You're my favorite song

my demons come to play

Even on the edge of another battle, Odysseus walked the streets as if he owned them. His long stride ate up the side walk and he walked with a sureness of his destination. He was spending more and more time in Sussex, avoiding the cities densely populated by the Army. Warrants might have been forgotten about in this time of war, but he wasn't going to take the chance. He continued to stall his trip north to the highlands, and he continued to ignoring his own reasoning. So, Odysseus was in Sussex.

The sun had set, though the hour was not unreasonably late. Under the cover of darkness is when Odysseus found it the easiest to conduct business that tended to be more sensitive in nature. Tonight was no different. He had one of his usual meetings with Augustine. No longer was Odysseus surprised when the nobles came calling, wanting to keep something a secret, to maintain their public image. Maybe it was luck that Augustine was one of the few that didn't immediately grate at his patience.

Tonight, he stopped at a familiar door, knocking his usual two quick knocks. And he waited. He didn't usually wait. Augustine was always prompt.Amethyst hues turned back towards the street, scanning it carefully. His ears would twitch, the night air quiet. Again he knocked, putting more force into the action.

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(This post was last modified: 11-13-2023, 10:28 PM by Saffie.)

lift with your knees, atlas—

Senka is...moping, for lack of a better word. She shouldn't be upset with Augustine for wanting to defend their homeland, but she is. She is furious with him, and terrified for him—and devastated that her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He has a way of making her feel small when he wants to, and Senka certainly feels small now, with nothing to do but wait and worry and let this ache in her chest expand until she understands nothing else.

And so—she is moping. Curled in a ball on Augustine's side of the bed, she lays with her nose buried in the blanket that smells so strongly of him; all afternoon, she's been drifting in and out of sleep, as though she might somehow manage to sleep through the war and wake to see her husband back home, safe and sound. She's floating somewhere in that place between wakefulness and slumber when the first knock sounds at the door.

Her ear twitches, and Senka's half-awake brain tries to process where the noise is coming from. She is halfway to forgetting it and snuggling back into the blankets when the sharp rap comes again—louder, more urgent. This time, a rush of awareness hits her and Senka jolts upright, her heart slamming against her ribs. It's late enough that darkness has fallen, and the staff have gone home for the night. She can't help the plunge of fear in her belly, or the idea that something has happened to August.

Senka scrambles out of their bed and rushes down the stairs, her hurried claws no doubt audible from beyond the door as they scrape across the hardwood. She has enough presence of mind, at least, to pause at the door and take a breath before she opens the small window near the top of the door, seeing a vaguely familiar face. Some of her worry bleeds away, replaced by confusion that knits her brows together.

She doesn't know much of anything about him, aside for the fact that he sometimes meets with Augustine; she doesn't pry into his business affairs. She knows the names of most wolves who cross her door, and she knows entirely too much about most of the noblemens' wives—it's impossible not to, when she's playing hostess while the men talk politics and business. So she knows just enough to know that the wolf outside her door likely thinks he is here to see Augustine, not to deliver bad news about him. Senka smooths her expression, and opens the door—just a third of the way.

"Mister Barin," she greets with a polite smile, peering up to meet his gaze. Like her husband, this man is tall and sturdy—she is hardly a wisp in comparison. "Augustine isn't here," she says with a slight tilt of her skull. She doesn't bother trying to hide it; if he'd been paying an iota of attention to the sounds coming from within the house before she'd reached the door, then he already knows that she is alone here. Senka doesn't think he's here with malicious intent, but she keeps most of her body discreetly hidden behind the door, where she can theoretically slam her weight into it—just in case.

One can never be too careful in times of war.

—the heavens are a burden

code & art

my demons come to play

Ears rotated forward, catching the muted sounds of paws hitting the floor followed by nails scrambling against stone. That wasn’t normal and that was the only reason he hadn’t swung open the door himself. He waited, his mind already steps ahead as he prepared for the worst. While he liked to think Augustine wouldn’t throw him under the bus, he didn’t hold the wolf to such a high standard. Most would turn on a dime to save their own hide. Not that he could blame them, wasn’t he doing the same? Doing what was necessary to keep himself alive and content?

His inner musings were interrupted by the clatter of nails on the other side of the door before it cracked open a few moments later. A dark brow arched. He wasn’t met with Augustine’s signature blue eyes. Instead he stared into the soft green eyes of his wife. Senka. It wasn’t the first time he had laid eyes on her, they had crossed paths before and she had always been a gracious host. Without her husband looming, Odysseus wasn’t nearly as covert with his lingering stare. Amethyst hues traces the planes of her face, from her dark lashes that framed her eyes to the inviting curve of her mouth. The column of her neck begged to have a hand wrapped around her. Or maybe it was just because she too was wrapped in earthen tones and feminine curves. Was he doomed to be plagued by pretty women with green eyes? Was this his penance?

