if i had a tail [kate]

There were only a few people Harlan would wear a tuxedo for.

His sister, as it turned out, happened to be one. From the back of the room, he absently studied the gin in his glass as the clear liquid moved from side to side in his hand, lime with it. Why had had he agreed to this again? It was the event of the year for Audrey, for Oui (and she made that known), celebrating the women in their respective fields— top something under something— but that had nothing to do with Harlan. Tonight, he was playing a supporting role.

The awards went on slowly, various witches and wizards entering the stage dressed in their finest to announce the next honoree before another speech was made. Despite it all, he was proud. In such a male-dominated everything any excuse to celebrate something other than was a welcome change.

It had been a few weeks since the Griffins had won the finals but the afterglow lingered. Harlan was still tanned from his time in Croatia, he was unsure of the last time that he'd felt so relaxed. Then again, there he was, stuffed into a tux at an award show. He perked up again, though, when Audrey took the stage. Apparently she had the duty of appointing some of the best in the music industry.

Then, Kate Baker.

Of-fucking-course— avoiding all of the things that he wanted to was impossible, apparently even here. Harlan had half a mind to excuse himself then and there but paused when he recognized the cut in his sister's tone. To anyone else, they may have not noticed her snark, but he knew it well.

After what was left of the awards, Harlan happened upon Kate as she sidled up to the bar. Damnit. He had done all that he could to avoid this. They made accidental eye contact and that was that. "Sorry about all that..." He began shifting to the corner adjacent to her, gesturing to the stage. "Audrey can be a bit—" He nodded a thanks to the bartender for his drink.

"—well, something else," More that something else, if he were being honest. She was downright ruthless at the best of times.

Kate was starting to feel more and more like London was a black hole that she was going to perpetually be sucked into until she eventually keeled over and died. She’d been contacted by some members of the press from Oui this month to attend an award show and be honored, and not wanting to reject a potential career advancement or tarnish her reputation that had already been through the wringer the last several months, she’d agreed.

There were going to be thirty awards, all for women under thirty, to celebrate their particular decoration and abilities in their fields. Seemed lucrative enough from the outside, but Kate knew the press were vultures on most occasions and she’d have to be watching her back to prevent any disasters.

Kate’s long, dark hair was pulled up into an elegant bun, not too tight, with tendrils hanging down across her cheekbones to frame her face. She was wearing some high heels to give her the stature she needed to pull off this dress-- it was long, white, and backless. Simple and sexy, to the naked, unknowing eye, but while shopping for something to wear to this event, it had been difficult for Kate not to go slightly crazy. At every other event, almost, she’d taken Charlie with her to the boutiques to gauge his reaction to each and every outfit and even after marriage, had to deal with some degree of gatekeeping from him.

She didn’t want to show up erroneously overdressed, but she had wanted to go slightly out of her comfort zone(and to prove something, whether that was to herself or other people, she didn’t know) and a relatively plain gown without a back and a pretty bow to cinch it all together seemed pretty reasonable. The only jewelry she wore were a pair of diamond earrings, given to her for her twentieth birthday by her father. Her fingers felt particularly empty.

The actual ceremony was a mess. The presenter, who had given her a miniature statue to commemorate her achievements as the most promising young executive in the music business, hadn’t pulled any punches insulting her, though it had been expertly and passive-aggressively masked as a compliment, as many “compliments” in the business tended to be.

Kate knew that many people expected she had gotten her job due to nepotism, from both sides, and she wasn’t obtuse enough to completely discredit this assumption. However, she considered herself pretty good at her job--she’d broken her back for several years for Banshee, night and day, and they were bigger than they ever had been. Their talent was the main driving factor, but they weren’t particularly skilled managers of said talent. That was where she’d come in. Kate almost wished that her parents had nothing to do with the music business, but that felt ungrateful as soon as the thought entered her mind.

Directly after the presentation of awards, she’d made a beeline for the open bar and hoped, no, prayed to mother Mary that nobody she knew was here or had seen her. She’d stared at the exit sign in the back of the room instead of the crowd in front of her while she’d given her acceptance speech for a reason.

