“You don’t seem that uh, zesty, about it?” He questioned, not quite sure why he phrased it that way. Around Anastasia, he wanted to be more put together and definitely smoother than usual. It wasn’t quite an attraction, but more so wanting to fit into her life somehow. “Why did you buy custom made gowns? It’s just a wedding, isn’t it? Why does it matter?”

“Zesty?”  she laughed, teasing his word choice.  “I’m not sure I know how to be zesty, Peter.  Especially when I’m having absolutely no say in this.”  From her tone, she clearly wasn’t happy, but even Anastasia knew she sounded resigned to the situation.  She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.  “Because it’s fun, and I wanted to.  I rarely need more of a reason than that.  But with a wedding as big as this, people will spend the next year talking about what you wore and who you came with.  It pays off to get it right.”

Her fingers in his hair wasn’t a new sensation, but the gentleness that they were carried with certainly was. Fenrir considered not answering her question, but knew that she’d find it suspicious. He also considered lying, but the opportunity to brag was just a little too sweet. “I dunno why the fuck y’sound so surprised. I’ve shagged a few halfbloods too if that ‘elps.” He knew it probably wouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist the smug feeling creeping through his body at the knowledge that she was annoyed by him sleeping with other people. She would never admit it, he knew that much, but it didn’t hurt to provoke her a little more to see if she’d give something away. “I ‘ad a witch the other day who screamed so fuckin’ loud when she came that my ears were ringin’ for hours after.” His grin was audible; he was enjoying this conversation immensely. 

Her words had him frown. People who hid their emotions were idiots, in his opinion, and watching her try to close herself off was like trying to talk to Remus Lupin without wanting to snap his neck – painful. Reaching up, he took a hold of Anastasia’s jaw and forced her attention back to him. “Fuck off, y’know that ain’t why I’m here.” A little awkwardly, but with enough want to make it work, he tightened his grip and dragged her down towards him into a kiss that tasted of blood and spearmint toothpaste. 

The soothing motion of her fingers running through his hair stopped.  It was tempting to yank it, but she fought the urge.  The venomous feeling beginning to bubble up was a familiar one.  Anastasia was prone to possessiveness over jealousy  —  a spoilt brat by nature, she’d never learnt that people weren’t hers, nevermind how to share them.  “I’m just curious,”  she huffed defensively.  “If you’re in the running to be my first, I’m allowed to ask things like that.  It helps me make comparisons between you and the competition.”  A petty remark, but she was never above biting back.

@madlaggen

“Right.” Fenrir shot the sofa a dirty look as if intending to scare whatever creepy abilities it held into submission. He pocketed the phial and sat down slowly – partially to keep the dust cover in place, but also to stop his bones from screaming at him. “Somethin’ to help me recover,” he answered vaguely. And then, because he knew she wouldn’t let him rest until she’d drawn every ounce of truth out from his tired and aching body, he added, “Blood.” Another long sigh was exhaled. Fenrir settled into the cushions, pleasantly surprised to find that they were comfortable. He’d half expected them to be filled with glass shards or something equally lethal. He lifted his boots onto the adjacent armrest and let his head fall back against the other, Anastasia’s thigh warm against the crown of his skull. 

“It was full moon last night.” He had shut his eyes but he tried to imagine her expression, only to find that he couldn’t. Something close to a smirk formed on his mouth, tugging at one corner of his lips. “Just like shaggin’ a pureblood, Lycanthropy can be a fuckin’ bitch the mornin’ after. And, just like shaggin’ a pureblood, it’s always worth the hassle.” Fenrir tried to laugh but the sound came out as a coughing fit. It took a moment for him to recover, grumbling irritably to himself about the time of the year and healing rates. He cracked an eyelid open and rose his chin until he could see Anastasia properly. “I thought comin’ ‘ere would make it a bit less shit.”

Despite hesitating, Anastasia glancing down at Fenrir in surprise, she uncrossed her legs to let him to rest his head better.  She wasn’t sure at what point she’d begun to care about his comfort, but just this once, she indulged the concern.  His answer had things fall into place.  “...Oh.”  Spoken softly, the realisation clear in her voice, at first it was all she said.  Why hadn’t she considered that?  As she looked at him, she realised his werewolf side wasn’t something she’d given much thought to, no matter how closely the two parts of him always seemed intertwined.  She wasn’t sure how she felt about it  -  or if she felt anything at all.  

“I suppose so,” Leanna simply commented, realizing now was the time to back down from her questioning about Fredrika and anyway the prospect of a gift was far more interesting. She couldn’t help but smile as Anastasia spoke, putting her first when it came to this. Her eyes lit up at the necklace. “That is beautiful. Thank you, how sweet of you to think of me.” She gathered up her hair to one side of her neck before saying, “Will you do the honours of putting it on for me?”

