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Arthur and Lydia, backdated to Dec 16
When Arthur returns from Thailand, he grabs Lydia for drinks (surprise!) and judgery (totally unsurprising). Well, okay, they also talk a little business... mainly consisting of judging new students.
Aka: In which Lydia discovers how adorable tipsy!Arthur is.
The conversation with the headmasters had taken longer than Arthur had intended, probably not least because he'd refused to be even slightly apologetic about the whole thing. They had let him out eventually, but by that time Eames had probably disappeared...wherever he'd decided to vanish off to and the less Arthur knew about that, the happier he'd probably be.
Which was likely why he made his way right back to the TAs hall, only to bypass his own door completely. They hadn't actually told anyone when they were coming back, unless the rumor mill had gotten around faster than he'd thought. Now seemed as good a time to let Lydia know as any.
"What's your opinion on going out for drinks right now?" He asked dryly the second she responded to the knock on her door.
Lydia’s eyebrows went up immediately. As relieved as she was to see Arthur, this was not precisely the way she expected the reunion to go. She did love when he surprised her. “My opinion is that you probably need it even more than I do, after the last few weeks.” Not that she was sure it would have any effect on her, but just getting out with Arthur—and seeing what he was like after a few—would do the trick anyhow.
She stepped back and waved him in, then turned to collect her coat and bag. One of the perks of always being in perfect order and dressed to the nines was that when these surprises occurred, Lydia was ready. “When did you get back?”
"Last night," he said as lingered against the door frame, watching her gather her things.
"Had to do a bit of damage control today."
“TPTB not happy with the sudden unforeseen absence?” she asked, almost as dry as he usually was, with a quick glance over her shoulder. She steadied her bag over her arm and grabbed her car keys. Of course they hadn’t been happy, but whatever it was, they had to know as well as she that it wasn’t the kind of thing Arthur did without a perfectly good reason. Which, in this case, had clearly been Eames-related.
"Just a bit," Arthur agreed in the tone of voice that said he still didn't much care. "Not in trouble, just...warned. For next time." Not that there was ever going to be one if Arthur had anything to say about it, but he appreciated it for what it was.
“Mmm, not much else they can say,” Lydia agreed, first nudging him a little with her hip to make room, then closing the door and locking it behind her. “Eames is all right, though?”
The fact that Arthur had to consider that for a moment probably said it all, but he didn't look overly worried as he turned to head down the hall. "Managing, I think. He's not destroyed or anything, but it hit hard."
As if it were a perfectly normal conversational element, even though it wouldn’t be to either of them, Lydia said, “He’s lucky to have you,” as she pulled the key out of the lock. Then a hint of a smile pulled at one corner of her lips. “As long as he’s managing, though, there’s full recovery ahead. Who knows, maybe even something better.”
At least, that’s how it had worked for her. Lydia started down the hall, fully expecting Arthur to be in step beside her—or maybe he started down the hall and she kept with him. She wasn’t sure and didn’t need to be.
He flicked her an amused look as they fell into step, one side of his mouth curving up genuinely.
"I'm not necessarily sure I'd call things better," Arthur said, too many of the dubiously-legal-or-worse things they'd both done over the course of the last few weeks without so much as blinking. "But different, yes.
He let that settle for a moment before cutting his eyes to her again. "You can ask, you know."
“I do now,” she said without missing a beat, though the glance she cast at him was, in fact, grateful. “All I know is he went to see his family and suddenly you disappeared. Usually, that means life without them will be better. But, seeing as my own were surprisingly all right this Thanksgiving, who knows.
“How bad was it?”
Arthur let out a hard exhale, but his voice was even when he answered. "His father gave him an ultimatum -- continued acknowledgement in exchange for never going public as a mutant." Given the outcome, Lydia would able to read between those lines easily.
Lydia made her best “Are you fucking stupid?” face, but obviously not for Arthur himself. Lydia hardly knew Eames, and even she knew he’d be the last person to come out—or very nearly, anyhow. Which, well, “Sounds familiar, at least in terms of cluelessness. Then that does seem like the better kind of different. At least, once he stops reeling.”
Because, really, fuck them. Lydia’s parents were idiots, yes, but at least they didn’t try to meddle. Christ. “Guessing that’s what the last few weeks were about, then?” Since, clearly, no one could stop reeling in the presence of… that.
"He figured if he was getting disowned, we were taking a trip on his sister's dime, yeah," Arthur agreed in his most deadpan. "I don't think they were ever hugely close, but still." Having family stop talking to you for a good reason was still a shock to the system. He could barely comprehend what Eames was going through with all of it, and he'd been there for most.
