* 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝖇𝖔𝖞 / 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘

henri deslauriers penned by sammy for sthq

[romeoquinns]

#that’s it #that’s the whole show

[hvnri]

@mvdcleines

[hvnri]

jack.

.

his hand ghosted over the kettle, eyeing pastel swirls around the porcelain surface. momentarily, he distracted himself with talk of ed, and was transported back to a flea market in syracuse, kansas where he’d acquired such a gem. “there’s a few good pieces like that around here.” he said. “little stuff i flew back from my summer travels.”

with that, he poured two cups, watching the steam rise up in perfect curls. he slid one, on its delicate serving plate, over towards henri; and squeezed a lemon wedge into his own, considering the weighted dynamic settling between them. jack rarely ever made it his business to iron out the service aspect of their operation. he was more suited to the plants anyway, and usually the gang were swift and effective enough on their own, in how they dished out their reckonings.

but edward was a different case, for a lot of reasons. despite his own typical detachment, jack found himself wanting to help. at least for henri’s sake - who was clearly, in his own way, spiraling.

“he’s one man.” jack mused aloud, stirring his tea mildly. undoubtedly, a powerful man. but that wasn’t dissimilar to most of the chastity club, who had their own family dynasties to boast. “and anyway, i have a hard time imagining you as one to shy away from a challenge.”

. 

a flicker of recognition flickered across henri’s face, it wasn’t always easy to impress him, but he arched a brow of approval as he tore his gaze away from the kettle to his own cup, watching as jack filled it with piping hot tea. he’d grown up with a distaste for americans — something that had been learned from his father, if nothing else — but jack had proven time and time again that americans weren’t entirely tasteless. 

there were very few moments when henri lost his temper. unlike most men he’d met — his temper wasn’t much like a rubber band. it didn’t stretch thin until it snapped with one harsh crack like his father’s. henri was subdued, he was placate by nature. he held himself to a higher standard than most men, to lose control of your temper meant to admit insecurity, losing control meant losing respect. 

but when it came to matters of edward greene, he couldn’t fucking help it. 

his fist met the table with a harsh thud, causing his tea cup to rattle against the saucer and spill out over the edge. “everyone keeps saying that,” henri muttered, straightening himself up in the chair in hopes to regain his composure. “but one man is enough.” he reaches out for the cup of tea, lifting it to his lips and taking a delicate sip of it as he shut his eyes, allowing the hot liquid to fill his mouth and scorch his throat. 

he opens his eyes again, returning his gaze toward the boy across the table from him. “it only takes one, jack. one great man,” his lips still in his ever-present frown, “although, i assure you i am greater. i just need to figure out how the hell to shut him up for good.”

[hvnri]

laurel.

there had been an unexplained tension hanging in the air the past few days and laurel had no explanation for it. she knew it had something to do with the chastity club, that much she was sure of, but she once again found herself in the dark, the members of the club still keeping their secrets close to their chests. she had attended more meetings and still found herself on the outside, instead spending the entire time receiving death glares from jack as she doted on henri.  what could she say? he intrigued her. 

her mind reeled as she tried to come up with an explanation as to what the hell was going on in that club as she made her way into the library, her nose pink from the harsh autumnal breeze that blew through paris. this was new to her — the library. she had never been particularly interested in her studies previous to st. margaret mary, but as she was trying to turn over a new leaf, she figured she better actually study. today, that thought seemed to have paid off. her lips stretched into a smile as she peered into a familiar set of blue eyes, a soft chuckle escaping her lungs as he disappeared for a moment only to return a second later. “ i think i’ve just found it. ” she said with a nod of the head, her fingers wrapping around the spine of the book she had been looking for before walking around to the other side of the aisle. she couldn’t help but notice how tense he was, not only today but every time she had seen him this week, a slight frown painted across her features. “ need a study buddy? ” she asked, lightly tapping his chest with her book. “ i promise i won’t be distracting. ”

.

he glances down to where she taps his chest with her book, then flickers his gaze up to meet her eyes again. had it been anyone else, he would have turned them down immediately. he didn’t do study buddies, mostly because he was better at working alone, but also because he had no intention of sitting down to study right now. he was here to think, think alone, and devise a plan. so he doesn’t know why he falters for a moment instead of turning away like he would have with anybody else. 