”Please, call me Odysseus.” His signature smirk hung off the corners of his lips. Mr Barin felt more suited to his father. The formality of his family name died with his parents final breaths. Augustine isn’t here. Annoyance darkened his expression. That would explain all the noise, it had been her that he dragged from bed to answer his late night call. With that knowledge, he looked at her a little closer, taking notice of her slightly disheveled appearance, as if she had been sleeping. A better man might have felt bad. ”He’s supposed to be.” Lips pressed into a thin line before he blew out a breath in a half huff, half growl. It was the first time the nobleman had stood him up so some might say Odysseus should let it slide. But the Barin man rarely let anything slide. He was here for work, he wasn’t an errand boy that would run back and forth when his master called. ”We were supposed to meet.” Surely that was obvious, why else would be standing on her front porch at this hour. But he also wasn’t entirely sure how much she knew and while he wasn’t here to be a peacekeeper between husband and wife, he had earned his reputation for his discretion. Secrets didn’t slip easily from his throat.

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lift with your knees, atlas—

He's never paid her much mind, but there are few wolves stupid enough to let their attention linger too long on the mayor's wife when Augustine is here. It shouldn't surprise her that Odysseus appraises her far more openly than he has before, but it does; Senka is so used to the bubble her husband's presence provides that she isn't quite certain what to do without its protection. From the moment she was old enough to understand it, she has belonged to Augustine, and wandering eyes have been few and far between. To have Odysseus look her up and down like he wants to get under her skin sends a shiver of awareness down her spine, but she lets none of her unease show upon the carefully neutral plateaus of her face.

She nods her affirmation when he corrects her formality with a smile; most wolves who aren't ranked among nobility prefer a first-name basis, but Senka treats them all with the same level of initial respect. With her olive eyes settled unerringly upon his face, she can see the moment that his good nature shifts, shadows crossing over his features and his smile vanishing in an instant. "He's supposed to be." She could have guessed as much, or Odysseus would not be here, and one ear flicks back a bit uncertainly at the irritated sound he makes. "We were supposed to meet."

Of course they were.

She can't help it—a flare of anger rises in her breast, though the only outward indication of her frustration is the flash of her eyes. Not for the first time, she wants back the husband who dotes on her, instead of this impulsive stranger driven by some warped sense of honor or forgiveness. As if fighting for his country will bring his father back. After a stilted silence in which Senka wrangles her emotions back under control, she offers the man at her door an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Odysseus. I don't doubt that you had a meeting scheduled," she says, barely biting back a sigh. It's hardly his fault, but his presence here is a reminder that she is alone when she shouldn't be. He'd been honorably discharged years ago after his leg injury, he has a town and a household to run, and voluntarily throws himself into a war that they are losing. "I'm afraid my husband found himself unable to ignore the call to action. He's in Melrose," Senka explains, a muscle ticking in her jaw. "Your meeting must have slipped his mind." Along with his common sense.

Senka draws in a breath and plasters an insincere smile upon her face, tipping her head slightly to the side. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do?" she queries with an arch of her brow. "I hate to think that you've wasted your evening coming all the way out here." The Scowcroft house is on the outskirts of town, set on quiet acreage that allows them privacy and the freedom to host a litany of guests, and she doesn't doubt that Odysseus had to go out of his way to get here. Though how she can help, she has no idea.

She's just trying to placate him.

—the heavens are a burden

code & art

my demons come to play

Her perfect mask remained unruffled when his gaze strayedand lingered. But soon anger flashes in her pastel eyes. It was the first crack in her mask and she would try to hide with an apologetic expression. She apologized, assuring him that he was right but there was nothing she could do about her husbands absence. Especially since he had gone and joined the war. The news would cause surprise to flare briefly in his eyes. That certainly hadn't been expected. A muscle ticked in Senka's delicate jaw, another crack. He couldn't imagine that she was thrilled with Augustines choice.

"And he left you here, all alone? During a time of such violence?" His head would tilt slightly to the side, his expression appraising, maybe even a little concerned, if you looked hard enough. Whether it was genuine or not was another question. "You probably shouldn't be answering the door at night." He chided, a tsk of disapproval on his tongue. She had offered her help, knowing he had traveled a distance to get here and now it was for nothing.

He considered all the ways she could help. She couldn't actually help him, he wasn't about to divulge Augustine's secrets to her. But maybe she could pass the time. "You can offer me a drink before I head back to the Redwood." In truth, it was a bit of an exaggeration. There was no way in hell he was going home tonight. He'd stay in the city. But she didn't need to know that. He would shift his weight towards her, not quite taking a step forward yet, but enough to suggest that she was going to let him, if only for the sole reason that she would be a doting wife, acting on her husbands behalf with a business associate.

