Vic Mulciber (fromdefeat) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-04-08 10:23:00 |
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Vic wondered, as she stared back at the half empty bottle of her second bottle of wine, if her relationship with the substance was unhealthy. Considering it was one of the few reliable ones she had, she thought she could look past it. It was here in her time of need, helping her wallow, dependable as always. No, not wallow, she insisted viciously. She was perfectly in the right to be furious by Byron’s betrayal. He’d gotten what he deserved, this was just a celebratory drink to reaffirm her and Clem’s excellent judgement. Vic pressed her face into her hand and took a long breath. Keats reached over and placed a comforting hand on her back, giving it a gently, reassuring rub. “It’ll be alright. You’ll be fine,” he said soothingly. After all, he’d killed one of his very good friends only weeks earlier, and though it felt like it at the time, the world hadn’t ended. He’d done what was right for his family and their Cause—sacrifices had to be made, however distasteful. “Obviously,” Vic managed to get out, gritty and sour. “He was on borrowed time anyway, we should be surprised he even made it this long.” She and Byron had laughed about that before. Vic had marvelled that Byron must genuinely consider her a friend. He’d defended her, cracked jokes with her. Accused her of being a Death Eater in his secret vigilante newspaper. So she’d killed him. (’Time’s Up’ she’d said to him.) “I don’t care,” she insisted to Keats. “I don’t.” “Good,” Keats said, though he knew better than to take her at her word. “This will all blow over, and we’ll make sure it doesn’t spread. Trust me—I’ll make sure everyone else keeps their mouths shut if they know what’s good for them. Just point me at them.” Vic couldn’t help but smile at that, one that trembled a little at the corners as she continued to stare determinedly at the bottle. It wouldn’t matter, she knew it would get out, it was what they’d all been waiting for wasn’t it? That final confirmation. An entire lifetime of denying the lengths she’d go to win her mother’s approval — joining a group whose practices she thought ridiculous half of the time, but she’d kill for anyway. Even the people she liked. Because that was the problem, she’d liked Byron. She liked Lumos. She’d claimed they were all expendable to her, they were expendable to her, but fuck there was still that part of her that wanted their friendship. She’d had this conversation with Layla, had failed to understand her roommates’ struggle with her vigilante friends. She’d told Layla that no matter what, she would always choose herself. And she had. (I have a son. Please don’t do this) Vic slumped sideways and pressed her forehead into Keats’ shoulder. Keats rested his head against hers, wanting nothing more than to soothe whatever she was feeling. She was his best friend, and there was little he wouldn’t do for her. “Do you want me to go get more wine? I can steal a bottle of the really expensive stuff from father’s cellar.” he offered. “The 1778?” “Of course! Nothing’s too good for my BFF,” Keats assured her. If anyone asked about it, he’d blame it on the house elves. Vic wrapped her arms around Keats and did her best to push down the rising tide of guilt that seemed to choke her. Keats, she would always have Keats. Keats who hadn’t seen the look in Byron’s eye when she’d taken off her mask, Keats who did not think she deserved to choke on that guilt. “Thank you. I love you.” “I love you too,” Keats said, giving her a friendly, platonic kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll make this right. Don’t worry.” |