[reinhardt gallery] eidolon || cordelia

While Brennan was no stranger to the limelight associated with his family’s name, he was not particularly fond of adding fire to the Reinhardt PR machine and therefore often left that to the professionals, or better yet his assistant, James. The interviews all just seemed very redundant, and the questions always somehow began with the work he was passionate about then became another reiteration about the family, its personal business, and the gossip that had always surrounded them. Now that his cousin, Wolfgang, had gotten married to the infernal Genevieve, questions about the secrecy revolving their wedding along with questions of their condition had been added to the list. As if he cared what they were up to! The mere thought made him scoff in disagreement.

But this time’s exhibit was personally connected to his work. Brennan had finally decided to take on the role of the teacher in his own, exclusive summer arts program. It was a pet project that he had been considering for some time and with the family’s yearly endeavors to give back to the community, mostly for self-gain, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to convince his grandfather that this was not another way for him to ask for more money for silly things but it would allow for self-development. In the beginning, he had not been convinced but Brennan had a natural talent for art, one he had been working towards for several years and one that had been honed by his personal interest in the pieces held at the gallery. He might not have amounted to much but at least, that was something that he was good at.

Therefore, no matter how much he longed to avoid another interview, Brennan knew that if he wanted to convince his family of how serious he was, he needed to take matters into his own hand. Of course, he only wished that the interviewer had the sense to ask him questions related to his work and not his stupid family. Organizing the elements on his desk as he looked around his office to make sure that everything was well in order, he waited patiently, a little uncomfortable in the suit he had recently bought for the occasion. He shifted in his chair, a little nervous as he took a deep breath then turned towards the glass cabinets to catch a glimpse of himself as he rearranged his hair.

The knock at the door startled him. “Yes, come in,” he called out, watching with a half-smile as James poked his head through to announce the interviewer had arrived. Widening the door, a very family face came in, stripping him of all the calm and collectiveness he had practiced. “Cor-Cordelia?” he asked, the surprise evident in his voice. “I—” he hesitated, “Please do come in, have a seat, make yourself comfortable,” he insisted.

But it took no genius for Brennan to know that interviewing with the ex-girlfriend that had practically ghosted him the previous year, for what reason he still did not understand, was bound to be a disaster.

@Cordelia Leighton

When she saw the assignment her boss had dropped on her desk, Cordelia nearly threw up.

The Reinhardt family was old and well known, always in the gossip rags and therefore always vaguely on her beat. For about a year now, however, Cordelia had been pushing all of the Reinhardt events - the wedding, the gallery, whatever - onto Duncan. What a good kid, Duncan. He got her coffee, he took all the shit assignments, and so far throwing him under the bus for her (very few) missed deadlines had worked well. His writing was so-so, but who really cared?

Duncan was out sick this week, though. Isolating with dragon pox. Could he have picked a worse week to suffer? Cordelia wasn’t one to run out on work, if no one else was available, but she longed for the easy way out of this predicament.

Interview with Brennan Reinhardt re: summer arts programme. 2pm, gallery. No matter how long she stared at the top of the parchment, the words stubbornly refused to rearrange themselves into something less upsetting. Cordelia felt like a petulant child in her own head. She didn’t want to go back to the gallery. She didn’t want to see Brennan again. She didn’t want to have to explain why she had disappeared into the night last summer instead of explaining why she was so upset. She didn’t want to explain why surprising her with art about the war had upset her.

Cordelia didn’t want a lot of things. Unfortunately, the universe did not care what she did or did not want.

She dressed smartly for the interview, black shirt, grey skirt, , appropriate for both interviews or funerals. It was best to dress as seriously as possible, she reasoned, though she was sweating as the black held in the summer heat.

Right. No sense in putting it off any longer. Cordelia struck the door twice, smiling as the butler opened up and lead her to the office. She had no problems with Brennan’s staff, at least. Stepping into the office, Cordelia felt her stomach flip. Hm. Seeing Brennan might be even more upsetting than she thought. “Hi,” she said sharply, sweeping past him. It seemed no one had told him who was running the interview. Fine. Cordelia picked the least comfortable looking chair in the office to set up shop, pulling notebook and quill from her bag. “James, could I trouble you for some water? It is sweltering out there.”

They had an hour booked. She could survive an hour, right?

