crazy, but you like that.

i bite back.

[xiomarawinters]

What's the best christmas gift you've received?

I really fucking resent that the best Christmas gift I've gotten was from my ex. It was a typewriter.

I honestly can't think of a time when Maman got me a gift that didn't have a loaded meaning- like a dress to wear to a date, or slimming potions or fucking diamonds from her new husband after I'd cussed him out.

[xiomarawinters]

What's it like to be such a chaotic mess?

You know, I get really tired of these questions. I want you to live the last two years of my life- hell, the last ten of them- and if you haven't blown your fucking brains out, or ended up dead, then you can judge me for how I chose to survive.

I think I'm coping better than any of you fuckers would.

[xiomarawinters]

Dream blunt rotation?

Merlin, okay.

Sabrina Spellman. Gwenog Jones. The sexy green m&m.

[xiomarawinters]

How much savings do you have to go through before you're offering blow jobs to the general public? C'mon pretty girl, let someone else have a go with your mouth.

Who said I wasn't already?

Rent stays paid, doesn't it?

[xiomarawinters]

Do you think it's a good idea for you to be drinking?

I so appreciate your faux concern, but why is it that my ex can literally run through a fucking pharmacy in an evening and no one bats an eye- but I have one glass of wine and I'm getting shit on?

And trust me- you wouldn't want to know me sober right now.

[xiomarawinters]

Favorite holiday tradition?

Small batch dirigible plum wine.

[xiomarawinters]

{Unsent voicemail} you know I'm mad on you on behalf of Nate, but don't undo all your hard work. I know you think you don't deserve it, but just... yeah.*Sigh turns into a groan* Don't worry about it. - Loxley

At the time she would have received this voicemail, Xi was giving Nate head in the back room of the bar, in exchange for the keys to the storage closet he'd taken with him.

[xiomarawinters]

(Asked by a representative from the Coventry Cannibals coven, at the FTB safehouse door in Putney) “Word ‘round the circuit is there’s a stunner blonde with a tight ass recently taken up charge a the Free Traders…and sugar, you do not disappoint. Your lot decide you wanna strike up an alliance, we’d be amenable. Oh, and tell Tess that the boys all miss her, would ya darlin’?” [message devolves into lewd sounds and gestures]

The response to the Cannibals was a craft project- living clay, shaped by Rue, Tess and Xi over a few bottles of wine. Stapled to their front door, was a pair of perfectly rendered testicles, a note nailed underneath it:

"Suck on these -X"

[xiomarawinters]

A collection of scenes in the days immediately post-Smiths breakup.

It's 2am, and Oz has been tossing and turning in silk sheets all night. He rubs his face into the pillow, and curls his knees up to his chest, then stretches his legs right out, until his long, gangly toes press over the edge of the mattress. He fights consciousness until the smell coming from the ensuite rips him awake, and he opens one eye, then the other. He throws the covers back dramatically, and there, illuminated only by a hot pink, bubblign glow, is Xiomara Winters.

She's crouched over a cauldron, wand tapping its edge. A chunk of her hair is missing. The potion bubbles.

"Uh... Xi? Watcha up to?" He asks, cautiously.

When the blonde looks up at him, her eyes are crazed. Heavy, dark circles under her eyes. "I'm making a love potion." She says, and it sounds like a hiss.

Oz blinks. "Oh." He says, and it is a complete sentence. He realises he needs to say something else here, so he adds, "Things gettin' back to rights with Mr Silk Scarves then?"

There is a glint in Xiomara's eyes. She throws her head back and gives a full-bodied laugh, then whips her head back to look at him again. "No," She says, and begins to collect the potion in a small vial, "This is for Isaac."

----

When she is on top of him, she is powerful. She's riding him like a stallion, and he is watching her intently. He has never looked at her like this. Drinking her in as more than an object, more than a status symbol. Here, with his head thrown back in pleasure, with his tanned fingers dragging circles on her hips, Isaac Ortega looks at her and he in love.

She could get off him, and tell him to jump out the window. He would do it, if it meant she'd be with him. For the first time in her life, she is not anybody's possession. She is not the prize to claim. She has claimed this man, this boy, this cock that she used to debase herself for.

She grinds down, so the mess of hair tickles her right where she wants it, and that's enough for the rush of pleasure to come over her. She wants to say it was satisfying, the best she's ever had. It's not. It will do. She can do more with a fucking vibrator.

She doesn't wait for him to cum. She doesn't need to. She peels herself off him, wipes herself down with his bed sheets. He just looks at her lazily.

She supposes she should say something reassuring, keep him calm while the potion wears off. Instead, she finds her underwear, and as she pulls it up her legs, she looks back at him dismissively, and says, "Go and get me a cigarette."

---

It is raining, and so the fire keeps going out. She glares at the smouldering pile, the unlit cigarette dangling from her fingers. She folds her arms, then turns, marching back inside.

"Rue!" She calls, and she knows the hedge will come. Becuase lately, the Free Traders have done everything she has said. She hasn't asked for anything unreasonable. Yet. She might.

As expected, the hedge witch appears. She doesn't look thrilled to be summed, but Xiomara doesn't care. The shorter witch raises a hand, as if to say, 'What, bitch?'.

Xiomara gestures outside, "Can you go burn that rubbish out there? Fucking rain keeps putting the fire out."

Rue looks out the kitchen window at the pile of 'rubbish' that Xi is referring to, and looks back at the French woman, raising her brows. "... Ya fuckin serious?"

Xiomara just gestures at it again, expression unchanged. Unwilling to set off another nuclear bomb in their home, Rue raises both hands in defeat, then stomps outside. Xi watches her work her magic, ensuring the fire would stay burning despite the drizzle.

She follows the girl out there, warmed by the flame. She places the cigarette between her lips, then leans down to light it on the flame. Rue reaches out to borrow it, and Xi lets her take it.

Together, they stand and admire the burning pile of Nathaniel Pinnock's entire wardrobe.

[giggle-me-this]

Girls Go 💥 Boom 💥

@xiomarawinters @harrixtpinnock @ftbhedges

The nights after the Saint Ball went like this: Xiomara would come home from her day program, and go straight into the kitchen to scrounge together dinner for herself. She would eat it in the kitchen, with her back to the wall, and then she would smoke a cigarette out the back window, and then another. She’d go upstairs and take enough potions to knock out a troll, and then she’d crawl into bed until the dreamless sleep ripped her out of consciousness.

The days after the Saint Ball went like this: Nate would come home from work at 5am. Xi knew he was home when the loose floorboard in the hall creaked. That was her rousing alarm: Wake up, get dressed, tie her runners, go for a run. She went the long way around the house so that she didn’t need to pass Nate, who would be sinking in to sleep on the ratty couch. She would stand in the front garden, hopping back and forth and then stretching her legs out. Harriet would meet her, and then they would run.

