of a dick, please?”

—💀  

Tristan hummed. “Wouldn’t that make things so much easier? It’s genetic though. Can’t help it.” 

closed starter: @wickedscul​ where: sylvie’s shop

“We don’t tolerate loitering. Either buy something, or get the hell out.”

—💀  

“What? I’m not loitering,” Tristan replied, sharply and at least somewhat caught of guard. “I’m looking around. And isn’t your job as a shop keeper to ask me if I need help finding anything?”

alecto is half-thankful for his little quip, the small call to action he allows - whether consciously or not. now she no longer has to pretend she was interested in extracting information about her brother through niceties and politeness. “fascinating…” she knows tristan isn’t so stupid to believe the words she was saying, but she spits them in plenty of disdain just to be sure. “my brother knows better than to bother me of tales from the likes of you, tristan. you’ll find i’m not as pathetically seduced by mediocrity as my brother is, so it’d be in your best interest if you stopped your inspired displays of smart-assery and started talking. what did you speak about exactly? i want examples.”

—💀  

If Tristan were any less uncomfortable in this place, his expression might have slipped at the oddly fitting choice of words Alecto decided on. But the tension made him stubborn. “What a pity. If he had filled you in, the both of us might have gotten to avoid,” he made a vague hand gesture, “all of this.” Tristan smirked at the sharpness of Alecto’s words, wondering just how aware she was that no matter how cutting they’d become, her little requests would never result in anything other than a stalemate. “Belogradchik,” he complied, still feigning innocence. “Quite the stunning fortress and a beautiful place to catch a tan this time of year. If you ever travel to Bulgaria, you should go visit.” 

where; camelot who; tristan @wickedscul​

Rosie didn’t like Tristan’s house. Well, no that wasn’t entirely true. She liked it because Tristan lived there and he clearly loved the place, but it was so large. Maybe he ought to start providing maps. The house elves were really helpful and Rosie adored them but she wouldn’t mind having to bother them less.

“Tris!” She said, lighting up once she saw him. “You’re home! I made you a sweater, do you want it now?”

–

—  💀

That was the awful thing about a house that big. Word travelled slow. Pleasant word at least. News about guests had a habit to only ever reach him when he was pushing the limits of what was considered polite. Most times he wouldn’t care. Business meetings could wait and most of his other friends didn’t respect his home enough not to act like they lived there to. 

But poor little Rosie was still standing in the middle of the parlour when he finally reached her. “You made me something?”, he asked with disbelief as he made his way over to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Were you that bored without me?”

“Not even after you arrived? Surely there was a five minute period in which you could’ve written: not dead sorry for standing you up, on a piece of paper and sent it along.” Hana crossed their arms and very nobly didn’t hit him. It was a bit of a task, all things considered. Hana hummed, thoughtful. “An entire chocolate factory does sound useful. Perhaps I’ll think on it and keep you on tender hooks for, how long were you gone? Three weeks? We could do that.”

–

— 💀

“You thought I’d died?” Somehow that stood out to him. Maybe it was his subconscious leaping at the first point Hana brought up that wasn’t directly related to the circumstances of his absence. “I didn’t think your opinion of me was so low to assume I’d just let something kill me this easily.” Even with the risk of agitating Hana again, he couldn’t stop himself from smirking at the ridiculousness of his assumed mortality. “Fair,” he said finally when it was quite a bit more than just that. It was quite gracious. Merciful almost in a way when he would have deserved a lot more scorn.

closed starter: alecto + tristan. ( @wickedscul ) carrow family estate.

alecto doesn’t so much as blink when a groundskeeper enters with tristan mucliber in tow. she also isn’t so distraught to miss the letter in his hands. it was easy to recognise, she’d only send it a few hours prior. “thank you for your swiftness, tristan. i apologise for how little detail i was able to divulge into in my letter, i have asked you here to discuss the disappearance of amycus.” all it takes is a well-practised glance to send the staff out of the room. “because you were here, weren’t you? a week or two ago. i’m sure you can see why i’m curious about what you two could have been talking about, considering his sudden disappearance. and i would urge you to get to the point quickly, you’ll find my brother and i don’t share the same patience for people such as yourself.”

---💀  

The Carrow estate was bad enough with Amycus there. Now with him gone, the place was twice as uncomfortable. “Of course. It did sound rather urgent.” The look she gave her staff made the room feel suddenly colder and without them there to chaperone him, Tristan felt all the more misplaced. Suddenly keeping his back straight and hands from fidgeting felt like a chore. None the less, her questioning made his brow shoot up, not quite as unbothered as he pretended to be. He himself would have no qualms to give Alecto an uncomfortably detailed retelling of events. In a weird way he felt for her, knowing how badly the loss of a sibling can twist you up. When that thought tried to confront him with the possibility that Amycus could be gone the way his own sister was gone, he banished it to the back of his head with any sympathy he might have felt for Alecto. “You’re right, I was over for a visit. We talked. I just came home from a trip abroad and wanted to share. I am surprised he didn’t fill you in on the details. Doesn’t he usually tell you everything?”