"Still," Lydia agreed wholeheartedly as they started down the stairs. "Terrible for anyone. For someone as... I want to say sentimental, but that's not even the word, really. It makes it worse for him, though.
"Nice vacation on the evil family, though, I'm guessing?" Apart from what she also assumed had been much emotional babysitting. She wouldn't ask Arthur to admit to that, though. No benefit for anyone, there.
"Emotional," Arthur corrected after a moment's consideration. Connotations on the word or not, Eames owned his emotions in a way that Arthur, even after a year and change, still occasionally found baffling. "Two weeks in Thailand," he added in answer to the actual question. "Not complaining."
Lydia nodded thoughtfully at the word 'emotional'. She liked it, thinking back to that first real conversation with Eames and how surprised she'd been by his unaffected openness. "Mmm, that does sound good. I've always wanted to go.
"What about tonight? Into the city, or somewhere closer? Quiet, loud, small, large...?"
"Close by, probably. To be honest, I really need a drink and don't care where to get it."
"Done," Lydia promised, turning towards the garage at the foot of the stairs. "I'm sure I can come up with something to do the trick."
***
Preference on not, Arthur had still given Lydia's choice a slightly askance look as she lead him inside before deciding that he really didn't care. As long as no one tried to card them, he could live with a certain amount of pretentious trendiness.
"So what would you suggest?" He asked a little wryly as they got themselves settled.
"They make their own bitters, so I'm getting a Manhattan." Plus, if anything was going to affect her, it'd have to be pretty much all hard liquor, and she wasn't much for shots. But... "Do you need to start with a shot or three? Because I can do that with you first, if you want."
She smirked as she slipped off her coat and into a booth-style seat. That way both of them could sit on the same side and people watch--both the trendy twenty-and-thirty-something crowd inside and those braving the weather outside.
"Let's start off slow and go from there," Arthur said with a slight shake of his head. If he wanted to get smashed, he'd have just done that at home. "Manhattans are fine."
When the server came over and handed of menus, Lydia accepted them, but ordered two Manhattans in the meantime. Then, fully settled into the booth seat, close enough to brush Arthur’s shoulder with her own but not quite lean on him, she asked, “You must’ve heard what went on while you were gone?”
"Not particularly," he said, both eyebrows lifting a little. With an intro like that, it couldn't be anything good. "What'd I miss?"
“I should probably wait until the drinks come to tell you.” Lydia snorted. But she didn’t. Instead she gave a brief summary of events, as she understood them, including Maximoff (surprisingly enough) bringing Tessa into the loop for surveillance and Jean-Paul for backup, what had gone on at the Astrovik residence, and Vance’s unwillingness to allow them to extract him from the situation. Then she sighed. “Things have been quiet so far—thank god he’s a minor, poor kid. Tessa’s been keeping an eye on it.”
Because, god. Could be such a disaster. She felt for the boy, of course she did, but it could also be the end of everything they’d been trying to accomplish before it really even got started. Action was so called for.
Not tonight. But. Soon.
"Christ," was Arthur's quiet pronouncement once he'd processed everything.
The arrival of their drinks a moment or so later made for excellent timing, and he took a good few sips before continuing.
"So what are you planning?" Because it was Lydia. Of course she was already planning.
Lydia smiled wryly. “You know me so well.” She took a sip—really a drink too big to be called a “sip”—of her own before launching into what was up next—
And blinked in surprise. She’d actually felt it. A sudden, maybe three second interval of alcoholic effect, and then absolutely nothing. Which made sense, actually, considering the way her cells reacted under a microscope, but still… “Huh. Did not expect to feel anything. Gone now, but that was… interesting.”
Arthur gave her a more than slightly curious look in response. "Is that not what's supposed to happen?"
"I wasn't sure," Lydia admitted, eying her drink as if it was some sort of medical curiosity. She took another drink and the same thing happened: a momentary rush of almost-dizzy, then nothing, "I got drunk momentarily in Mystic Falls with Damon. Figured I'd never feel it again. Huh.
"Anyhow, it requires an evening long experiment, so..." She clinked the edge of her glass against Arthur's and had another drink. Business coming up... In a moment.
"If you want to really experiment," Arthur said more than a little dryly, "we'll do it at home." His idea or not, there was no way he was letting himself get actually drunk in public. Tipsy...maybe. More likely with someone he trusted as much as Lydia. "But fair enough. Let me know how it goes."
"I'm not sure it can get to the point where I'll require a bed nearby, but who knows," Lydia agreed with a snort. "Right, so, as I was saying: the whole thing is tragic, but it could've been tragic on a much grander scale for all of us. So obviously it's time to get a move on. And possibly revisit that list of useful mutants we made back in the beginning."