Xiomara was working on her breathing during the morning’s run, timing her pace with the steady inhale and exhale that ought to keep her going. It irked her that the exercise seemed to come naturally to Harriet, who ran as if it were the simplest thing in the world. While Xi loved running, and reveled in the natural runner’s high that came with the itchy legs and aching sides and sweaty back after every occasion, she definitely had to work at it.

It sparked a natural competitiveness between the girls, and after months of the run being part of their morning routine, Xi was finally pushing Harriet to a pace where she actually had to… Try to stay ahead of her fictive sister-in-law.

Their run this morning was a steady-paced loop towards Hammersmith and back, the breeze from the Thames whipping across their faces in the icy air. Xi could see her breath in the air, she watched it as she timed her pace: In, step, step, out, step, step, in…

They turned right to run around a boat shed, ready to continue on their run, when a burst of red light shot across them. It narrowly missed Xiomara’s legs and instead left a scorching mark on the light wood of the shed. The girls barely had time to react before the stunning spell was shot again—then another.

Xiomara’s legs went wobbly from the sudden stop in her pace and she reached down with numb fingers to take her wand from its hidden hip holster. She was just raising her wand arm when there was a tight grip on her upper arm. She immediately pulled against it, twisting to get out of the assailant’s grasp, when a harsh voice said, “Thanks for the tip, sweetheart—consider your Pinnock contract fulfilled. You're off the hook—for now..."

Xiomara’s expression contorted, her mouth half-open for the split-second it took for her to process this. This was Hamilton. He’d come for Harriet. 

She bucked her head back, lurching her chest forward after she heard the back of her skull connect with his nose—which broke with a sickening snap. In the cacophony of spells shot across them, Xiomara could barely make out Harriet, who had responded in a smarter, less physical way, aiming her wand with pin-point precision and shifting her weight as if she’d been duelling for years. She couldn’t hear anything, save for the high-pitched ringing in her ears and the incantations shouted across them. But when Harriet reached her hand across in her direction, already turning her feet, ready to spin, Xiomara leapt across to her. No sooner had they touched fingertips, than Harriet was apparating them back to the safehouse.

The wards set off immediately, as they always did when wix apparated directly into the home rather than the garden. Xi clamped her hands down over her ears, wand still in her right hand, and was about to call out to Harriet about fixing the wards, when she turned and became aware of Harriet Pinnock’s wand, pointed right in her face.

“What the fuck was that, Winters?” Harriet yelled, stepping forward so the tip of her wand was practically burning a hole in the blonde’s cheek.

And Xiomara, who was so dependent on her routine, and potions, and safety, and quiet and calm and an uneventful morning run, shook her head earnestly, tears already gathered in her eyes. A voice, somewhere deep, whispered: You’ll. Explode. Xiomara whipped her head back and forth. No, no. No.

“No?” Harriet laughed harshly, “That all you can say? You fucking sold me out, Xi? Huh? And now you want to deny it? I don’t give a fuck who you are, if you think I’ll—”

Xiomara wouldn’t hear what Harriet would do. In fact, she barely managed to hold on long enough to hear Harriet’s first few comments before she lost herself. It was a rising heat that started low in her belly, then overcame her chest, her shoulders, down her arms, before Xiomara pulled her wand back and yelled, the force of her magic knocking them both away from each other and to the ground.

Xi fell into the back of the couch, and cried out, immediately feeling the crack at the back of her abdomen. Harriet must have landed somewhere less damaging, because Xi had barely managed to stand with the splitting pain that ran down her side, before the older girl sent a spell straight at her. There wasn't enough time to try to counter it, or even to duck out of the sizzling beam's path—but to Xiomara's surprise, when she instinctively raised up her arms to protect her face, the spell ricocheted in a shower of sparks against the translucent white-gold barrier of a shield. 

When she whipped her head around, she saw its caster: Nate, climbing over the back of the toppled couch, a scorch mark in the shape of a body burned into the upholstery where Xi had hit it. His hands were stretched out in a tut in front of him and he looked like he'd gotten about five minutes of sleep before being rudely thrown into consciousness.

"The fuck are you thinking, Harry?" Nate croaked irritably, his voice hoarse. The room had grown uncomfortably still and voyeuristic as hedges gathered along the edges of the room to see the commotion, to witness the fallout. Someone, at some point, had silenced the wards.

So it sliced through the room like an axe, the sound of Harriet Pinnock, who was never the loudest voice in a room, screaming at her brother and punctuating every word: "She SOLD ME OUT!" Her wand stayed trained on Xiomara in incrimination. 

Nate looked between Xi and Harriet, dumbfounded, refusing to believe it. He shook his head and debris fell from his mussed-up hair. "No, she didn't. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about—"

Harriet barked another humorless laugh. "Fucking open your eyes, Nate! She's been playing us into dad's hand from the start—"

"—Harriet," Nate snapped in warning.

"—Nate," she shot back, teeth bared, not budging. The siblings squared off for just a moment before Harriet gave a growl of frustration and lowered her left arm, the one holding her wand, and with her right hand she gestured at a spot on her inner forearm, just beneath the elbow. 

For some reason beyond the comprehension of everyone watching the argument, the cryptic signal from his sister caused Nate to stiffen suddenly. He held eye contact with Harriet, a silent conversation no one else was privy to, while his fingers grazed over a mirrored spot on his own arm. Nate had a small raised scar there, that much Xiomara did know from her own thorough cataloging of all the sensitive spots on Nate's body that she could touch to invoke a reaction.

Where the scar had come from, though, and what the fuck it meant to Nate and Harriet was beyond Xi—and she didn't have a chance to consider it any further before Nate was rounding on her and hissing in accusation, "What the fuck, Xi? You told him she's here?"

“You are just as guilty in this,” she snapped, before pressing her hands flat against the floor to steady herself while she stood. “You do this all the time, it doesn’t surprise me that your fucking sister is exactly the same.”

“Me?” Nate barked back with an incredulous laugh, and Harriet was aghast at being addressed only as his fucking sister. Nate tugged his hands through his hair, tightening and pulling. “Christ, what does that even fucking mean–”

“—I am not the only one who signed that contract, Nate! You know perfectly well what it says. What, you think it just went away?”

Nate scoffed, holding up the sigil on the back of his hand, which seemed to shimmer and gleam with sadistic glee, while he talked over her. “I’m well the fuck aware, Xi! In fact, I’d say you got off pretty fucking easy, getting high and drinking plum-fucking-wine while I was going through hell—”

“You have NO IDEA what I’ve been through!” The bursting abruptness of the way she shrieked it forced the argument’s momentum to a screeching, momentary halt. They were both breathing heavy and still heated as Nate held his tongue, waiting.