-

it could have been her imagination, but it seemed like tristan deflated a breath. she wondered if he’d really been worried about her being angry with him. then she wondered why. it was pretty hard to make sera get mad at her friends. there was more worry there than anything. “what what?” her hair blinked into a soft melon color. there had really been a lot to react to in her recap. “oh, yeah. my brother julian basically told me I had to marry this buddy of his. so I guess I am.” she shrugged. “he’s nice. pretty.” sera liked him. it could be a lot worse. her brother had genuinely tried to make a match that suited her well. “oh, nah. it’s just the run of the mill shenanigans and pinkie promise type of secret stuff.” she shrugged. that wasn’t untrue. then again, seraphina had always been detrimentally loyal. “you know I hate breaking a promise.”

--- 💀

Tristan narrowed his eyes at her and cocked his head to the side. “Oh yeah? Who is it? Someone I’d know?” In his head, most of Julian’s friends were absolute cocks and none of them good enough for Sera. He could judge as much because he kept much of the same company. Which actually somehow made his worry even worse. He was visibly unhappy with her next answer, but there was nothing he could do to sway her mind on that matter. “Fine then. Keep your secrets,” he resigned. 

He chuckled at the conflicting expressions that crossed Tristan’s face. “I’ve never before been known as a man with honour, you should remember that as well as anyone. Besides, weren’t you the one who just said I can’t leave anything out?” he asked, his lips twitching into a smirk. “My estate has enough ghosts” he shrugged, before nodding once in confirmation that he would be omitting the years from his personal recollection. It worked out rather well for him’ there were moments in those years he would rather Tristan kept to himself as well. “You trying to take my job?” he teased, shaking his head. “Only for a drink on the house. You wound me”. 

--- 💀

“None of the good parts, you git.” He was fighting the urge to throw an entire handful of sugar cubes in Antonin’s general direction this time. “And of course, you have honour. The honour amongst thieves kind is still honour.” Or at least it would be in Tristan’s eyes as long as he kept profiting from it. “So you’re saying I’d fit right in.” Just because of that comment, Tris now actively considered becoming a ghost to haunt Antonin either way. With time, it would drive him up the walls and even in death, Tris would surely know to appreciate that. “I’d rather not. The place would go bankrupt before you could say negative profit margin. But sure, I guess if you insist, I could pay you a visit every now and then even without sufficient bribery.” 

despite himself, benjy swallows. he’d re-enacted all of the steps in his arsenal. all there was left to do was wait. summon a thought of anything else and focus on that until whatever this would become was over so he could fix himself up and walk home. he pulls his head upwards, keeping the gap between his skin and the other man’s wand as large as possible. “je n’ai pas besoin d’apprendre une leçon. je veux juste rentrer à pied.” 

--- 💀

“Aw, je vais.” Tristan pushed his bottom lip out, voice almost sympathetic. Almost, because it’s fake, and obviously so. Always a fan of the theatrics. “Je ne peux pas te laisser partir comme ça.” He followed the upward motion of Benjy’s chin with the tip of his wand, always keeping it pressed into this skin. Suddenly, he perks up with a great idea, just as fake and plastic as the pity just before. “Que dirais-tu d'un compromis? Je vais me mettre à ton niveau.” He lowered his wand. A move incredibly stupid if he was facing anyone else. Anyone more. Put it back in his pocked from where he retrieved something else. Something shiny, silver, and sharp. A knife he flips in his hand before he holds it to where his wand was a second ago. With all the theatrics and the performance peeled back, all there was left was Tristan and his true devious nature. “N'est-ce pas ainsi que ton peuple le font?” 

Hana wielded the quill like a saber, pointing it up at Tristan with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you play your mind games on me, Tristan Albion Mulciber. I am allowed my hurt. I’m the head of my family too, and as such I was taught manners and niceties.”

They would never admit straight to his face that they’d missed him terribly while he was away, and that missing him had made it more annoying. “Of course I can take care of my self. It simply would have been nice to see your scheming little face before I invited you to lunches you couldn’t attend. The Prophet hasn’t done you any favors. I expect at least one box of overpriced Swiss chocolates before I forgive you in public.”

–

--- 💀

Tristan flinched at the use of his full name. Or maybe at how easily Hana managed to see through him. Either way, it was unpleasant. “I wasn’t going on vacation, Han. I didn’t have time for niceties.” He still knew that he was wrong for being so cruel to them, even now. “I’m sorry.” Genuinely so despite all the relativising he was doing. Whatever the Prophet wrote, he probably had it coming. “If that’s all that it takes for you not to be so mad at me anymore, I’ll buy you an entire chocolate factory.” 

♕ ✦ —•

“Why do I-” He bites his tongue. Clenching his jaw, he takes a half step forward, then shifts his weight back. The closest thing to pacing he has ever done. “You, gone without a word in the middle of the war? For all I knew you were either finally dead in a ditch somewhere after a party night gone wrong or found yourself at the wrong end of a wand. Perhaps both.” Somehow it is harder now than ever to remain calm and impossible to keep his face blank. Instead, his expression softened. “I was worried about you, Tris.” 