“something tells me not being a distraction just isn’t in your nature,” he replies, arching a dubious brow at the petite blonde before him. in the simplest of terms, laurel bernaise was most definitely a distraction. if he stopped to think about it too much, he might actually come to that realization. but that was precisely why he didn’t think about it — for once in his life, it wasn’t his head he was leading with, a mistake only a fool would make, he could hear his father’s words in the back of his head. but he didn’t pay any mind to it, because laurel bernaise was worth the distraction. “but i suppose i could use the company.”

[hvnri]

jack.

.

“merci.” he grinned, taking the wine and stepping aside to let henri in. “i’ve a feeling we’re going to need this before the day is done.” a not so subtle allusion to their friend edward and his newfound affinity for soapboxes. it was a tricky problem, he had to admit; usually someone with that much influence was playing on their side. and edward greene was a classic thorn in the flesh, always had been. jack recalled a few select undergraduate classes where that fact had become cemented in his mind for good.

he traipsed in along the wood, and settled into one of the chairs in the kitchen. an ornate tea kettle, with two cups, were arranged around the table.

“you know, there’s not many times i cared to see emilio discharged over the years, but this time?” he tapped his finger twice on the table for emphasis. “i wish i could see emilio kick his teeth in, the blasted rat.”

.

in times of stress, there are few people henri could stand to be around. typically, he would rather be alone — his mind worked better that way, uninterrupted. but if working alone wasn’t an option, if dealing with a pest like edward greene could not be taken care of on his own accord ( or, emilio’s, for that matter ), then the only two he could stand to share his thoughts with were marie-madeleine and jack avery himself. and though he usually went to the prior for a tactical plan, it was jack he went to when he really felt he was about to lose his head. 

“we run this place,” henri lets out a heavy sigh as he sinks into the chair across from jack, slouched against the back rest instead of his usually poised, up-right position. he pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, ignoring the dulling ache that was beginning to throb just behind his eyes. this goddamn edward greene situation was going to have him bed ridden with a migraine for days if they didn’t come up with something. “we have it fucking all, i’ll be damned if i let that little bastard ruin it,” 

he lifts his gaze, gesturing toward the pot between them. “is that antique? it’s nice.” 

[hvnri]

as much as he was a control freak, he learned not to sweat the little things. he’d allowed himself to pull himself away from the nitty gritty, allow the rest of the club to handle the futile things. emilio could handle those with the big mouths, and the rest he’d leave up to fikkir and marie-madeleine, without hardly a second thought. but with edward greene, there was always a second thought. it wasn’t as easy as getting rid of him, as silencing him along with the rest of the whistleblowers. edward greene could topple the whole damn system if they weren’t careful, which meant henri had to get involved. which meant that for the past three days, he’d been a mess and a half, wracking his brain for the best way to deal with the son of a powerful french influence. how would he deal with himself, had he been in different shoes? how would he deal with his father?

that was the very thought going through his head as he pulled a book on french aristocracy off the library book shelf, only to meet a gaze he hadn’t been expecting through the gap in the books. both surprised and startled, he felt his heart beat quicken as he quickly straightened up, now standing too tall to see through the gap, though he quickly bent down once again to check if she was still there. “are you searching for something specific, by chance?” @laurxlbern​

[hvnri]

jack.

𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗.

his favorite place in this world had become north cantor street. it was a new flat he’d leased just this fall, a little something closer to the city, and farther from st. margaret mary. it was lofty. soft sunlight spilled into the windows, soaking the wooden slats in a sunrise orange. he’d lined the walls with greenery he’d flown in from different parts of the world — rare plants, ones that would be an actual challenge to upkeep. pictures he’d collected over the course of his years in paris cluttered the brick. the whole thing felt distinctly parisian, which was the exact thing he needed to fully leave virginia behind for the rest of the year.

he opened his front door ( live oak, by the way ) with a groggy morning grin. “thanks for coming over.” jack said. “consider it a housewarming get together over tea.”

.

never one to sleep in, henri was almost always up at the same time as the sun. he found it to be far more productive, as opposed to waking up at noon and eating lunch as your breakfast. so, by the time he’d arrived at jack’s new flat, he’d already been awake a few hours, already had two cups of coffee, and had already thought extensively about what the fuck he was going to do about this edward green problem. and the truth was, he came up with nothing worthwhile. which was note the type of news he typically liked to pretend to his colleagues. though jack was more of a friend than a colleague, and more of a brother than a friend, as little as henri enjoyed to admit it.