But instead of elaborating or explaining, instead of letting him in, Xi sniffed and took a breath. Cold and dismissive, she continued, “You don’t get to toss away your own guilt by making me out to be the bad guy…”

Nate threw his hands up, genuinely too stunned to know what to say. To break the silence, Ruma stepped forward, her brother anxiously hovering a hairline behind her. Ajai’s hand was half extended, itching to take her sister’s arm and transport them both the hell out of there. 

The therapist raised a hand, as if she were trying to soothe a frightened animal. It wasn’t the first time Xiomara had been treated like this. She remembered Nate approaching her in the Caves while she wailed. She remembered healers approaching her in Clearer Skies, talking her through each step they made. She remembered Isaac approaching her in the hotel bathroom.

Ruma opened her mouth to speak, and the French woman cut her off—

“Fuck off, Ruma. This has nothing to do with you,” Xi snarled, leaning forward. The move was enough to spook Ajai into action, the traveller’s fingertips barely grazing Ruma’s shoulder before both hedges disappeared.

“When you’re done being such an insufferable bitch, maybe you’ll wake up and realize not everything in the world revolves around you,” Nate sneered, and Xiomara scoffed.

“And that’s you, isn’t it? Great to hear from Mr. Benevolent himself…”

“Better that than a hypocrite and a fucking snitch—”

The two continued to bicker like that, a ping-pong game of back and forth that increased in intensity with each barb shot back to the other.

Neither seemed to notice how the walls began trembling, the floorboards and furniture creaking and quaking, the glass in the windows whining dangerously. It wasn't until he felt one particularly tumultuous shake of the safehouse foundations, jolting them all off balance, that Nate snapped out of his anger enough to glance around in alarm and become fully aware of the powder keg he'd put them in by provoking her.

"Xi—stop it…"

But Xiomara was beyond reasoning with, long past simmering and fast approaching boiling point. Heat was radiating off of her in waves as she sneered, "Or what? What are you going to do, hit me? Fuck me? You gonna drug me, Nate?"

Nate flinched, looking genuinely stricken by the blow and without a ready response to throw back. Everything held still for one tense moment that seemed to stretch on for hours.

Then someone—Harriet, maybe, Xi couldn't be sure—moved in Xi's peripheral vision, and she exploded.

She threw out her arms as a furious scream ripped its way out of her throat, and a ripple of scalding ambient energy burst outward from where she stood and knocked back everyone within a ten-foot radius—including Nate and Harriet.

Hedges were yelling—at her, at Nate, at each other, Xi really didn't give a fuck and couldn't comprehend any of it, anyway, over the roaring in her ears and the sound of plaster crashing down from the ceiling. Entire strips of the wall were searing and peeling off. Xi's vision was vibrating and blurring. YOU’LL. EXPLODE.

A sorrowful voice with a distinct Irish lilt managed to cut through the clamorous noise within Xiomara's head. This voice was not loud, but it was far too close as it said, "I'm real sorry 'bout this..."

Xi flung a hand back, throwing a wave of energy at the too-close intruder. But it didn't throw Oz like it had the others. 

In fact, the wiry hedge witch who normally moved his body with about as much balance and grace as a drunk toddler, uncannily braced himself against the torrent Xiomara sent at him from less than three feet away, such that the most it did was to blow his dark hair back like a warm breeze. Despite the commotion and the still-imminent peril, the Free Traders stopped what they were doing to face Oz and openly gape.

His face was filled with palpable regret as he opened up his tattooed palms on either side of his body, joints twitching as if he were gently caressing the air, assessing it. Then he arced them forward, tracing a circular shape with his right hand curving up and to the left while his left hand swept down and right. His wrists met in the center, palms thrust out toward Xi so that she could see the words inked there, fingers curved slightly as if waiting to catch a baseball.

And then she felt it—a draining, suctioning sensation of the torrential magic that was swirling around and within her, that had pressed up against her bones as it begged release from her body just moments ago. Now it was being siphoned out of her in a powerful rush, and seemingly funneled between Oz's open, waiting hands. His arms, his shoulders and back, trembled and strained as he took in the current. His spine curved forward as his body cowed into itself, but his feet stayed firmly planted on the ground, the sigils on his hands glowing brighter and brighter until he finally dropped his arms, panting with exertion. The house, though clearly battered, had stopped shaking.

"What the fuck. Did he just do?" Nate said from where he was propped against the broken banister of the stairs, wheezing like he’d had the air knocked out of him.

Oz's head swiveled toward Nate, his eyes glazed over, but he made no effort to respond. He didn't look like he could respond, swaying where he stood like the magic he'd just siphoned from Xiomara was whiskey. The air all around them felt thinner, too, like they were standing at the peak of a mountain and the oxygen was sparse. 

"Par off, blud," Rue growled at Nate with odd and unexpected protectiveness bolstering her tone, "He just saved all our fuckin' skins."

There wasn't a chance to question what the fuck had just happened. Xiomara's face was shining with sweat, and all at once she started shivering where she stood—her drastically overheated body reacting to the sudden, vacuumous removal of its power source.

Nate made a panicked lurch toward her, but it was Rue who got there first; in the secondmost baffling and unprecedented event that had occurred in the FTB safehouse within the last five minutes, Rue placed her hands on either side of Xi's convulsing frame, brow furrowed in concentration until the blonde stilled and her complexion returned to a normal shade.

Harriet hovered behind her brother, murmuring something to him so low that only he could hear. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and an emotion that looked like genuine anguish washed over his face for just a moment before it was gone, and his hazel eyes hardened and shuttered. His voice only barely more audible than his twin, Nate said, “Xiomara…You need to leave. We have rules. You broke them.”

As weakened and drained as she felt, practically squashing Rue as she leaned on her for support, Xiomara shook her head. “No,” she replied, looking up at Nate past heavy eyelids.

An awkward beat, and then: “Well, you don’t get to—”

“—No, you don’t get to make me leave. This is my house as much as yours. I’m not just another hedge you can kick out on the street because they pissed you off,” she hissed, rocking back and forth as she disentangled herself from Rue. “You have no shortage of friends, and family, and money, and people that will tell you everything you want to hear. I have nothing except this house. You leave…” She cut a withering glare up to Harriet, and then spat, “...and you take her with you. We’re done.”