It would have been personally smart for Kate to just leave right afterward: the free alcohol was enticing, sure, but she could afford as much alcohol as she wanted. Business smart thing to do, though, would be to stick around and show her face for as long as possible, so as not to appear ungrateful. She wondered how this spread in the magazine would end up. She ordered a double of tequila and a skinny margarita on the rocks, and the shots came first. A year ago, there wouldn’t have been any way she could’ve downed a double in one, but three seconds later, as the empty glass clacked back onto the granite, she was impressed with herself.

Kate felt someone come near to her, probably just to order a drink, but she accidentally looked at him anyway and realized who it was. Ah, shit. She was sure she’d seen some stupid thing or other about Harlan Bellamy and his recent fling with Charlie’s ex-girlfriend in the papers, but maybe she’d hallucinated that. The brunette frowned as he spoke, trying to place why he was talking about Audrey that way and then it-- oh. Audrey Beauchamp. Formerly Audrey Bellamy. She pinged and made the connection as soon as the editor’s name popped fully into her head.

 â€œNot your fault,” Kate offered with a smile. “She’s your sister? I know how they can be, I have one myself who’s a little… uhh. High maintenance.”

High maintenance wasn’t exactly how he would describe his sister— though she certainly was that too. In all honesty, she usually wasn’t that bad. Audrey was fiercely protective, loyal to those whom she loved, so he imagined that in some way this Kate Baker had done something to someone important to her. That had to be the only explanation. That, or she was jealous. Her venom stretched far.

"The one and only," Harlan nodded, his tone an indication that it was something that Audrey had dubbed herself. Kate seemed kind, if only a bit out of her element. He wondered vaguely who she had come with. his eyes scanning the room for a moment before falling back on her. He almost mistakenly allowed himself to give her the once over before— fuck. That was the last thing that he needed to be splashed across The Prophet. He stood up straighter, taking another drink.

"She's competitive," He commented, leaning an elbow on the bar after making sure Audrey wasn't within earshot. "Might explain the whole—" Harlan paused to think how best to phrase it. "—well, the whole introduction, really," He let out a brief laugh. "If it helps, I don't think anyone caught on to the fact that "inherited from her family" was a bad thing..." He caught on fast enough, though.

"Sorry, Harlan," He shook his head as he realized how impolite he'd been not introducing himself and extended a hand. For some reason, he felt like he needed to tread lightly with her, like any moment she might just shrink away.

Kate admired how supportive he seemed to be of his sister. More men needed to be like that, unapologetically appreciative and supportive of women, especially when they couldn’t give them anything sexual. That was an actual barometer for respect for women, wasn’t it? Treating them with respect and kindness when you didn’t have anything to “gain” from them?

“You seem proud of her,” Kate commented, sealing her lips around the two tiny straws floating around in her margarita to take a sip. Two shots at one time when she hadn’t eaten anything was plenty to get her a little buzzed, so maybe this conversation wouldn’t be as awkward as she’d initially suspected. “That’s great. More guys should be like that, but I think they feel emasculated, showing up to stuff that isn’t really their thing to. Just kinda be cheerleaders.”

Kate grinned against the straws, sparkly white, picture-perfect, American teeth glinting in contrast to her tan skin. She’d gotten in some sun time in California last week, which always helped her feel more confident. She knew he was a Quidditch player, too, so she hoped he understood her reference about the cheerleaders. It was an assumption to think black-tie award ceremonies weren’t his thing, but he didn’t really seem the Pedro suave type who worked a crowd at every social event, either.

Was there even a way for someone like Harlan, who was a professional, accomplished athlete, to feel emasculated or insecure? The proof was in the pudding--she’d married someone famous, who constantly sought the approval of other women to validate his sex-god status, even though she’d been right in front of him. On the other hand, Kate had been married to one of the most famous men in the world, one of the most talented, too, and still felt small and insignificant sometimes. Self esteem was a funny thing.

