RP:Charges Dropped Against Alvina Landon

From HollowWiki

Part of the Through A Glass, Darkly Arc


Summary: Alvina is cleared of all charges surrounding the 'fictitious' rumor that she'd turned Meri into a werewolf against her will. Before leaving the court house, the Landons discover the anklet doubled as an ease dropping device that might have overheard collusive conversations or worse.


Cenril

True to her word, a few days after Meri’s testimony, papers are filed for the case against Alvina to be dropped. Their attorney sends word and sets up an appointment for them to come back to the court house. It’s up to Cenril’s finest to remove it. Alvina, while apprehensive about future ‘anonymous tips’, isn’t the least bit reluctant to let the device go. The constant magical reloads and limited activity were wearing on her and though Hudson doesn’t seem to mind, they’ve been paying for the privilege of house arrest. On the up-and-up. An unfair but prevalent theme - if they made less money, they couldn’t afford the cost. Especially not if it went to trial. For the sake of caution, though, she’d recharged the damn thing. Their attorney’d scheduled an appointment mid-day, when the kids would be at school and Marge could handle Bryce. Alvina is now a step or two beyond visibly pregnant. She’d picked high rise mom shorts for the occasion. The magical ‘charging’ system is stuffed into a bag and occupying the seat beside her. “Any news on the anonymous source?” She tilts her head towards Hudson, asking today as she had every day since Meri’s testimony. So many thoughts swirled through her head like shredded ticker tape. The words weren’t coherent, just recognizable as a combination of letters. The newspaper articles were no longer running, putting her on blast for her capture, but she could already imagine further propaganda headlines. Insinuation that her friendship with Uma bought her freedom, or Hudson’s supposedly shady ties to both Cenrilian and Larketian government. Or maybe, as it had before, everything would go back to normal until the next bombshell dropped. Khitti’d mentioned a plague and Saurian’s but Alvina’s home incarceration made sure she didn’t know much about the world outside her family. Even Frostmaw and The Bard’s Guild had taken a temporary backseat to this scandal.


The news that the case has been formally dropped is expected but good news all the same. Hudson takes the day off of work and accompanies Alvina to the courthouse so that the guards can make her a free woman, officially. It should be a cause for celebration, but Alvina asks about the anonymous source that had landed them in this position, as she has .. perhaps literally every day. "Nope," he says, directing his gaze out the carriage window in what he hopes is body language enough to convey that this topic is spent. It's embarrassing that he can't get to the root of what happened, after what feels like Herculean efforts on his part. He's taken a break from it rather than spin his wheels endlessly, and he knows his wife's repeated asking is demonstrating her own awareness of his failure. He also knows that she knows that he doesn't like her asking questions to which he doesn't have an answer. But all other things being good between them, this is a routine dialogue they engage in instead of having an actual argument.

The familiar building facades of the area around the courthouse come into view, and the carriage stops. "Freedom," says Hudson to Alvina, getting out first, and holding the door and extending a hand to her to help her down too. Alvina's lawyer is waiting for them, along with a handful of reporters, who trail after them, asking questions as they are hustled inside:

"Alvina, how are you feeling?"

"Alvina, do you have an idea of why this case was brought against you, given that Meri doesn't view herself as a victim?"

"Hudson, do you think the charges brought against your wife were a 'message'?"

"Alvina, when is the baby due? Any baby names?"

"Alvina, have you been in contact with the mayor about your case?"

"Alvina, can you tell us who designed the outfit you're wearing?"

They've been instructed not to talk to anyone, so it's a blissful silence once they're shown into an interior office and directed to sit.

"Why does nobody care what I'm wearing?" asks Hudson, leaning back on the sofa and extending an arm behind Alvina.


Alvina only asks so she can have some sense of control in the situation. It’s out of her hands, seemingly out of Hudson’s too. The vulnerability associated with that lack of awareness makes her nervous but, truly, she’d rather just ask and be momentarily annoying than beat a dead horse with the added tension of a useless argument. They knew what fights were worth having and this wasn’t one of them. They were better off being an unflinching team in the wake of this faceless threat. Even as it continued to chip away at their patience, flexing it’s own power and taking up more space in their minds.

