RP: Hard Lessons Who: Amara, Wes, various NPCs What: While out at a club, Amara runs into a bit of trouble. Wes intervenes. When: 17 June 2028 (slightly backdated) Where: La Frénésie Warnings: Language, attempted sexual assault, violence Completion Status: Complete
Men are so easy. Bat your eyelashes, stroke your fingers over their arm, look at them as if you've never seen or heard anyone more brilliant, and they're putty in your hands.
Amara loved men. She loved big, strong, masculine men. She particularly loved wrapping them around her little finger, getting them to buy her drinks or gifts and giving as little in return as she could get away with. It was like a game, and as the youngest of four, she was quite competitive. Usually the men she charmed were good sports about the whole thing. Most of the time, they understood that she just wanted a bit of fun and attention. Typically, they weren't under any delusions that she would fall in love with them.
Usually, but not always.
La Frénésie was usually a fairly safe place to indulge her favorite pastime with men. Rich, often handsome (or at least not trollish) men, dressed to the nines, more interested in looking than fostering anything long term. As soon as she'd come of age, she'd been granted access to the club. Sometimes she preferred the wilder, less selective clubs, but tonight she'd craved the structure, the class, the control that came with La Frénésie.
The man she'd sidled up to was almost certainly a businessman, a man accustomed to being respected and obeyed. His bright blue eyes darkened in interest, and he'd responded to each of her tricks precisely as she'd expected him to. And when he invited her to join him for a drink in a booth, she decided on a whim to indulge him. He was tall and broad with a perfectly groomed, short beard, and she wanted to bask in his attention a little bit longer.
The flirting was fun, and she let him buy her a drink. Then another. As the third drink arrived, she started to suspect the man–Silas–would be the sort to get difficult if he didn't get anything more than flirtation in return. But Amara was warm with the alcohol and attention. As his lips went near her ear, she shivered.
"I'd love to take you back to my place," he murmured. "But if you'd rather, I'm sure I can make you come right here." His hand slid under the table, his fingertips trailing over her thigh and teasing at the hem of her dress.
Even though his words sent a frisson of heat through her, she was also mildly annoyed, and she reached under the table to remove his hand from her leg. "So vulgar!" she chided, keeping her voice light. "I'm not that kind of girl," she added coyly, tilting her head and peeking up at him. Men didn't typically respond to anger well, and the last thing she wanted was to cause a scene.
His eyes narrowed and his hand darted back to her thigh, squeezing the limb rather forcefully. "I think you're exactly that kind of girl. I think you love the game and have been dying for a man like me to come along and hold you to it. I think you want to be fucked until your toes curl and your body locks up and the screams of pleasure rip so fiercely through you that you can't make a sound."
Holy fuck. If he wasn't being so bloody presumptuous, the things he was saying would have resonated much more deeply in her. But even if her knickers were getting damp, she wasn't one to just do as she was told. And, as a rule, she didn't go home with guys she met in clubs, didn't tend to go for one night stands, and didn't like to reward such presumption even if it would be a good time. With that in mind, her hand covered his again, removing it from her leg again, before she scooted away to get out of the booth. "I think we're done here," she said, yet there was still a smile on her face. It didn't reach her eyes, but she couldn't turn off the act entirely. It was her shield, her mask, and she didn't know how to not hide behind it.
She left her half-finished drink on the table and finished sliding out of the booth. Not sure where she was going, Amara decided to duck into the loo to give her a few minutes to recenter herself, perhaps splash a bit of water on her face and fix her makeup. In her mind, the confrontation was over, she was moving on, and she was certain Silas would find someone else to entertain herself with. She didn't notice that he also left the booth and followed her. Between filming for Grace and the occasional concert he slipped in, Wes's schedule had been very busy. He was also already working on new material for his next album, despite his most recent one being released in February. He'd settled into a rather reliable routine with Kenzie and Violet as his two primary avenues of sexual release. He was, if he were being entirely honest with himself, in something of a rut. Filming for the newest season had wrapped, though, which left him with more free time than he was used to recently.
Wes was in a mood as he sat in a dark corner at La Frénésie, observing the other patrons as he sipped his one glass of whiskey he would allow himself tonight. Adrenaline thrummed through him, urging him to find something or someone to do, to find a way of dispersing the energy that crowded in his veins now that filming was wrapped. He was just about to give up and head home when he spotted her.
Amara Ahuja. Actress, model, and baby sister to one of his favorite people. Not that Penny had spent much time with him this year. No, she had to go and get monogamous on him. The thought had him scoffing, and he downed the rest of his whiskey before setting the glass on the table a bit more forcefully than the moment deserved. It was easier to pretend he didn't miss her particular brand of feisty when his schedule was full. And seeing her sister now, when he was plagued by too much free time, pushed all those thoughts and feelings to the surface.
He watched as Amara cozied up with a man, Silas Corbyn, if he recognized him right, and he kept watching as another round was brought to their table. It was because he was watching that he noticed when the atmosphere took a turn. Silas had come onto Amara aggressively, and the younger woman had turned him down. He watched as Amara took her leave, and still as Silas followed her. Sliding off his own chair, Wes stood and followed.
Was it a general protective instinct? Or was he just looking for a fight? Wes didn't know, and he wasn't sure it mattered, though if pressed he might err on the side of looking for a fight. He did have a reputation to maintain, after all, and it wouldn't do for people to think he was some deep, dark knight.
