the bottom of the cup is always dry

ISOLDE

"..."

"Another?"

Isolde stared blankly at the chipped pewter bowl in front of her. She'd gnawed off all of the shriveled grapes, leaving only broken stems and a thin ring of dried wine at the base of the cup. Her green eyes stared at the mundane thing as if it might turn into tea leaves capable of reading her future. Instead, she found nothing. She didn't even bother to trace the contours of it and, over time, the very image just faded into nothingness.

"Another? Ma'am?"

A paw slapped the counter and Isolde jolted up, back pinching as she straightened. Her eyes widened then refocused on the barkeep. What she saw was a handsome young man made all the more attractive by the scowl on his face and the impatience in his gaze. Had she more sobriety, she might have felt embarrassed or properly chastised. Instead, she just shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

"I have no other plans anyway," she breathed, feeling as heavy as the words that tumbled out of her mouth.

Back when she had been drinking profusely over Odysseus, there had been a certain zest to her drunkenness. She had felt alive, constantly teetering on the edge of love and debauchery. Now... there was no fun in it. She was here out of habit and yet every grape tasted sour on her tongue. Whenever she closed her eyes, however, she just saw him again. She saw his unbroken eye contact, the fury of conviction in those violet eyes... and the lack of paws chasing after her. He hadn't even bothered to try.

He'd made a choice. And it wasn't her.

Isolde's brow furrowed and she shook her head furiously to clear the image of the woman's ecstacy from her mind. Revulsion coursed through her and she swallowed back bile.

Thankfully, she could cover the taste with something more palatable: more wine.

It hadn't taken much convincing to get Augustine to agree to a night on the town. 'My treat,' he'd promised, because he has yet to celebrate his brother's success without half of Rionnach's citizens in attendance. Baptista loves a good party every now and then, but he prefers his drinking groups to be smaller—more intimate. With wolves he actually likes. Which, despite the recent strain in their relationship, is a list that Augustine is still on. When they get along, his brother is still his best friend, and maybe it's naïve of him to expect that side of Augustine to still exist after everything, but he's searching for it tonight all the same: the camaraderie, the feeling of belonging.

He's chatting about nothing of great import with Augustine when they arrive, and he shoulders open the door, holding it open long enough for his brother to cross the threshold before he's making his way to the bar to order. They are recognized by a few patrons, as they often are here, and Baptista is only half paying attention as he approaches the bar, his head turned towards some noble or other to acknowledge them; the result has his shoulder bumping not into the smooth wood of the counter, but against the side of someone already sitting there.

"Oh hell—" he huffs out, stopping abruptly and whipping his head towards whomever he'd run into. "Sorry sweetheart, I should've been looking where I was going," Baptista apologizes with a boyish smile curling over his lips. Leaning an elbow on the counter, he waves a flippant paw at the bartender to signal their usual order, though his eyes never leave the woman he's inadvertently intruded on. "Let me buy you a replacement, yeah?" he offers, uncertain if any of her drink remains or if she'd managed to salvage it when he ran into her. Because he's on his best behavior tonight, Baptista refrains from pointing out how much she looks like she needs it.

