[paris] you don't want to complicate this complicated world - emily

Augustine Mohr found comfort only in the outskirts of each room and introduction he trudged through, the hand of his his colleague (who was really more of a handler) infallibly guiding each move as she ushered him along. To say that he was out of his element was a grave understatement. Even having made himself as small possible, the man couldn't escape the inevitable attention that came with the showcase dedicated to his designs, even if there were a handful of other artists who's physical work was plastered to the walls of the transformed warehouse. Although the event had been created to unveil the newest season of work from the fashion house he belonged to, the team had worked tirelessly to scout paintings and sculptures to compliment the aesthetic and promote collaborations with new and emerging artists.

From the outside, the decrepit warehouse building that stood alone on the outskirts of the city looked as lifeless as it had three days previous when Augustine had arrived. Inside, though, was an entirely different story. Each room that was filled with was carefully curated pieces of art lead seamlessly into the next, taking the viewer through a literal jungle. The walls that were once plain and steel were now enchanted to look like the inside of caves, lush forest floors and the tops of trees. Eventually, though, it led to an impossibly large open room with a runway in the middle, fashioned similarly as the rest of the building and with a never-ending line of models appearing through a sea of vines.

After what felt like a lifetime of being introduced to dozens of now faceless industry professionals, Augustine had miraculously managed to escape to the bar to enjoy a sliver of solitude. If there was one thing that was going to make this make any sort of sense, it was booze. As he sipped the deep amber liquid from his newly freshened glass, he observed the small groups of strangers around him. Because there was no strict dress code, most witches and wizards opted to showcase their less than traditional garb, he noticed. Augustine, though, was dress quite plain in a white t-shirt and black jeans.

Deep brown eyes watched with amusement as strangers moved for artwork to artwork, casually making comments to their friends and contorting their faces to look like they were actually critically analysing the scribbles of someone else. He suppressed laughter. Instead a permanent smirk was plastered across his lips. One stranger in particular thought caught his attention as she almost instantly moved from each piece, having only looked them over for half of a second.

Emily Fleming. He would have recognised the woman anywhere despite the fact that he had never seen her so dressed up before. Even when he and John had shared a double date with her and whatever flavour of the week Gus had taken a liking to, Emily was not nearly so formal. Augustine found himself moving from room to room with her, waiting for her to find something that really caught her eye as he was sure something would eventually. If anything, she was particular about her tastes, and he admired that. When the brunette eventually stopped to really take in a painting, Augustine wasted no time to move beside her, keeping  a considerable distance between their shoulders, as he too began to admire the work.

"The rest of them were a bit shit, weren't they?" Augustine spoke clearly to Emily although his eyes did not break their focus from what was right in front of him. "I might've guessed this one would catch your eye," He broke into a small smile as his gaze lingered from the top to the bottom of the canvas.

@Emily Fleming

How Elaine had managed to score tickets to this far-away, downright elitist event she had no conceivable idea. Maybe that activism in public-eye circles was paying off in oddball ways like this. When she'd seen the names of the featured artists listed on the brochure, however, she hadn't thought twice of how she'd feel surrounded by, undoubtedly, a sea of posers -- Emily wasn't sure why, but even seeing Augustine Mohr's name printed in guaranteed presence was enough to convince her. She was happy, anyway. Signing the last few bits of paperwork to take ownership of the shop, dating someone who treated her well and making decisions that could positively impact her life. Nothing was missing. Nothing.

The man's addition to her life had come as an entirely unprecedented shock, and while aware she'd made the conscious decision to indulge while she'd very much been a single woman, there was a certain degree of guilt she associated with any interaction the pair had. He and John were friends, after all. She and John were friends. (Getting there, anyway.) And he didn't know. Of course he didn't. Neither of them had made any moves to tell him as far as she knew, and that... complicated things. It was their secret. She wasn't sure whether or not it made being in his presence more attractive or entirely morally bankrupt.