Alvina is momentarily stunned by the cluster of journalists, too reminiscent of being approached by the nameless reporter outside the market. She tries to sweep the throng of parchment and quills for a familiar face but they’re scooped up before she gets a chance. Once everyone is inside, she releases the tense breath she’d been holding between the carriage and courthouse doors. Hudson, coolly deflecting the situation, poses this question and it earns him a wry smile. “Probably because you aren’t wearing cute mom shorts. Wanna trade?”

Their attorney stood with them in the office but Alvina’s not entirely sure why it’s taking so long. Why wasn’t this just a quick flick of someone’s wrist? The desk across from the couch was unoccupied. The office was stolid. Alvina couldn’t even make out the hush of imaginary shuffled papers or pointed footfalls bringing someone down the hall to retrieve them. A crisp bleat of directionless static spoils the silence. Alvina jumps, clutching the handle of her bag in surprise. She casts a probing gaze at Hudson, who seems mostly unbothered, and takes her cue from him that it’s fine. If he’s not worried, she had no reason to be.

The stillness settles back into place for another minute before it happens again. This time, beneath the startling crackle is the near distinguishable cadence of a ‘conversation’ emanating from her anklet.


Hudson considers these alleged cute mom shorts. "Nah, they're OK, look better on you," he informs her. The mom shorts are not his favorite article of clothing she owns, by far, but they are fine and if she is comfortable that is a good outcome in his view.

"Good answer," says Alvina's attorney, before silence falls and the three of them are left to sit in this extremely government office, awkwardly having assumed it would be a quick wait to be helped. Hudson studies a faded poster for a show that's long since left the stage. The woman in it looks familiar..

… The crackle of Alvina's anklet, shaped into metallic, defined words draws his attention back to her. Had they just heard someone ask for a side of fries?

"Hm," he says only, lifting his eyebrows slightly to meet Alvina's gaze.

"Oh," Alvina's lawyer seems surprised too. She, however, quickly recovers with more context. "They're supposed to not listen if a conversation is with legal counsel or of a personal nature."

"Yeah, we wondered," says Hudson, conversationally, rubbing Alvina's back idly. He grins. "That's why we kept all our criminal colluding to our interactions of 'a personal nature.'"

Alvina's lawyer throws her head back and laughs.

"Kidding, obviously," he says. "But it does make me happy that some poor city employee had to listen to the terrible bedtime stories we read our kids. In some instances, more than once. If we suffer, they must too."

A second interior door different from the one they'd used to enter opens, and a guard appears, bearing a key. It's an older man, clearly given this posting as a stepping stone to retirement. "Ms. Landon," he addresses Alvina in a certain tone, looking down his glasses. "If you don't mind."


Alvina’s stiff and silent while her lawyer and Hudson chat casually about this MAGIC RECORDING DEVICE that she’d joked about before but never really suspected. It made more sense (to her grandiose moral compass) to outlaw things like this. Her foot waggles, wishing the bloody thing would fall off from sheer disgust. “How would they even know unless they were listening…” Alvina posed this rhetorical question before Hudson fills in that the most troubling thing they might have heard was children’s bedtime stories. The infamous DOG had accrued a tribe of other animal friends to accompany it on adventures. The girls were losing interest but Bryce was all for it. He’d never seen the dog. It was practically a god in their house. Thin lipped, Alvina rubs her back into the bench, replaying the possible things they could have heard. Did they discuss Meri’s collusion? What about any of Hudson’s business ventures? Or worse still something more intimate? Clearing her throat, Alvina rises when her name is called, feeling like a woman exposed before she realizes he has the key and plans to unlock the damn thing in the waiting room. Thank the gods it was empty or she’d have been further embarrassed.

