For a brief, thunderstruck moment Erik wondered if Charles was ordering a
drink for him— but then Charles's head tipped back, baring the
lean arch of his throat as he poured half the tumbler of whiskey down the
hatch in one neat swallow. He set the glass back on the table without so
much as a tremble, the sharp percussion of glass on marble echoing the snap
of his eyes back to Erik's, flatly defiant.
Erik could feel the anger and accusation in that look— could have
felt it from fifty yards distant— and found he was unable to summon
the requisite self-righteousness to respond in kind. "I'm surprised to see
you here, Charles," he said, arching an indifferent eyebrow. "I'd have
thought your liquor cabinet was far superior to the hotel's."
And if Charles wanted to drink in resentful solitude, there was no reason
he needed to leave the house to do it.
But Charles's eyes had slid away from him again— to Jordan, Erik
realized belatedly, and glanced over his shoulder to see his friend giving
his ex-lover a desultory once-over of her own. "This is Jordan Baker," he
said, unable to help himself adding, "though no doubt you've gotten that
much on your own already."
He tried not to think what else Charles might be seeing in Jordan's mind,
tried to keep down the flash of alarm that wanted to recall that afternoon
she'd listened to him pour out his heart along with most of a bottle of
gin. What had he told her? It didn't matter at this point— Charles
had already made his contempt clear, and Erik was enough of a pragmatist to
know that wasn't likely to change no matter what he saw in anyone's head.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-10-02 08:03 pm (UTC)For a brief, thunderstruck moment Erik wondered if Charles was ordering a drink for him— but then Charles's head tipped back, baring the lean arch of his throat as he poured half the tumbler of whiskey down the hatch in one neat swallow. He set the glass back on the table without so much as a tremble, the sharp percussion of glass on marble echoing the snap of his eyes back to Erik's, flatly defiant.
Erik could feel the anger and accusation in that look— could have felt it from fifty yards distant— and found he was unable to summon the requisite self-righteousness to respond in kind. "I'm surprised to see you here, Charles," he said, arching an indifferent eyebrow. "I'd have thought your liquor cabinet was far superior to the hotel's."
And if Charles wanted to drink in resentful solitude, there was no reason he needed to leave the house to do it.
But Charles's eyes had slid away from him again— to Jordan, Erik realized belatedly, and glanced over his shoulder to see his friend giving his ex-lover a desultory once-over of her own. "This is Jordan Baker," he said, unable to help himself adding, "though no doubt you've gotten that much on your own already."
He tried not to think what else Charles might be seeing in Jordan's mind, tried to keep down the flash of alarm that wanted to recall that afternoon she'd listened to him pour out his heart along with most of a bottle of gin. What had he told her? It didn't matter at this point— Charles had already made his contempt clear, and Erik was enough of a pragmatist to know that wasn't likely to change no matter what he saw in anyone's head.