moritat | there is always another au

He gives a small laugh, nodding. "No, of course. I understand. It can become a bit overwhelming in these situations." And with a small nod that could almost be a bow, he goes to scout it out.

Assuming Paloma does head to the balcony, no sooner has she found that peace and quiet than he reappears, leaning backward over the rail. Except that isn't Henry. And rather than a pretty smile, he flashes a grin.

So polite, so courteous, it could only be the bare minimum a lord of his disposition offers any business partner. Her grateful smile fades once his back is turned. With him gone, she's again an outsider. A lucky intern, and it is absurd that she should miss his company for more than a half-second.

Her respite is short enough that she doesn't even have a moment to twist her hands together. Leaping out of her skin yet perfectly immobile, Paloma looks up at the Other Brother with enormous eyes. Damn. Damn damn damn.

"Are you enjoying the party?" she inquires faintly.

He straightens a bit, only to shrug in his leather jacket. "Sure. The private party is a little more exciting, though." He won't even try to hide it, the way she looks at him tells him that she's heard about him. "Have you had the tour?"

The tour. Pardon Paloma for thinking it, but she'd like to avoid taking private tours from young men mixed up in accusations of murder. Her mouth is dry.

"Yes, Veronica-- the curator showed me," she lies outright. The balcony rail has suddenly become fascinating. In her peripheral she sees the leather and judges, just a bit. "But thank you very much."

"Too bad... Well, any time you want to get away, I'll be here..." What a reaction! He loves it, he revels in people being afraid of him, especially without ever having met him. He turns around to lean the other way, draping his arms over the rail.

"...He wants to fuck you, you know."

She forgets to breathe. Fortunate, else she would have choked on nothing but air.

Then her hands do find each other, latching on at the knuckle to twist her index and middle finger. The humiliation she's been afraid of has found Paloma and it's as terrible as she feared. Her cheeks burn white hot.

"There is no way you could know that!"

"Sure there is. I know him better than anyone. Don't people always say twins can basically read each other's minds?" He grins wider, leaning in close. "Besides, I know all the signs with him. But he's too chicken shit to say it, so you'll just have to watch for them yourself."

She can smell the cigarettes on his breath. Paloma cowers, turning her face away without taking steps to separate from him.

"I... I know what you're doing! I-I don't want to be a part of whatever problems you two have! Thank you!"

"What? I'm trying to help, he'll never get laid if I don't help, wouldn't you want that for your big brother?" He has to laugh though, because still, she isn't entirely wrong. "Give him a go, help the poor guy out, y'know?"

This is the most blatant reverse psychology anyone's ever tried on her. He either believes she's ignorant to the context of their relationship, or Edward (that was his name?) flat out thinks she's stupid.

Indignance is a lifeline tossed into her mire of anxiety. Shivering, she finally darts a step away. Her eyes look everywhere but at his. "Stop it, please. It's not going to work. But you- you should try the appetizers. Or get a drink."

"Hmm, maybe, but I had a different sort of appetizer in mind..." He stands upright to face her, fingers creeping to the hem of her skirt--

Until Henry returns, carrying a tray with selections for both of them. But the moment he sees what his brother's up to, he turns red with anger and only just manages to remember to set the tray down before he marches over to grab him by the wrist and pull him away. "Edward!" Once he succeeds in pulling the other toward the door, he hisses reprimands in harsh but quiet tones, like a parent scolding a child in front of company.

Not the worst line she's heard. Second or third, probably. She shies from his hand, inhaling for a hearty yell--

Jekyll saves her twice. Once from his brother and again from herself, from making a spectacle. She could cry from relief if it wasn't so jarring seeing them facing each other. The sole differences lie in how much tidier and well-groomed Henry is. Otherwise...

Paloma turns very quickly to stare out over the grounds. Trying not to eavesdrop is a doomed effort.

"What's wrong with you? You can't do things like this, anything you want whenever you want! Harassing someone like a goddamn cat in heat!"