“I know she’s just doing her job. It was a little embarrassing, but it’s not even close to the worst thing that’s happened to me while I’ve been working in the music business, you know?” Kate did a minute shrug and sucked another gulp in through the now chewed-up straws. “Seems like you caught on, though.” She quirked a knowing eyebrow and took his hand when he offered it. Unsurprisingly, very calloused, and dwarfed her own tiny palm amidst its firm grip. “I’m Catherine. Kate, informally, or usually.”

She waited a beat before she commented again, “I’m surprised you don’t have an event tonight. I keep up with the papers for my own sanity to see if I need to do any damage control, but you’ve. Been in them quite a bit, as of late.”

Steel colored eyes surveyed Kate from adjacent at the bar, over the lip of his glass. Had he come across as proud? Harlan wasn't sure if that was the right word, but perhaps it might have been. He was proud. Even if she had been ruthless, he and Audrey were family— and that meant something to him— more than he cared to admit.

It was only moderately uncomfortable as she proclaimed that "more guys should be like that". Like what, he hadn't quite figured out. If only she knew the intricacies of the Bellamy's, he thought to himself. "Family, I suppose," He commented before taking another drink, hoping that was a universal thing— even for Americans. On that note, her accent was familiar, like some of the International wireless specials he'd tuned into. It made him feel like he was somewhere else entirely.

Embarrassing, Kate said and Harlan's mouth pulled a frown in return. "That isn't her job," He corrected, not chastizing but still firm. It wasn't, after all. He shook his head again at her next comment, he didn't know anything about the music industry, and quite frankly he had no intention to. He'd always been more drawn to the classics, nothing on the wireless these days appealed to him.

"So, which do you prefer?" Harlan couldn't help himself as he drew his hand away. Catherine suited her, he thought.

He was a bit taken aback by how upfront she was— though the tequila he'd seen her down may have had something to do with that. If he were as honest, he'd had have mentioned that he had read about her as well, her recent breakup splashed over the pages of everything. Instead of commenting on his own fame as of late, Harlan shrugged. "This is the event," He nearly grinned, finishing what was left of his drink and signaling to the bartender. He cast a glance at Kate, perhaps a moment too long to linger on the open back of her dress, wondering if she too needed a refill.

“Family indeed. I have a place back in California, where mine live,” Kate offered, although he didn’t really need to know this information--they weren’t friends, he wasn’t her therapist, she didn’t know him, so why was she feeling particularly intrigued to continue this conversation? “I only have my sister for siblings, but I have plenty of extended family members. Our culture’s big into the family over everything thing.”

Kate adjusted in her stool and smoothed her hand down the front of her dress to get rid of any lingering wrinkles pooling up around her hips. She had to grin, more knowingly this time, when he threw his sister--ever-so-slightly--under the bus. “Well, I guess it isn’t. But it might not be as fun, being a member of the press, if one doesn’t endeavor to get a little jab in there every once in awhile.”

She was glad, though, that he wasn’t sticking up for her so staunchly. Kate could certainly understand when her own sister was being a pill and didn’t ever have an issue saying it. Harlan Bellamy seemed like he had a reasonable head on his shoulders. Her hand was buzzing from where he’d touched it: Kate was starved from that kind of human connection these days. Touching your own bare skin wasn’t the same, after all. Anybody who thrived upon physical contact knew that to be a fact.

“I guess I don’t really have a preference. Catherine, or Catalina I guess, is more common. With my family. But friends at Ilvermorny always called me Kate, and it’s way less of a mouthful. So. Whatever you’d like.” Her cheeks turned a shade of pink, and she looked down at her lap when she remembered her ex’s tattoo of her full name: Catherine. In her handwriting, on his forearm. The way she saw it, being referred to that way by Harlan or any other innocent bystander could do one of two things: remind her constantly of this, or serve to make that gesture not as special. Not every woman could say their significant other had been quite so proud to show them off, she was sure.

