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❝ 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 .

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𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚.

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄— her expression becomes sharp, severe, and brilliant as shards of broken glass. There’s no answer offered to any part of his response beyond a hum of acknowledgement here and there. That final comment especially - fuck it - hangs uselessly in the air, unaddressed, unacknowledged. Kaye’s silences are every ounce as expressive as anything she says— A beat of a pre-tornadic stillness passes, quiet disapproval seeping out of her skin and into the quiet, suffusing it with tension like an electric crackle, a shimmer in the air. She just smiles, stretching the silence like an elastic band until it’s near breaking point.

And then, her whole demeanor shifts in an instant, any strained distaste abruptly disappearing as though a light switch flicked off. “Fuck it?” she repeats, her tone suddenly completely slack and blasé, edging on bored, as though she were just absently saying anything to fill the silence. “Hm, fair enough. I thought you could handle this, but everyone’s suited for different extracurriculars; If this is too much for you, perhaps something like book club or acapella might be more your speed?”

Kaye steps closer, traces her finger up over the undone buttons of his shirt until her hand alights on his jacket lapel. “But come on, darling, I know you.” Her voice simpers and simmers, her eyes smoulder. “I know you want this.” She knew intimately the weaponization of want they were both fluent in– and what was there to do with weapons except put them to use? She found his dissension intolerable and respectable in equal measure. “That’s why I picked you. Let’s not be ungrateful now, shall we? Maybe show some respect?”

–

𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚. and it takes less than a heartbeat for andrés to sense the change in kaye’s demeanor. it wouldn’t be the first time he’s on the receiving end of those icy glares. and although it’s not enough to scare him away, andrés brings his glass to his lips to finish its contents in one quick swig.

deep inside, there’s a kind of twisted delight floating through him. he can still get under her skin fairly easy. or so it seems. a low chuckle dripping in sarcasm leaves his lips. him in a book club, yeah right. the image is both ridiculous and amusing. he would never admit how much he is enjoying this exchange. but most importantly, he would never admit kaye is right. for the first time since he arrived at carlyle, and probably for the first time in years, andrés has finally found something that intrigues him, at last something that has his blood cursing with something akin to exhilaration. something that’s not some chemical, that is.

kaye says “i know you want this,” and he confirms, for the second time tonight, that she knows him too well. his eyes follow her slim fingers on his jacket and he knows she is right. he can feel it again, that golden thrill, a kind of anticipated high for what’s about to come.

at last, he relents. “is this the part where i say thanks?” his voice is above a whisper when he looks up to find those unrelenting eyes again. “i’m honored,” he admits. he might not be too sure about the nine yet, but having kaye choose him as her possible successor, well, that kinda feels like a victory.

however, just for the hell of it, he adds with a grimace , “just don’t make me sacrifice baby goats. their blood is NEVER going to come off and this is authentic silk.”

#shhhh i absolutely love her #* [ 𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙀𝘿 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 // : INTERACTIONS . ]#* [ 𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙀𝘿 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 // : KAYE DE KLOET . ]

𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚.

kaye arrives to congratulate her fledgling protégé ┊ closed for @aresfm·

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 in the perceptions of people who forget that war also belongs in her domain. Though Kaye is draped in shimmering golden silk that ripples and flows like water with even the most minute of her movements and dotted with iridescent, winking diamonds, she nonetheless retains all the moores of a predator, her cold eyes burning like arson, seeming every bit a mythological monster cast in the svelte silhouette of a girl. And when she appears in flourish of diaphanous fabric and amber perfume alongside her Ares at the party, the heir apparent to her mantle of Hydra, the duo must seem utterly glorious— Not the glory tinted by Christian connotations, accompanied by visions of saints equipped with patience, mercy, and all the virtues of the meek, but the roaring, unyielding glory of a bygone age: the Grecian Kleos, the Roman Virtus, the Norse Herrlof, bold and blood-steeped. Not mortals, not demi-gods, but incendiary Gods of war in their own right, emerging from their sumptuous, empyrean paradises to graciously deign to attend a mortal affair.

“Andres, sweetheart, there you are,” Kaye practically purrs once she reaches his side, swiftly bypassing all the usual formality of a greeting, opting instead to push a fizzing flute of ice-cold Dom into Andre’s hands, “Now I know what you’re going to ask first— Majors aren’t off limits, so have fun with that.”

Her smile is paradoxically warm and dangerous, somehow both promising and terribly ambiguous. One the other hand, her icy, clinically appraising gaze is transparently expectant. Kaye finds history is so terribly dull, the same song replayed in a billion different voices: People tear themselves apart warring over riches, fame, and opportunities like the one Kaye has afforded Andres, and while the former two can be compensated for, the latter is something so extraordinary that there can be no substitute. And, as Kaye knows better than most, anything truly extraordinary carries a price to match. “Oh, and congratulations on all this, by the way. It’s so droll, no?”

–

𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆. when the jet-black cloak revealed none other than katharina de kloet in all her ethereal glory. she looks the same as the last time he saw her : intimidating. but it doesn’t matter. andrés takes pride in knowing he’s immune to her bewitching devices. or that’s that he likes to think. kaye, his acasia, from now on, she is one that shall lead him into whatever this is. in a way, it’s kind of poetic. reminds him of decadent parties and the naiveté of his teenage years.

the cold wind brings chills to every inch of andrés’ skin. the emerald jacket of his suit is barely doing anything to protect him from the cold, especially if the thin silken shirt underneath is barely unbuttoned. however, andrés is not complaining. the chilly breeze is numbing, in a way, it helps him take the edge off.

so when kaye shows up handing him a flute of champagne, andrés is quick to reach out for it with a grateful smile. she knows him too well. “so i can ask their majors but not their names?” he questions. as if he would actually follow the rules.

“droll,” he repeats, his lips lifting up into a smirk. “i almost feel like i am joining a cult, with everyone wearing their black cloaks,” he pauses, “that or some off brand rendition of macbeth”. andrés takes the time to sip on his champagne, reveling in the feel of liquid diamonds down his throat. “i’d say it better be worth the ridiculous donations from my grandmother, but you know what?” he pauses, a look of mischief taking over his features. “fuck it.”