Another sip. And yep. Weird, but true. Huh.
"We're going to have to revamp it a bit, then," Arthur said with a bit of thoughtfulness. Considering how many new students had appeared since they'd made it, it was something of an impressive understatement. "But agreed. We've been a bit complacent."
"But I doubt we will be again." Lydia clinked the edge of her glass gently into his. Revamping would surely be necessary, but that wasn't so bad. As possibilities went. "I didn't mean to talk about business tonight, but there's something freeing about getting it out of the way."
Arthur just shrugged a little, before taking another long drink. "It's fine." Considering they'd first bonded over the work, it was almost customary, even.
“And probably a good distraction,” she allowed, watching him drink with evident pleasure. “I mean, unless you want to describe the best parts of Thailand to me…?” Eyebrow lift. All the eyebrow lifting ever.
He gave her a look dry enough to empty out both of their glasses. "Have you ever known me to talk about things like that?"
Lydia actually laughed—seeing as that was precisely the response she’d expected. She couldn’t always predict Arthur, but it was just as much fun in its own way when she could as when she couldn’t. “Fine then—I will distract you with work.”
"Please do," Arthur said severely, though he wasn't much trying to hide the smile curving at the corners of his mouth.
“I totally see what he sees in you,” she couldn’t resist adding flippantly. To Lydia, Eames seemed like the kind of guy—or girl, or non-binary individual—who really just needed someone to fake severity sometimes. Hell, even she could admit it was hot.
But she knew when not to push her luck, too, so she went on with her sipping and chatting. “The thing is, that I’m not sure many of the new kids we’ve got since then are suitable. A few, and definitely the ones who are already sort of famous—but at the same time, that’s asking for more security issues.”
"Then we continue on with what we'd already discussed and take the rest as it comes," Arthur said with a slight shrug, and considered his drink for a moment before just downing the rest of it in one go. "Maybe someone will prove themselves more useful than that."
Lydia caught the servers eye and waved him over. "Well we've got Karolina Dean. Did you meet that Sirius Black Brian invited? If he comes--not sure if that's a plus or not for us." She asked for another of the same as the server came over--and a cheese and bread plate.
"No," he said with the kind of slight caution that said he didn't entirely know what she was talking about. "They're both public?" Arthur hazarded after a moment.
"Not as mutants, that I know of, but public figures," Lydia admitted. "Dean's parents are actors--her mother's extremely famous, and Jean-Paul knows her--and Black is a star on this incredibly torrid reality show about little rich bitches in the UK." She rolled her eyes and silently offered her what little was left in her drink while they waited for the new round.
Arthur made a quiet, thoughtful sound, absently watching the bar without really meaning to. "Either of them likely to stay quiet?"
“I don’t know about the Dean girl, but she seems all right at a distance.” Lydia followed Arthur’s gaze and smiled slightly. “Black, on the other hand—his entire existence seems to be devoted to drawing attention. Especially the kind of attention his infamously stuck up, racist, old money family will hate.”
"Then we'll have to work around him," Arthur said, his attention snapping back to her. "Worst case scenario, he does it on his own. We'll have to have contingencies for that."
And this was why Arthur was and would always be her go-to. “Mmm, yes, definitely. I hadn’t really gotten that far with it, but if he turns up—we’ll need a few contingencies for sure.
“Though…” She smirked a little and—ah, the bartender was on the way. “Setting aside the potential problems he could present to us, that Lost Dog email of Brian’s when Black visited was hilarious.”
Arthur gave a wry snort, though he ducked his head in thanks when the drinks were delivered. "I'll take your word for
it," he said absently as he immediately pick the glass back up, even if he was drinking slightly slower this time. "Anything else you think we need to be aware of?"
“Well, more kids are bound to come out soon,” she said after the server was out of hearing distance. “I think we should find a way to figure out who’s considering it—and I think we should focus more not just on non-WASP kids, but also people with physical manifestations.” She kept away from using the word ‘mutation’ just in case, though there was no way to be overheard in the constant buzz.
“You weren’t wrong about them causing a stir, but maybe we could start slow. Ask the Beaubiers to focus more attention on their ears. Shame Remy doesn’t seem too interested; his eyes would be a good start.”
"That would be the next step," Arthur agreed, voice slow and measuring. "Considering how well things have gone so far." Comparatively speaking, anyway. "We should put the word out -- discreetly."
"Approaching individuals, you mean?"
"Seeing who would be interested," he agreed with a nod.
Lydia sipped thoughtfully, finishing off her old drink, then picked up the new. The hit was still there, barely, but noticeable. Then gone in a flash. "I've tentatively and very unofficially--obviously--started doing something like that. That's how I knew about Remy. I wonder how many others have pasts that will make it seemingly impossible for them."
