she wasnβt actually gawking at him, more like trying to read him enough to see if she would get her head bitten off for coming over here to disturb him. he looked tired, and mack had a soft spot of course she did, she always wanted to make sure her fellow club members were alright. hearing the sigh and seeing him looking up at her, she took that as a sign to take a seat, though she did it slowly, wanting to make sure she wasnβt intruding on him more.Β βyou look tired.β she murmurs to him, placing her books in her bag, her eyes going back to him after that.Β βwhen is the last time you did have sleep?β she asks softly to him.Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β HE CANβT HELP but scoff at her comment. not because it isnβt true - he is tired. the type of tired where it feels like the floor is about to collapse under your feet. head-spinning, dizzyingly tired. but perhaps heβs grown so accustomed to being on the brink of exhaustion at any given time that getting a comment about it feels a little surreal.Β Β« when did i sleep last ? Β» he repeats back to her, a short laugh leaving his lips.Β Β« do you want the honest answer, or should i make something up to make you less concerned? Β»
Percy gave off a short, barking laugh.Β βNo,β he said.Β βI actually didnβt need anything from you except to see how long itβd take you to notice me.β He looked at his watchβa shiny, gaudy thing from Audemars Piguetβand tapped his fingers on the tiny clock face.Β βWanna know how long you lasted, o captain, my captain?β It was cheeky behaviour, but he couldnβt resist the opportunity when he saw the Riot Club president look so utterly focused on what he was doing.Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β« DO YOU NOT HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO? Β» he doesnβt mean for it to come across so biting, but heβs hardly slept the past week - if emotional incontinence is an issue for him at the best of times, right now itβs like his emotional control is a sink and someone has pulled the plug. this fucking worksheet. Β« though i suppose itβs better that you bug me than whatever else it is you would have been doing otherwise; your coke habit gives gstaad a run for its money what snow is concerned.Β»Β
Β Β Β Β "IF YOUβLL ALLOW ME TO borrow some of your time, i think iβve got a bit of explaining to do.β it took a lot of courage for her to stand in front of him, more so start a conversation. what would he say? what would he do? what would he feel? to a person he thought died a few years ago. but she owed it to him, to be the one to tell him why. βi see you havenβt changed one bit. still drowning in work.β
Β Β Β Β Β Β FOR ONCE, alistair found himself at a loss for words. over the course of the year, heβd entertained the thought more than once: that she wasnβt actually dead. that she, somehow, would come walking in the door of his office. cue romantic ending. but there she stood, and he couldnβt help but feel ... what was it - anger? betrayal? how dare she fuck off, pretend she was dead for god knows how long, only to show up unannounced.Β Β« you most definitely have some explaining to do, yes. Β»Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β IT HAD BEEN A LONG WEEK - and between the actual schoolwork, the riot club workload and his father somehow still expecting him to keep up a full-time position, alistair was running on way too much caffeine, and way too little sleep. which probably had something to do with the fact that it took the blond a full minute to register the figure in front of him. looking up from his laptop, he sighed. βdo you need something? or are you just going to stand there and gawk?β
β brilliant. β she still detested that her her grandfather insisted on inviting them, the year before last itβd been clear neither alexander nor alistair wanted to be there, in fact she didnβt even want to be, they were always such dull affairs.Β β i suppose so, sabrinaβs come with me every year since we met though, itβs more an invitation for your benefit, my grandfather is under the impression he and your father are greatΒ friends. β her tone implied she knew that was veryΒ far from the truth, however.Β β iβve been meaning to thank you by the way, for getting me in touch with nicolas ghesquiΓ¨re. the idea to work with lv and unicef was inspired on his part. β bridget had been bugging his, their, sister for weeks to connect her to the fashion house, a comment at a dinner made her ask alistair instead, or maybe it was the coke in her system. regardless, he made it happen and she hated him a little less, only a little.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β« HE SEEMS TO HAVE THAT EFFECT ON PEOPLE, Β» alistair replied with a shrug. alexander had a pull on people. was it due to personality and gravitas, or was it simply a matter of the zeros that followed their family net worth that lead people to think they were in good standing with his father? perhaps a bit of both. Β« youβve said your thank you. thatβs more than enough for me. iβm not interested in hearing about your little charity stunt. Β» his voice firm, making it clear that if bridget wants applause or admiration, this is the wrong audience. was it this that bothered him about the royals - this ever-present idea that people, at all times, gave a shit about their ventures?Β Β« quit the pretences, please, what is it that you want? or, rather, which fashion week show is it you want tickets for? Β»Β
sheβd lingered after the club meeting for a reason, she had a question and there was only one person who could answer it, much to her immense displeasure. bridget didnβt enjoy interacting with alistair, it was easy to pretend with sab that she didnβt know the truth, but heΒ was a reminder of his father, of theirΒ father. she slid the embellished envelope across the table,Β β my grandfather insisted i extend the invitation to his birthday personally, considering the last time he mailed it your father didnβt receive it and took it as a personal affront. β her perfectly manicured fingers drummed upon the table and she regarded him, if she were to look in a mirror what would they have in common ?Β β it extends to your whole family, though i doubt that needs to be said. β