“thank you for having me,” henri countered, holding up the bottle of wine he’d brought with him. “a housewarming gift for you.” 

[hvnri]

madeleine.

exactly the same way it always does when she’s exhausting her — at this point in her life, rather few and far between — brain cells by thinking hard about something, marie-madeleine’s left foot is twitching up in the air as she lays sprawled dramatically across the entire length of the couch in an apartment belonging to none other than the chastity club president, one of her trademark shawls already on the floor. she is, however, somehow both too lazy and too busy putting her brain to good use to pick it up. 

❛ the little bitch ❜ she says suddenly after a long silence, encapsulating the very profound and articulate sentences bouncing around in her head pretty accurately. ❛ honestly, when i think of his face — little eddie, the son of a — ❜ she pauses. as much as she’d love to just lay there spewing ed greene hate, they need something concrete right now. ❛ i knew there was something wrong with him. who would throw a party ed green was gonna be at and not invite me? and all because he wasn’t going to pay! what is he even thinking, doing all this? he’s one guy. ❜ she stops, realizing that this was not, in fact, something concrete, and lifts her head to look at henri. ❛ sorry for that — but honestly! we need to remind him that — he’s one guy, and our reputation is still immaculate. much like our fake virginities, actually. ❜ @hvnri​

. 

anyone who knows him well enough would know that pacing is never a good sign. and here he was, pacing across his living room floor. to the window, and back again. his brow furrowed like he was the president of the french republic, deciding if he needed to go to war or not. there was only one person he could possibly tolerate to be around in this moment, and there she was, sprawled out dramatically on his couch, in all her glory, and he was waiting for something profound, something worthwhile, but all he got was a the son of a bitch. but that’s what edward greene was, wasn’t he? a fucking son of a bitch. the fucking thorn in henri’s side. 

the bridge of his nose was pinched between his index finger and his thumb, before dropping his hand down in exasperation as he stopped in his tracks, staring at marie-madeleine on his couch. “one guy?” he repeats in frustration, “one guy, marie-madeleine, i’m one guy. one guy can be quite powerful if he chooses to be. it only takes one guy,” he lets out a sigh, shaking his head as he continues to pace. he knew that edward greene needed to be handled with tact, but how were you supposed to deal with someone both eloquently and sufficiently? he wished it could be as simple as calling emilio, but this time he knew it wasn’t. “tell me again, what you know so far. tell me who’s listening to the stupid things he’s saying.”

[oaf-inactive]

“Nicky’s mother called.” “Oops, time’s up.”

[boydswan]

Logan Lerman as Fred Nemser in Shirley (2020)

[hvnri]

emilio.​

even with just the twist of henri’s lip, emilio will consider that a win. so he plops down to take a seat beside henri, it’ll be good for his body to sit down, anyways. the back of his mind is telling him if he keeps going like this, he’s going to be limping before the end of the night. “well,” he starts, bouncing his head back and forth in thought. “i don’t really think you’re supposed to do anything.” he shrugs. “i mean what’s the fun in that— following the rules. i’m definitely not dressed in anything scary. i don’t think that’s very appealing anyways.” he looks down at himself, even though his costume is from the neck-up. but the image of emilio with a fake axe in his head was not even close to his style. doesn’t really give the friendly presentation he likes. “you don’t look very scary, either.”

“rules are only meant to be broken once you’ve learned them,” he counters, sliding over on the church pew to allow for emilio for more room. “there is a point to all this madness,” he says, gesturing toward the crowd of students, all dressed up in their costumes, shaking his head as he took a long swig of his drink. “as childish as i think this holiday is, i don’t know when it became an excuse to dress up as a toilet. or why you’d want to dress up as a literal shit hole.” he scoffs. he looks down at his own attire, then over at emmie. “you have a point there, emilio. you have a very good point,” he says, handing him his now empty cup. “do me a favor, could you get me some scotch?” 

