Imagine James wearing Sebastians sweater and nothing else, telling him to come back to bed
James laughed, letting himself double over while he did. He was aware of his surroundings, but Sebastian had no time to react when he stood back up straight. He deadpanned “No. I am not going to pay your bounty, which is much more then the actual contract was.”
He sighed “Here’s whats going to happen. You killed someone that my organization was supposed to off, and you are not one of us. Unless you want a bunch of assassins on your tail, you will come work for me. Otherwise, I can’t stop anyone who comes after you.”
James picked up an apple that was sitting on the table, throwing it out in front of him. In an instant, the Daedric dagger had gone straight through it, getting stuck in the wall directly next to Sebastian’s head, inches away from his ear “Your choice.”
Sebastian huffed as the dagger landed right next to the wall. He intended, for a moment, to reach for the handle and pull it from the wall, but decided against it. “So… I killed someone you were supposed to kill. What you’re basically saying is I did your job for you.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “A simple ‘thanks’ would do, ya know.” He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “But if you’re so keen on givin’ me a job… How much does it pay?” He arched an eyebrow and smirked mischievously. “I don’t work for free. But I’ll give ya this first one on the house. Call it an audition.”
The look of surprised confusion on Moran’s face is enough to alleviate Jim’s exasperation, if only a little. When he is not asked how he knows about the man’s fondness for books, Jim isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved, only because this way he doesn’t have to go to the trouble of explaining himself. It’s much easier when people either work things out on their own, or simply take him at his word.
"If you’d listened when you were introduced to your counselor, you would remember that all forms come and go through him." It’s quite possible that Jim is not even trying to be arrogant, and that it’s simply the way he sounds naturally. Those who have known him for a long time could probably attest to that, though most people are content enough to keep their opinions to themselves and be on their way once they’ve done their business with him.
"If you’re a good boy and mind your manners, I’m certain they’ve got a spot for you. The better to keep an eye on a potential trouble maker." More like, the opportunity to present a potential problem with another, less violent path to take. It’s statistically factual that prisoners who have jobs and enjoy the work they do end up not only with a higher chance of meeting parole, but are also far more successful in their lives when they are released. Productivity makes for a smooth transition in both directions, and Jim would know.
"D’you really think I listened to half the shite that cunt said?” It was a bunch of blabber about obeying rules and good behavior and making his time here ‘count’. Sebastian knows it was all rubbish. His time here is never going to ‘count’ for anything. He’s likely to spend all the time he’s got left behind bars, and funny enough, it’s for something he actually didn’t do, instead of one of the many things he did.
Sebastian sighs, arms folded over his chest. “Guess I need ta set up a meeting with ‘im then. Goddammit. I hate that fucker.” He seems arrogant, like the sort who got bullied in primary and secondary school, so he looked for a job where he could lord his power over others. It makes Sebastian want to punch him in the nose and stick his head in a toilet, and he muses to himself whether that might conjure up a sense of nostalgia for the pair of them.
Despite his hatred though, Sebastian knows how to ‘behave’ when he must, and only when he must. As the son of wealthy men need to. He’s about to leave when he turns back and looks at the other man. Sebastian pauses, as if he’s debating whether or not to say anything, but ultimately, he opts to. “…I never said I liked books.” It’s not a question, though it’s an opening for an answer nonetheless.
Jim thrashed sometimes when Sebastian held him back from clawing at himself, other times he just whimpered and pressed his face into the man’s chest. Either way he had been effectively reduced to a pathetic lump of a man, at least for a good few hours more. Luckily his metabolism was fast, so it’d last another 3-4 hours at most. He’d already been through nearly 8 hours of this before Sebastian had found him…
Even when Jim thrashed, Sebastian held on to him, just as tight as he needed to and no tighter. Even in peak health, Jim was physically no match for him. Unless he used his cunning or a snuck a black into the fray. But muscle-for-muscle, Sebastian had the clear advantage, and he used it now to keep Jim from harming himself further. The hours were long and tedious and tiring, but Sebastian was dedicated. He didn’t let go, didn’t take a break and head to the loo, didn’t fall asleep. He held Jim in his arms as the thrashing slowly got less and less frequent, and even when it stopped, he didn’t let him go.
She ignores him for her own good, his comments on her outfit are only to stir her up. And with the way his lips kiss the edges of that liquor bottle, she had half a mind to slap it out of his hands and spill it onto the floor. Yet, the woman refrains, only finding herself back in the seat by the fire.
His inessant chatter is enough to drive her batshit crazy, honestly, and the more he talks, the more she just wants to ring his neck. His comments are useless and pointless, and honestly she can’t tell if he likes to talk to hear his own voice or just to annoy her. Honestly, either one is doing it’s job.
"They say you don’t fucking shut up,” she sneers over her shoulder, “Bloody hell do you have a mute button, honestly?”
Sebastian still seems amused, if anything, despite her attempts to rile him up. He deals with a far more infuriating creature morning, noon, and night when he’s home in London. She’ll have to do better to get under his skin.
He takes another sip- or rather, gulp- of whiskey and gives a satisfied sigh as it burns down his throat. It’s a slice of home in this frozen, dreary hellhole. A familiar comfort. He decides to get drunk, to drunk the entire bottle tonight, even if it means using up all they’ve got and spending the rest of the time sober.
"Nope, sure don’t." He can be quiet, as his job dictates he sometimes must be. But if his speaking is annoying her, it’s all the more reason to do it. "Wonder, if that’s what they say about me, what’d’ya imagine they say about you?”
And with that question, Jim immediately snapped into business mode, true he could still be offered the door without anything, but the man seemed rather interested in him (or at least disinterested in finding another), and willing to pay a hefty sum without blinking twice over it.
"200£ per hour, or a flat sum of 1,000£ for the night, additional charge for anything too extreme or potentially dangerous.” If nothing else, prostituting himself had taught Jim the finer methods of haggling and how to read people during said haggle. Not that it had ever been all that difficult for him in the first place. It was all a subtype of manipulation in any case.
Sebastian took a sip of his whiskey and chuckled. “Oh, I like you. We’ve got ourselves an actor, don’t we? Like to play pretend, hm?” No brand new rentboy knew his prices so well right off the bat. Sebastian was well aware what the average costs were, and he was even more aware that those costs went up automatically upon seeing a Ferrari and a man who seemed stupid with his wealth.
"You’ll have your thousand quid." He announced, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Rules. Do you have any?" Not that he would strictly adhere to them, but he would keep them in mind, if he felt like it, and abide by them if convenient. They were also always so entertaining to hear the little rentboys trying to act like they could actually impose a rule on him. No one made rules for Sebastian Moran. Not anymore.
It was the smell of coffee being brewed that finally stirred Anthea from her sleep. After throwing on a shirt and a pair of yoga pants and pulling her hair up, she went out into the kitchen. “I could get used to you cooking for me.” She teased as she fixed herself a cup of coffee. As curious as she was to know what was on the agenda for the day, she would wait to discuss business after food was ready. For the moment, she was going to sit back and enjoy the view of such a good looking man cooking for her.
Sebastian chuckled as he turned over their eggs in the pan. “Good mornin’ ta you too.” He hummed with a grin, his voice low and gravelly, a taletell sign that he’d woken up not more than half an hour ago. “Your jewelry’s done. We’ll be headin’ down ta get it after we eat. Figure we’ll pack up an’ head out straight after, so we’ll jus’ take a company car down, take our bags with us now, then get straight to the airport.” He slid the eggs onto a plate with toast and sausages. “Sound good?” Not that it was really at all optional for her.