[xiomarawinters]

Xiomara felt her stomach plunge downward, her knees buckling and her pulse racing- an immediate, visceral reaction to their faces. She gripped the table behind her and slipped on her sweaty palms, rattling the wine glasses behind her as she bumped it. Her pupils were pin-points, narrowing with fear as her gaze darted between them. 

They were unmistakable; she had forgotten nothing about them. Nothing about what their hands felt like on her, what their breath smelled like, the tone of their voice, the shape of their cocks. And when they walked towards her, their expressions clearly indicated that they had not forgotten her, either.

She risked a glance at Hamilton, grinned cruelly. He was clearly enjoying his retribution, a well-deserved stroking of his own power. Xiomara opened her mouth to beg, but found nothing came out. Her voice, like everything else, had been taken from her.

“Where is my daughter, Miss Winters?” He eyed her, a mercy to the bug pinned in place. 

She went back to watching them approach- they were practically arms-length from Hamilton, now. When Xiomara opened her mouth again, bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back down to stammer out, “Sh-She’s a-at, sh-she’s at th-the-”

“Spit it out.” He snapped, impatient to force her attention back to him.

“Putney,” Xiomara gasped, leaning back from the approaching men, “She’s at the safe house in Putney-”

He eyed her, narrowing his eyes and mashing his lips into a cruel, vicious line. Hamilton was clearly furious that she and Nate had been harbouring Harriet for so long, immediately assuming that Nathaniel had lied about knowing his sister’s whereabouts when they initially signed the Word as Bond. Without another word, Hamilton turned on his heel, satisfied that he had received the information he required.

She lurched forward desperately, sliding against the marble flooring in her heels. She gripped his arm, “Please- Please send them away. Call them off. P-Please don’t, please-”

Hamilton Pinnock paused, narrowing his eyes at the stupid girl as he pulled his arm away from her grasp. He wrinkled his nose as he dusted off his sleeve, as if she’d tainted it with her touch. It occurred to him that Xiomara Winters hadn’t begged for him not to send her supposed associates after his son, nor had she hesitated before selling out the girl. Perhaps it was a good thing that the vapid girl was courting Nathaniel, after all. If he couldn’t have his children in his pocket, he could certainly have her.

“You ought to call Clearer Skies,” He mused aloud as the girl almost visibly vibrated with fear. Hamilton fixed his cufflinks before he added, “I’ve heard they do excellent work with wix who see things that aren’t there.” 

He looked over his shoulder, at the spaces where the men Xiomara feared had been moments ago. Her eyes darted around anxiously, following his gaze. Still too delirious to understand the implications, Xi backed away, gathering up the skirt of her dress to keep from tripping again. She had to get out. She had to find Nate. She had to get out. 

[giggle-me-this]

Nate didn’t hear the snap over the din of voices and merriment that filled the ballroom, but there was a distinct pulse that rippled across the room, stopping Nate in his efforts to shove his way through the crowd in Xiomara’s direction.

There was a disorienting, high-pitched note that rang in his ears and Nate felt momentarily unsteady on his feet—not dissimilar to the sensation he felt when he railed one too many crushed-up painkillers in his gluttonous haste to get high. 

But he hadn’t so much as touched those pills in his pocket, yet—had he? He couldn't entirely remember. Nate shook his head, trying to clear the daze, and then looked across the room for sight of his father and Xi again. 

His gaze caught on the sight of a woman at the far side of the ballroom. Her back was facing Nate, and he was struck breathless by her attire; this woman wasn’t dressed for a ball, standing out amongst the high-society eleganza all around her with her loose linen pants and gauzy white blouse that undulated as if by an ocean breeze, her feet strangely bare. Her dark brown hair hung loose down her shoulders and back, glossy and inviting, as if begging a hand to thread through those strands and—

“Mom…?” Nate said under his breath, turning to walk toward the woman as if in a trance, all thoughts and concerns besides getting nearer to her exiting his mind entirely.

***

Hamilton was seething by the time the incompetent bartender managed to track down the nicest bottle of scotch in this place and pour him a glass. Nathaniel must have thought he was so clever, hiding Harriet right under Hamilton’s nose this entire time. He thought he’d managed to condition that insufferable loyalty his ungrateful children had toward each other out of them, after all the years of intentionally pitting them against one another. But alas, it would appear their mutual unwillingness to submit to his control had endured.

“Fucking twins…” Hamilton grumbled into his glass as he took a gulp of the fine aged liquor and felt it burn down his throat. No matter—he would remedy the situation soon enough.

“Enjoying the party, brother?” drawled a voice from another sibling that ground on Hamilton Pinnock’s nerves.

“Wesley,” was all he offered in terms of a curt greeting to his younger brother, downing the rest of the scotch in a single gulp and motioning the bartender for another.

“Was that Nathaniel I saw making an entrance not long ago?” Wesley continued, clearly aiming to make conversation. “Farrah will be thrilled, of course—and surprisingly generous of you, Ham, to extend the olive branch after all that he’s—”

“Get to the point, Wesley,” Hamilton snapped with impatience.

The put-upon air of congenial niceties dropped in an instant. “The shareholders are getting restless. This deal with Saint Export, Farrah’s media circus of a wedding—it’ll tide them over for a time, but not forever. Once the holidays have passed, the board will demand you name a successor. It’s time you stopped dicking around and got ahead of it, before it gets ahead of you—ahead of us. If your plan is to re-legitimize Nathaniel, welcome him back into the fold—”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Hamilton spat with unbridled contempt.

“—then give it to Finn, or to Harper—hell, give it to them both. They’re eager, and qualified, and they’re hungry for it. Give them a fucking scrap, Ham, and they’ll be yours to puppet—“

Hamilton sneered down at his brother mockingly. “This is a pitiful mutiny, brother, even for you…” Wesley’s expression soured with malice, but he held his tongue. “…besides, you forget that I have another child. My first-born, my rightful heir—”

“Harriet?” Wesley said skeptically, in a way he must have thought sounded haughty and cruel but in fact was simply annoying. “Your daughter who abandoned the family for a holiday, who hasn’t been seen publicly in—what, a year…?”

“Don’t you fret, little brother…” Hamilton dismissed, taking up his fresh drink in hand and pushing past Wesley, knocking the younger man off-balance. “…as always, I’ve got everything under control. Do give my congratulations to Farrah, would you?”

***

Nate had spent the past half-hour teetering on the edge of sanity, chasing the phantom mirage of his mother down dark hallways and into empty closets—the back of her head, the sound of her laugh like a siren’s song—only to have the vision dissipate before his eyes. 

His hands were shaking as he clutched at a glass of champagne, squeezing his eyes shut to quiet that goddamn insufferable ringing—

“Perhaps you’ll think twice, next time, before leaving the sanctuary of your drug den with that little bitch, to interfere in Pinnock business…” Nate’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his father’s voice and he gripped the stem of the champagne glass so hard it nearly shattered. “…then again, you never were one to learn from your endless string of monumental fuckups.”