[hvnri]

laurel.

after a moment of collective gasps and laughter, the moment seemed to have passed — laurel had successfully managed to entertain the crowd, that much she was sure of. she was in the middle of dipping the top of her glass in a bowl of rim salt when his voice interrupted her thoughts, her gaze moving from her drink to his face, bright blue eyes lingering on his for a moment longer than what was considered normal. “ are you impressed? ” she asked, brow raised, her finger dragging across the rim of her glass before finding its way into her mouth, slowly sucking off the rim salt. she leaned forward against the bar, chin resting in her hands, face close enough to his to smell the cigarette on his breath. “ it’s one of my many talents. ” she continued, lashes fluttering in his direction. 

laurel had been fixated on the boy since she first laid eyes on him — tall, with dark features and a kind looking face. in all honesty, at first glance he was the exact guy laurel often walked all over, leaving nothing but the shadow of her red bottom shoes. she saw the way he looked at her too, and knew she wasn’t the only one intrigued by the other. bright blue orbs scanned him up and down, brows stitching together as she tried to figure out his costume. “ what are you supposed to be, handsome? ” she asked, leaning back from the bar once more. “ and what can i get you? ”

. 

his gaze drops to the glass in her hands, watching as she slowly dragged her finger over the rim of salt, watching with his lips parted just slightly as she brought her finger to her lips and sucked off the salt — a gesture that felt so sensual as his gaze flicked up to meet her eyes that he actually faltered for a moment, shifting the weight from one foot to the other, feeling an utterly unfamiliar sense of the loss of his own control —  it was a power balance he wasn’t accustomed to. “i am,” one corner of his lips twitch up into a slightly crooked smile, or at least the semblance of the start of one. 

he glances down at the name tag on his sweater, then lifts his head to meet her gaze as he points to it. “seymour krelborn,” he says, and then furthering his explanation, “from little shop of horrors?” he was beginning to realize his own lack of enthusiasm about halloween only made him look like some sort of broadway fanatic, and he was now contemplating ripping the sticker right off his sweater. serves him right for trying to participate in something so juvenile. his gaze flickers back toward the bar, then to his now empty cup of whiskey, and then back to laurel, brows furrowed, as he cocks his head to the side with an amused expression on his features. “i’d love to tell you, but i know better than to trust the devil,” he says, his gaze trailing down the length of her — from the devil horns to the thigh high boots, “and i don’t want to end up like that guy.” 

[hvnri]

jack.

“you know, most people would appreciate that kind of heads up.” jack drawled. the blonde seemed to give up after that, realizing just as jack had that henri (in all of his party hating wisdom) was a lost cause here. not that she stood much of a chance in general. anyone wearing a harley quinn costume in this day and age likely couldn’t keep up their fair share of intelligent conversation. jack just thought it might be fun to point out.

“it’s a chastity club party, after all. seems only fitting that you might mingle a bit.” he sipped from his wine. “and show off your clever costume, as well.”

.

“when have i ever been most people?” henri counters, the corners of his lips twitching up into a coy smile. he might have appreciated the heads up in another circumstance — if said girl was someone he found worthwhile — but it wasn’t often that anyone at st. mary’s piqued his interest enough to waste time flirting. 

“i’m not much into mingling,” he sighs, glancing around the church with a look of disdain etched on his features. “but i see you went for the sexy cowboy look. a halloween classic.” 

[hvnri]

theodore.

.

if theo could afford to be a bit more reckless with his money, he would’ve bet a good amount that henri doesn’t show tonight. their beloved leader has this outlook on life that intimidates theo as much as it impresses him, and grouped tightly in that outlook is things like ‘be above it all’ and ‘don’t be in the same room as twenty-somethings guzzling bud lite’. or at least that’s what theo assumed - apparently henri’s got a few sides to him. 

he looks at henri with wide eyes now, a habit that’s been present since their first interaction. he’s not as nervous around henri as he used to be, but there’s still that subtle deer-in-headlights quality to theo every time henri speaks to him, even when it’s something as simple as complimnting his halloween costume. “right, thank you. i mean, yeah, good to know you like it. it only narrowly beat out my ‘simple number series’ costume, but its critical response so far has me confident that i went with the right choice. i’d say the same about yours, but also i have no idea who seymour is. are they a historical figure i’m being judged for not knowing? and if that’s the case, do they happen to bear a striking resemblance to your every day attire? not that, uh, that would be a bad thing, you’ve got a very decent every day appearance.” he wishes desperately he could talk like a normal person around henri just this once, as a treat, but alas, he’s stuck teetering on nervous pauses and ramblings. he wonders what it must be like in henri’s shoes, all easy confidence and direct initiative. 

“really? yet to come?” he grins “then how do they explain you?” it’s meant to be a joke, but 

it’s hard to deny there’s some half-truth to it. the way henri carries himself, he didn’t even need to wear a costume, he dresses up as god every day just fine. 