art // code

your veins are full of ice-water

When he's out of the comfort of his own home, he is the head of the Scowcroft family, the pillar, the man put together seamlessly- the poster child of smooth refinement. However, in the bar, he is simply a brother. He would never refuse a night out on the town when offered by his little brother-even if he knew his tastes would likely be mocked with the fruity brews and poorly crafted liquors by the simpleton bars only looking for a cheap way to make a hefty profit. Perhaps it was luck in his decision to already have a few drinks in his system, make the next few he was inevitably going to consume just a touch wasier to swallow. No matter his distaste for the public's inventory, he has one thing to hold on to for the night, for a little while, atleast: Baptista, on his best behavior. Only for brief moment is he giving himself a moment to look over his brother as they are making their way through the door of the establishment, his mouth blabbering away at anything his brother may have to say, and giving the curt nods and welcomes to other patrons acknowledging them. But in his mind he is observing, watching, with a slight hope that perhaps someday soon his mind could be at ease when his little brother is mentioned in public. That hope is momentarily put on pause when he makes his way to the bar, bumping into a woman minding her own until Baptista happens. A short huff of a laugh falls through his lips as he watches it all, a swift forelimb interjects and he puts himself between his brother and the woman.You sure should have been looking where you were going, Sweetheart." he chimes in with a deep chuckle thay reverberates from his chest as he waves for the barkeeps attention. Open a tab, there's plenty more replacements coming, i can see it now. " A brow cocks as a smirk twists the coastal behemoth's lips, hues falling to his brother first before the woman. Let him atleast buy you the good stuff while he's offering. " his gaze is distracted, taking in the woman before him, a single click of his tongue to the roof of his mouth helps to perhaps spark the familiarity he is slow at connecting. typentype "

code & art

ISOLDE

"..."

While she was not terribly discerning when drunk, she had learned to go by a few rules: be more careful of who you speak to and who you accept drinks from. Those with disarming smiles ranked among the reddest of flags and the man that bumped into her was of no exception. Her pewter bowl wobbled precariously before tipping over. Isolde's brief glare lingered on the man for only a moment before drifting to her lost wine. While it was easily fixed, she truly lamented its loss—not that she needed more. If anything, the man had done her a favor.

It was her opportunity to leave and drag herself home. But home was where Odysseus always found her. At least, before she moved. It had been many days since he'd bothered to show up again. Now she knew why.

That alone caused her to refocus on the two spotted men. One looked familiar, the other was a mystery to her. The moniker of Sweetheart caused her eyes to narrow into slits yet the promise of more alcohol—and of not having to go home so soon—was enough for her to relent. "Pay for enough drinks and I might find forgiveness at the bottom of a cup," she mused, minding herself carefully so as to not slur a single word.

... time skip

Neither one was really her type, she had to confess. Spots were not details she tended to favor, but those could be overlooked in the name of "getting even" with Odysseus. Only, the thought of using her body for any sort of "revenge" was a passing act of self-pity. It'd only hurt her—it'd be no weapon against him. His lack of affection was simply a knife that would continue to cut so long as she gave it an edge.

So rather than use the two men for any sort of pointless physical validation, Isolde used them as walls upon which to bounce insults off of. From cup to cup, she shared her woes, drunkenly and exasperatedly describing the man she'd loved—and that had failed to love her. Of all the details she forgot, she remembered to regail them with how she had found him fucking another woman in the woods.

But the night waned and waxxed, slipping away until there was no place left to be but home.

So they waddled there, drifting in a very-not-straight line. Augustine—an old peer of hers—lived near enough that it made sense to drop him off first. And, again, it was another excuse to not go home.

"Is... that it?" Isolde asked, ear flicking as she stared up at a stately manor. "Yahlivehere?" She wobbled slightly, shoulder knocking into August's blue fur.

back then, i was dauntless—

Senka has grown to hate this house. It's too big for just her and Augustine, and she is too often stuck within its walls alone, wandering them like a ghost. Her moments of freedom are fleeting and stolen, despite the fact that Odysseus consumes nearly her every thought; her chest aches for what Augustine will not give her, and for what lingers just outside of her reach in the arms of another man. Without him, she may very well have remained complicit—willfully ignorant. It's a cruel irony that Odysseus has opened her eyes, and in doing so, crumbled the remaining foundation of her marriage. He'd had only to plant the seed, and it had taken root, growing into this living and insidious thing inside her, creeping through the arched marrows of her soul.

She couldn't rip out the weed now if she tried.

Worse, she doesn't want to.