Nate rounded on his father, but the ringing in his head intensified until it was painful, until it roiled his stomach with nausea and he swayed where he stood, molars grinding together as he fought to keep his balance. His father gave a sadistic laugh and continued, “I can see tomorrow’s headlines already: ‘Notorious Drug Addict Nathaniel Pinnock Makes a Scene at Cousin’s Betrothal Ball, So High He Can’t Stand Up Straight’…”

“What do you want?” Nate hissed through gritted teeth, the pain in his head searing relentlessly.

“Oh I’ve already gotten what I want—now I’m just here to relish in watching you epically combust, just like you always do. You’re a disgrace to my name, a fucking joke. I truly don’t know where you get it from—that disgusting bleeding heart of yours, that compels you to stick out your neck for people who don’t give two shits whether you’re alive or dead. You were so fucking easy, Nathaniel, to lure into this trap—so disgustingly spineless that you willingly signed away your pathetic life to me because you thought it might protect your sister from all the things you squandered, you thought it might actually save that tainted Winters whore—that despite who you are she might actually love you—”

Nate swung at his father suddenly, blinded by white-hot rage—and, unfortunately, the effects of the spell on his senses. The glass Nate had been holding hit the wall with a crash, followed by the angry gasps and mutterings of nearby partygoers. Hamilton was a blurred mass swimming in and out of his vision, and as a trickle of blood dripped from his nose and he hastily smeared it away with the back of his hand, Nate knew with a sinking feeling of defeat that he was not going to be able to win this. Nate’s father held all the power, and fighting back would only make it worse.

He would have to stand here and take it—the abuse, the humiliation. Just like it always had been, between Nate and his father.

Nate hung his head, and the throbbing eased. Hamilton stepped close and spoke down to his son, like he would to a bug in the shadow of his shoe, in a voice so low only Nate could hear it, “You’re so like Jackie, Nate. Every time I have to fucking look at you, I see her more clearly. And just like her, I’m going to enjoy tearing you down, little by little, until you’re nothing. You know, it’s funny—your mother never bothered to read the fine print, either. Pathetic…”

And with that, he was gone.

It took a while, before Nate’s senses and pride had returned to him enough to shakily retreat to the comfort of a bar and order another drink, breathing through the horrible clenching feeling of shame in his chest. 

The bartender slid a drink toward him with a disdainful glare that Nate tried to ignore. And as he went to take a sip—there, bobbing in his glass amidst the bubbles—was Dona’s dismembered finger.

[xiomarawinters]

Xiomara's hands squeezed the marble countertop of the vanity, taking a gaping breath of the bathroom's stale air.

What the fuck had just happened? She hadn't hallucinated before- she wasn't that fucking crazy. And Hamilton had acknowledged their existence, threatened her with their existence, so it can't have been only in her head.

Xi's head whipped around sharply, the implication making bile rise in her stomach again. She lurched to the toilet, her heels catching on the hem of her dress, causing her to slam down to her knees- just in time to empty the contents of her stomach before slumping against the porcelain.

What had the medi-wix taught her? Breathe. Run. Focus on things you can sense... Touch: Porcelain. Tile. Dress. Heels. Baggie in her bra. Hear: Muted music. Running water. Laughter. Baggie opening. See: White. Gold. Hands. Towel. Two small pressed tablets, pink. Smell: Chemical. Sharp. Taste: Powder on the back of her tongue, absorbing into her mouth and down her throat...

She arched her neck, stretching her shoulders up to her ears and then letting them drop. Xiomara stared at the wall next to her, trying to focus on her breath, in and out, in and out...

Xi swallowed, then pushed herself up to stand with knocking knees. She stared at her reflection for another short while, drinking in her expression until it didn't start to feel real. Until she didn't feel real.

And then the Xiomara-shaped thing rinsed out her mouth, and left the bathroom, grasping the first glass of dirigible plum wine she saw. She wandered about the ballroom like that, searching for his head of fluffy hair, and eventually found him at a bar. She stood behind him, the pale hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, fingers curling to grip and turn him around.

"We have to go," The woman said, her voice muted and low, "Now. We have to go now." And she nodded, until he was nodding right along with her. The flashes of camera bulbs danced around them as they left the room, out into the cool London air.

Neither of them could apparate. Xiomara didn't have a wand, and her steps were buoyant, and Nate's pupils were so blown out that his eyes were practically black. They walked to start home, both of them staring ahead, silent and unemotional. Eventually a taxi passed, and Nate had the good sense to hail it, murmuring an address to the muggle driver as Xi slid into the back seat.

She wasn't thinking on the drive, and her mind continued to stay mute as she walked into the house where Xiomara lived. But she wasn't Xiomara. This wasn't her life. She wasn't the one to walk upstairs, ignoring greetings from the others. She wasn't toeing her shoes off and peeling Tess's dress off her body, stepping into the bath still wearing her makeup and earrings. The water washed her away. Again.

[xiomarawinters]

So where's this engagement ring we've all heard so much about?

Shoved all the way up his ass, if Nathaniel knows what's good for him.

[xiomarawinters]

Haven't you ruined enough lives? Every relationship you have is toxic af. You shouldn't be allowed to breed let alone have a relationship. Nate deserves better

Nate deserves better?

[xiomarawinters]

What are you doing with your life?

I'm in Outpatient Mental Health treatment, actually. Usually involves group once a week, hypnotherapy with Ruma every few days, and following my recovery plan.

When I'm not serving cunt, that is.

[xiomarawinters]

The Winters sisters had always been told they looked scarily identical, but Cadie and Xiomara couldn't have looked less similar that evening if they tried. While Xiomara's hair had been freshly cut to her chin, straightened so that the ends looked razor sharp, Cadie's locks had been curled to an inch of their life, wrapped up in a gaudy, bow-shaped updo. Xi's golden dress hugged her body, revealing long legs adorned by sharp stilettos. She looked dangerous. Leocadie, however, looked like Shower Pouf Barbie, her spray tan just a shade too orange for the eyes to stay entirely restful.

And Xiomara hadn't even had a chance to snap some witty remark at her sister, before she burst in high-pitched French: "Can I see it? The ring?"

Xi squeezed Nate's arm, but looked puzzled, "What ring?"

In a show of absolute mercilessness, Cadie switched to English before she commented, "Our Maman et son Pere said Nathaniel's proposing tonight!"

Xiomara immediatley released herself from Nate's arm, her face pulling up in disgust as she looked across at him, "... No you are fucking not."