As she strolled along through the unique and admittedly sort of unsettling environment, she moved fast. Faster than all of the people standing close to one another and pointing at things, trying to find symbology in things that simply were. For Emily, attaching sentimental value to things wasn't a foreign concept -- but not everything had the capacity to have more than its actual value assigned to it. Eventually, she came to a painting that struck a chord in her -- it was different than the others. Not necessarily unique, but it was... prudent. Vaguely inspired by Van Gogh, maybe. One couldn't see the stars in Paris or any other city with light pollution and even though they were really just bits of paint on a canvas, it was refreshing to look upon them once in a blue moon. Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the flute of champagne she held in one hand, which was more there for fiddling and business than it was for drinking.

Enraptured in the artwork and in her own mind, her lips, previously slightly agape, sealed shut and she jumped a fraction at the voice in her left ear. She looked immediately toward him, relaxing and allowing her yellow-green eyes to settle on his face. She had goosebumps and it wasn't cold. Tropically humid, even, to complete the environment. Emily suddenly felt very vulnerable in her clothes and wondered why she'd chosen to wear this particular dress having known there was a distinct possibility for this exact interaction to occur. She didn't want to think about it.

She focused, instead, on his words and the situation at hand, even though "living in the moment" was almost always an entirely foreign concept, almost always out of reachable grasp. "Maybe not shit, exactly. Can't say that it would make sense to call any piece of art that's ended up in an exhibit shit. Subjectively, though, maybe. I would say a bunch of it's shitty, and not even just because of the composition of the piece. You can tell when an artist makes something because she's inspired and you can tell when an artist makes something because she thinks it's what the public wants to see from her."

Emily paused for a moment, taking a drink of her champagne for something to do and watching the ring of red her lips left on the rim when she pulled away. She worried he'd notice it hadn't been there before. "And why do you say that? I didn't even think you'd be down here. I thought you'd be in the VIP section with six women hanging off your arms. It's your night, right, Augustine?" Her breath caught as she spoke to him and she rose an eyebrow, trying to mask the embarrassment she felt for accidentally alluding to the fact that she'd known this was his event prior to.

Augustine internalised Emily's words that cut through the buzz of conversation and low hum of eclectic music that was pulsing, it seemed, through the very walls themselves. As far as he was able to gather there were no speakers placed strategically around the warehouse. Instead, the branches of enchanted trees and the hollow of stone caves were alive with the beat of the music, breathing in and out with each hit of of bass. "I agree," He stated plainly as he allowed the words to soak in with the context of the work before them. "I was watching you," The wizard explaining, unbothered by how the sentiment made him sound. "This was the only one  that you stopped your marathon for," He mused with a smile, glancing over to her for the first time of the evening.

There was no denying that Emily Fleming was difficult to ignore - her energy was simply captivating despite her every effort to make it anything but - but tonight, it was damn near impossible. Augustine tore away his gaze reluctantly. "This one," He began as he reached forward to touch the canvas before stopping just short of actually doing so. "It's beautiful because it's not trying so hard to be different," Augustine couldn't help but grin at the double meaning behind his statement. "It just is," The man shrugged, reaching his drink up for a long sip before she spoke up again.

"Six women? "He repeated, nearly choking on the amber brown liquid of his drink, hitting the back of a closed fist to his chest as he attempted to normalize his breath through deep chuckles. "For one," Augustine began to counter her accusation. "If there's a VIP section, I've yet to have seen it... I've been paraded around all night as if these people actually want to talk to me," He rolled his eyes with a wry smile. This new lifestyle had clearly not settled well with him and he was still grappling with all of the ins and outs with much difficulty. "And second," He continued. "Four women would be much more manageable, you know?" He led the way to the next canvas, keeping up with the procession of guests as they crept through each room although he had no intention of confining their conversation to just art.

"How are you?" Augustine asked just above a whisper, eyeing the deep red and and burnt oranges of the abstract work in front of them. It had been months, he couldn't be sure just how many, since the last time they had been together and the circumstances were entirely different. The artist found himself now, even after all that time, aware of keeping a safe distance between their bodies. That wasn't to say he was avoiding the fact that he had slept with his friend's ex with whom he had been trying to get to reconnect with him, but he was acutely aware of the fact, even from the distance he had placed. "Where's your date, am I keeping you?" He smiled from behind the rim of his glass, as if he actually minded.

