Re: The woods
Women like these, who shone and shimmed on the surface and looked with eyes that had claws of their own, were far more dangerous when silent, and the more Wren spoke, the less they did. As expected, the mention of love made them laugh identical laughs, both mocking and pitying at the same time. In their world, love was little more than a fairy tale; rarely found, often desired, and generally looked upon as ranking well below wealth, fame and power. "The only thing Brandon loves is his company, sweetheart," Elisa told her, and then the two women sobered, genuine emotion make a rare appearance upon their features. "It was everything to his father, and it's everything to him. No one, man or woman, is ever going to compare. But women keep falling for his spell, and things make them forget-- money, mostly, but maybe your silly little love plays into it too." With that, the two were gone, lost in the crowd on a wave of music and laughter, and Luke found himself thinking that Thomas would hate this, being spoken of by women who had no idea who he was, but pretended like they did. Except they weren't talking about Thomas, were they? Thomas wouldn't throw a party like this, Thomas wouldn't marry, and even though he'd cared about his company, this was different. There were two options for who this 'Brandon' could be, and with one eliminated, only one remained.
He knew Wren would try to stop him. He knew, because she was afraid of what they might find, but while he was too, his curiosity overwhelmed all sense of reason and caution. Whatever this was, they were seeing it for a reason. Oh, he had no doubt that if the hotel was responsible, it was just trying to fuck with them all over again, but that couldn't have been its only motivating factor. So whatever it wanted him to see, he would see. He looked back, waited for her to say whatever she was going to say, and when she didn't, he continued onward. The voices grew a little louder as they drew closer, but not by much, and even once they stopped outside of it, only bits and pieces became audible.
"--never have a moment alone, you're so--"
"--isn't the time. My father's--"
"--all these years, and you still call it his, when is it going to be yours?"
He tried to listen, he did, but then Wren was kissing him instead of opening the door, and he lost himself in the fear and desperation he could taste as his mouth opened hers. His fingers brushed her jaw, and beyond the door the conversation continued, growing louder, from intimate whispers into something heated, and the two voices could be identified as one male and one female.
"--married for months, always busy with work-- not like they'll miss us--"
"--don't, not now, I--"
"--something wrong? Is it me? Come on, I know I'm not your first, not even your second or third--"
As she broke the kiss, he turned, hand on the knob, prepared to push. But something held him back, something he couldn't put his finger on, and there was the low sound of something hard (wood?) against the ground, a zipper being unzipped, and behind the door, what was brewing finally came to a head and exploded.