With that depressing thought, Kate finished her margarita and left it on the countertop for the bartender to pick it up. She toyed, silently of course, with the idea of having one, or five, more. “Are you having a good time? Plenty of beautiful women here,” Kate offered quietly. Many of them had obtained awards based on, or relating to, their appearances. Many were much more beautiful and curvaceous than she, anyway. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening? Just a quick pop in here, or what? I’m not particularly familiar with Quidditch players’ kind of lifestyle,”

That sounded nice, in theory, Harlan thought— the whole family over all else thing. For the Bellamy's that was a bit of a foreign concept. They somehow always teetered on the line of being fiercely protective of each other and downright ruthless. "America... I thought I'd placed the accent..." He mused at her mention of California. The country, he could tell, the state, less so. It was only vaguely uncomfortable to know this much about an otherwise stranger so quickly.

Harlan had done his best to not to notice how she moved, agile and fluid, but couldn't help but catch her hands canvasing her lower torso in the barstool. He shifted his gaze and listened, clearing his throat quietly. How could one person have so many names— a welcome distraction— yet not one that she preferred? "Hmm." He thought aloud. Given the option to voice his own opinion was ideal.

"I'll let you know what I decide," He said with a smile, still unsure. He supposed Kate seemed the most familiar of the choices, but Catherine suited her better. As the bartender approached, Harlan ordered another for himself before turning to her, aware of the now empty glass. He was going to do his best to not be presumptuous, to let her order on her own, should she be so inclined. For whatever reason, it felt like he was walking on eggshells here.

Plenty of beautiful women— a strange comment to make. Perhaps she'd also heard about his recent breakup. "Not on the agenda...." Harlan commented before turned to face her again, taking a drink. "Just supporting the cause," He said, earnestly now. "It's a nice thing— this," He gestured to the room. If he'd known half of the honorees he'd somehow been involved with before, he might have supported from a distance, though.

"Quidditch players' lifestyle?" He repeated with a dry chuckle. "Can't imagine it's nearly as exciting as that of someone in the music industry?" The crowd from the bar had cleared after the immediate influx and Harlan felt like he could speak at a normal tone again. He sat on the stool adjacent one leg against the corner of the bar. Small talk, he hated, but this seemed to have a bit more depth already.

Kate laughed, silvery and tinkling amongst the loud, crashy noises all glued together in the background. The hum of a party was exactly a soothing sound, but perhaps it was a familiar one. “Everyone makes fun of American accents here. I’m lucky if they don’t at fancy things I’m supposed to be on airs for,” She said, almost sourly, “And I’ve gotten kicked out of like. A high end shop, or ten, because they thought I was a tourist trying to steal from them.” Kate rolled her eyes. “English folk. Not always the kindest, I guess?”

She was starting to feel those shots and her margarita, now. She needed another one, and his lack of ordering a drink for her hadn’t gone unnoticed. Kate wasn’t sure whether to be offended by it or if she should take it as a compliment, that he was “allowing” her to exercise her own agency. People had always commented that Charlie was too old for her(as if she hadn’t known his age going in), but there was something she liked about older guys--not even as potential partners, just interacting with them in general. They didn’t seem to be such bumblers. More sneaky and sophisticated, sure, but not impossible to have a conversation with.

“Hi, would you mind another margarita, please, and another tequila shot. Thank you,” She told the bartender, and was glad immediately that her drink of choice was simple enough to whip up in record time. Another shot went down the hatch, and she turned back to Harlan to eye him more closely than before. “It is a nice thing. I wonder if I’d still be named the most promising executive in a co-ed list of nominees, though?” Not that she was bitter. Well. Maybe a little, but she hoped it hadn’t bled too far through into her tone.

“Yeah, I’m not familiar,” Kate admitted. “I haven’t been to that many Quidditch games. It isn’t even the most popular sport in America,” She shrugged with one shoulder and felt her dress shift again. When the whole panel that would normally cover her back didn’t exist, it was easy to be paranoid about a wardrobe malfunction. “There’s uh. A lot of drama in the music industry, that’s for sure. I’m taking a break from management right now, because I’m. Exhausted.”

Why was she telling him this? Alcohol, probably. And he wasn’t a sharp stick in the eye.