Both brows perked at that bold declaration he made, but he'd presented it confidently enough that she didn't think much of it. She was intrigued that, after quite a few months and almost no contact, he'd been watching her intently enough to notice her patterns. "Mmm." Emily hummed curiously, taking another sip of her champagne. "I suppose you're right about that. Caught my eye." She tucked a thick wave behind her ear and silently thanked Elaine's hair potions for keeping it in its place. She needed all the help she could get hair-wise, really.

Their eyes locked for a couple of seconds. She felt the urge to look away, to avert her eyes to the floor, to look at anything else that didn't make her feel stripped bare. Before she had a chance to give in and break the uncomfortably intimate eye contact, he did that for her. When his focus shifted to the painting in front of them, she watched him, paying close attention to the way he talked about the painting. The witch grinned back when he did, resisting the familiar compulsion to bite on her lip. She was actually wearing lipstick tonight and Elaine had checked their coats and bags at the door -- Emily, to be quite honest, was opposed to the idea of leaving Augustine to go and fix her makeup of all things.

A rare laugh, bright and yellow, bubbled all the way out of her mouth from her chest when he choked on his drink. Bit of a morbid sense of humor she had, maybe, but he understood it. She didn't have to explain that to him. "Don't like being famous, huh? Must be rough. Having your pick of the litter and all." She smiled at him again, a little softer and gentler that time. Em was happy for him. She liked to see her friends succeed. Were they friends? Maybe some clarification later on would be helpful. "In all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you. That's why I came, to see you. Not because of the show." That forwardness was unexpected on her part -- she'd even startled herself a little, but she inferred he'd appreciate it after having been so transparent with her just a moment before.

The atoms in her body and her brain felt connected to his, magnetized in a way that made it inherently difficult not to touch him or to lean closer than they already were, but she refrained, hands toying either with glass or with fingers at her side. "I'm okay. I'm finalizing all of the things to finally take legal ownership of the shop." Emily turned her head and tilted it slightly, studying his features instead of looking directly at the piece of abstract art that was very orange and red in her periphery. "Keeping me?" She asked him almost incredulously and gave a little shake of her head. "Mm, no. I didn't really come with a date. My friend snagged a ticket for me and I came with her." Another beat and Emily realized it was only polite to reciprocate the pleasantry, so she did. "How are you?"

Having relished in the rare escape of laughter that came from Emily's lips, Augustine nearly lost his train of thought. Be present. He reminded himself for what felt like the the millionth time of the night. For such a young person, she she had proven herself to be more serious than anyone else he had met in their early twenties. Merlin knew he was no where as composed when he was twenty-three. "Someone's got to do it, I suppose," The raven haired man gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders although his facial expression gave away the fact that he couldn't be any more sarcastic if he tried. His lips contorted into a smile as he made eye contact with her again, electricity fluctuating between their iris'. Augustine almost physically took a step back, innately aware of the thin line that the two of them were treading even just by having a conversation.

"You seem quite caught on that..." Augustine referenced the multiple times in their brief conversation that Emily had brought up other women and Augustine having his pick of them. His dark gaze, sparkling from the luminous tea lights strung around the lush branches of the forrest room they had entered, steadied on the painting as he took another small sip of burning alcohol. He would be lying if he said that it didn't stroke his ego a bit, not that he was in any place to have such feelings.

Augustine cast a cautionary glance to Emily as they moved to the next deep and dark green statue in the middle of the room, making sure she was keeping up with the procession of guests. "I'm happy to hear that," He replied earnestly. Hearing all of the positive things that had happened in Emily's life since the last time he had seen her was oddly comforting. He hadn't messed her up too bad.. "Although... I was under the impression the shop was already yours to begin with?" He couldn't help but smile at the thought of the last time that he had been there. Silently, he apologised to whoever truly had owned store that he had defiled with less than holy behaviour. If his memory served him correctly he had broken a table that day. Augustine fought the laughter that bubbled in his chest.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?"  The older wizard got straight to the point, although his tone of voice remained impossibly calm. He leaned casually against the wall as he feigned scrutiny of the work. To anyone around them, they passed as having a completely art related conversation. There was no point in looking out for the others' toes now though, as far as he could see.