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lift with your knees, atlas—

"And he left you here, all alone?" That muscle feathers along Senka's jaw again, and she breaks eye contact, dropping her gaze and making a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. If she answers that question, she'll get angry again, and she's really trying not to be angry with Augustine when his life is on the line.

Trying, and failing.

But Odysseus doesn't need to know that.

He chides her softly for even answering the door, and Senka slowly slides her gaze back to his, chewing on the inside of her lip. "I know. I just—I was worried it might be news about August." News that he was wounded, or worse, that he's never coming home. Gods damn him for leaving her with this constant worry in her heart, and nausea roiling in her stomach every time she thinks about the possibilities. Injury. Capture. Death. And if he comes back physically whole, will he still be him?

At some point, she's liable to reach a tipping point. Senka has no outlet for this bottleneck of emotions; she can talk to Lucielle about so many things, but not about August—not when she has been the housekeeper since he was a child. She's stewing on it, darkening the household with her storm cloud that follows every step she takes. "You can offer me a drink..." She blinks, pulled back into the present by his unexpected request, and shifts her weight between her paws a bit uncertainly. Hadn't he just told her that she shouldn't be answering the door? Surely, inviting someone in is not a better idea.

Odysseus leans closer, just enough to almost intrude on her space, and Senka swallows, staring up at him with wide eyes. Before she even realizes she's doing it, she yields back a step—and then she pauses, clearing her throat. "I—" she falters, and one could likely see the racing wheels of her mind through her eyes. She's thinking too much into his suggestion; he's come a long way, it isn't unreasonable that he should want to rest for a while, and there isn't anywhere nearby to do it.

"Of course," Senka finally acquiesces, clearing her thoughts and replacing whatever expression is on her face with a smile. She looks every inch the gracious hostess again, sweeping back to allow him entry. The grand foyer is warmly lit by candlelight; the right side of the room is an open array of sofas and armchairs arranged in a semi-circle, the left boasts a long wooden table with cushioned seating lining the sides, and the bar—complete with six stools—sits in the back left corner of the room, behind the table. "Sit wherever you like," she says over her shoulder, making her way to the bar, where the soft clinking of glass echoes whilst she rummages around the shelves for what she needs. She's grateful for a moment where she doesn't feel like she's being scrutinized by his stare, and even more grateful for a moment that has her thinking about anything other than Augustine.

—the heavens are a burden

code & art

my demons come to play

His words struck a cord. The muscle in her jaw ticked again and this time her eyes would drop. Paired with the noncommittal sound in her throat his suspicions were solidified. He left a faint hum rumble in his throat, the sound almost thoughtful, almost disappointed. She had been left at home against her wishes for him to remain here, where it would be safe. A man of his stature would never be drafted, it was entirely his choice. Augustine had chosen to walk away from his wife, to risk leaving her without him forever. Odysseus had never felt such loyalty to the crown, even as a boy. He never understood others beliefs in someone they had never met and if they had, probably didn't remember them. To risk death for someone else's cause, surely there was nothing more idiotic.

Her gaze would return to his when he spoke again, her teeth worrying her lip as she admitted she had worried it was news of her husband. He let the silence stretch. Regardless of who she thought might be at her door, she was vulnerable, on her own in a house so far from where anyone else could hear here. He suspected she might have had a plush enough upbringing that she didn't know what went bump in the night. "Still..." Her excuse wasn't good enough.

Wide eyes peeked up at him, coaxing a charming smile across his lips. Whether she realized it or not, she would submit, taking a step back when he leaned in. Words failed her and his expression would shift slightly, as if he might ask if she was really going to deny him, to send him on his way without anything for his efforts. But her manners would get the best of her and she would invite him in. "Thank you."

He knew the foyer well when he stepped inside. Her indecision had been replaced with a polite smile as he stepped into a room he had walked through numerous times but never actually lingered in. He always met Augustine in his study. She would pull away from him, instructing him to sit wherever he liked while she went to the bar. With her back to him, her let his gaze wander. He didn't need to inspect the room, nothing was different. Well, something was different. Amethyst hues brazenly ran up her legs to the sway in her hips when she walked.

No time was wasted in choosing a seat. He selected the only one that would keep her mostly in front of him no matter where she sat. The armchair sat across from a couch and other chairs. An unchecked ego would have sitting in the armchair like it was his, sprawling like a predator lounging about. He reclined comfortably, his presence taking up the warmly light room. Ocean spray and yarrow lingered in the air, a mixture he had not gotten the chance to appreciate before now. Not easily intimidated, he didn't mind the silence, letting the soft clink of glasses and the splash of alcohol to fill the room instead of his voice.

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(This post was last modified: 11-14-2023, 09:18 PM by Odysseus.)

lift with your knees, atlas—

Senka takes only slightly longer than is necessary to make their drinks: whiskey for him, and gin for her. She isn't certain where she's supposed to go from here. It's easy for her to entertain the politicians' wives—women are fickle, and vain, and easily distracted. Odysseus is none of those things; he isn't even a politician, and it occurs to her that she isn't certain what he does or why he works with Augustine. If she hadn't been left here alone to host him, Senka would never have questioned the nature of his relationship with her husband.