Wes had no idea what Silas was saying as he reached the hallway leading to the loos. Everything drowned away as he spotted the man towering over Amara, one arm crossed over her front and pressing her against the wall as the other hand caressed her leg, sliding the hem of her dress up higher. He couldn't hear Amara, but he saw the fear in her eyes, the way her hands clawed at his arms, trying to dislodge him and free herself. There was no mistaking the situation, and in that moment, he saw red.
Wordlessly, Wes stalked toward the pair. He grabbed Silas's shoulders and jerked him away from Amara, spinning him toward him as he did. Without giving Silas a moment to react, his fist swung out, connecting with Silas's cheek with a satisfying crunch. Silas went down, and Wes followed, straddling the man as his fists swung one after the other. Blood sprayed from his face, coating his hands and splattering on his clothes, but he didn't stop.
Only once someone managed to drag him off Silas did sound come rushing back into his awareness. There were shouts. Someone was crying. Remembering suddenly what had spurred this on, Wes looked around frantically for Amara. She was plastered against the wall, her dark eyes wide and shell-shocked, and the adrenaline fled from him. He slumped to the floor, his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging between them.
He didn't know whether Silas was dead or alive. He didn't care. When the Auror squatted in front of him and got his attention, he looked up into the older woman's eyes, his own strangely flat and blank.
"We have to take you in, Mr. Carlisle," she said with some strange combination of firm and kind. He nodded mutely and went with them, hardly aware of anything as he was escorted to an interrogation room. A Healer came in with another Auror, the pair documenting the damage to his hands before the Healer tended to them. When they left, he sat silently at the table, rolling a bottle of water between his palms.
Wes couldn't say if he was left alone in that room for five minutes or an hour or somewhere in between. He was stuck with only his thoughts and that bottle of water for company, his wand and phone having been confiscated upon arrival at the Ministry, which wasn't great for his mental state.
When the door finally opened again, Wes recognized the Auror who entered as the woman who'd taken him in in the first place. She sat in the chair across from him and rested her hands on the table in front of her, her fingers threading together.
"Mr. Corbyn is alive," she said levelly.
Wes wasn't sure if he was relieved or annoyed. Not killing someone wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but the fucker was assaulting Amara, so he couldn't really bring himself to care that he lived. He said nothing, and the Auror let the silence stretch. If she was waiting for him to crack, she'd be waiting for a long time. The detachment Wes felt about the whole thing was a boon in the interrogation room. There was no nervous energy churning in him, waiting to burst out.
"I'd like you to tell me why you assaulted Mr. Corbyn," the Auror finally said. Had she told him her name before? At the club? Perhaps she had, but he couldn't recall.
Leaning forward, Wes flashed her a humorless smile. "I will happily tell you everything after I've conferred with my solicitor. Camilla Vaughn. I believe this office should have her contact information on file, unless you'd like to return my belongings so I might contact her personally."
The Auror raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She stood up and left the room, leaving Wes behind with nothing but his thoughts and the damned water bottle again. Time ticked by at a snail's pace, but when the door next opened, Camilla walked in, frowning at him.
"I was on a date, Wes," she groused.
Wes stood up and bussed her cheek when she came close, offering her a winning smile. "You know you'd rather spend your Friday night with me," he teased lightly. If the date was worth anything, they would understand that Camilla's job came with a certain measure of unpredictability. And when a client who paid such a hefty retainer for her services had need of such services, promptness was expected.
Camilla leveled a look at him, tutting softly. "What happened?" she asked bluntly, sitting in the chair the Auror had previously occupied.
"It's quite simple, really," Wes began, sitting back down. He leaned back in the chair and rested one ankle on the opposite knee. "Mr. Corbyn was attempting to sexually assault a young woman. I took offense and stopped him. Enthusiastically."
Camilla's head tilted back, her eyes tracing over the ceiling as if it would give her strength to deal with such nonchalance in the face of violence. Looking back at him, she nodded. "Okay, we can work with that. He's alive, so that helps your case. I'm not certain paying him off will do any good, as it's up to the DMLE to decide whether they want to press charges against you. Anything they ask, wait to answer until I approve the question. Only answer what they have asked; do not give more information. And Wes, darling, do us both a favor and tell the truth, okay?"
Wes looked mildly offended at that last bit. "I'm not a liar. You know that, Cam," he pointed out with a little more bite than he might normally. "And I have no interest in trying to pay anyone off. Should he try to get money from me, I will spend double to keep it tied up in court so that he doesn't get a single knut. He would have raped Amara had I not stopped him," he said bluntly. He could be exceedingly debaucherous at times, but the value he placed on consent could not be overstated.
"No one is going to fault you for stepping in, but some might take issue with the degree of violence. They will ask, 'Why didn't he say something rather than initiating violence first?' or 'Why did he keep hitting him when he was already down?' I believe we can get you out of this with minimal consequences, but don't make light of it. That will only make you look callous." Camilla stood up then and came around the table, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready to tell your story?"
Wes nodded, and Camilla went to the door to invite the Aurors to join them. The sun was just beginning to send soft pink hues over the horizon when Wes was finally able to walk out of the Ministry. He was under strict orders to not leave the country and to remain accessible to the DMLE during their investigation. He didn't hesitate to duck into a nearby alley and apparate home.
After a hot shower, he tugged on a soft pair of lounge pants, brewed a cup of coffee, and took it out onto the deck with his phone.
Sleep might come later, but for the moment, he simply wanted to bask in the life he had created for himself.