And how many of those difficulties, like Scott's (who was not ideal for their current purposes, but ideal for the purpose in general, otherwise), were in fact more surmountable than in. "Not that idle speculation is any help, but there's certainly going to be a huge new segment of security operations just for that, I'm guessing."
"I think if any of us had it easy," Arthur said in a kind of mocking drawl that made it clear she wasn't the target, "we wouldn't be in the school. But I'll see what I can do to minimize things in worst case scenarios."
"We live in shades of gray. This one illustrating the gradation between easy and impossible." She snorted out something approaching a laugh, then smiled into her drink. "At least so far our attention-seekers have had a healthy sense of paranoia about it. Not counting on that luck to hold out. And not just because we almost got very, very unlucky last week."
"So we make our own luck," Arthur said with a very faint smile. "That's the whole point of this exercise, isn't it?"
Ah, there, she liked that smile. That was more like it. “It’s hard to remember, but yes, now you mention it, I think it was.” She smiled right back.
He huffed a quiet laugh and saluted her with his glass. "To keeping busy, then."
She saluted back. “And not needing too many of these, when we’re finally done.”
***
It was hard to tell exactly how many was too many, but a few rounds later, and Arthur was definitely looking more relaxed. He was looking almost languid, in fact, though the average person wouldn't have known it to look at him. Maybe it was just that some of the alertness had gone out of his eyes, or maybe it was that he was smiling easier.
Or maybe it was just that he'd unbent his usual ramrod-straight posture to brace his elbow on the table in front of him and rest his chin on his hand.
"That one?" He asked skeptically, eyes on the figure at the far corner of the bar. They'd abandoned work talk for not-so-quietly judging the other bar patrons a round or two ago.
Arthur was cute any day, but when he was relaxed and just slightly tipsy, he was adorable. As in just begging to be mussed. Not for the first time, Lydia thought how lovely it was that Eames knew just how lucky he was.
She nodded and sipped, leaning forward with both of her elbows on the table, hair over one shoulder. “Mmm-hmm. Watch his hands. His fingers are twitching to grab for her.”
"He's gonna get hit if he tries it," Arthur pronounced as if it was obvious. Though from the looks the woman in question had been throwing, it wasn't that difficult to spot. Another moment's observation, and Arthur snorted. "I get the feeling that happens to him a lot."
“No doubt.” Lydia’s shoulder came to rest against Arthur’s as they both watched—totally unbothered if anyone noticed or not. “Wait for it… wait for it… there! Ha!”
The crack of the woman slapping the man was audible even over the buzz and music. “Mmm, misandry.” Mmm, irony.
Arthur made a sound of faint approval, though whether it was at the situation or the lady's technique was hard to tell. Either way, he nudged his shoulder lightly against Lydia's in amused solidarity. "Why do I get the feeling you'd just go for closed fist?" He teased absently.
“Because you taught me well,” she replied with a snort of a laugh. Then another as the women turned and yelled something at the man—who was now staggering for the door with several people who’d witnessed the altercation laughing. “That was a valiant effort at spinning his head around for an open-handed slap though, I will say that for her. I give it a seven out of ten.”
"It was good," he agreed with a nod as solemn as he could made it considering he couldn't quite stop smiling. One of those dimples was starting to appear, and Arthur apparently hadn't noticed.
"Don't think he appreciated it, though."
Oh god, no wonder Kitty was dippy over him. And he had no idea at all, which just made it even cuter. Lydia grinned (really, actually), and gently hit his arm to redirect his attention—the girl next to slap-woman was high fiving her. “I’m going to pretend that was for all sane people in this restaurant right now. Or—well, as close as we come to sane, having just escaped from a mutant madhouse for the evening.”
"Speak for yourself," Arthur said with a kind of lazy amusement. "I'm the sanest person I know." Which scarily enough, might even have been true.
"You're definitely the sanest person I know," Lydia said agreeably. Then her attention was caught by something bright on the other side of the restaurant. "Oh my god, what is that guy wearing?"
"The eighties have returned," Arthur intoned dramatically, and watched the horror show in question walk by with slightly narrowed eyes. "I had no idea you could wear that much neon at once."
"I suddenly have an urge to do coke and vote for Reagan," Lydia said, mock-seriously.
Arthur snorted a laugh, and buried the urge to do it again in the remnants of his drink. "Good. I was worried that constant exposure to hideous clothing had dulled my comprehension of it."
Lydia smirk-grinned at him. Seriously unable to cope with his adorability, but loving it all the same. "Eames may have ridiculous taste in shirts, but it's not coke and Reagan ridiculous.
"One more drink?"
