who: @ofpoisontongues when: a few minutes into the funeral reception where: just outside the cathedral
she needed some air. the funeral, the reception, all of it, felt suffocating. the chill of the air bit at her heels relentlessly, but emilia just needed some space. a moment to herself, away from the mourners. funerals weren’t her thing, not by a long shot, but she thought she’d be fine. she didn’t really care too much about dupont, at least not on any personal level. she respected him as an academic, sure, and definitely didn’t want him dead, but attending his funeral made her feel like she was a bit too close to him. almost as if he had her in some sort of ghastly headlock, fixed in place beside him.
he’s making me feel shitty even from beyond the grave. how characteristic. she made her way down the steps of the cathedral to find that she wouldn’t be given a moment of peace after all, because there was fucking richard, popping up like a weed you can’t kill. emilia almost turned back around, shifting her weight between her feet. which was worse, the funeral reception or hanging out with a prick with some sort of personal vendetta against her? though she wasn’t certain she truly picked the lesser of these two evils, she decided to keep heading towards the prick.
well, at least he had a flask - not that she assumed he’d share with her. they had always been at odds somehow, for some reason. emilia had really done her best to fit in here. she’s spent countless hours organizing her ever-growing web of lies, curating the right wardrobe, finding the best designer mimicries and sewing in the right labels to seal the deal. everyone else accepted it without question. they weren’t suspicious, as far as she could tell. but none of it was enough, it seemed, for richard.
“richard.” she said brusquely by way of greeting, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. “there’s refreshments inside, you know. you don’t have to stay out here with that. pour it into a cup, nobody would know.”