“You heard the lady, go get her some water,” he quickly waved James out of the door who gave him a look of confusion but as any good assistant would, was out of the door without another word, “And bring along some tea, would you,” he leaned over and called out as James shut the door, hoping that his request had also been taken into account. It was so strange seeing her here after what was more or less a year, almost as if she had not excited outside of a figment of his imagination. And it didn’t help that she was being so cold with him, almost as if whatever he had done last year still haunted her to this day. Had he bumped his head and completely forgotten?

He wanted to ask her why she had left, wanted to know why she had ignored his owls or any other sorts of communication he had tried to engage her in after the exhibition. Brennan knew the relationship wasn’t perfect, but he liked to think that they had had some good times, that they were building towards something a little more long-lasting than his previous romantic endeavors. But instead, he simply looked at her as she prepared, his brow furrowing just slightly as he attempted to study her like a painting, to see if anything on her face would give him the answers he was looking for without having to ask directly.

“Have you been well?” he tried gently, unsure if his words had the ability to set her off or if it had the environment of the gallery and the people in it. Brennan knew that his family’s wealth and the people that his family associated with could be rather intimidating but it was certainly no surprise to Cordelia when they had started going out. His reputation tended to precede him after all. Maybe she had not found his life’s work as interesting as he had believed it to be. Maybe it had all happened too quickly. Brennan had every intention of introducing her to his family after the exhibition last summer, had made it a point of conversation at breakfast to prepare his mother. However, when he returned home that night to celebrate with his family members empty-handed, they had all but laughed at him.

But the embarrassment he could take, it was her that he had been worried about.

Before he could spend too much time dwelling on the topic, however, James had returned and with him some tea and a glass of water. He set them down, giving Cordelia a small smile, before excusing himself again. “Shall we proceed then?” he suggested, “Unless of course you’d like to talk about last year first?” he added, speaking slowly and hoping that his words in no way overwhelmed her. She was flighty, this one.

He seemed to be acting more short with James than she had remembered him being in the few times Cordelia had seen servant and master interact before. It was peculiar, too, that Brennan (or Brennan’s family, whatever) employed human waitstaff instead of house-elves. Not that she had much experience with house-elves outside of sneak visits to the Hogwarts kitchens. The Leightons weren’t poor, but they weren’t the Laytons, either. Cordelia loved the opulence of this tier of society, but parts of it she just didn’t understand.

Brennan seemed sufficiently perturbed by her appearance. Good. Well, not good, nothing about this was particularly good, but his discomfort made Cordelia feel more justified in her own feelings. “Been fine, thanks,” Cordelia shot back, opening her steno pad to a new page and setting up her Quick Notes quill. Another notebook came out of the bag, this one with her starting questions neatly written down. It was the driest interview outline she had made in a while - who will this benefit, what inspired the programme, other insipid nonsense.  “Yourself?” She was doing a great job of not making eye contact with anything but her own materials and she had no intention of acknowledging Brennan now.

James returned with supernatural speed, bringing the requested water and a pot of tea. She poured a cup - Lady Grey, her favourite. Had James remembered, or had Brennan? Or was it just coincidence? “Thank you,” she called out, but James had already left, shutting the door behind her. She added a spoon of sugar and cream, stirred it, very aware she was running out of ways to stall.

“Right, might as well get started,” Cordelia started to say, her words running into Brennan’s suggestion of the same thing. A scowl flitted across her face. She needed to stay in control of this situation, and Brennan taking lead of the interview was the opposite of that.

“Unless, of course, you’d like to talk about last year first?”

Well, the jig was up. Cordelia whipped her head up, shaking some of her thick hair from its braid with the speed of movement. “Why would I want to talk about that?” She had talked about it. With Ari. People who’s opinions mattered, not pampered rich boys who didn’t know what loss felt like. “I hardly think last year is relevant to this programme.”

“Quite well,” he responded with a small, polite smile, wishing that he had been given more to go on that just a curt answer but also feeling the need to match up the length of her response, for the sake of civility. Brennan shifted in his chair a little uncomfortably, much more accustomed to women yelling at him for being ridiculous or inconsiderate rather than giving him silence. The wizard didn’t do well with silence, it made him feel like he was being reprimanded, and to make matters worse, it almost felt as if he had to do the figuring out part too. Whatever it was that he had done to upset her it surely wasn’t intentional, Brennan just had a difficult time relating to the people he was dating when he was so busy trying to get them to like him.