---💀

Tristan stopped pacing, stopping dead in his tracks and looking at Amycus wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. His heart stung with realization. Right there, he melted. All the way down to his bones and even further than that. His ego now a puddle on the floor, he stepped out of it, walked over to Amycus where he put a hand on his face. “I’m sorry. I never meant to make you worry. Forgive me?”

benjy stills entirely, that familiar thrum of his heartbeat in his ears tunnelling his vision so that all of his attention is on the wand in his face. “ok, tout ce que tu veux. je suis désolé.” he feels eleven again. eleven and being punished for something he didn’t even care for. the wall finally comes up behind him, and he of course has no choice but to come to a stop. no-one seems to be walking past, and even if they were would they stop? did anyone intervene on this kind of thing anymore? “désolé,’ he says once more, anything to end this anticipation.

💀

“Hein,” he hummed, thinking it over, considering the other guy’s apology before deciding “Ça ne suffit pas. Pas du tout.” When his back hits the wall, Tristan’s face all but split open with a wicked smile. The rush of power never grew old. “Tu vois, je ne pense pas que tu as appris ta leçon.” His voice was soft and sing-songy enough to betray how much fun he was having with this, but clearly he didn’t even try to hide it. As he stalked closer, he raised his wand a little more it came to rest right below this blond man’s chin. “Peut-être tu as besoin d'un rappel que tu n'oublieras pas si facil.” 

+

“It hurts that you would think so little of me that I would leave anything out, though I didn’t think you’d want me to include everything? Was it the Halloween party of 79′ or 78′ that was off limits?” he asked, smirking cruelly across at his friend, before crunching the sugar cube loudly between his teeth and laughing. He wasn’t even sure it was Tristan he had the silence pact with, but he was sure he knew enough that they they should probably set one up. His friends, by nature of being his friends, had embarrassed themselves, upon occasion, usually with his encouragement. “How often is too often?” he asked, curiously. “One or two nights a week. I like to keep out of the way, or keep to the office. Lilith doesn’t play well with humans, so it’s easier to keep her out of sight” he shrugged. Lilith, his wampus cat, highly illegal and dangerous creature, raised her head from her paws at the mention of her name. “You should let me know the next time you’re in”.

💀

Tristan laughed, then cringed, then smiled and cringed as whatever memories remained of that night played in his head. “78′ you can’t talk about without breaking the deal we had which would also out you as a man without honour. And you’ll omit most of 79′ if you don’t want me to come back specifically to haunt you.” The drawbacks of knowing someone for a little too long. “More often than you, apparently,” Tristan joked even though it felt like admitting to something he should have kept to himself. Momentarily distracted by Lilith, who in Tristan’s eyes was one of the most precious creatures, he nodded. “Sure. I’ll give you a heads up next time if that means I’ll get a drink on the house.” 

she shrugged. even if she had been truly pissed at tristan for bailing (which she hadn’t been), what good was it to still be pissed now? if sera decided for some reason to be surprise pissed at him afterall (which she wasn’t), she could just sock him in the jaw and call it a fucking day. “don’t worry about me. we’re good.” besides, it wasn’t like she could blame him. weddings were boring. “so since then I, uh, got paris fired, did some stuff I can’t talk about, got engaged, and uh, some other stuff. I don’t really remember. I’ve been busy and head injury-y. how was your trip? how’s the fam? did you get everything taken care of?” she asked, her locks slipped to a soft baby blue. sera started playing with the tufts of his hair. “I’m too fucking short for tall orders.”

💀

Relief. Having one person that was actually happy to see him back in one piece after an impromptu trip to Bulgaria was quite the miserable statistic. At least the one person that wasn’t after his head was Sera. Once she was done with her laundrylist of mishaps, Tristan blinked twice. “I’m sorry, what?” Was a general reaction to... all of it, really. Clearly though some things he was hung up on more than others. “You got engaged?!” Which even he realized was a bad priority to set. “Or should I be more upset that suddenly there are things you aren’t allowed to tell me?”

♕ ✦ —•

Amycus’ mood switches from amused to enraged in the matter of a second. Now even he can no longer remain still, takes a few steps towards Tristan again. “Oh are they? What about Hana then? Ambrose? Flavia?” The people that genuinely care about Tristan. The ones that he ought to consider family above anyone else. “What about me?”, he adds, even sharper. The offense sits deep in the pit of his stomach and is fueled from a spark into a flame with the mention of his sister. “Don’t pretend like I am not seeing right through you, Tristan. You keep my sister’s name out of your mouth. This is between you and me. And if you must know, no. Not even for Alecto would I commit this sort of betrayal.” 

💀

The list of names that Tristan should did consider family stung more than he ever would ever care to admit. There was no defending that with his parents and sister dead, he was before anything looking for shared blood. “What about you?”, he snapped back, angry at Amycus for not taking his bait above all. “Why do you even care so much? I was gone on a business trip and I am back now. How does that not mean all is done and well?”