“Is your sister the only reason you came over here to talk to me?” Kate couldn't help smiling again at her own bluntness, and her whole face was flushed from the alcohol she'd, well, rapidly consumed. “Not that I find you boring at all. I'm just extra curious.” She knew from the newspaper this man could land anybody he wanted. Perhaps his intention was purer than that, but she doubted men, lately.

Was that an insult? Harlan couldn't tell if she was being deliberately offensive or if she was just being American. "That isn't necessarily the first thing that comes to mind, is it?" English people being kind, that was. Either way, it left him feeling a bit off-kilter, more so he had been just moments before.

At the turn of ordering more drinks, he only furtively glanced in Kate's direction, trying to mask his grin as she ever so kindly asked for another round for herself— apologizing as if she was bothering the poor bloke. Didn't she know that it was his job? The juxtaposition of his varied thoughts was not lost on him.

A drink and a shot? He pretended to not be impressed, but couldn't avoid watching her down it either way. At her glaringly obviously commentary around sexism in the industry, Harlan listened. She was right, but it wasn't his place to say. Admittedly, simply being a man had allowed him a lot. In part, that was why he had been so quick to support his sister and this event.

Harlan wasn't all that interested in the music industry or the drama that came with it, but he did his best to be empathetic. It was probably for the better, either way, that she knew little about the game— about him.

Is your sister the only reason you came over here to talk to me? Kate's words registered as they floated across the sound of the event but still, Harlan paused.

"Erm—" He allowed himself a moment to clear his throat. He'd have been lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind as soon as he'd gotten near to her— unable to ignore the way that she moved, the way her mouth turned up into a pout— but Kate Baker was one too few degrees of separation away from the person he was trying to avoid.

"If I'm being honest, I was trying to steer clear of you..." He admitted, quietly now, taking what he imagined was a shot's worth of his drink before looking back at her. She probably could have figured out why. Had she not noticed their shared panic when they made eye contact? "Big night for you?" He changed the subject, nodding to her now drained glass.

“English people being kind?” She asked, another big grin gracing her lips in such a short timespan. No, of course she didn’t think English people, or British people in general, were the pinnacle of kindness. Kate missed California, where people greeted one another on beaches, said hello, or paid it forward with small acts.

It was every man for himself here, except for the few people she still held near and dear, and that could be so exhausting. It had taken her several painful years to learn it, but being kind only set you up to be used and manipulated. Finding the strength to continue on, go on, open your heart again, after such treatment--felt so similar to grasping at a bunch of incredibly slippery straws.

Kate noticed how quiet he was. She wanted to give Harlan the benefit of the doubt and neglect to assume that because he was a sportsman, he had nothing between his ears. Surely he did, if they’d made it this far in conversation. Kate knew not to judge a book by its cover now: someone who seemed intellectual, intelligent, sensitive and passionate one minute could throw your heart on the ground and smash it with a meat mallet the next. It would have been rude and presumptuous for her to assume that his violent profession meant anything in relation to his character. Money, however, was potentially a factor--that tended to influence people regardless of career.

With girlish delight, Kate felt a rush of satisfaction when he mumbled that filler, erm, and she waited patiently. The corners of her lips twitched in pleasant amusement as he floundered for an answer. She didn’t know why, but stumping men was sort of pleasurable in itself.

Potentially even more than impressing them, she enjoyed befuddling them. People had long thought her a nondescript wallflower with no voice of her own, and now that she was parted from her husband, she had the chance to make an impression on others that was more independent from her relationship. And to stump as many people, men included, as she liked.

The answer he finally gave her was better than the one she’d imagined. He was trying to steer clear of her? He was certainly older and more established among famous people; why would he need to avoid her?

“Avoid me?” Kate made a funny little face, something that resembled a confused frown. “Why were you trying to steer clear of me? Am I scary?” She laughed out loud, far louder than was ladylike, and knew it was because of the empty glass he was referencing. “Um. I’m not sure about that, I just. Felt like it.” Kate shrugged. “There are a lot less rules in my life than there used to be.”

That fucking smile— full of perfectly lined white teeth and a dimple at either side of her cheek, American. It nearly pulled at his lips in return.