"Sure," he said with a slight laugh. Why not? "Think it's your choice again."
“Moscow Mule time, then. Reagan will roll over in his grave.”
Aka: In which Lydia discovers how adorable tipsy!Arthur is.
The conversation with the headmasters had taken longer than Arthur had intended, probably not least because he'd refused to be even slightly apologetic about the whole thing. They had let him out eventually, but by that time Eames had probably disappeared...wherever he'd decided to vanish off to and the less Arthur knew about that, the happier he'd probably be.
Which was likely why he made his way right back to the TAs hall, only to bypass his own door completely. They hadn't actually told anyone when they were coming back, unless the rumor mill had gotten around faster than he'd thought. Now seemed as good a time to let Lydia know as any.
"What's your opinion on going out for drinks right now?" He asked dryly the second she responded to the knock on her door.
Lydia’s eyebrows went up immediately. As relieved as she was to see Arthur, this was not precisely the way she expected the reunion to go. She did love when he surprised her. “My opinion is that you probably need it even more than I do, after the last few weeks.” Not that she was sure it would have any effect on her, but just getting out with Arthur—and seeing what he was like after a few—would do the trick anyhow.
She stepped back and waved him in, then turned to collect her coat and bag. One of the perks of always being in perfect order and dressed to the nines was that when these surprises occurred, Lydia was ready. “When did you get back?”
"Last night," he said as lingered against the door frame, watching her gather her things.
"Had to do a bit of damage control today."
“TPTB not happy with the sudden unforeseen absence?” she asked, almost as dry as he usually was, with a quick glance over her shoulder. She steadied her bag over her arm and grabbed her car keys. Of course they hadn’t been happy, but whatever it was, they had to know as well as she that it wasn’t the kind of thing Arthur did without a perfectly good reason. Which, in this case, had clearly been Eames-related.
"Just a bit," Arthur agreed in the tone of voice that said he still didn't much care. "Not in trouble, just...warned. For next time." Not that there was ever going to be one if Arthur had anything to say about it, but he appreciated it for what it was.
“Mmm, not much else they can say,” Lydia agreed, first nudging him a little with her hip to make room, then closing the door and locking it behind her. “Eames is all right, though?”
The fact that Arthur had to consider that for a moment probably said it all, but he didn't look overly worried as he turned to head down the hall. "Managing, I think. He's not destroyed or anything, but it hit hard."
As if it were a perfectly normal conversational element, even though it wouldn’t be to either of them, Lydia said, “He’s lucky to have you,” as she pulled the key out of the lock. Then a hint of a smile pulled at one corner of her lips. “As long as he’s managing, though, there’s full recovery ahead. Who knows, maybe even something better.”
At least, that’s how it had worked for her. Lydia started down the hall, fully expecting Arthur to be in step beside her—or maybe he started down the hall and she kept with him. She wasn’t sure and didn’t need to be.
He flicked her an amused look as they fell into step, one side of his mouth curving up genuinely.
"I'm not necessarily sure I'd call things better," Arthur said, too many of the dubiously-legal-or-worse things they'd both done over the course of the last few weeks without so much as blinking. "But different, yes.
He let that settle for a moment before cutting his eyes to her again. "You can ask, you know."
“I do now,” she said without missing a beat, though the glance she cast at him was, in fact, grateful. “All I know is he went to see his family and suddenly you disappeared. Usually, that means life without them will be better. But, seeing as my own were surprisingly all right this Thanksgiving, who knows.
“How bad was it?”
Arthur let out a hard exhale, but his voice was even when he answered. "His father gave him an ultimatum -- continued acknowledgement in exchange for never going public as a mutant." Given the outcome, Lydia would able to read between those lines easily.
Lydia made her best “Are you fucking stupid?” face, but obviously not for Arthur himself. Lydia hardly knew Eames, and even she knew he’d be the last person to come out—or very nearly, anyhow. Which, well, “Sounds familiar, at least in terms of cluelessness. Then that does seem like the better kind of different. At least, once he stops reeling.”
Because, really, fuck them. Lydia’s parents were idiots, yes, but at least they didn’t try to meddle. Christ. “Guessing that’s what the last few weeks were about, then?” Since, clearly, no one could stop reeling in the presence of… that.
"He figured if he was getting disowned, we were taking a trip on his sister's dime, yeah," Arthur agreed in his most deadpan. "I don't think they were ever hugely close, but still." Having family stop talking to you for a good reason was still a shock to the system. He could barely comprehend what Eames was going through with all of it, and he'd been there for most.
"Still," Lydia agreed wholeheartedly as they started down the stairs. "Terrible for anyone. For someone as... I want to say sentimental, but that's not even the word, really. It makes it worse for him, though.