Uncrossing and extending her leg took but a moment. The guard, looking disgruntled, dropped to his knees to fiddle with the device. The key did not fit smoothly in the lock (because why would it when she wants nothing more than to be home). Ironic. More wiggling and the key clicks, the slow dying whirl of magical infused mechanisms bleeds into silence and the strap unfurls safely into the man’s hand. All it left behind was a slightly paler ring of skin. She hands over the bag just as quickly, refusing eye contact. The guard presents papers to her lawyer to sign while Alvina shoots Hudson a poisonous look. Why hadn’t he warned her?! What if the anonymous source was part of the guard and leaked valuable information to the ‘cause’?


All stop talking, as there were a miracle happening in their midst, to watch the guard unlock Alvina's anklet. There is one small hiccup, but it is removed in due course, leaving, apparently, a tan line on Alvina's already-very-white skin. Hudson squints at this. "A little memory from your stint in the clink," he teases her. She seems very stiff, much less elated than she should be. He is pretty sure it has to do with the listening function, and he rewinds in his mind's eye the various interactions they've had while it had been strapped to her leg.

HmmmmmmmmM.

He thins his lips and looks back at his wife with a wide-eyed shrug that proclaims his ignorance on the subject up and until this point.

"Alright, I think we're all set," Alvina's lawyer says cheerfully, reaching for the door to usher them out.

There's only one reporter outside. "Hudson, are you guys happy with the result?" he asks them.

"Yes," says Hudson, watching Alvina climb in first.

"Do you think the charges--"

Hudson smiles mildly and climbs in after her, pulling the door shut mid sentence. The carriage pulls away.

Hudson waits until they are alone in the carriage, door closed, to hold his hands up and comment to his wife, "I had no idea, but clearly they heard nothing interesting or else they wouldn't have dropped the case. As for what else they might have heard, you heard what she said, they're not supposed to listen." He gives her a serious look like he really believes this, but her expression isn't exactly convincing. "Stop that! They're not supposed to listen!" he exclaims, now for good measure.


Alvina thanks their lawyer with strained politeness before they split off into their own carriage. As soon as the door closes, Hudson’s feigning innocence. “You had no idea?” Alvina frowns, her legs crossed at the knees, foot wagging. “You didn’t sound at all surprised when it happened?” Less of a question, more of an observation. His explanation of their ‘rules’ don’t reassure her. “How would they know WHEN to stop listening and WHEN to start again? Not like people collude during bedtime stories but come on. It’s embarrassing!” Maybe more so than the news article. What if that’s the next newsworthy slander campaign? The Landon’s daily life? “I don’t just mean about the Meri thing, but I’m sure we did talk about it a little! Maybe they are just biding their time!” For what, she couldn’t guess. “You aren’t even embarrassed.” She punches his shoulder and slumps with a deflating sigh. “Is it because you’re proud of how you’re a good dad?”


Hudson bristles at the accusation in his wife's voice. He hadn't known about this. How can she think he knew about this? He wouldn't have set her up like this! "I was surprised, I just didn't want to sound surprised, that would raise eyebrows," he tells her, widening his eyes again in response to her observation that it's not as simple as tuning out when appropriate. "Baby, I don't disagree," he tells her, to it being embarrassing. "There's nothing we can do about it now, and--" She punches his shoulder and he pauses to shoot her an extended look of pointed patience as she slumps against her end of the carriage, notably away from him. He sighs, and lays a hand on her ankle, since it's the only thing she's left within reach. "I'm ninety-nine point nine percent certain we didn't say anything incriminating about Meri because we were being cautious," he says in a tone that's intended to be reassuring. "The other stuff? Well, they're not supposed to listen, and yeah it's not a perfect process. But you gotta trust people to be professionals, I dunno, I'm embarrassed too but what do you want me to do? File a lawsuit against the city for possibly listening in on us? Figure out the guys who were on shift those nights and literally kill them?" He looks at her expectantly. That's what he thought. "OK, so, it's not great, but it is what it is. If the guards heard anything, they wouldn't dare try to mess with us about it. They'd definitely get fired, and then on top of that then I would literally destroy them for embarrassing my wife, because gods forbid people know she likes me sometimes. So," he squeezes her ankle affectionately, "can I take you to lunch?"