Β Β Β Β Β Β ALISTAIR WANTED nothing more than for everyone to leave as quickly and as quietly as possible, so he could get back to whatever task the balfour patriarch had deemedΒ βmost pressingβ that day. but there was always something. if it wasnβt some dimwit needing clarification (βsweetheart, if you canβt get it on the first try, should you really be here in the first place?β), it was some thinly veiled attempt at flattery that kept him back for another half hour. today, it was neither, but a disruption all the same.Β Β« thank you. iβll be sure to pass it on. Β» now fuck off, will you? god, if his day couldnβt get any worse. last year, theyβd received the invitation, only to rip the undoubtedly expensive piece of card to shreds and used it to light their fireplace. and now theyβd have to come up with some elaborate excuse not to attend - for godβs sake, do they not see where to draw the line - itβs a business relationship,Β his father had all but groaned. and, almost instinctively, alistair wondered if intentionally messing up their stock prices would count as a valid excuse not to go. a manifactured emergency.Β Β« anything less would have been improper, no? Β»Β
[ douglas booth, cismale, he/him, twenty-three ] β have you seen alistair balfour, the philosophy, politics and economics student around oxford yet ? i hear they can be spiteful and direct, but those who know them insist theyβre reminded of button-up shirts, double espressos, late nights and early mornings when theyβre around. rumour has it that his family had their biggest competitor jailed for tax fraud. is it true ? only time will tellβ¦
another old chara that i love to hate.
cw: drug use, overdose
it wasnβt always a given that heβd inherit the position. heβs the middle child, born three years after his older brother and five minutes before his twin sister. but, as fate would have it, alexander iiΒ (his brother) decided heβd fuck off somewhere and live a life unsullied by the responsibilties of being heir. and so, alexander (his father), sat his middle child down and with a pat on the shoulder, told him that his familyβs entire future rested on said shoulders. a blessing and a curse, the prospect of being ceo one day meant that not only did he have guaranteed financial security, but also the attention of his father ( a man far too busy working 120-hour workweeks to pay any attention to his children outside of the office ). but, it also meant he was subjected to intense scrutiny. everything needed to perfect, were his father not to be accused of favouritism when the time came for alistair to take his seat. the grades needed to be perfect, his record spotless, behaviour exceptional.Β
and so, through the grooming of one of their kids, mama and papa balfour drove a wedge between their twins. theyβd been close growing up, largely as a result of having very little parental intervention, but with alistair being shipped off to eton the minute he was old enough; paraded around like some achievement trophy, and sabrina being an afterthought at best, they became different people entirely. and alistair, who had moulded himself in the image of his parents - becoming a perfectionist, a prodigy, a museum specimen more than an actual person, was forced to watch from the sideline as his sister started spiralling. at first it was just a line here and there, but with time, it became a staple. and, during what had started as a poor attempt at an intervention, alistair overstepped, said some things he regretted almost immediately, which ultimately landed his sister in a&e for an overdose. he still struggles with the guilt of the whole situation, and refuses to speak about it.Β
in fact, he refuses to speak about most things. if you tell people things, they can use it against you, his father had said over dinner at the reform club one evening, and heβs abided by it ever since. but what heβs most secretive about, by far, is his romantic life. this may actually come across as a little strange, given how much iβve droned on about his rather montone and results-oriented way of being, but he is a romantic at heart. not that youβd ever figure that out. especially not now. a couple of years back, he was dating a girl (as a summer thing, mainly), and just as things were getting capital s serious, she vanished. itβs not like heβs made a vowΒ βnot to love againβ or whatever, but he does find the prospect of opening up or committing to someone increasingly difficult. and so, his solution became casual sex. healthy coping mechanisms who?
in an attempt to keep both guilt and disappointment at bay, alistair became almost a caricature of himself - the textbook entry of a public school boy; arrogant, cold, distant, but charming and intelligent all the same.Β
the riot club.
alistair was a shoo-in. no doubt about it. with his money and influence, any leadership would be ridiculous not to consider him. he wasnβt fussed, but his father had been president in his time, and so, he sort of had to accept. once in, he took to it like a fish to water. a natural leader, it took him less than a year to climb the ranks, becoming the president in his second year of university. which, you guessed it, means he was the president at the time of oliverβs death. it didnβt look good, having someone die at a party youβre responsible for, but there truly is no crime Β£89 billion canβt cover up.Β
secret.
speaking of secrets and money: the world of luxury fashion is cut-throat. and you donβt rise to the top uncontested. his father had always championed the idea thatΒ βcompetition is a sign of health in any economyβ, but when their biggest competitor, groupe kering (the people behind gucci), saw a sizable increase in revenue, almost toppling them as the biggest-grossing luxury conglomerate, it took less than a week before the ceo was jailed for embezzlement. and, as much as alistair would like to believe his father had nothing to do with it, heβs seen the e-mails.