She exhaled silently through her nose when he mentioned her being hung up on the other options he had with women. He was here talking to her, though, so she supposed that meant something relatively significant. He could've easily chosen to be elsewhere and he'd elected to be here. That was what counted for the moment. "No, I'm not. I just tell terrible jokes." Emily covered for herself, and probably not well. At all. As they walked along, Emily's ankles feeling the strain of the steep heels her feet were settled firmly into, she was thankful for the consistent movement that propelled her through her thoughts and that mild amount of physical pain. She wasn't thankful, however, for all of the chattering drunk people and the bumping music that were clouding her clarity and her ability to even think like a normal person. Normalcy was overrated, she knew, but she wasn't her normal self. He threw her delicate balance of think-and-then-do way off.

Em noticed that he was ignoring the questions she'd asked him about himself and choosing to completely focus on her and her recent accomplishments. The young witch wasn't sure how she felt about that -- both things, actually. To be praised for her accomplishments or to be focused on at all. It was certainly a foreign sensation, but she was leaning toward welcoming it. When he mentioned the shop, though, her mind flashed with a vivid memory of the day he'd come to see her several months back, and she ran her fingers through her hair, closing her eyes tightly and shaking her head to clear it. Had he noticed that slight wince? Hopefully not.

She gripped the champagne flute a little more tightly than was comfortable, fingers locking into that secure position to hold onto something. No part of this felt firm at all and it probably would've been best to try to get out of the interaction that was developing, but she found herself planted rather firmly in it. "It's been mine rather loosely for years. The owner is very old and he'd come in every once in awhile to check up on things, but when he decided he liked me enough, he inferred he'd be giving it to me and now that day's officially come. It's a bit weird, really, but I might be hiring some people to pick shifts up for me so I'm not holed up in there all the time. I want to write more. See more things," Emily explained, waving the hand that wasn't holding her glass around as she spoke through the rhythms of her sentences. "Might as well have been mine when you came to see me."

That comment seemed to come out of the blue as many things did when she was around Augustine, and it was both freeing and terrifying to just blurt things out -- whatever she wanted. She wasn't sure what about his presence made her so comfortable, but it was easy. It was much, much too easy. She stepped closer to him then, shrugging her slender shoulders at the pointed question. "I didn't want to talk about anything in particular." This wasn't a lie, necessarily, though she of course had had some ideas. "I just wanted to see you."

Her eyes narrowed then and she drank the last bit of the pale liquid in the glass, dropping it onto a tray the server conveniently brought by them a second later. Emily breathed in and expelled the next thing she said hurriedly, afraid if she waited too long she'd think better of it and not expose the vulnerability to him. "I feel like I can't hear myself think in here, but I don't want to make you feel obligated."

Augustine, although outwardly studying the hovering sculpture in the middle of the room, peripherally enjoyed the sight of Emily squirming at his accusation. Her hand, he noticed, was just seconds away from breaking the flute that had just moments before been held as delicately as a flower. One positive of his previous career was that nothing went unnoticed no matter how miniscule. The artist's eyes maintained their attentive focus on the prize of the room but he was thinking about anything but. Not that he dared to admit it, he was pleased to know that his words still had some sort of effect on her, for whatever reason. He smiled politely in response to her explanation, opting to not argue the point further. Actions spoke louder than words.

"That's great to hear," He replied honestly as he redirected his gaze to Emily. The wizard felt an uncontrollable smile tug at the corner of his lips as she continued to hint at their last encounter. Although neither of them had discussed it, it had become more and more clear that they were both far from forgetting. Even at his most hedonistic, Augustine could not indulge completely, though - as far as he knew his efforts in getting her back with John had been triumphant. He was silent at the thought, only offering a nod of recognition to her.

As much as he tried to fight it though, Augustine could not run from the pride that swelled in his chest when Emily said she had simply wanted to see him. Was it complicated? Of course. Did he mind? Absolutely not. In fact, he found the forbidden excitement that was churning throughout his blood was the best high that he had had in months. Countless bodies in his bed and somehow this was more of a thrill. Augustine cursed himself silently, his face giving way to his true reaction, though. Mischief played over all of his features with a practiced ease.