It seemed that Kate wasn't aware of the mutual connection between the two of them, and he certainly wasn't going to be the one to point it out, but perhaps that was for the better. He mulled over that thought, licking his lips before taking another drink. "Something like that..." Harlan couldn't help but let out a laugh, more to himself, catching her eye over his glass before turning forward again.

He hadn't intended on sticking around so long, but there he was at the corner of the bar like an absolute fucking lemon.

Steel colored eyes haphazardly followed Kate's gaze again to her empty shot glass, though Harlan stopped short of reacting to her statement— fewer rules in her life. What, had she moved out of her family home? Surely, she couldn't have been referencing her fresh divorce, speaking like that?

On second thought, he didn't want to know.

"Who needs those," Harlan shrugged, despite being very much a man of structure. He lived by rules, even when he was perpetually fucking them up. "Does that mean you're around for the afterparty?" He imagined it was that or she was off to something bigger and better for the evening, with the way that she was putting back the shots.

He'd taken a risk assuming she was aware of the afterparty in the first place. His sister had pulled it together, so it was very hit or miss who was made privy.

Who needs those, Harlan said, but it seemed too off the cuff to be a genuine remark. Kate squinted her eyes and shook her head the most minute amount. “I don’t know if you actually buy that or if you’re just saying it.” Either way, it didn’t matter. Her life had only taken a turn for non-rule-following in the last several years, and it hadn’t exactly panned out the way she wanted. So, therefore, who was to say whether rules were good or bad, meant to be followed or meant to be broken?

To an extent, Kate thrived under following rules: they were concrete, obvious, and left little room for interpretation. Every time she’d found herself really enjoying her life, though, it had to do, somewhat, with stepping outside the box. She wasn’t sure if that was cheap thrill or not, but each time she’d taken a risk and done something she wouldn’t “normally” do, she appreciated the present moment that much more. So many of those times--of real zest for her life--had been with Charlie, and reverting back to old habits in light of that sort of made the most sense.

Sitting here with Harlan, though, and making new friends might have been convincing her otherwise. Even if her husband didn’t see her as the soulmate she’d oppositely declared him to be, she could get different kinds of joy from her life. Even if--morbidly, but likely--she’d never find anyone else that made her feel that way again, Kate could draw pleasure from other experiences apart from romance.

“An afterparty!” Kate exclaimed, and she wasn’t sure if it was from offense, surprise or both. She hadn’t been invited, and based on Audrey’s comments onstage, the witch realized it made plenty of sense that the courier somehow missed her. The next time she spoke, Kate lowered her voice so as not to draw any (unwanted) attention to herself. “I um. Don’t think I was invited, so I’ll probably be heading home, I would think.” Her doe eyes lingered longer on his face than they had before, and she assumed that was also thanks to being sufficiently drunk for the present moment. “You're going?”

So Kate called his bluff. Harlan raised an eyebrow, impressed, though masked with half of a shrug. In most instances, rules were kind of his thing. The structure appealed to him more than he cared to admit, particularly to her (a stranger), and particularly here, now. There was an unspoken image that he had to live up to— hothead, quick to throw fists, impulsive— the public had grown to expect that of Harlan, so he learned to play into it when it suited.

Then again, where the was smoke...

Harlan was aware that he hadn't brandished such a reputation without reason. He seemed to live on either end of the spectrum— one minute he was living a quiet life at home and the next he was knocking some bloke's teeth in for grabbing one of his teammates in a manner that he deemed too friendly. Not that they couldn't do it for themselves, of course, but there was that rush that came with that level of letting go that he couldn't escape for too long.

Maybe that was how he ended up as a Beater. It gave him the perfect opportunity to let out his aggression, in a civil way. Well, somewhat.

Her tone, high-pitched, hushed, spoke volumes. So he really had spoken out of turn mentioning the after-party without thinking that she might not have been invited. If his sister's speech was an indication, he should have seen that one coming. "Ahh," He hummed in thought, biting down on his bottom lip with the full row of upper teeth into a near wince.