Brennan watched as James entered the room with the pot of tea and water, allowing Cordelia to pour herself one out before reaching for a cup on his own. “You’re still fond of Lady Grey, I see, we’ve brought this one in from Norway, figured you might enjoy it a little more than the English variety,” he smiled fondly.  Brennan had only started housing it at the gallery after she had expressed a liking for it. He didn’t care about it much but if she liked it then he had assumed there was much merit in it. He could tell that James was attempting to listen in on the conversation, probably having a good laugh at his expense in secret until they’d have the chance to discuss it in more detail later.

James had been there when Cordelia had simply walked out of the gallery last summer, then Brennan had just laughed and shrugged it off but internally he had been panicking all along. James had reassured him that she would owl in a few days, that she needed space. Brennan had waited exactly twenty-eight hours before he had started to bombard her with messages of his own. None of which she responded to.

Brennan tensed slightly at her answer before he forced himself to smile—it probably wasn’t appropriate to smile at that very moment but he was nervous and didn’t know how to act like a proper adult. “Might be easier to—proceed if I didn’t think you were about to snap me in half every time you…look at me,” he suggested slowly, watching her for any sudden movements or reactions. “Might also be much easier for me to properly apologize if you’d just tell me what I did wrong, Cordelia,” he added, his tone softening. He waited for a beat before continuing. “Unless of course, you’d prefer me to explain my hand in all of this charitable work my family is sponsoring?” he asked instead.

Ah, so it was Brennan who remembered. Still, she had to admit it was good - she could taste a hint of vanilla in the blend, underneath the lemon and orange and delicious bergamot. Grudgingly, she awarded the wizard one point in her head. Not that she was keeping score. Not that this was a competition to see Who Was More Over It. Which was her, obviously. Couldn’t he tell by the mature way she was handling this very normal interaction?

Not that Brennan seemed to be paying attention to that, or to the score hidden in Cordelia’s brain. He had a forced, tense smile on his face when he looked at her. It could be pity, or it could be affection, or it could be a mask for something else. Probably not the last one. The Brennan she remembered was not so good keeping his emotions off his sleeve.

Brennan responded slowly, like he was afraid of the reaction. A tiny pang of guilt twinged in her chest. Well, she certainly hadn’t done much to dissuade him from that notion. It wasn’t best journalistic practice to keep your subjects on edge throughout an interview. If this was an investigation, not a puff piece to fill out the calendar of summer events and fluff out the Reinhardt name even more, she would be embarrassed to be starting an interview with this much tension laying oppressively in the air. She sighed, brushing a loose lock of hair back behind her ear.

The problem was, of course, that Cordelia did not want to just lay out what Brennan had ‘done wrong’ all out. Couldn’t lay it all out. Not without either bursting into tears or flying into a rage. It was so much, too much to explain at once.

She glanced down at her notes and an idea came to mind.

“How about this, Mr. Reinhardt,” she began, setting her quill to upright and standby mode with a snap of her fingers. The ‘Mr. Reinhardt’ was important - it was the first time this conversation she had addressed him by name, and she objected to the familiarity with which he still used her first name. “We’ll do two interviews at once. I ask a question, you answer, then you ask a question and I respond.” She raised a finger up, a warning. “Nothing too general, nothing that I can’t answer in two sentences or less.” Two sentences was all she could trust herself to say without losing It, probably.

Of course, this was unfair to him, but hadn’t last summer been unfair to her? “I’m prepared with mine - you can take a minute to prepare yours, or go first, if you’d like.”

A part of him had expected her to throw the cup of tea in his face and walk right out of the door when he made a reference to how he had remembered what she liked but thankfully, such theatrics were only reserved to the women in his family who had a knack for making a big deal about everything, even when unprovoked. Brennan was aware that he had done something now it was just a matter of putting together the pieces and figuring out what exactly he had done in order to learn from his mistakes for the future. Not that he had ever seen that in himself, but he suspected the only he became and the more failures he faced in relationships as he had thus far, he might come to enjoy making a big deal out of the very minimal occurrences in his day to day life.