As if right on queue Emily spoke up again. This time to suggest a change of pace in scenery. Augustine took the hint despite the fact that he was sure that she wasn't aware of the effect of her words. "Would you like to go outside?" He asked, his attention already tasked to look for more drinks. If his memory served him Emily wasn't a drinker, but he felt  immensely uncomfortable when someone didn't have something in their hand. Just as he grabbed another pair of glasses from a waiter who seemed to pop up out of no where, he noticed his handler eyeing him from the other side of the room disapprovingly.

"Shit," He whispered under his breath as he immediately led Emily through another series of rooms, not stopping for formalities now "I'm supposed to be meeting industry folk," He explained with a nonchalaunt wave of his wrist, looking over his shoulder to be sure the Scottish woman had lost them in the hustle. "There's an exhibit on the roof," Augustine suggested.

The numerous silent exchanges between them and their flitting gazes nearly took her breath away. It was quite interesting, sensing how charged the air was between them and how keen they were on one another's feelings. It was all a little nostalgic, too -- felt a touch like slipping on a familiar pair of jeans to talk with him like this. They were silent for a couple of minutes and that's when she thought outside herself. Thought about John. Thought about Ashley. Thought about how much they mattered to her -- but so did Augustine, unexpectedly. It had been the last thing she'd been expecting to want to welcome him right in that day he'd come to see her to convince her of John's character, but it hadn't been too hard for him to get through to her, even if it hadn't been in quite the way he'd intended. He'd sort of just... walked in.

He made her feel like they were in a bubble and almost totally separate from the rest of the world when he looked at her like that, and that was dangerous, she knew it. She knew it completely and she was still standing in front of him and looking at him and throwing herself right under the figurative bus. It wasn't like it could be something. Nothing could happen. Not when she was seeing someone else and not when she had too much of a conscience and too much of a disdain for cheating to do it and not say anything afterward to Ashley. Or John. God, why was it that she entangled herself with men?

Perhaps if she'd spoken to Elaine all those years ago about her feelings, things would've been different, but she was glad to have her as a friend and a confidante. That was another thing -- if she left now with Augustine, she'd feel bad about leaving Elaine there, but she was sure that she wouldn't be too angry with her. She thanked the invisible powers for her friend's good-naturedness.

"Outside?" Emily repeated, eyes lingering on his mouth and then dragging slowly back up to his eyes before she answered, resolve caught in the balance for just a second. She felt like she was tearing her morality to shreds when she smiled a little and nodded, agreeing. "Sure. Should I grab my coat? I've forgotten what the temperature is outside since having been here," She muttered quietly, referring to the overdone scenery and atmospheric touches in the exhibits. Taken a little by surprise that he'd taken the liberty of grabbing her another drink, she accepted it anyway, drinking a little bit of it so it wouldn't spill as they weaved around and moved through the clusters of people standing around.

Her expression, previously neutral, even slightly pleased, fell a little when he told her that he was supposed to be meeting industry people. Emily pursed her lips and shook her head, gesturing back to the other side of the room where the woman he seemed to be not very discretely avoiding was. "I don't, uh... I don't want to keep you, if it's important." She offered, knowing how important connections could be when your profession was a little more dependent on other people's opinions and hookups. He seemed to gloss right over it, though, and she wondered if that was how it felt to be successful enough to pick your opportunities. She wondered why he'd taken any sort of interest in her to begin with, really.

"Exhibit on the roof sounds quieter," The witch agreed, following him until they'd reached a flight of stairs. Stairs made her regret her choice in footwear, but it was nothing unbearable. She gritted her teeth and followed him up, thankful for the rush of outside air that filled her lungs when they walked through the door and up onto the roof. "Way better." The comment was made almost as an afterthought -- it wasn't necessarily anything she'd intended for him to hear. It was becoming apparent that around Augustine, her ability to filter her thoughts reduced to an absolutely atrociously low level.

"It'll be heated," Augustine stated simply to her question about needing a coat for the rooftop although his attention was clearly elsewhere. His deep chocolate eyes were only visible by the dim light that illuminated the space in front of each piece as they studied the woman handling his so called 'press'. She had been entangled in a group of younger witches and wizards all clad in black and examining with precise interest the sculpture in the middle of the room. The man had seen his opportunity to escape and did not waste any time to take it.