Alvina didn’t have much trust in people to be professionals. The newspaper slamming Uma wasn’t exactly professional. Neither was that journalist. She’d known plenty of people who neglected their station and civility for a cheap shot. A rumor or a full blown fabrication or just plain selfishness. In the end, people did what they liked and rarely care about the reputations or livelihood of others. No matter how quick they are to say otherwise. Not always, she knew good and decent people who would risk everything but still it was rare. She counted herself among the ranks of the self-preoccupied. She hadn’t been to work in a while, hadn’t written to inform anyone of an absence. She didn’t hold down motherhood on her own. It would have been nobler to try before recruiting Marge or the night nurse. She’d never slunk into a war zone, never thrown herself into a fire, never offered her life up in exchange for anything. Well maybe one thing. Maybe in her younger days when she felt herself invincible. Armed with a curse and the foolish belief that good would always triumph. It’s a long tangent, born of desperation and indignation. The guard could have at least warned them. But neither the guard nor any of the people who’d personally let her down were here now. Only Hudson, left to account for all the real and imaginary sins of humanity.

“Why would you be embarrassed?” she asks him, bluntly. “Wouldn’t it be a humble brag to those men, the equivalence of a locker room chat about…whatever?” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Even saying this much was wrong, she knew it was wrong but she was angry. She’d felt patient, tame on the way in but now she felt betrayed and unleashed. Muzzle removed, leaving her to idiotically howl about the potential injustice that was her privileged prison. He asks what result she expects from this minor embarrassment and the options are ludicrous. “Of course not.” She grunts through her teeth, wishing she had better reparation for the violation. He wraps up with the offer of lunch and the promise that any gossip would be extinguished well before it could become their problem. He would literally destroy them for embarrassing her, not him. He couldn’t be embarrassed about her ‘liking him’. Alvina lets out another long sigh; her chest a broiling flame in need of oxygen. “Okay, sorry.” She is but she doesn’t sound it yet. Her pride is making it hard to back down over this non-issue. The awareness that it was a non-issue only made her more upset. Pregnancy hormones, once again, did not help. “Where are we going?” She assumes he’s already told the driver, as they’re in route somewhere, after all.


Hudson is trying to move them past this thing neither of them can help, but Alvina's bad mood continues to permeate the air of their carriage. With her insinuation that he didn't mind because it grew his ego, he finds his patience slowly going threadbare. She sounds far from enthusiastic when she assents to his offer of lunch, and he feels the barbs in her question asking where they're going. Because gods forbid he not have an answer on this, it'll be One More Thing he's not taken care of. He heaves a sigh. "To that place with the burritos you like," he says, with less warmth to let her know that she's testing his tolerance for being flogged over this stuff they can't help. He considers her, and her closed body language. "A humble brag locker room conversation," he repeats. You're my wife, not a random woman I took home from the bar. I'm embarrassed because I don't want other guys to think of you in that way, and also because you're embarrassed.” He shrugs. "There's nothing we can do about it. At worst, what, three random low level government employees know we have a loving relationship on occasion."


Alvina’d been fine to let it go after her jab about locker room chatter. And with everything going on, with people already in their business, anything leaked would be that much more valuable. She gets it, he's annoyed, but he could, just once, let her rant and then be done with it. Why couldn't they just talk about burritos? She loved that place! But if the argument continues it'll spoil lunch. She huffs, loudly, to solidify the ‘pout’ she's engaging. Of course it doesn't hurt him the same way! Idiot men. After a small silence passes and she gathers her composure, she answers his pseudo question. “Not have two way anklets.” A snarky but defeated solution.


Hudson gives Alvina a hard look. He concludes she hasn't really thought it through or she's inclined to stay in a bad mood for mysterious woman reasons, because she makes a series of loud sighing noises that further corroborate her disgust, and indicates that he's not to speak lest he further dig himself into this apparent hole. He stares out the window, demonstrating his disinterest in continuing the conversation further, because what else is there to say. They'll get to the burrito place in a few minutes, that'll provide a diversion.