Who the fuck did Nate think she was, that she would want a proposal while she was wearing a borrowed dress? And at someone else's Christmas soiree, of all places? When her nails weren't done? So angry with him, Xi didn't even wait for his gape-mouthed response before storming away in search of the wine for which she'd bothered dragging herself there.

Dismissive of Xiomara's anger, Cadie grinned up at Nate, "This is simply the best news. We must start planning an engagement party at once. Do you think you'll get married in France? Oh, silly, of course you would. Xiomara would never let the children be raised in England."

---

Xiomara's march to the corner of the room, where a fountain of dirigible plum wine awaited her, felt far too quick. She was furious, and hot, and annoyed. The glasses resting on the table tinkled as she grabbed a bottle and poured herself a glass, and she glared at them, laying her palms flat on the tablecloth. There was no point reminding herself to breathe, to steady herself, to keep her entropy at bay. When she gulped down the wine, she was forced to inhale anyway, practically slamming the glass down when she was done.

"Always knew how to make an entrance, my son." Xiomara froze at the voice behind her, her muscles tensing. The wine fountain was pouring into a waiting bowl, and it rippled as she stared through it, threatening to burst. Her toes curled in her shoes.

"He's not with me," She said, still staring at the wine. "He's with Cadie. He's by the door."

Hamilton sighed, inpatient for her to turn around. He waited, and Xiomara had to still herself before she did so. "Miss Winters, it's not him I want to talk to. I believe we had an agreement."

[giggle-me-this]

Cadie’s eyes met Nate’s as she landed her blow, and Nate took note of that staggering golden gleam reflected within them—like Xiomara’s, in aesthetic essence, and yet so different; where Xiomara’s gold was mercurial and turbulent like molten ore, Cadie’s was sharp-edged and polished like a golden dagger dipped in poison. Out for blood.

He tried to tighten his arm around Xi in a way that meant don’t fall for this shit, but she’d already taken the bait, stiffening out of Nate’s grasp and practically vibrating with barely contained fury. “I’m—” he tried pleading—tried to agree with her, for fuck’s sake, even though the accusation had him feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, knocking all the wind out of him—but Xi was stomping off before he could get a word in. Nate glared accusingly at his father, and the man gave him the most nauseatingly self-satisfied fucking smirk, before trailing unhurriedly off in Xiomara’s wake.

Like hell that cunt was getting within 100 feet of his girlfriend again. Nate moved to follow but Cadie stepped deliberately in his way, grinning up at him like a blonde piranha, and when Nate made to step around her, twice, Cadie blocked him each time. So it was all he could do to stand there and watch the back of his father’s retreating head as it disappeared into the crowd, his own ire growing with every passing moment that Leocadie prattled off at him about—about—

Marriage. Even thinking that vile fucking word made Nate’s insides itchy and ill-feeling. He thought of his mother, of the vacant expression that often clouded and dimmed her green eyes when Nate would watch her from afar as a child, he remembered the way she would silently finger the heavy cluster of multi-carat diamonds and one brilliant emerald that sat like shackles atop her ring finger, a Pinnock heirloom, an American treasure that was famously worth more than the value of a small country—Jacqueline Pinnock would behold that precious symbol of her arranged marriage into the Pinnock family and look miserable. 

It was not a fate that Nathaniel Pinnock intended to subject someone he loved to. The very suggestion of it was making his blood boil.

He slid into a mask of superiority like well-worn shoes, flicking a speck of nonexistent dust from his sleeve before staring down his nose at Cadie with cool annoyance; if he was going to get Xi’s family off his ass long enough to go find her and do some major damage control, he would need to revisit this old role. And just when they’d almost managed to forget where they came from—where all of this began. “You really think I’d be so pedestrian as to propose at someone else’s Betrothal Ball? God, how fucking embarrassing…” Nate lied easily, sneering with condescension as he scanned the teeming crowd behind Cadie for sight of his father.

She arched an over-plucked brow at him, pressing the tip of that golden dagger in her eyes right at the soft base of Nate’s throat, an assassination shot. Cadie practically swooned with preemptive victory, “So, you mean to say you aren’t planning to propose to my little sister?”

But Nate had been playing this game far longer and better than the likes of Leocadie Winters. Nate rolled his eyes, and fixed on Cadie a look he’d picked up from Harriet that said her stupidity was testing his patience. “Do try to keep up, Cadie…” he drawled, failing to suppress the thrill that ran through him at how easy this still was. “…just because we all had to scry to find a few sparse words on your nuptials at the back of the paper doesn’t mean you need to spoil a good thing for your sister. Not to mention that if you focus so much of your clearly pent-up energy on being a jealous old hag, you’re bound to wrinkle that gracefully aging face. Or didn’t your housewife’s discount subscription to Witch Weekly teach you that?” The depraved serpentine creature that had slithered into Nate’s body the second he’d decided it was necessary to summon the old Nathaniel Pinnock persona hissed and roiled with glee at the outraged expression on Cadie’s face, the way she so resembled a show pony when her mouth fell open in insult, momentarily disarmed and speechless in the face of Nate’s brazen gall. He seized the reprieve from her very obnoxious voice to strike: “Which—now that I think about it—is exactly where you should look for any further news on the ‘big engagement’…” He leaned right into her space and added in a hushed, goading tone, “…it’ll be on the front page.”

Nate winked, and then very rudely reached an arm past Cadie to snatch a goblet of wine from a passing tray, which effectively shoved her out of his way. He made his way into the crowd, ignoring the squawk of indignation from behind his back and allowing himself just one moment of smug pleasure before coiling the venomous creature within him back into its gilded cage. 

He would need to summon up something far more formidable in order to face a real villain like his father.

***

Well, well—it looks like her time in the loony bin was a bust. Surprising no one…thought Hamilton Pinnock with pity and disgust as he beheld the young woman’s trembling back. Of course he’d had no problem with selling her out when her family had come knocking, pointing them in Nathaniel’s direction when the pair of spineless little oathbreakers had reneged on their contract. And finding out that the girl’s family was having her committed had seemed like punishment enough, at the time—after all, what could be gained from breaking a horse that was already broken?

But naturally, little words like in perpetuity always returned on their investment, in the end. As it so happened, it had been just over one full year since Xiomara and his son had willingly broken the terms of their agreement. And as luck would have it, now was when Hamilton Pinnock had need to yank on those legally binding chains.

Xiomara finally turned to face him, and Hamilton had to give the girl credit for daring to look him in the eye with that laughably feeble attempt at defiance. Foolish and pointless though it may have been, she had some nerve.