But Brennan had not been expecting her to call him by his surname and though it was a small gesture, very polite considering their current relationship and her professionalism, it made him grip the edge of his chair in evident displeasure. He had certainly not been expecting that and it sort of hurt though why exactly he was not really sure. “Really---there’s no need for all the formalities,” he said with a nervous smile, “You calling me Mr. Reinhardt just reminds me of my father and if you had to interview him about art, the conversation would have been over before it even started,” he continued but as she laid down her terms, he caused himself to stop and think.

It wasn’t the ideal situation to discuss such important matters in his eyes, important being what had happened between the two of them, not the art exhibit, he could always talk about those silly things at a later time. “You set some really tough terms, Ms. Leighton,” he responded with a slight grin, assuming that keeping distance through names was also part of the deal.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, “Let’s do it your way,” he agreed, taking a sip from his own cup of tea before he motioned in her direction, “Ladies first, of course, but I’ll go ahead and ask my question so that you can get a fair amount to think about a proper, two-sentence response,” he suggested, resting his hands on the table before him as he considered whether it would be appropriate to go right into his more pressing concerns or start from the very beginning, to see if he could spot his mistakes on his own. “What was your favorite date that we went on?” he decided to go with that first, hoping to spark positive memories of the two of them before honing in on a memory that might have been potentially unpleasant for her, or miserable as it had been for him.
“But I’ll let you think about it, what shall I tell you about the upcoming exhibition, then?”

“Well, good thing the other Mr. Reinhardt isn’t here.” Cordelia didn’t acknowledge his comment about formalities. It might be his office, but she was conducting the interview, and she had no intention of letting Brennan take the lead in this dance. She hadn’t ever met the older Reinhardts. They were society people, it was only a matter of time before she ran into them on this beat. Hopefully Brennan hadn’t told his folks about her. She certainly hadn’t told hers about him. Wouldn’t have told them about Michael if they didn’t all work together, frankly.

If she stopped to think about this, insisting on surnames and titles was mad. They had been in school together, Brennan just in the year between her and- just ahead of her, same house, of course they should be using first names. Which is why she wasn’t letting herself think about it that much. It was a relief to hear him say “Ms. Leighton”, though she would have preferred Miss. She nodded, acknowledging his concession to her proposal. Folded one ankle under the other while he thought of a question.

Her favourite date? Cordelia’s eyes narrowed. She honestly thought that would have thrown him for a minute longer, and then he’d come back with some new version of Why are you cross at me and she’d have to explain the rules again. Not what was the best date we went on? That one she had to think about for a bit. The trouble with Brennan was that she had had lovely times on most of their outings - it was just the last one that made everything sour.

He offered to let her ask her question first, but Cordy felt like she should answer. “I think… The reserve, with the hippogryffs pups, when we went for high tea after.” Cordelia smiled despite herself. Opera nights were lovely too, of course, and she loved play-acting at being a society lady, but the creature reserve had been an adventure for just the two of them.

She was disoriented, lost in memory. Cordelia shook her head, the words in her notebook swimming for a moment before settling. Cordelia cleared her throat. "Right, then, my turn. Let's start simple. What inspired this exhibition? What makes it noteworthy?” The real question, Why should I care was left between the lines.

“I can book the whole reserve whenever you’d like to go back,” he offered, Brennan had always been particularly generous with his money, not for the sake of showing off though it was the way many of those around him interpreted it as but as a way to show appreciation for the people he cared for. No matter if they had only dated officially for a short time, Brennan did care for Cordelia, and was intent on making things right between them again, even if he had to grovel a little. “Without me, of course, unless you’d prefer the company, the high tea is absolutely marvelous, and so is having the entire staff to yourself, they'll cater the menu to you if you're so inclined,” he added, just in case she mistook his words as him trying to get her interested in dating him again. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea, of course. “I’d think they’d look a bit different than last year but still very adorable nonetheless,” he continued, smiling at the memory.

It had been a good one, along with the time he had taken her out to the Italian restaurant next to the Thames and tried to impress her with his less than subpar attempt at Italian. He had been terrible at it but at least she had seemed to have enjoyed herself. Brennan didn’t mind making a fool of himself if it made others laugh at him, as long as they stayed around. He considered her question for a moment, almost certain that James had given him a formulated answer to respond with but having a hard time remembering it with his mind so focused on their memories together, no matter how few.