.

he could stop him from rambling, like the mercy killings of the racing horses his father used to buy. you have to put them out of their misery, he used to tell henri and his brother, sometimes 

killing is a kindness. that’s how he felt now, watching as theodore rambled on about which math-pun costume he should go with, and henri just stood there, listening intently, showing no signs of stopping him. theodore park was just about the smartest guy henri had ever met, and yet he could never seem to figure out how to carry a normal conversation. and though normally henri would have found it annoying, with theo, he found it sort of endearing. he glances down at the name tag on his sweater, then back up at theodore, brows slightly furrowed in response. “i’d hardly consider him a historical figure,” henri replied, one hand in the pocket of his trousers as he swirled around the liquor in his plastic cup in the other hand, “little shop of horror?” he said, arching a brow, and when theodore showed no signs of realization, he let out a soft sigh. “it’s a musical, alan menkin is the composer.” 

there’s a look of surprise on henri’s face at theo’s remark, but it quickly softens into something of a smug expression. “not a god, theo,” he replies, a smirk on his lips as he raises his cup to take a sip of the whiskey, “not yet at least.” president of the chastity club was a start, he supposed. his first taste of true power. “did you still want to get that drink?” 

[aimeecarreros]

Guzman being a dad (ft. his brother-in-law, Omar)

[hvnri]

emilio.

@hvnri​

he was enjoying himself well enough. didn’t seem like he was exactly needed for his role yet, so he was just enjoying himself. maybe he’d had a few drinks in his belly, so his cheeks were growing pink and he kept having to adjust the dog ears on his head so they didn’t fall off when he kept looking down at people, but he was in his element. he was enjoying himself to the fullest. parties were always the best.

“hey henri.” he slinks right next to the leader, his voice in a whisper as if greeting him is a secret. “how’s it going? just wanted to check in on the boss.” he wanted henri to have a nice time too. something told him that henri wasn’t really jumping at the chance for “fun”, so maybe he could bring that to him. “you know i saw a guy with a really solid toilet costume made out of cardboard.” he starts to laugh, “and then you could like, toss your cans into the toilet part, it was funny and functional!”

.

henri glances up from where he’d been sitting in a pew, staring down into the warm amber liquid sitting at the bottom of his plastic cup. his mind was elsewhere — which he supposed was a given, considering he’d rather be anywhere but here. still, the sight of emilio is at least somewhat comforting. despite henri’s usual unwillingness to surround himself with people he found to be intellectually inferior, he never really minded emilio’s company. there was something uplifting about his presence, perhaps it was due to his seemingly endless need to please him. henri kind of liked that. 

“hi,” he replied, offering a semblance of a smile, just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. his brows furrowed as he continued, however, watching as emilio enthusiastically spoke of a toilet costume, and henri couldn’t decide if he was amused, confused, or simply uninterested. “that’s...interesting. it sort of defeats the purpose of halloween though, does it not? aren’t you supposed to dress as something scary? scare off the demons?” 

[hvnri]

poppy.

it   was   the   first   of   the   month   and   penelope   dietrich   couldn’t   help   feeling   a   touch   possessed   by   the   spirits   of   intrigue   and   impulsivity.   it   was   a   rarity   in   itself,   the   manner   of   which   she   opted   against   her   academic   proclivities,   but   in   the   face   of   change,   she   felt   it   vastly   appropriate.   tonight,   the   poised   blonde   was   not   the   headmaster’s   perfect   daughter,   but   rather   the   quintessential   reflection   of   seraphic   imagery.   she   was   a   transcendent   creature,   equal   parts   riveting   and   terrifying,   clad   in   expensive   silk   and   freshwater   pearls.   her   costume   (if   it   could   be   considered   one   to   begin   with)   was   largely   unplanned,   but   it   was   all   she   had   to   her   immediate   disposal   from   such   short   notice.   “curious   choice   of   location,”   poppy   piped   up   once   she   found   her   path   towards   a   familiar   face.   an   unnamed   devil   hurriedly   thrusted   a   plastic   cup   into   her   hands,   the   juxtaposition   of   their   outfits   almost   as   sinful   as   a   bacchanal   in   a   holy   building.   “are   you   drinking   tonight?”   the   blonde   queries   softly,   the   molten   honey   in   her   eyes   glinting   with   something   akin   to   mirth,   something   close   to   appreciation.   perhaps   a   night   out   wouldn’t   be   too   bad   considering   she   was   in   good   company.   “i   like   what   you   did   with   your   hair,   it   looks   very   lovely.”