The need to make a choice looms over her head, but the uncertainty of what comes next has kept Senka silent. Odysseus has offered no promises, but neither has she asked him to; she cannot. When she comes clean to Augustine with ruthless honesty, she will have to stand on the strength of her own will. Her pride will not allow her to run simply because she has an out, so she has chosen not to allow herself one. Her infidelity notwithstanding, their marriage has been splintered for some time, cracking into a series of fissures that have little hope of repair now.

Soon, she tells herself. She'll work up the nerve soon.

Somewhere in the muddied waters of her thoughts and the low crackling flames of the fireplace, Senka had fallen asleep on the couch. When she awakes with a start, the house is dark, and only embers remain in the fireplace. At first, she cannot tell what roused her, but the sound of male voices approaching has her ears pricking. Those, she expects, but it's the tenor of a female that has her brows knitting together and her body sliding from the couch before she can think better of it. She cannot fathom any reason why her husband and brother-in-law would show up in the middle of the night with a woman on their arm; Senka is well aware that Baptista has a reputation, but he's never tried to bring any of his partners here.

Before they've breached the front porch, Senka is at the door and pulling it open, her eyes flashing quickly between the three...quite inebriated wolves in front of her. Baptista is spared little more than a glance, her attention turning to the woman of pale whites and vibrant golds, and then shifting to her husband's drunken face. "August?" she asks with an uncertain smile, her eyes flitting questioningly to the female and back to Augustine. "I wasn't aware that we were expecting company," Senka says, her tone the careful neutral of a hostess who has been caught off-guard.

If she'd gotten more than a glance at Isolde's retreating backside or spared her more than a single thought since the lagoon, she might have recognized her. But there is no flare of recognition, no indication that Isolde is anything more than a stranger who is not entirely welcome on her doorstep in the middle of the night.

—i'd burn so bright it blinded

code // art

your veins are full of ice-water

As the bartender returns, Augustine orders a few more to be lined up for the woman. When they've all grapsed their beverages, August makes a toast, short and simple: To forgiveness! " he bellows out, slinging his shot to the back of his throat, prompting the other two to follow and there lies the start of a night out on his brother's coin. --- They're much too confident and too far intoxicated to have their usual swagger; shots were being poured and fired, and the hits are noticeable across the behemoth's face as Isolde deems the two scowcroft men "not her type, what with the spots and all, she prefered em tall, dark and handsome..", and Augustine is hurt. A mumble pleas his case. I'm tall and handsome.. his brother chimes in, too. So am i! and Augustine cuts his little sulking party short and let's a laugh burst up from his chest, shoving a shoulder into his brother. A mocking tone picks at his brother. She said handsome " and he reaches for another glass, while Baptista gives a sharp remark. " I'm pretty. The prettiest Scowcroft boy we ever did see. " he puts on the most serious face and tone as he agrees with his little brother, his head swivels to Isolde, ready to focus on what else she has to mope about- and the boys both witness the woman's upset with front row seats. He pays little mind to the details divulged, his mind circling too much from the booze, and a sign that they'd best start leaving now rather than later. --- The three of them see one another out the door of the bar, and find one another walking-rather, stumbling- on the same paths to home. Augustine's Manor is first, and he is too proud in his own home. A smile plasters the coastal man's face as he listens to Isolde, and all he wants to do is boast. Doesna fancy lawyer lady like yurself have somethin just like this?" he is too proud- and drunk. Lips part to speak, but just as vocals begin to hum, the door and a face dash any other thoughts or comments he had to make. His wife is in the door way, awake and aware of the presence on their door step. His tail gently sways and he pushes himself forward, past isolde and into the door way with his wife. Sennkaa, I didn't think youd be awake to hear us. Im so sorry. " he turned to face his brother and the woman, his limbs would step aside as an invitation to them both to come in and continue the night at Augustine's own little personal bar. Neither was i! "he laughs. And he wasn't going to turn away an opportunity to show boat his home and himself. He lifts his head just so, and lightly places his chin on Senka's head, a smile and a raised brow looks down to his brother and Isolde, eager for them to accept the subtle invitation. typentype "

code & art