Her snarky remark snaps what little patience he had left and easily diverts his attention back to her. He looks tired. "Alright, you got something you want to say to me, Alvina?" he asks her, levelly. "What, like, it's all my fault?" He gazes at her expectantly. "Why are you picking a fight with me over this? Tell me, what is your ideal outcome that you're angling for?"


"I don't." She said, frigid and even. Tired more than anything. And that's where she left it. No answer to his series of questions. No outraged howl about the system and treatment of their situation by the guards. It wasn't the cold shoulder - she was maintaining unflinching eye contact. Daring him to push it further. She hasn't thought it through enough to know if she wants him to push back or not.

She didn't really blame him for losing his patience but this was how she was sometimes. Quick to pick a fight over nothing, to feel a sense of control and satisfaction when he reached his threshold for anger. When her needling became too much for his patience or pride. It fluctuates drastically, like she's been holding in all her directionless fury for this moment and Hudson just happened to be the only target in range. But now, at the peak of it, right when the last straw broke, she didn't acknowledge the argument at all. When she speaks again, her eyes slide away, unhurried, to her ankle. "How many people here think we're monsters?" There's no prickling blame in her passionless words. She knew a few people who thought they were. That he was, primary. That she was among the ranks is the less common consensus. "There are people out there that think we deserve this. Are doing this because they think we deserve it. But I don't think we do. We're good people that make mistakes, not monsters." It could just be the fact that they're werewolves! Gods be damned. She's rambling. " I feel like someone just ripped off my muzzle." And she hated how much she wanted to bite down, hard, on anything that would bleed. "I'm sorry but I can't help it."


Hudson's barely snapped at Alvina when he feels the slow throb of a headache creep in. Of course. It beats steadily against his skull as she just looks at him, letting a long screw you pause permeate the air between them. He waits for her to say something, or to look away, out the window, in what would be a silent admission of defeat on this topic. She gives it a moment, but then she responds, and Hudson knows before she's barely spoken the word 'monsters' that he's rolled his eyes with such obvious contempt for where this is going. It all gets traced back to him, his decision making without her, yadda yadda, he knows how this conversation goes. Except she's not doing this linearly, apparently. He lets her go on about how they're good people, not monsters, before he says her name in a tone that suggests she should just leave it before it goes to the bad place: "Alvina." She continues, though, and he lets her. It ends up being somewhat useful context. He grunts in response to her, and looks at her. Perhaps she'd caught herself after all, reminded herself that they were on the same team. Well and good, but she'd still tested his nerves because she'd wanted to, and they both know it. They're now far away, topically, from the matter of government employees listening in on their life.

He sighs and directs his stare ahead of him, at the fabric of the carriage walls. He gives himself a minute to try to mine some patience to engage with her, since she'd done the same for him.

"That's how I feel every day," he tells her, eventually, looking back at her. "Like why should I not do whatever I want, the expectation's already there." He continues to look at her. "We got you out of this jam legitimately, through the legal process. Do you know how many times I thought about intimidating the prosecutor to throw or drop the case? I mean, why should I fight with my hand behind my back when it's my wife up against the wall." He takes a steadying breath. "But you're right, we're not bad people. You're definitely not. Me, I'll break the rules if I have to, but I got a code. Most people think I'm the monster though. Not you." He looks out the window, checking their progress. "You know, a lot of people in the city probably think I have you in a gilded cage, that you stay out of fear, or duty because of the kids. That's how you stay good in the eyes of many." He glances back at her, letting the implication lie there.


Alvina watches as he rolls his eyes at her. If only he’d stop being a drama queen and let her finish!! He says her name, a near boiling warning to stop while she’s barely ahead, but she doesn’t. He clearly hadn’t known what she was going to say and she wasn’t the type of woman (anymore) to let herself be hushed for the sake of peace. She’d chosen this path, specifically, to deviate from the blame game that was the anklet and it was working.