A Machiavellian smile pulled gruesomely at his face. “Bold of you and Nathaniel to come crawling out of hiding on such a big night for the Pinnock family. No doubt my son’s grown bored with you and the societal exile you dragged him into—I wouldn’t take it to heart, my dear, he’s always been rather incontinent that way. He gets it from his mother…” 

Xiomara’s lips tightened into a flat line, her eyes narrowing, but she held silent. Good—at least the tart knew when to hold her tongue during a monologue. “…I’ll admit, I find myself—disappointed in you, Miss Winters,” Hamilton continued. “After your former associates spoke with such colorful detail about your commitment to doing any job that was demanded of you, no matter the, shall we say…sometimes degrading personal cost…” The girl reddened at the insinuation, and Hamilton took a step closer. “…all that infamy, and then come to find you can’t even complete the most straightforward of jobs? Such a letdown…”

Through gritted teeth, Xiomara hissed, “Is it a family trait, then—that insufferable need to hear yourself talk? Or is there something that you actually want from me, Sir?”

But Hamilton Pinnock just chuckled and inched one step nearer. “Did you really think you’d get away just like that? You’d spend a few months in a psych ward working on yourself and then get a clean slate, a fresh start, a diamond ring on your finger after shacking up with my son like some high lord’s mistress?” His tone was thick with cruel mocking. “Did you honestly believe that one year would be all it would take for our agreement to be forgotten, for your disobedience and your transgressions to be forgiven?” And finally, the girl had the good sense to look shaken; she opened her mouth to respond but before she could, Hamilton Pinnock raised his free hand and snapped his fingers—a sharp and acute pop of sound amidst the steady thrumming noise of the party. “I’ll grant you the rest of the evening to carefully consider your answer—per our original agreement, you will tell me where Harriet is or suffer the consequences. Better yet: deliver my daughter to me, and I’ll reconsider handing over Nate as collateral until the job is done. That is, of course, after they’re through with you…”

Xiomara’s body tensed, her eyes darting this way and that with dread as the spell fully took effect. She breathed out the word, “Who?”

Hamilton grinned like a shark circling blood in the water as he said, “Oh, did I not make myself clear enough earlier? Your former employer has kindly agreed to remind you what it means in this business when you give a man your word…” 

Then he stepped aside to reveal Xiomara to some notable faces from her past, roughly shouldering their way through the crowd.

[xiomarawinters]

Xiomara felt her stomach plunge downward, her knees buckling and her pulse racing- an immediate, visceral reaction to their faces. She gripped the table behind her and slipped on her sweaty palms, rattling the wine glasses behind her as she bumped it. Her pupils were pin-points, narrowing with fear as her gaze darted between them. 

They were unmistakable; she had forgotten nothing about them. Nothing about what their hands felt like on her, what their breath smelled like, the tone of their voice, the shape of their cocks. And when they walked towards her, their expressions clearly indicated that they had not forgotten her, either.

She risked a glance at Hamilton, grinned cruelly. He was clearly enjoying his retribution, a well-deserved stroking of his own power. Xiomara opened her mouth to beg, but found nothing came out. Her voice, like everything else, had been taken from her.

“Where is my daughter, Miss Winters?” He eyed her, a mercy to the bug pinned in place. 

She went back to watching them approach- they were practically arms-length from Hamilton, now. When Xiomara opened her mouth again, bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back down to stammer out, “Sh-She’s a-at, sh-she’s at th-the-”

“Spit it out.” He snapped, impatient to force her attention back to him.

“Putney,” Xiomara gasped, leaning back from the approaching men, “She’s at the safe house in Putney-”

He eyed her, narrowing his eyes and mashing his lips into a cruel, vicious line. Hamilton was clearly furious that she and Nate had been harbouring Harriet for so long, immediately assuming that Nathaniel had lied about knowing his sister’s whereabouts when they initially signed the Word as Bond. Without another word, Hamilton turned on his heel, satisfied that he had received the information he required.

She lurched forward desperately, sliding against the marble flooring in her heels. She gripped his arm, “Please- Please send them away. Call them off. P-Please don’t, please-”

Hamilton Pinnock paused, narrowing his eyes at the stupid girl as he pulled his arm away from her grasp. He wrinkled his nose as he dusted off his sleeve, as if she’d tainted it with her touch. It occurred to him that Xiomara Winters hadn’t begged for him not to send her supposed associates after his son, nor had she hesitated before selling out the girl. Perhaps it was a good thing that the vapid girl was courting Nathaniel, after all. If he couldn’t have his children in his pocket, he could certainly have her.

“You ought to call Clearer Skies,” He mused aloud as the girl almost visibly vibrated with fear. Hamilton fixed his cufflinks before he added, “I’ve heard they do excellent work with wix who see things that aren’t there.” 

He looked over his shoulder, at the spaces where the men Xiomara feared had been moments ago. Her eyes darted around anxiously, following his gaze. Still too delirious to understand the implications, Xi backed away, gathering up the skirt of her dress to keep from tripping again. She had to get out. She had to find Nate. She had to get out. 

[xiomarawinters]

[xiomarawinters]

"It is difficult to keep 'is name in print when you publicly disown 'him..." Aurelie retorted quickly, raising her brows. She wasn't opposed to cutting off diseased branches of her own strong family tree in order to maintain its growth. But when economic deals had been put in place, and the pruning would put someone else out of their entitlement? Well. Aurie had an issue with that. And she had no problem reminding Hamilton of it. Fucking Americans.

She rolled her eyes at Hamilton's childish play- as good as standing there with his hands over his eyes, crying like a petulant child: 'I can't see them, so they don't exist!'. Aurelie finished her glass, dropping the flute on a passing waiter's tray, and sucking her teeth.

"If they show, you speak to 'im. I will speak to 'er. We need a ring, Pinnock."

"A ring?" Aurelie turned as her daughter approached. Leocadie was dressed in ostentatious hot pink tulle, complimented by the midnight blue dress robes of her husband, who strolled along with her, arm in arm. Even if Xiomara proved to be an eternal disappointment, at least Aurelie had Cadie. At least one of her children proved fruitful. "Who's getting a ring?" The blonde asked as she approached, looking between Hamilton and her Maman.

---

Xiomara's hand slipped into Nate's pocket, fingers clutching around the small plastic baggie and sliding it out, seamlessly making the stash appear in her purse with a few flicks of her fingers, like she was flicking away dust.

"... The fuck are we doing this for?" Xi sighed, smoothing her hands down the lapels of Nate's suit as if she hadn't just removed his only means of coping with the evening. "It's not too late. We can still go home and watch Jurassic Park."