Anastasia watched the woman’s reaction with a glint to her eyes, always getting a kick out of playing with people like this.  “I always think of you,”  she shrugged, voice like honey as she smiled through the lie.  She left it to Leanna to wonder if she meant when she saw things like that, or in general.  “Of course.”  Taking the necklace back, she came to stand behind her.  “It suits you,”  she said, fastening it around her neck.  Ana lingered there for a moment, gently brushing Leanna’s hair back into place, having just moved it over one shoulder.  “Do you really like it?”

Andromeda shot Ana a sideways glance, amused. Her own heels clicked across the wooden floors as she wandered to the center of the room. “And you don’t think I could fight as dirty as you?” She inherently knew that Ana seemed far more capable of cutting someone deep, more than Andromeda’s own empathy would allow, but she still liked to think they were both fierce in their own right. “But you’re right - I oughtn’t be greedy.” She turned to look properly at her companion. “Have you sorted out how you’re going to break the news to your parents?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you could fight for this, but to do it dirtily?  Not a challenge you want to pose to a Burke,”  came her answer.  Mused with no small amount of confidence, Anastasia well aware of her family’s less than honest reputation, it was coupled with a small grin.  Attention still on the room, she tilted her head at the question.  “I have.  I’ve decided I’m just not going to.  It’s easiest, really, when I can’t say I want to see the moment my father learns his only child is flying the nest.  There’ll be tears.”

His senses still hadn’t quite settled. He could smell Anastasia’s perfume, a surprisingly enjoyable scent unlike the distinctly sweet, flowery, sickening ones that clung to the clothes and skin of most pureblood witches. He could hear her breathing and, if he listened close enough, really concentrated, the faint beat of her pulse. Instead of saying thanks, Fenrir expelled a noise that sounded rather like hmmph. Barely glancing at the elaborate show of security (he wondered whether the shop really needed that many locks and then remembered Sophia’s reckless behaviour a few weeks prior), he trailed in behind her. “M’kay.” The response was half-hearted, but he was in no mood to be arguing with her over how much he didn’t want to be interrogated while his skull felt like it was being split apart by a pickaxe. 

The stock room was dark and warm. As soon as he stepped inside, Fenrir exhaled out an exhausted sigh which sent floating dust motes into a twirling frenzy. He eyed the contents cautiously: a mirror that looked in no fit state to be showing anyone their reflection, a wardrobe that looked more like an upright coffin. Approaching a sofa, his gaze flitted to Anastasia. “Can I sit on this without havin’ some sort of curse placed on m’bloodline?” Not, admittedly, that he would give a flying fuck if it did. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small glass phial and yanked the cork off with his teeth, spitting it on the floor before downing the deep crimson contents. He could feel Anastasia’s eyes on him. “Y’don’t ‘ave t’stay if you’re busy.”

Out of the whole shop, nowhere was more Ana’s domain than the stock room.  Long before Caractacus had her sit at the front counter, it had been her’s to explore unsupervised, the witch curious enough  (and small enough)  to discover its various nooks and crannies.  In a room cluttered with a mixture of new and old stock, there were many.  The sofa she lead Fenrir too was fairly out of sight, tucked away in a back corner that she doubted Borgin would venture to.  “Only if you don’t remove the dust cover,”  she answered, unsure whether he’d been joking or not.  She decided now wasn’t the time to explain the furniture’s properties.  

gryffindor  |  house bolton  |   daughter of hecate  |  erudite  |  district 13  |  | scorpio

Fredrika frowned. She definitely wasn’t used to playing all these games, and Anastasia was clearly better at them than she was. “But if I never bring it up I could be marrying a monster. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone who is capable of such a thing. Besides, what makes you think he could hurt me that easily? I am tough.” She crossed her arms. “All right, I will wait until you talk to her if you want.”

“I won’t let it get to that, I promise.  No one’s allowed to hurt you.”  The look Anastasia gave her was a serious one.  “Tough doesn’t always protect you.”  She gave a small nod, finding herself reaching across to squeeze Freddie’s arm.  “Thank you.  I know you want to act on this, but I’m trying to keep you safe.  Don’t do anything stupid.”

Fredrika frowned. “That is exactly what she told me. That I seem too nice for him. I am not saying I don’t believe what happened to her, especially since she told me she has proof but why would she be so concerned about a girl she does not know? Loyalty like that is not easily found here. It strikes me as odd, Ana.” She shook her head, another soft sigh escaping her lips. “I have not. I want to, though, but I am afraid I will end up punching him or something.”

“That’s because it is odd,”  was her responce, Anastasia thinking it over.  She struggled not to roll her eyes at Freddie’s next words.  “Don’t,”  she warned sternly.  “Anything you know that he doesn’t is an upper hand.  If it’s not true and you bring it up, you risk the betrothal.  If it is, he could lash out and hurt you, then I’d have to hang, draw and quarter him.  Very messy.  We need to know more first.  Maybe I should talk to Leanna.”