He’s silent. She looks back at him then, trying to read the tension in his jaw or the crease of his brow for signs of life but he isn’t looking at her. When he does, she can’t hide her momentary surprise. He talks about how hard it was to wait and go through the proper channels, especially because it involved her. The expectation –was- there. He was a powerful man, and a werewolf, after all. “ I know you do.” She says, at length, about his moral code. People perceived him as a man with no scruples and perceived her as the broken bird trapped in a cage of loyalty by his side. She’d be lying to say she hadn’t at one time been overwhelmed by the morality or lack thereof. That was a different time. A different Alvina. She doesn’t bother voicing that thought though. Her eyes dodge away from his when he mentions it. “I’m sure that opinion is slowly changing.” Now that the ‘secret’ about her being a werewolf is out in the world and her stint in prison is public knowledge, she’ll be labelled with the same name tag. She’s no longer an ‘innocent bystander’ and she hadn’t been for some time. Staying out of fear or loyalty is one thing. Letting yourself be turned into a werewolf, on purpose, felt like it should be another. It’s impossible for her to predict what kind of light that paints her in, in the end. “Now that I’m a hardened criminal,” she smirks in his direction, keeping her eyes aimed at the window. They both knew people would believe what they wanted, but that didn’t make it true.


Hudson grunts thoughtfully at the notion of public opinion 'slowly changing.' She'd pointed that out quickly, defensively in his mind, responding to the friction undergirding his own observation. He senses that again they're a little too close to the familiar territory of an argument. "Maybe," he veers away carefully, rubbing his face and feeling the smoothness of it. He'd shaved earlier, in case of press engagement, and given that they had mobbed them at the courthouse, he's glad he did. He didn't want people to read anything into his stubble. Not that they should, but it felt like why leave the detail out there for them to bake it into something more.

That's something he'd learned from being in the public eye. Appearances matter, and remaining consistent was the best publicity. He turns away from the window to look at Alvina. "But I think people'll get over it. I think you'll still be a crowd pleaser. My little mom style icon," he tells her, smiling mildly but unconvincingly. Even though he knows 'hardened criminal' had been said in jest, the context made the joke ring dissonant. It's just hard to simply back away from the old problem spots. He keeps trying. "Just wear some cute dresses and do some volunteer stuff with Kam, people love that stuff. Anyway," he feels like he's navigated that successfully, "If they want to like you, they'll find a way to justify whatever." He shoots her a sleepy grin. "I'm fine with people realizing you like me. I mean, finally. Can't wait for bored housewives to change our names but write really obvious fanfictions about us."


Alvina lets Hudson take the reins, steering them away from a knock-down, drag-out fight. Navigating the pot holes that could make the ride unpleasant. She was doing her best too; resisting the urge TO fight for the sake of fighting. She watches him rub his face and frowns. Her lips are still wilted when he turns back to her. Saying he was misunderstood sounded too much like pandering. She’ll be the favorite, the shining light that guides public opinion in their favor. She didn’t idealize that admiration as much as she once did. She still wanted to be liked, of course it’s flattering and she felt worthy of it, but she didn’t want to be compared in stark contrast to her husband. A ying yang of good vs…less so. This ‘label’ he uses makes her uncomfortable. Little mom style icon. He doesn’t look like he’s enthused by it either. Watching him grope for a foot hold was painful, and honestly her fault for scuppering what should have been a celebratory mood. “I think you just like seeing me in cute dresses.” She smiles warmly, leaning back into him, bridging the cooled gap to bind them as a team again. “It’s because her dresses are always just a little suggestive, isn’t it? I know your game.” He adds this bit about housewife fanfiction and she snorts with laughter. “I like you wow. I feel like people would be able to tell if I didn’t, honestly. They’d start rumors like ‘Alvina’s actually into women but using Hudson as a beard, he doesn’t care because she’s hot.’ Just like Saylor. Yes, gods, please. Bring on the fanfictions by literal strangers. How do you hope you’re portrayed? Like a hot bad boy that corrupted little old saint Alvina?” She rests her palms on his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please, Mr.Landon, I can’t stay out late drinking! I certainly won’t offer myself to any man before marriage!” Her voice is muddled by a rich, southern accent. “I don’t think my pa would approve of your hell raising ways!” She laughs again; those overly dramatic exchanges soothe her. “Do you think they make you wear a leather jacket and ride an all-black horse with no saddle and a horribly bleak name, because you’re a rebel? Maybe you’re even smoking. The horror.”