Now, she has little else to think about.

She turns from the bar to see that he's sprawled himself across the largest of the armchairs as comfortably as if he's a lord and this is his house. Senka ignores her prickle of unease and pads across the room with their drinks, delivering the glass of whiskey to Odysseus quietly, immediately stepping away from him to make for the soft leather couch. She curls on her hip on the end closer to the male, her torso leaning against the armrest and her drink secured between her forepaws. There's an indent in the cushion, as if to suggest that the seat is a favorite of hers.

There's something about his silence that feels like a challenge, and Senka rises to it, taking a sip of her gin and eyeing him over the rim of her glass. She does not know how to play hostess to this man, and she has the distinct impression that any attempts at small talk will make her seem vapid and shallow. She would rather be seen as demure and obedient than stupid, even by this wolf whose opinion should not particularly matter to her.

She can't help it, though. Odysseus is right to assume that she was groomed for one purpose only, and her investment in the opinions of others has been deeply ingrained into her. Gods forbid she should be the root of gossip for the Scowcroft or Melnik names. Her mother would never stand for it.

—the heavens are a burden

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She was quiet, as she so often was when he saw her. Busying herself with their drinks, he could hear every clink of glass, every creak the house made. He didn’t mind. Tearing his eyes from her, he would glance around the room, finding a couch that was situated comfortably in front of the fireplace. The house was well decorated, courtesy of Senka no doubt. Not a detail was overlooked. Unlike his bachelor pad that lacked the warmth of a woman’s touch. But he wasn’t here to admire her decorating. He wasn’t even here for her, he was suppose to be checking in with Augustine. But evidently the man had gotten the urge to serve his country. Odysseus refrained from rolling his eyes.

She approached him, drinks in hand. Again his eyes took liberties with a lazy perusal of her body. Taking his drink from her, he brought the glass to his lips, letting the liquor wash over his tongue and burn his throat. The moment it touched his tongue though, he knew it was whiskey. He paused, the glass lingering at his lips as he looked at her over the rim. She was moving away, making herself comfortable on the couch. She settled in amongst the cushions that were already situated perfectly around her, suggesting that was her chosen place on a daily basis. {{”Thank you.”}} He said after a beat, his voice low, a pleasant rasp. Glancing at the drink in her hand, he noted the clear liquid in her glass. It could be any number of things.

Staring back at him over the rim over her own glass, she maintains the silence. {{"When did Augustine leave?"}} It didn't really matter to him,, it was small talk. If a man were sitting across from him, he wouldn't have bothered with the small talk, he was jumped right to the point. But she was an associates wife, she was deliciously off limits. Not that something off limits had ever stopped the Barin man before. Small talk was a way to get her to relax, hopefully. He didn't think Augustine left his wife to entertain another man all that over, or ever really. And here he was, showing up unexpectedly at her door and demanding she host him.

lift with your knees, atlas—

If she notices his stilted reaction to the drink, she doesn't show it. Senka had been trying very hard not to notice anything when she was in his bubble of space—not his wandering eyes, or the heat that radiates from him in both a literal and metaphorical sense. She pretends to be aware of none of these things, and holds onto her carefully-schooled neutrality as she lounges on the couch across from him. She does not often get an opportunity to relax as a hostess, and one would be hard-pressed to describe her as relaxed now, though the stiff set of her spine is hidden against the back of the cushion.

When Senka is not offering fake smiles and entertaining vapid wives, she is quiet and assessing. Her intense gaze never drifts from the hard planes of Odysseus's face, and she refuses to shrink away from the weight of his stare. She simply sips slowly on her gin, letting the warmth of its burn settle into her bones, relaxing her inch by incremental inch.

Odysseus finally breaks the quiet looming between them, and Senka bites back a sigh. She remembers that day so clearly, in vivid imagery she wishes were a dream, or a nightmare. Instead, it is her loathsome reality, and the warm buzz in her bones is slowly turning to something more malicious, eager to take her heightened emotions and run with them. "A few weeks ago," she clips out tightly. Long enough for her to miss him. Long enough for her to hate him.

If the tone of her voice isn't enough to make her frustration of the situation obvious, the way she throws back the rest of her drink certainly does.

There are few wolves who know that Senka has a sharp temper, and Odysseus is dangerously close to seeing it surface. He's walking the knife's edge of her patience, by no fault of his own—if his intention was to relax her, his line of questioning is having the opposite impact. "Excuse me," she mutters suddenly, sliding off the couch to stride once more for the bar.

One drink, apparently, is not enough for Senka tonight.

—the heavens are a burden

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