bait_backup | You've got some nerve to come back here. You're not the only one who can smell fear.

*There are few things that Esmerelda is better at than accepting shipments of delicate goods, and this, she thinks, is simply that. Two Vanishing cabinets and one daughter with incumbent family are being formally negotiated for today, and if she thinks of it as a business transaction, it is possible to even ignore the monstrous headache the whole affair is giving her and the insufferable grin her idiot son seems to be wearing at all times now.

The small fleet of musclebound squib servants has been sent to meet the wand-wielding Patil servants to bring the cabinets around the back, as if to shield the fact that this is more mercenary extortion than delighted meeting of families. Still, that fact remains, and Evan is at her side and even less inclined to like them than Esmerelda herself. They have had a frank discussion regarding what this family is and what they want, and for the first time in months, Esmerlda and Evan finally agree on something. They are vile social climbers and must be made aware of their place while simultaneously being forced to keep their silence regarding the subject of Evan’s public fetish for bestiality. Oh, certainly Evan thinks about it differently, but to Esmerelda’s way of thinking--and, more importantly, the way of thinking of all respectable wizards in the country, if not the world--he might as well have proposed marraige to a horse. A horse might have been better, actually; horses generally come only with pedigrees done up in delightfully taciturn parchment rather than greedy and loathsome families who come to call in person.

It is Lauren who has set the table and the tea and the array of petit-fours in the solarium,where Esmerelda sits in a huge carved chair, surrounded by her not-entirely-tame garden. The cabinets have been tucked away beneath some harmless, if overactive, vining foliage, as if they have grown there themselves rather than been brought in so recently. Similar chairs surround the clear glass table, though none of them are quite so high or resplendent as her own. Evan is at her left hand, staring off into the distance dreamily like a lovestruck thirteen-year-old girl. If Dearborn could see it, he’d be throwing chairs and hurling invective against Evan’s sexuality in an instant. It’s a blessing, then, that Dearborn is off and about at some gentleman’s club, and will return late and, most likely, drunk and ready for sleep. Still, it won’t do for her son to keep looking like a fool. She snaps her fingers in front of his face once Lauren is visible through the foliage again, leading the family up the winding garden path.*

Stop daydreaming. They’re here.

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*A little frown appears on his face at the insult, but he knows better than to interrupt when Esmerelda is actively engaged in sucking the guts out of someone. And, if he’s honest with himself, the whole scene rather pleases him, just as all violence does.*

*There is a short silence, broken only by distant birdsong and the rustling of the solarium’s grumpier flora. After a moment, Aarshati covers her husband’s hand with her own and offers the two of them a smile--a handsome one, but it looks like it hurts the muscles of her face.*

Of course we trust you to make the arrangements. You have such lovely taste.

*As for the rest--her husband is too stubborn, too angry, to bring it up, but it must be said. She manages it tightly.*

As for the children--we can only hope they will be brought up in accordance with our shared heritage. They will of course be welcome at our haveli outside Pune over the summers, or whenever they like.

A slight snag, there.

*The toothy grin is back in full force, and pointed right at them like a weapon.*

Amrita has been quite clear on that topic. We will most likely obtain some kind of estate in India, but--you must understand how she feels.

I doubt very much that you’ll be permitted to see the children. That would be her right, as their mother.

I would hear this from her, not from you.

*It’s a small hope, of course, that in person their daughter could be guilted or browbeaten into obedience, but it’s the last one he has left, and that in and of itself is infuriating. Not that he had any great desire to see the little monsters in the first place, but that this boy presumes to speak for her, to say nothing of the idea of his own daughter dismissing him as smugly as Evan is now--

And that smile is so maddening, a final humiliating reminder of how much they’re being forced to give up for no return whatsoever, that it's the last straw. Baldev can't stop himself raising his voice, and it comes out before his wife can rein him in.*

Why the beast, anyway? What did she do? Don’t tell me it wasn’t on her back--

*His smile goes flat and becomes a snarl in an instant, and he’s standing, and his hand has gone for his knife. It comes out smoothly, silently, with speed, as it always does, but this time with new import: it’s not just his knife anymore. It’s hers as well. Evan can see Baldev’s heartbeat fluttering in his throat like a pinned bird and oh, how easy it would be to cut it free--just one smooth, forceful motion--and the desire is plain on his face, almost identical to Amrita’s teenaged wrath. In its own way, it’s the answer to Baldev’s question.*

You will not speak of her that way.

*As her husband, too, leaps to his feet, she gapes at the two of them, utterly horrified.*

Baldev--!

*Years of living with Dearborn and raising Evan have inured Esmerelda to displays of violence and anger. Her expression stays mild, even indulgent, and she waves to Evan.*

Sit down, Evan, there’s no need for that.

*Impotent anger gives way instantly to horror, and he takes a step back, sputtering furiously.*

You’re beasts, the both of you--utterly mad--take her and the Cabinets--we’re done here--

*Evan hasn't budged.*

You must apologize for impugning my fiancée's honor.

I said sit down. Both of you. We will not discard our manners.

Aarshati.

*He doesn’t even look at Esmerelda. There is a loud and indecorous crack, and he’s gone, leaving behind the Cabinets--to say nothing of his wife, who has ignored him and remains seated, her hands white-knuckled on the table.*

*With Baldev gone, Evan lets out an offended little hmmph, but all his anger disappeared with the man. His knife goes back into its sheath. He takes his seat again and takes a sip of tea.*

*She only sits there, ignoring both her husband’s departure and the boy’s apparent insanity, and looks into Esmerelda’s exasperated face. It’s a desperate plea, if a nakedly insincere one: a last-ditch attempt to plaster some normalcy, some nicety, over any of this.*

--most sincere apologies--I’m sure he didn’t mean--

I’m sure.

*Her tone leaves no room for further apologies without actually completely accepting the one that is offered.*

You will receive an invitation by owl. If you have any other concerns, please address them to myself, as I am handling the entire wedding personally.

It’s been lovely meeting you, but I’m sure you must be going along with your husband.

--of course--I--

*There’s a bit more sputtering, some casting about for the appropriate good-bye, but after a bit of it she gives it up for a bad job and simply Disapparates as well.*

*In the sudden silence, Evan dabs at his mouth with a napkin, and then looks to his mother.*

Well. That was productive, wouldn’t you say?

Though you shouldn’t have called her a beast. It made him rude.

Oh, hush, Evan. I’ve done what you wanted, haven’t I? They've been dealt with.

*She relaxes, slightly, now that the pair of them are gone, and Lauren begins to clean the table with a faint smile on her face that matches that of her mistress.*

I daresay I even enjoyed myself.

You've got some nerve to come back here. You're not the only one who can smell fear.

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