“The Reinhardts have always been invested in children’s artistic development, we do not believe that Hogwarts or any other wizarding school pays any attention to the creativity of its students which is often what plays such a large role in their development as adults,” he offered, as he considered what else to add. “I being added to the list of teachers this year, well that was simply a gift to myself, I am eager to work with the children and create an exhibit to incite their interests, we are using pieces from previous art camps and forwarding any donations or money we receive in exchange for their work to accounts that will be made for their use after graduation from school or earlier if necessary,” he continued. “I want to show the children how much their work means to me and to them.”

He nodded, satisfied with his answer and much more interested in knowing that it was his turn to ask a question. “I’ll ask a simple one as well,” he smiled, “Not to sound utterly full of myself but what made you agree to go out with me?” he asked, hoping that he wouldn’t regret asking such a question.

Cordelia blinked. That was… a lot to offer. All at once. To your ex-girlfriend. “Um,” where even to begin? “Thanks?” It was an overwhelming offer. Cordelia has tried to look up the rates for the reserves tea and tour programme once - the prices weren’t public anywhere, so it had to be extraordinarily expensive. Her comfortable middle-class life was miles and miles away from the world Brennan and his kind lived in. Having all the staff to yourself? It was too rich for her blood.

At least he wasn’t tying a return visit to his company, but the offer felt like a loaded gun all the same. It wasn’t like he would be happy to pay for her and Michael to go to the reserve to pet hippogriffs and have high tea. Not that Michael would enjoy that, probably. Not eating out on another man’s dime. Maybe the pups he would like. “I’m sure they are still cute,” she managed to say. She very pointedly did not say anything else about the offer.

Cordelia nodded as Brennan delivered his singular idea in way too many words. Still, dutifully her QuickNotes Quill took dictation verbatim - she didn’t want to reconstruct what he said back at the office, just reshape it. Ah, the QuickNotes quill. Skeeter had the wrong idea about them - they didn’t need to write the whole story, they just needed to free up your mind to ask the next question. Artistic development… failure of Hogwarts… The piece about accounts was interesting - she jotted some shorthand down in the notebook in her hand, for that question and a couple more that were coming to mind.

His question was another softball. She rolled her eyes, the corner of her lip twitching upward. “What do you think it was?” It wasn’t her turn to ask a question, nor by her own rules could she really ask that, but she did anyway, barking out a short laugh despite herself. “Poshest date nights in London, that was a plus.” Cordelia paused. “I had a crush on you in school, didn’t I tell you?” She didn’t. She had very deliberately not told Brennan this before. It would have been too much revealed at once. “Before everything went sideways. That, plus the posh dates, plus, “ she pointed across the room at him, drawing an imaginary circle around his very symmetrical face, “That was quite nice to look at, when you were asking me.” His eyes that day were so hopeful, maybe even slightly afraid of if she said no. It felt powerful to be wanted.

Her turn. She bit on the end of her pen - when she was writing herself, she preferred pens. “You said you wanted to show the children how much their art means to you,” she paused, pointing the end of her pen at Brennan, “and them, meaning the children. What about the rest of the art world? Is the quality of this exhibition on par with the rest of your gallery’s displays?”

Brennan wasn’t completely satisfied with Cordelia’s answer, half expecting that she would jump at the offer as soon as he set it on the table but also liked to think that her questionable gratitude was just a sign that she had been unimpressed by the entire thing altogether. One of the things that he had always liked about Cordelia, always being the short months they had dated, was that while she seemed to enjoy their time together regardless of what they did, she did not seem to be that overly enthusiastic about his family’s money. Of course, instead of taking this to mean that he could be more himself around her, Brennan simply spent even more money trying to get a reaction out of her. The reaction he finally managed to get from her at the gallery, however, was definitely not the type he was looking for.

He watched her curiously as she wrote her notes down, taking a sip from his tea as he wondered what she thought of him personally and if any of her own opinions on him would find their way into the interview article. If the review was positive, then he would assume she had opened her heart to him again. If the review was negative, maybe that also meant that she was interested but angry because she was and didn’t want to show it? Brennan had always been taught to read into everything that women did and said but found Cordelia to be particularly hard to understand.