"Tempting, Mrs Smith," Nate nodded, humming as if he were considering it. "But as I recall, someone wanted Dirigible Plum wine-"

"God, yes, I need that wine." Xi winced. The orange-tinted wine was a wizarding delicacy, shared only at Yuletide events. It was ridiculously expensive, so completely out of their budget, but also guaranteed to be at the night's festivities.

Nate offered his arm to her, and she sighed. Means to an end. Xiomara looped her arm in his, and a moment later, the pair apparated to the party.

[giggle-me-this]

Their feet landed on solid ground, shoes crunching on imported gravel underfoot, and the sound crackled through the still air of the estate’s empty outer drive. They were quite late, by no accidental miscalculation. They’d gone back and forth for hours, each finding irrelevant and performative reasons to talk themselves in and out of coming; they didn’t have the right thing to wear, the safehouse shouldn’t be left unattended for too long while Rue was MIA, Fish might need help at the bar. None of which had anything to do with why Nate and Xiomara were actually anxious about making their first public social appearance in over year.

Their first ever, together. “Officially.”

Both of them stood in the cold, breath coming out in small white puffs, neither making any move to actually walk forward for one prolonged moment. 

Then Xi made an impatient sound in her throat and it broke the spell. Christ, pull it together. This is only a big deal if you make it a big deal. Nate exhaled, and moved them across the drive and up the mountain of steps that led to the front door in long, even strides. He’d been to a million and fucking one of these things—why should tonight be any different? Granted, he was usually much more intoxicated at this point, which probably accounted for him feeling so anxious and fucking twitchy. But that was what the Dirigible Plum wine was for—and the stash of emergency narcotics in his pocket. It was just a fucking party, for fuck’s sake.

They stopped just short of the door, nearly colliding with a house elf who appeared before them. “Good evening,” said the small creature to their shins, “The Saint Estate welcomes you, our distinguished guests. The House respectfully requests an Antecedent Offering from all those of noble stock who would enter.”

“Um…a what?” said Nate, glancing at Xiomara in his peripheral vision. She looked annoyed to be stopped at the door for any reason.

The house elf held up a knife that was more blinged out than a Gringott’s vault. Nate made a face, and said, “Sorry, I still don’t—”

“Your blood, Sir,” said the elf, nodding toward a large lion-headed gargoyle with its mouth held open, “For the Guardian of this House.”

Nate balked. “Are you serious? I’m…I’m Nathaniel Pinnock, surely that isn’t necessary…if you just find my cousin, Farrah, inside, I’m sure we can—ow, Jesus fuck—!”

While he was arguing, the house elf very calmly snapped its fingers and the dagger levitated into the air so that Nate nicked the side of his hand on the pointed end of it while gesturing in animation. He was still grumbling and cursing under his breath as he let a few drops of blood drip from his fist into the gargoyle’s mouth, healed the cut, and ushered Xiomara inside before she was asked to do the same.

“What the fuck kind of Stone Age bullshit was that…” he was saying, dramatically balling up his hand into a fist and then stretching out his fingers several times before rolling his wrist into a simple tut, as if actually needing to verify that the equivalent of a fucking paper cut might somehow cut off his ability to use ambient magic. 

“Would you stop fucking whining like a child? Merlin, you’re giving me a headache. It’s done,” Xi patronized, sharp and annoyed.

Nate sighed, and huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, fuck. I need a drink…” He held out his hand for her and she glared at it for a moment before giving a sniff and taking it. He smirked, chuckling when Xi jabbed her elbow into his ribs in warning. “Well, at least we can sneak in unnoticed since we’re so late…”

He was immediately, viciously wrong. No sooner had they stepped through the enormous, groaning, gilded ballroom doors than there were camera bulbs flashing, gasps and murmurs of shock and delight and indignation, of their names, rippling across the room like flat stones skipping on the surface of a lake. 

It made Nate’s ears ring, and he slipped his arm behind Xiomara’s back, wincing, holding tightly to her waist as if grounded by how solid and real she was. “Still too late to turn back?” he muttered into her ear with a mocking tone that was not at all convincing.

“Xiomara, ma cocotte!” came a squealing voice that was hatefully familiar as it crawled up Nate’s spine. And then Cadie was in front of them in a gruesome getup of hot pink, with a merciless expression painted across her sharp features.

[xiomarawinters]

The Winters sisters had always been told they looked scarily identical, but Cadie and Xiomara couldn't have looked less similar that evening if they tried. While Xiomara's hair had been freshly cut to her chin, straightened so that the ends looked razor sharp, Cadie's locks had been curled to an inch of their life, wrapped up in a gaudy, bow-shaped updo. Xi's golden dress hugged her body, revealing long legs adorned by sharp stilettos. She looked dangerous. Leocadie, however, looked like Shower Pouf Barbie, her spray tan just a shade too orange for the eyes to stay entirely restful.

And Xiomara hadn't even had a chance to snap some witty remark at her sister, before she burst in high-pitched French: "Can I see it? The ring?"

Xi squeezed Nate's arm, but looked puzzled, "What ring?"

In a show of absolute mercilessness, Cadie switched to English before she commented, "Our Maman et son Pere said Nathaniel's proposing tonight!"

Xiomara immediatley released herself from Nate's arm, her face pulling up in disgust as she looked across at him, "... No you are fucking not."

Who the fuck did Nate think she was, that she would want a proposal while she was wearing a borrowed dress? And at someone else's Christmas soiree, of all places? When her nails weren't done? So angry with him, Xi didn't even wait for his gape-mouthed response before storming away in search of the wine for which she'd bothered dragging herself there.

Dismissive of Xiomara's anger, Cadie grinned up at Nate, "This is simply the best news. We must start planning an engagement party at once. Do you think you'll get married in France? Oh, silly, of course you would. Xiomara would never let the children be raised in England."

---

Xiomara's march to the corner of the room, where a fountain of dirigible plum wine awaited her, felt far too quick. She was furious, and hot, and annoyed. The glasses resting on the table tinkled as she grabbed a bottle and poured herself a glass, and she glared at them, laying her palms flat on the tablecloth. There was no point reminding herself to breathe, to steady herself, to keep her entropy at bay. When she gulped down the wine, she was forced to inhale anyway, practically slamming the glass down when she was done.

"Always knew how to make an entrance, my son." Xiomara froze at the voice behind her, her muscles tensing. The wine fountain was pouring into a waiting bowl, and it rippled as she stared through it, threatening to burst. Her toes curled in her shoes.

"He's not with me," She said, still staring at the wine. "He's with Cadie. He's by the door."

Hamilton sighed, inpatient for her to turn around. He waited, and Xiomara had to still herself before she did so. "Miss Winters, it's not him I want to talk to. I believe we had an agreement."