"Meant to be shit, anyway..." Harlan said over his glass before taking another drink to alleviate the tension he'd unintentionally created. "But... I do happen to know the host.. if you're interested," He offered, now feeling guilty for his tactlessness moments before. "I've been promised there will be oysters," He mused, more to himself. "I don't know the policy on a shot and a drink at once..." Harlan quirked an eyebrow, glancing over to her briefly with a smirk.

It was kind of him to be pretending he wasn’t already committed to going to this party, what with commenting it was going to be shit and the like. Of course he didn’t really think that, and if he did, he was going to endure it for his sister’s sake. Harlan was only trying to soften the sharp edge of not being invited to something--even though she didn’t really know the people who worked for Oui or even all of the honorees, she herself was one and hadn’t been invited. Kate wondered which plus ones and people not being honored had managed to secure an invite.

“I. Sure. I would go, if you wanted me to.” Kate tried not to look as surprised as she was. She wasn’t sure who else she’d know there, after all, and if he was just going to ditch her when they got there (seemed unlikely, based on how long he’d been standing here, but just in case), Kate was sure she’d make a quick exit anyway. He didn’t seem like the type of dude who would go out of his way to extend that kind of courtesy to someone he found insufferable, but Kate conceded he couldn’t know after just a few minutes anyway.

Oysters? Ew. Kate made a face. Charlie was picky enough with his food that normally, whatever he picked was pretty safe and she ended up stealing a few bites from his plate. Oysters were popular in coastal cities, and she knew as much having grown up in one, but she’d never gone near a raw oyster. She would consider one if it was, you know, cooked--but she had a distinct hunch that was not going to be the case at this party. “I…. have never tried a raw oyster,” Kate laughed. “Maybe I would, I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to look stupid if I did something stupid. Like gag.”

She narrowed her eyes as a similar smirk played around her features. Was he trying to do a back-and-forth thing with her right now? How very interesting.

It was completely unlike her to be ignoring the relationship she was pretty sure he’d been in a month or so ago, especially with someone she harbored an extreme amount of distaste for, but maybe they weren’t together anymore. Kate weighed whether to ask or observe how he acted and conclude from there--but, as she’d learned specifically with one of the people in question, not everyone cared whether or not you were in a relationship. She wondered if he knew his girlfriend was like that.

“There’s a policy? I’ll make sure to follow it. I probably don’t need to be taking any more additional shots with my drinks, so it might be beneficial for me to do just that.”

Well, shit. Harlan was fairly certain that she was going to turn down his half-offer. Not in a mean way, he thought, but his question was more a means to make himself feel better about having spoken out of turn. It wasn't that he didn't want the night to continue on— some part of him wanted just that— but he knew how it was going to look. Then she pulled a face, and he forgot why he was worried about the press and whatever backlash might come of it altogether.

His mouth pulled up into a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. Harlan was no means an experimental eater, most of the time he was a meat and two veg kind of man— food as fuel, not some fucking experience— but oysters, that was a different playing field entirely. Of course, they were a polarized delicacy, but he was on board.

He wondered to himself the first time he tried one— it had to have been when he was a kid, maybe ten, on a trip with his family to Spain. The saltiness of the Mediterranean met freshwater and seemed to inject some kind of grittiness to the flavor. Now that was a fucking experience. Audrey had promised they'd imported only the best, but he assumed that was her ploy to get him to make it to the afterparty in the first place. "Well you will tonight," Harlan decided, shaking off the idea she might do something stupid, like gag.

With a chuckle, his eyes scanned the room. Things were in full swing. He glanced at his watch. His sister informed him that the real party was downstairs, some hidden bar underneath the venue that you had to go out the back alley to find. It was all very much unlike her— that cool city vibe— but he respected that she was diversifying her taste for the sake of the magazine. It kicked off about an hour ago, so Harlan figured now was an acceptable time as any to make an appearance.

"I was kidding," Harlan offered with a hint of a smile in his eyes as he stood up, finishing the last of his drink. "We have to go out the back," He ventured, then paused. "Swear this isn't where I kill you..." Dark, unintentionally, but he figured she would have questions.