All he gets in reply is an, "Oh, fuck off," and a a scoff before Edward turns on his heel to skulk away. And, still furious, leave Jekyll to turn to Paloma.

"I apologise - good God, I'm sorry..." Here's some champagne to calm the nerves?

Should've plugged her ears. Family drama of a kind she can't relate to, never having met her brother at an age it's possible to recall. Secondhand embarrassment makes her flinch.

When it's safe, she faces the sane(?) brother with a deliberately blank expression. "It's okay. Thank you. From me, this time."

Champagne? Champ-gone. She swigs it too fast.

Oh. Understandable after dealing with Edward.... He offers up the second glass too, because he can always get himself more if he wants it. "No, not at all. I'd hoped he wouldn't come, frankly."

"Anyway! Apart from him, escaping the crowd was a good idea. You can take your time and the weight off your feet, not to mention the quiet is better for talking."

A lightweight has no good reason to accept another glass, and she's already regretting the hasty chug with her chest and dignity in flames. Paloma demurs.

Despite what she'd told his brother, it's hard not to analyze Jekyll for signs of... not attraction, but hints that he's going above and beyond a host's courtesy. Nothing concrete shows. Obviously.

"If I stay out here too long, the boss will grill me for hiding," she jokes. Too much tightness around the eyes for it to not be true.

It might not be overt, but there's signs of attraction at least. The way he doesn't quite make eye contact, shy tendencies that would only be noticed by those who know his usual demeanor intimately.

"You're talking with me, surely that's important to business."

Yet Paloma, with whatever empathetic nuance-picking she's been praised for, is a stranger. The eye contact is written off as a responsible brother's guilt, given what he'd walked in on.

God. If he hadn't... better not imagine.

The snacks he's brought help bring her blood sugar up just by ogling them. His reply brings her glance straight back up to Jekyll's face. "Yeah? What should I tell her we talked about, d'you think?" Was that a, a, a flirtatious note? Um?

"Hmm, expenses sounds formal and important, right? Wheelchair accessibility?" He shrugs and gives a small laugh, since he's just throwing things out there. "Although I'm not sure where you would go from there, on details."

"Wheelchair accessibility is really important..."

Paloma is so relieved he didn't pick up on the sly undercurrent that she feels a tad light-headed. Or it could be the champagne. Best watch her tongue.

"I could say you're considering funding future exhibitions, acquisitions, or, oh, oh my God, I'm so sorry! I wasn't--!" Fishing in his pockets. Her cheeks are scorching.

"Oh- no not at all, it's true, I would be interested! I think the arts are very important, and too often the overhead costs are too much to make the ticket price accessible, when it should practically be a human right to engage in arts and culture!" So they need people with money to write cheques to keep the prices down. It's a very lordly thing to do.

Lordly? Not where Paloma comes from!

Without the context of what modern English bluebloods are expected to contribute, the sheer magnitude of his olive branch renders her mute. Her eyes go huge, luminous in the lamplight.

"Yes," she starts, once her head catches up, "yes, exactly! We have a right to understand where and how the art of now comes from art of then, or what's the point of sharing anything!?" Excitement puts a quiver into her voice.

"Ah, I can see you feel very passionately about it!" He beams, because he doesn't want to laugh or blush, but it's endearing. "Besides which art is inherently entwined with history, the events of the time shape it and appear within it, it's incredibly educational."

Too engrossed to care about how it looks, Paloma grabs two of the little appetizers at once and shoves them into her mouth as he speaks, nodding vigorously. They've vanished by the time he's at 'appear within'.

"The history is why I'm here in the first place! Galleries aren't meant to just flaunt the same classics over and over again when we have so many neglected works and stories!"

It hits her that her volume has risen enough to stop the conversation nearest the balcony archway. She blushes, quiets, clutches her empty glass. "... I'll tell the curator you're thinking about it, if you want."

"Please do, you can tell her you spent all night working on me." He smiles, like a dummy, because he doesn't notice his double entendre. And because she's cute.

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