“It had nothing to do with my overwhelming charisma and devastating good looks?” he teased, grinning as she went on to explain why she liked him in the first place. If it could be bought with money, Brennan made sure to take his favorite girls there, one at a time of course, Brennan had never been smart enough to play around on anyone without it bearing down on his conscious. “Did you, really?” he asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. He would have never guessed that she liked him at all. He had been turned down by so many girls when he was in school he had left Hogwarts thinking that something was wrong with him. At least with money, he could keep a few of them around for a while but when his feelings took a turn for the serious, women rarely wanted anything to do with him. “But neither of those are my question,” he clarified, wanting a little more time to think.

“I’d like to think that it is,” he answered her question, intrigued by the way it had asked as it was not something he had been often asked before. “Art is whatever we want it to be, who is to say you need an art degree or a certain pedigree or even a certain amount of years worth of experience for your art to be considered any good? I find that the children often produce the most honest pieces of work, they see the world differently, as many of us adults should,” he added. He was passionate about his work and could only hope that it showed in his words. Tapping his finger against the wooden desk he considered his question for a moment, “Were you serious about me when we were together?”

“It had nothing to do with my overwhelming charisma and devastating good looks?” Cordelia laughed, short and derisive, shaking her head. “Certainly nothing to do with your big head, either,” she teased, falling into a familiar rhythm over conversation with this beautiful man. “Not that you would have noticed at the time, you were chasing someone else.” She couldn’t remember who, but it had been someone older than her. Fourth year nativity, pining over the dark haired artists. Same year she had dated Ollie, though that had ended and resolved much better. She shrugged. “I was fourteen.”

He clarified that those weren’t his questions, and she felt her cheeks get hot. Damnit. She had forgotten her own rules. Cordelia frowned, glaring at Brennan and his very nice jawline and pretty eyes. “Right, of course.” Focus, Cordelia.

Brennan had too much praise, in her eyes, for the art of children. “Honest?” That was sticking out to her. “Was there an emotional prompt for these pieces? Is there a theme?” Is it about the war again, you idiot? God, she wanted to ask, but she was pushing her luck with two questions. Brennan remembered her own rules better than she did. Irritating.

Was he serious? Asking about her being serious? She really though he would have asked about last summer by now, given how insistent he had been about bringing it up earlier. Maybe she had given him too much credit, had too much faith that he wouldn’t turn this into a masturbatory experience for his ego. But, thinking about it, it was a good question. Serious wasn’t something she had much experience with. This relationship with Michael, now, certainly was serious, but… “I wasn’t thinking about marriage, or anything long term.” She watched his face carefully - how serious had he been taking it? “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t invested. We were exclusive - that’s pretty serious, for me.” Well, was pretty serious. Cordelia didn’t want to mention Michael, how much she trusted him. Brennan was an artist, and she needed him to not be at Peak Artist Sensitivity if this conversation was going to work for either of them.

Brennan chuckled at her light insult, bringing a hand to his chest in dramatic jest as he considered how much he actually liked her sense of humor, “The prettiest girls say the most hurtful things,” he noted but only half-jokingly. There was no denying that Cordelia was one of the prettiest girls he had ever laid eyes on, but rather than saying words that hurt him, she had simply chosen to sort of vanishing out of his life without so much as a glance back. If Brennan had had a choice, a few well-earned insults would have been much easier for him to deal with than her sudden abandonment. “I noticed you,” he reassured her but understood exactly what she meant. Brennan had been too busy chasing skirts rather than focusing on the people that actually noticed him in return, it had lost him some friends over the years and apparently the opportunity to have dated Cordelia at a much earlier time in life.

“But it’s all about timing, isn’t it,” he continued, nodding his head gently as he considered how those words were more meant for himself rather than for her, “You would’ve hated me back then, and with good reason, my adolescent mind,” he said with emphasis, bringing his hands up to add air quotations to what he was saying for the sake of implying that the words had been said to cover up a more vulgar reality, “was much too fixated on girls for the wrong reasons, I’d say you saved yourself a lot of trouble,” he continued, smiling softly at the thought, “then,” he added as an afterthought to make sure that she understood that he didn’t believe that any of their time together as adults had been a mistake. It was short-lived but he cared about her deeply, much more than he would have when he was at Hogwarts.