Hudson looks pensive on the topic of cute dresses but doesn't elaborate to clarify that his preferences are slightly different from the public's, or even Alvina's. She scoots closer to him, pressing herself near, and he loops an arm around her to encourage her. Turns out he didn't need to say anything after all. She guesses correctly what he thinks about Kam's influence on her, and he smiles with a guilty but shameless satisfaction. "Kam is a good friend to you," he says mildly, because he can't exactly say, 'as you are both women with the same assets, she obviously is a good fashion advisor and I appreciate her influence.' Alvina is seemingly ignoring this remark, perhaps for the best, and opining on the topics of future gossip rags written about them. He considers saying that he'd rather be accused of marrying a lesbian than what most male celebrities endure, but then he opts to stay quiet because Alvina is rambling cheerfully and perhaps it's best to avoid anything that remotely reminds him of the whole affair with Valrae. He laughs when Alvina play acts her own part in a putative fanfiction. "Bad accent, but not so far off from the truth. You did try to make me wait," he comments, feeling her performance relax the mood between them further. "Still slightly accurate. I love fast horses, and I smoke sometimes, for medical reasons," he points out. "Leather jacket," he muses. "Is that wishful thinking? Am I dressing too dad for you? Unlike you I don't have any pride about my clothes, let me know if I'm falling short."


“It was pretty unfair of you to ask me when we weren’t even properly dating.” Alvina -LOVES- bringing this up. LOVES. She was horrified when it happened but time made it funny, an old slight to bring up against Hudson that hurt no one. All in good fun. She almost, but doesn’t, mention that she isn’t some girl he brought home from a bar for a drunk one night stand but she’d prefer to dodge that topic all together. It does mute her enthusiasm. Kam -is- a good friend, even if she’s a little more ‘extra’ than Alvina. Kam embraced the famous life flawlessly and constantly encouraged Alvina to ‘see and be seen’, as it were. “ I thought it was a good accent,” she huffs with playful indignation. He moves on to critic her description of him in the fanfictions and she chuckles into the croak of his elbow, which she’s pulled up to cover her mouth. He does love fast horses and he does smoke! She didn’t think about that much, honestly, because he usually smokes outside and doesn’t head off to the track often. Maybe business meetings? She had no clue. “You’ve never worn a leather jacket,” she muffled into his suit sleeve. “I like the polos, they’re cute. You also look good in suits. I feel pretty satisfied with your clothes.” She’s more fussy about what she wears than what he does. “Maybe you just make everything look good, I don’t know, don’t ask me.” The tone is snarky but her mood is much improved. Funny how it just takes a little patience on both their parts to smooth these old things over now and again. They’d gotten so much better about it. “What kind of burrito are we getting? Are you going to judge me if I get two? I’m starving.” She opens her mouth wide, pretending to bite into his arm, back snuggled against his ribs. “Eating for two and all that.” She waves her free hand. This is an acceptable excuse in her book.


Hudson groans to hear this objection about his prior self again. He shuts one eye into his free hand, which he tents over his face. "Oh my GODS I took you on at least a few dates before trying to take your clothes off," he says, in a bored tone, like he's said it a million times before (he has), "We just hadn't defined the relationship as exclusive." She is ignoring this defense, which is consistent with about every other time they've discussed this topic, and moving on to his clothing, literally nestling into it too. He snorts when she seems to vacillate between merely approving his clothes and declaring that –he- makes everything look good. He's not so sure that's what it is. "I think the bar is just lower," he muses, his hand around her out of habit. The carriage stops. They must have arrived. "We're here. Eat as many burritos as you want," he tells her. Milo helps her out, and Hudson follows, shutting the carriage door behind him.

"Think I'm going to officially open the pool for the summer this afternoon," he says to Alvina. "I hope our ducks come back."