.

he hadn’t intended on showing up at all. and perhaps that had been the lapse in his own judgement — deciding that a halloween party might be worth his time. clearly, it was not — seeing as he was both the only sober one and the only fully clothed one in the entire cathedral. despite his own beliefs on religion, or lack thereof, there was still something unsettling about taking a shot of liquor under the gaze of the crucified jesus, staring down at all of them in anguish. he hadn’t even realized who he’d found himself standing beside until he heard that familiar honeyed voice he could pick out of any crowd, turning his head to look at the girl beside him with a slight look of surprise before his features softened. “i didn’t choose it,” he admits, glancing around the church. curious location indeed, but despite the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t help but feel that it was also kind of a perfect location: under the moonlight streaming through the stained glass. he lifts the plastic cup toward her as if to answer, looking down into it and realizing it was now near empty. he wasn’t big on drinking — he liked to feel in control of himself — but he was going to need it if he was going to get through the night. “just a bit. are you?” he says, cocking his head just slightly to the side. “thank you. you look — er, you look nice, as well.” 

[hvnri]

laurel.

laurel had been spending far too much time in churches lately. she remembered the first time she stepped into one upon her arrival in paris, her mind reeling with the idea that she was surely to burn up as soon as she passed the threshold, all her sins consuming her body in satan’s white hot flames. so, she was rather surprised when she took her first step inside and did not immediately crumble into a pile of ash. instead, she was greeted with smiles and friendly welcomes from the members inside, warming even her cold heart. she took a seat in the pew at the back, her attention weening in and out of focus as the pastor spoke, only hearing his words every few moments before drifting off into her own thoughts again.

of course, tonight was different - there was no sermon here, just the smell of sweat and stale cigarettes as the students of st. margaret mary’s danced their night away, the various costumes shining in the strobing lights. laurel’s own body was covered in red glitter to match the red lingerie she adorned, devil horns placed upon the top of her blonde teased hair, her boots stretching up the length of her thighs. she had been waiting far too long for a drink and with a roll of the eyes and a huff, she heaved herself over the counter and helped herself, pouring a mixture of different liquors into a red crystal glass. it wasn’t long until the drunk party goers were yelling their orders at her, their words going in one ear and out the other. laurel was not here to serve anyone but herself. her annoyance grew as one voice in particular abused her ear drums, clearly not getting the hint that she was doing her best to not answer it. she turned towards it, a fake smile painted across her lips. “ find one of the real bartenders, sweetheart. ” she called over the loud music, continuing to mix her drink. when the voice failed to stop, she rolled her eyes once more before lifting her drink in the air and pouring it straight over their head, a bout of laughter escaping her lungs. “ happy halloween! ” she called, downing a shot she had poured herself previously. 

.

he’d never been one for crowded places, the same reason he tended to avoid certain parts of the campus like the dining hall or the library in the afternoon (after midnight was much more manageable). but this was another beast altogether — st. margaret mary students piling into the cathedral, the girls dressed in their scantily clad costumes, the boys ogling after them like they’d never seen cleavage before. although henri was confident, poised, and unfazed — he felt entirely out of his element standing there in a sweater vest and his glasses, clutching onto a cheap plastic cup quarter filled with expensive whiskey. it all felt quite paradoxical. 

he’d wandered back in quietly after smoking a cigarette outside, his gaze roaming the room for a familiar face to relieve him of the added pressure of standing alone at a party — an easy target for someone to shove a shot of liquor into his face or engage in a unintelligent conversation he didn’t care to have. of course, jack was nowhere to be found. he’d lost him fucking hours ago. which left him with limited options — it was the bar or the pews, and glancing down at his almost empty cup, he supposed he could use a refill — and the commotion at the bar seemed far more enticing than the girl eyeing him dressed as a slutty mouse standing next to the virgin mary statue. paradoxical. he approached the bar just as a collective gasp seemed to come from the surrounding students — and there she was. right in the middle of it all, though that came as no surprise. the girl that had managed to pique henri’s interest since the start of term, always finding her way into the limelight. 

“you sure know how to make a scene,” he approaches her after the commotion seemed to have died down and students went back to their conversations.