"Nice vacation on the evil family, though, I'm guessing?" Apart from what she also assumed had been much emotional babysitting. She wouldn't ask Arthur to admit to that, though. No benefit for anyone, there.
"Emotional," Arthur corrected after a moment's consideration. Connotations on the word or not, Eames owned his emotions in a way that Arthur, even after a year and change, still occasionally found baffling. "Two weeks in Thailand," he added in answer to the actual question. "Not complaining."
Lydia nodded thoughtfully at the word 'emotional'. She liked it, thinking back to that first real conversation with Eames and how surprised she'd been by his unaffected openness. "Mmm, that does sound good. I've always wanted to go.
"What about tonight? Into the city, or somewhere closer? Quiet, loud, small, large...?"
"Close by, probably. To be honest, I really need a drink and don't care where to get it."
"Done," Lydia promised, turning towards the garage at the foot of the stairs. "I'm sure I can come up with something to do the trick."
Preference on not, Arthur had still given Lydia's choice a slightly askance look as she lead him inside before deciding that he really didn't care. As long as no one tried to card them, he could live with a certain amount of pretentious trendiness.
"So what would you suggest?" He asked a little wryly as they got themselves settled.
"They make their own bitters, so I'm getting a Manhattan." Plus, if anything was going to affect her, it'd have to be pretty much all hard liquor, and she wasn't much for shots. But... "Do you need to start with a shot or three? Because I can do that with you first, if you want."
She smirked as she slipped off her coat and into a booth-style seat. That way both of them could sit on the same side and people watch--both the trendy twenty-and-thirty-something crowd inside and those braving the weather outside.
"Let's start off slow and go from there," Arthur said with a slight shake of his head. If he wanted to get smashed, he'd have just done that at home. "Manhattans are fine."
When the server came over and handed of menus, Lydia accepted them, but ordered two Manhattans in the meantime. Then, fully settled into the booth seat, close enough to brush Arthur’s shoulder with her own but not quite lean on him, she asked, “You must’ve heard what went on while you were gone?”
"Not particularly," he said, both eyebrows lifting a little. With an intro like that, it couldn't be anything good. "What'd I miss?"
“I should probably wait until the drinks come to tell you.” Lydia snorted. But she didn’t. Instead she gave a brief summary of events, as she understood them, including Maximoff (surprisingly enough) bringing Tessa into the loop for surveillance and Jean-Paul for backup, what had gone on at the Astrovik residence, and Vance’s unwillingness to allow them to extract him from the situation. Then she sighed. “Things have been quiet so far—thank god he’s a minor, poor kid. Tessa’s been keeping an eye on it.”
Because, god. Could be such a disaster. She felt for the boy, of course she did, but it could also be the end of everything they’d been trying to accomplish before it really even got started. Action was so called for.
Not tonight. But. Soon.
"Christ," was Arthur's quiet pronouncement once he'd processed everything.
The arrival of their drinks a moment or so later made for excellent timing, and he took a good few sips before continuing.
"So what are you planning?" Because it was Lydia. Of course she was already planning.
Lydia smiled wryly. “You know me so well.” She took a sip—really a drink too big to be called a “sip”—of her own before launching into what was up next—
And blinked in surprise. She’d actually felt it. A sudden, maybe three second interval of alcoholic effect, and then absolutely nothing. Which made sense, actually, considering the way her cells reacted under a microscope, but still… “Huh. Did not expect to feel anything. Gone now, but that was… interesting.”
Arthur gave her a more than slightly curious look in response. "Is that not what's supposed to happen?"
"I wasn't sure," Lydia admitted, eying her drink as if it was some sort of medical curiosity. She took another drink and the same thing happened: a momentary rush of almost-dizzy, then nothing, "I got drunk momentarily in Mystic Falls with Damon. Figured I'd never feel it again. Huh.
"Anyhow, it requires an evening long experiment, so..." She clinked the edge of her glass against Arthur's and had another drink. Business coming up... In a moment.
"If you want to really experiment," Arthur said more than a little dryly, "we'll do it at home." His idea or not, there was no way he was letting himself get actually drunk in public. Tipsy...maybe. More likely with someone he trusted as much as Lydia. "But fair enough. Let me know how it goes."
"I'm not sure it can get to the point where I'll require a bed nearby, but who knows," Lydia agreed with a snort. "Right, so, as I was saying: the whole thing is tragic, but it could've been tragic on a much grander scale for all of us. So obviously it's time to get a move on. And possibly revisit that list of useful mutants we made back in the beginning."
Another sip. And yep. Weird, but true. Huh.
