A silent puff of air from between Cicero’s painted lips, a disguised sigh, as she glanced back at her brother. Oftentimes, she didn’t care how her brother looked at humans, she likely had a similar indifferent and even harsh glare but she didn’t like said glare being directed towards somebody she’d taken such a liking to. He was almost indiscriminate with that look in his eye as he was with the people he was willing to cut down. If it weren’t for fear of making the situation all the more awkward, she would’ve loudly instructed Akephalos to either direct his hateful gaze elsewhere or simply get up and leave if he couldn’t behave himself.
“A playground by a cemetery. Sounds about right for this one.” Akephalos chuckled. He was still wondering if he was going to keep the poor boy in the hot seat all evening long, not because his aim was to weed out any bad apples attempting to date his sister but rather out of spite. Maybe to a degree to signal to Finch that this family was beyond dysfunctional just in case he wanted to see himself out before the pot really started boiling over. He sat in silence for a minute, looking past Finch before piping back up, “Is the pay decent?”
Again, Cicero resisted another loud huff with each comment and question her brother pelted Finch with. It was clear to her that he was being deliberate and God, did she want to lash out for it. She had no qualms about shouting at him in front of the Kozlowskis or even her own clients whenever they were around but she was determined to stay on her best behavior.
She felt Finch’s hand slide onto her knee and relaxed just the slightest bit, gently pressing against him. She bit down on the tip of her tongue, doing her best not to apologize again. Instead, she gave a giggle, it’d been a long time since somebody talked about her like that. She’d spare the eyes and ears of her siblings and save the (excessive) mushiness later, “I’d left a concert early because I got bored. For once, I’m glad I missed the headliner.”
Fausta’s brows furrowed a bit at Finch’s wave, not really caring whether or not he was significant to the family. Still, she didn’t want to be scolded for being rude to somebody she wasn’t specifically instructed to be rude to. She continued to kick her little legs for a second before chirping, “Same hair!”, pointing to her own head of pale hair.
The pay was a joke. Robert still hadn’t said anything more about that unclaimed inheritance he was usually so adamant about. No way in hell he was going to let her brother think of him as a leech. So he finally let the breath out of his lungs and answered as honestly as he could without painting himself as the gold-digging type. “Wisnae every chiel’s dream, f’sure. Weel, am no doon it fer th’money. But gettin’ by jus fine. Whit’s it ye do yerself?”
This felt a lot like a test, although he wasn’t sure if that was his nerves speaking. There was silence and there was... silence. Ruben’s seemed like the latter. So the intensity was hereditary, then. Cicero’s giggle served as his single rock in the midst of these rough seas. He looked a tad surprised to hear about the rest of her night, as he didn’t remember her mentioning the concert. Lucky on his part for her boredom.
At first he expected the little one to huff at him, only to be met with a deceptively enthusiastic reply. It visibly took him a moment to process what Fausta had said, but he soon beamed and nodded in agreement, eyebrows up in that expression so very common to adults aiming for ‘encouraging-but-a-bit-lost’ and never knowing if they’d landed it.
“Aye, ye’re reit, oors look like a skifter - suits ye better ‘n it suits me, lassie.”