He led Emily up the rusted steel staircase that travelled to the ceiling in a series of seemingly never-ending rectangles. "Okay?" He noticed the half moment of hesitation she had taken before their ascent and mentally made a note to keep one eye over his shoulder. He held a hand out to her for no other reason than to let her know that he was there. Emily had no problem caring for herself but he felt a strange sense of responsibility for her in the moment.

It wasn't long before the pair crossed the threshold of the outdoor exhibit on the roof. It was noticeably more quiet than the chaos of the warehouse. Most people were scatted around, spread throughout the space at the various love seats and hightop tables and engaging in hushed conversation. Augustine's eyes flashed to the sky, a shiver going up and down his spine in preparation for the inevitability of the cold March air. Instead, though, he was greeted by an almost unnoticeable warmth - whatever charm had been placed over the location was skilled, he mused to himself.

Without question or affirmation, Augustine made himself comfortable on a sofa toward the corner of the building overlooking the vast darkness surrounding them. How close they were to the city, he was unsure, but it certainly felt like a lifetime away in the moment. He hummed an agreement to Emily's statement as he leaned back to cross an ankle over his knee, exposing his worn leather boots.

"So it seems you've been well," The wizard commented innocently enough before taking a sip of his drink and taking a mental note of how much champagne remained in her glass. Perhaps it was growing up with nothing that made him the way that he was, but Augustine couldn't possibly be content being around someone who wasn't plied with all the food and drink they could manage. Momentarily his mind flashed to their mutual friend, and the reason they had even met to begin with.

"Have you seen John?" He continued unflinchingly, ready to put everything on the table. Augustine Mohr, no matter how hard he tried, was unable to avoid being completely open. He and John had met up for a drink soon after he and Emily had spent their evening together and had managed to come to terms with the complicated nature of the situation to begin to move beyond it.

Oh, it was going to be heated. Of course. The rest of the place was charmed to be, so Emily briefly chastised herself. It would've been reasonable, after all, with any amount of logical thinking at all to deduce that the roof would be warm as well. Her heart skipped once when he held out his empty hand to her and she felt her face flush, unreasonably taken by the gesture. "I'm fine, yeah."

Despite her response, cold fingertips grasped gently at his hand during the rest of their climb up the stairs and she focused hard on walking correctly and especially on not stumbling -- it would've been quite the damper to trip over her feet or one of the stairs and spill her champagne all over herself, break a heel, or worse. Those vague worries taken into account, she was thankful he was there to steady her.

Augustine was quick to find a place to sit down and Emily was secretly thankful that it looked at least moderately comfortable. The dark-haired witch sat down at the opposite end of the sofa and mirrored him almost immediately, the reasonably modest slit in the side of her black dress exposing some of her leg and her shoe. Shit. She hadn't thought about that. Normally, she didn't have to think about crossing her legs -- pants provided a versatile range of motion. This dress, though, she'd briefly forgotten, wasn't quite as forgiving.

Emily didn't want him to think she'd done it on purpose, so her hand grabbed at the fabric of the dress and draped it back over her leg, but it fell off again a moment later. Uncrossing her legs would've been much too obvious a gesture, so she tucked a wavy piece of hair behind her ear nervously and smiled, deciding to stop drawing attention to the whole debacle. "I can't say I've been unwell." She responded to the question, bringing the glass she'd (again) forgotten she was holding to her lips to take another drink.

She almost choked on it when he asked her about John, and she leaned over to put the glass down on the ground next to the arm of the sofa, clapping her palm to her chest and clearing her throat. "Um -- I've seen him once. He came to see me, actually." Emily replied when she'd gathered her senses enough to appear composed, hoping her expression mirrored that facade but being well-aware she wasn't a very good actress when it came to matters such as this one. "He wants to be friends, I guess."

The part she halfheartedly tacked on right at the end hadn't really been a necessary addition, but she'd said it anyway. Emily was quite unwilling to acknowledge that it might've been because she wanted Augustine to know that nothing was going on between the two of them. "Why? Have you seen him much? Has he said something about -- ?"