"We're going to have to revamp it a bit, then," Arthur said with a bit of thoughtfulness. Considering how many new students had appeared since they'd made it, it was something of an impressive understatement. "But agreed. We've been a bit complacent."
"But I doubt we will be again." Lydia clinked the edge of her glass gently into his. Revamping would surely be necessary, but that wasn't so bad. As possibilities went. "I didn't mean to talk about business tonight, but there's something freeing about getting it out of the way."
Arthur just shrugged a little, before taking another long drink. "It's fine." Considering they'd first bonded over the work, it was almost customary, even.
“And probably a good distraction,” she allowed, watching him drink with evident pleasure. “I mean, unless you want to describe the best parts of Thailand to me…?” Eyebrow lift. All the eyebrow lifting ever.
He gave her a look dry enough to empty out both of their glasses. "Have you ever known me to talk about things like that?"
Lydia actually laughed—seeing as that was precisely the response she’d expected. She couldn’t always predict Arthur, but it was just as much fun in its own way when she could as when she couldn’t. “Fine then—I will distract you with work.”
"Please do," Arthur said severely, though he wasn't much trying to hide the smile curving at the corners of his mouth.
“I totally see what he sees in you,” she couldn’t resist adding flippantly. To Lydia, Eames seemed like the kind of guy—or girl, or non-binary individual—who really just needed someone to fake severity sometimes. Hell, even she could admit it was hot.
But she knew when not to push her luck, too, so she went on with her sipping and chatting. “The thing is, that I’m not sure many of the new kids we’ve got since then are suitable. A few, and definitely the ones who are already sort of famous—but at the same time, that’s asking for more security issues.”
"Then we continue on with what we'd already discussed and take the rest as it comes," Arthur said with a slight shrug, and considered his drink for a moment before just downing the rest of it in one go. "Maybe someone will prove themselves more useful than that."
Lydia caught the servers eye and waved him over. "Well we've got Karolina Dean. Did you meet that Sirius Black Brian invited? If he comes--not sure if that's a plus or not for us." She asked for another of the same as the server came over--and a cheese and bread plate.
"No," he said with the kind of slight caution that said he didn't entirely know what she was talking about. "They're both public?" Arthur hazarded after a moment.
"Not as mutants, that I know of, but public figures," Lydia admitted. "Dean's parents are actors--her mother's extremely famous, and Jean-Paul knows her--and Black is a star on this incredibly torrid reality show about little rich bitches in the UK." She rolled her eyes and silently offered her what little was left in her drink while they waited for the new round.
Arthur made a quiet, thoughtful sound, absently watching the bar without really meaning to. "Either of them likely to stay quiet?"
“I don’t know about the Dean girl, but she seems all right at a distance.” Lydia followed Arthur’s gaze and smiled slightly. “Black, on the other hand—his entire existence seems to be devoted to drawing attention. Especially the kind of attention his infamously stuck up, racist, old money family will hate.”
"Then we'll have to work around him," Arthur said, his attention snapping back to her. "Worst case scenario, he does it on his own. We'll have to have contingencies for that."
And this was why Arthur was and would always be her go-to. “Mmm, yes, definitely. I hadn’t really gotten that far with it, but if he turns up—we’ll need a few contingencies for sure.
“Though…” She smirked a little and—ah, the bartender was on the way. “Setting aside the potential problems he could present to us, that Lost Dog email of Brian’s when Black visited was hilarious.”
Arthur gave a wry snort, though he ducked his head in thanks when the drinks were delivered. "I'll take your word for
it," he said absently as he immediately pick the glass back up, even if he was drinking slightly slower this time. "Anything else you think we need to be aware of?"
“Well, more kids are bound to come out soon,” she said after the server was out of hearing distance. “I think we should find a way to figure out who’s considering it—and I think we should focus more not just on non-WASP kids, but also people with physical manifestations.” She kept away from using the word ‘mutation’ just in case, though there was no way to be overheard in the constant buzz.
“You weren’t wrong about them causing a stir, but maybe we could start slow. Ask the Beaubiers to focus more attention on their ears. Shame Remy doesn’t seem too interested; his eyes would be a good start.”
"That would be the next step," Arthur agreed, voice slow and measuring. "Considering how well things have gone so far." Comparatively speaking, anyway. "We should put the word out -- discreetly."
"Approaching individuals, you mean?"
"Seeing who would be interested," he agreed with a nod.
Lydia sipped thoughtfully, finishing off her old drink, then picked up the new. The hit was still there, barely, but noticeable. Then gone in a flash. "I've tentatively and very unofficially--obviously--started doing something like that. That's how I knew about Remy. I wonder how many others have pasts that will make it seemingly impossible for them."
