“You-”
Leaned against a wall, Arthur pushes a hand through his already mussed hair. “Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow when we’re more settled in… Uh-huh. Alright… Love you too, mum. Bye.” He’s only just hung up from a phone call with his mother when a figure steps out from the shadows, taking him by surprise. “Arabella.” He acknowledges upon recognition. She’s just as pretty as she was before. He’s not sure if he expected any less. He knows she certainly changed as a person, even when they were still together, but seeing her looking exactly the same makes him doubt himself. All the same, he drags himself from his thoughts. “Ah. My mistake. I’ll, uh, I’ll keep closer watch next time,” he glances at her hands, trying to keep himself from checking his pockets to see if she’s swiped anything from him. He probably deserves it, if she did. Despite everything, he does regret breaking up with Arabella. Not because their relationship was good, in the end; but because it could’ve been if maybe he had helped her instead of leaving. But, the past is in the past. He can’t change it now. He reminds himself of that as he leans against the wall again, nodding. “Yeah, we – Aoife and I – we only just got back. We were here for some time, but we went back to Ireland for a while. Just got back today.” He explains, then rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “How’ve you been?”
>
“Still a mummy’s boy, I see.” She remarks, the smirk still present, watching him curiously for a moment. Then, she turns her gaze away, chuckling as she shakes her head. “Don’t worry, Ormond, I’ve not nicked anything from you. You don’t have to look so worried.” She laughs to hide the subtle offence at the brief movement of his eyes. As if she would do that. She may be many things, many horrible things, but she was no thief. Never to anyone she cared about, anyway. She folds her arms, body language on the defensive. “You better. Pretty boys like you don’t survive so long out here.” She rolls her eyes, brushing a piece of dirt from the sleeve of her jacket. “Ah, great. You and that babbling blondie back here. Just when I was enjoying peace.” At his question, her jaw clenches a little, turning her head to look back at him. There was a time she’d never hesitate to respond, to tell him everything. Not now. There was a wall there now that was safer to keep up. He was one of the few people she had been close to; that had been a mistake. Now, she had no one, really, to answer that question honestly to. She saw her father as little as possible, and though she liked Remy, she’d never burden someone so young with her problems. “I’ve been… great.” She replies, forcing a smile that didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Just great.” She debates walking away at that, but then she remembers it’s social convention to return the question. After a pause, she speaks up again. “You?”
Despite everything, Arthur can't help but scoff. "I am not a mummy's boy. She was just calling to see if we were alright. What was I supposed to do, ignore her? You know as well as I that she would've been over here in a minute if I hadn't answered." He says, defending himself, though it's somewhat lighthearted. When she catches his check to see if she's snatched his belongings, he clears his throat. "No, no, I didn't think..." But he lets it taper off. It was obvious. He manages a weak chuckle at her comment. "I'll take your word for it." He shakes his head. "Oh, Aoife's not so bad. She makes things more lively, that's for sure." As she takes a moment to answer his question, his eyes dart across her face and he uncomfortably adjusts the bag on his shoulder. Though he's waiting for an answer, he still isn't pleased when he gets one. She's lying. He knows her well enough to know that. Despite the fact that she returns the question, and that he knows it's not his place, that it hasn't been for a very long time, he sticks on the topic. "Are you sure, Bella?" His eyes are locked seriously on her face, taking in any changes of expression. Perhaps it is his mother influencing him, but when he knows someone may be upset or in trouble, he's incapable of letting it go.
