He was right about that, she did not belong to that world. She didn’t even agree with the Death Eaters’ views. All her life she acted like it was expected, she was a great student, a great wife, a great lady and a wonderful mother. Now, in pretty much everyone’s eyes, she was none of those. She had been average at school, and what kind of wife sent her husband to jail? Not to mention that she left her child fatherless. And the comedy? No lady should get up on stage and talk about sex or th hipocrisy of the pureblood society.
Iris was sure that she would’ve been insulted or cursed by now if it weren’t for Antonin. It was like walking right into the lion’s den. But Iris acted as if she were unaffected, even if it did hurt that the people she considered to be her frieds were now hating her so much.
The office was… well, she didn’t know what it was and where to begin with all the things she would add to it. Like a window, windows were nice, they let the natural light in. Art or pictures would be nice as well. Iris had to take in a deep breath and tell herself that this was fine, that there was nothing wrong with this room, it was just a room. It was strange to think that a nearly empty room could be so intimidating.
You von’t be Sebastian vife anymore.
Those words, the concept behind it felt so liberating. Technically speaking, she was still married to Sebastian, she was still a Sewlyn. Iris closed her eyes for a moment, her back was facing him given she had been pretending to inspect that room. Those words coming from his lips sounded like a promise. Iris opened her eyes again and turned around to face him. He had his glass of what she assumed it was vodka and was sitting behind the desk. That was the man everyone feared, she could see that, she could understand why.
Her eyes met his and for a brief moment, she just looked right into them, those dark eyes. Her heart was now beating ridiculously fast. The wise thing would’ve been to say ‘no thanks, I changed my mind’ and just leave. Or more like run. But instead, Iris took a seat and with that simple action, no matter the outcome of this meeting, she was putting her life in his hands. Iris then opened her purse and observed the list of things she wanted to say, all perfectly written down in bullet points. They were supposed to be like a memory card, but Iris realized that she didn’t need them, that it was a waste of time and he would laugh at her, so she closed her purse and looked up at him.
“Your best prostitute currently earns five times my salary” she spoke calmly but with confidence. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. “She entertains one person at the time, maybe two, hell, even three… but I entertain an entire venue. I make them laugh and cry, and I make them buy drinks when they are happy or when they need to drown their sorrows. And then, those people recommend my show to other people, which means new clients for you” she then continued. “I should be earning at least six or seven times what I’m currently earning… plus a bonus for every sold out night” she then finished.
He tensed briefly when she opened her purse. Iris seemed inept in these types of situations but he had been fooled before. However, the purse snaps shut and there is no weapon or wand in her hand. His muscles relax. He pours her a glass of water and meets her azure gaze. Sadness and hunger ripple through it in equal measure. He knows that look, the faintest flame of hope hardened by determination.
His memories of Sebastian are faint, dulled by how minimally important he had found the other man. The only thing that really sticks out is him asking for a ‘friends and colleagues’ discount at his brothel. As if being Death Eaters together meant something, or it was excusable to betray a good woman because she was pregnant. Good wives were hard to come by, Antonin would know, he hadn’t even feigned a courtship in years due to lack of an agreeable choice. He had even been willing to suffer the fallout of Arina’s canceled betrothal because he would not saddle his sister with a mediocre and incompetent lizard.
He smirks a little at her demands. Not so much the amount, but the way it’s stated. He wonders how she knows so much about prostitutes and their earnings an if she’s so comfortable talking to them maybe she’d be willing to manage them one day. Rodolphus Lestrange might be running the books for him, but he still needed someone to run the ‘stable’ so to speak. That would be a conversation for a much later time.
“You talk to many whores, I-rees? You know lot about vhat zhey make,” amusement flickers across his features. It’s a curious matter, how did she come to know so much about the cost of call girls and sex workers? He doubts she knows from recieving such services herself but maybe her and her husband had similar tastes after all.
His head tilts, eyes roaming her face. “I give you zhis, make you most vell paid entertainer in club. Vhat I get in return? Hmm you vant take and take and take but vhat you do earn so much? I vonder, you really zhink you deserve more zhen anyone else,” he’s pushing, trying to see where her weak spots lay and how she’ll respond to him. Her salary request is a bit exorbitant comparatively speaking. His profit margin would be deeply reduced but that’s not really a concern. He could take a loss on her and it’d still be pennies in the pond of his ocean of Galleons. He’ll barter for the sake of it but mostly he’s just enjoying being entertained for the time being.
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