And how many of those difficulties, like Scott's (who was not ideal for their current purposes, but ideal for the purpose in general, otherwise), were in fact more surmountable than in. "Not that idle speculation is any help, but there's certainly going to be a huge new segment of security operations just for that, I'm guessing."
"I think if any of us had it easy," Arthur said in a kind of mocking drawl that made it clear she wasn't the target, "we wouldn't be in the school. But I'll see what I can do to minimize things in worst case scenarios."
"We live in shades of gray. This one illustrating the gradation between easy and impossible." She snorted out something approaching a laugh, then smiled into her drink. "At least so far our attention-seekers have had a healthy sense of paranoia about it. Not counting on that luck to hold out. And not just because we almost got very, very unlucky last week."
"So we make our own luck," Arthur said with a very faint smile. "That's the whole point of this exercise, isn't it?"
Ah, there, she liked that smile. That was more like it. “It’s hard to remember, but yes, now you mention it, I think it was.” She smiled right back.
He huffed a quiet laugh and saluted her with his glass. "To keeping busy, then."
She saluted back. “And not needing too many of these, when we’re finally done.”
It was hard to tell exactly how many was too many, but a few rounds later, and Arthur was definitely looking more relaxed. He was looking almost languid, in fact, though the average person wouldn't have known it to look at him. Maybe it was just that some of the alertness had gone out of his eyes, or maybe it was that he was smiling easier.
Or maybe it was just that he'd unbent his usual ramrod-straight posture to brace his elbow on the table in front of him and rest his chin on his hand.
"That one?" He asked skeptically, eyes on the figure at the far corner of the bar. They'd abandoned work talk for not-so-quietly judging the other bar patrons a round or two ago.
Arthur was cute any day, but when he was relaxed and just slightly tipsy, he was adorable. As in just begging to be mussed. Not for the first time, Lydia thought how lovely it was that Eames knew just how lucky he was.
She nodded and sipped, leaning forward with both of her elbows on the table, hair over one shoulder. “Mmm-hmm. Watch his hands. His fingers are twitching to grab for her.”
"He's gonna get hit if he tries it," Arthur pronounced as if it was obvious. Though from the looks the woman in question had been throwing, it wasn't that difficult to spot. Another moment's observation, and Arthur snorted. "I get the feeling that happens to him a lot."
“No doubt.” Lydia’s shoulder came to rest against Arthur’s as they both watched—totally unbothered if anyone noticed or not. “Wait for it… wait for it… there! Ha!”
The crack of the woman slapping the man was audible even over the buzz and music. “Mmm, misandry.” Mmm, irony.
Arthur made a sound of faint approval, though whether it was at the situation or the lady's technique was hard to tell. Either way, he nudged his shoulder lightly against Lydia's in amused solidarity. "Why do I get the feeling you'd just go for closed fist?" He teased absently.
“Because you taught me well,” she replied with a snort of a laugh. Then another as the women turned and yelled something at the man—who was now staggering for the door with several people who’d witnessed the altercation laughing. “That was a valiant effort at spinning his head around for an open-handed slap though, I will say that for her. I give it a seven out of ten.”
"It was good," he agreed with a nod as solemn as he could made it considering he couldn't quite stop smiling. One of those dimples was starting to appear, and Arthur apparently hadn't noticed.
"Don't think he appreciated it, though."
Oh god, no wonder Kitty was dippy over him. And he had no idea at all, which just made it even cuter. Lydia grinned (really, actually), and gently hit his arm to redirect his attention—the girl next to slap-woman was high fiving her. “I’m going to pretend that was for all sane people in this restaurant right now. Or—well, as close as we come to sane, having just escaped from a mutant madhouse for the evening.”
"Speak for yourself," Arthur said with a kind of lazy amusement. "I'm the sanest person I know." Which scarily enough, might even have been true.
"You're definitely the sanest person I know," Lydia said agreeably. Then her attention was caught by something bright on the other side of the restaurant. "Oh my god, what is that guy wearing?"
"The eighties have returned," Arthur intoned dramatically, and watched the horror show in question walk by with slightly narrowed eyes. "I had no idea you could wear that much neon at once."
"I suddenly have an urge to do coke and vote for Reagan," Lydia said, mock-seriously.
Arthur snorted a laugh, and buried the urge to do it again in the remnants of his drink. "Good. I was worried that constant exposure to hideous clothing had dulled my comprehension of it."
Lydia smirk-grinned at him. Seriously unable to cope with his adorability, but loving it all the same. "Eames may have ridiculous taste in shirts, but it's not coke and Reagan ridiculous.
"One more drink?"
"Sure," he said with a slight laugh. Why not? "Think it's your choice again."
“Moscow Mule time, then. Reagan will roll over in his grave.”
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