He considered Cordelia’s question for a moment to think about what exactly had prompted his desire to do this exhibition. Part of it had always been a desire to get into the good graces of his grandparents; believing that recognition to a certain degree would help him erase some of the dishonor his father had brought upon the family name. “There were a lot of rules I had to follow growing up, much of my creativity was stripped from me in an effort to teach me the proper way to do things,” he started. Childhood trauma sounded cliché but much better than I’m trying to impress my grandfather because I have low self-esteem he considered. “I think it will be a great opportunity for children to realize that creativity is not only healthy but should be extremely encouraged,” he added.

In turn, Brennan was satisfied with her answer, glad that she hadn’t opted for saying something along the lines of she was in it for the money or it had just been a bit of fun outside of the regularly scheduled program. “I could’ve married you, sure,” he quipped, leaning back into his chair and swiveling from side to side as he considered it. “You’d probably need more convincing than I would have but that’s just my nature I guess, when I know, I know,” he added. “So—” he started, was it much too early to head for the question that he had been dying to ask? “What happened at the gallery that night that made you leave?”

She rolled her eyes at Brennan's teasing. He had noticed her? That sounded... fake. Cordelia was pretty sure he hadn't known her name. And, yeah, Brennan had been known for chasing tail, but would she have hated it? She became so... similar, after the war. She nodded anyway. "Maybe so."

Cordelia nodded as Brennan answered her question, the quill beside her scratching at the pad of paper. It sounded like bullshit, to her, but what did she know about fine art? "An admirable goal," she managed to say. "It's open to wizarding youth of all backgrounds, yes?" She doubted it - this sounded like some rich kid activity. "No fees to participate? No supplies to buy?"

Cordelia frowned. It seemed hasty to be thinking about marriage so early - it had only been a couple of months! But pureblood elites like the Reinhardts were all about arranged marriages, and young marriages. Maybe it had just been on his mind more generally. "And how often have you known that you know?" Cordelia shot back, deflecting. If he had asked her to marry him, back then, she would have dipped earlier. Maybe that would have been less painful.

Finally, Brennan asked the question. Cordelia set down her pen. The quick notes quill was still there, still waiting to take dictation. She waved her hand, putting it on standby mode. There was no need to record this bit. "I really hoped you would have figured that out yourself," she said quietly. Brennan wasn't dumb, just... dense, she supposed. She thought about that night again. His suit, her gown, the lights of the gallery harsh on her skin. It was a surprise, he had said. But it was obvious, walking into a series of portraits and battle scenes, what the subject was. Cordelia had thought he hadn't warned her on purpose, but now... "You didn't tell me what the subject was going to be." That wasn't the whole accusation, not yet, but it was enough. The lightness had left her voice, the seriousness too. All that was left was a coldness as Cordelia hardened her heart to the wizard across from her. "That was cruel of you."

She didn't bother to ask another question. Either they would get back to it eventually, or this interview was already over.

Her response had not sounded very convincing which only lead Brennan to believe that maybe a part of her was somehow resentful that he had not asked her out earlier which only confused him further. He did not remember inviting any of his exes to the gallery exhibition and to be honest, there were really none that he was on good terms with anyway. Breakups were messy for Brennan, though he could never understand why considering the amount of effort he put forth in a relationship to make it work. When things didn’t happen the way he had expected them to he often became upset but not to the point of causing ripples in what could become a friendship with ill-placed words or possessive behavior. He knew that women were fickle and breaking up only to want to get back together was only part of their game, it seemed ill-advised for him to ruin what could be the possibility of a rekindled relationship because of something as silly as jealousy.

“Yes, of course, we do not discriminate against anyone, apart from age, we’d like to keep it to wizards and witches under the age of seventeen,” he explained, “There are no fees associated, all materials are provided by the family. It seems rather silly to have to pay for the opportunity to expand your creativity,” he explained. Brennan could not imagine ever putting a price on such an experience and did not intend to do so. They had several families involved with donations, rich families were always looking for a chance to put their names on a good need to overshadow all of the other shady business they got onto when no one was looking.

Brennan grinned at her question, simply shrugging in response for the sake of not encouraging any more digging on his personal life. He took girls home all the time for pleasure but when he went out of his way to really make a girl fall in love with him, well it was only because he saw something in that particular person that made him want to spend the rest of his life with them. He saw everything with rose-colored glasses, it was one of the many reasons many of his mates often joked that he’d be alone forever. No respectable girl wanted a guy that was so easily trapped, they had warned him.

But how many girls he’d met that he wanted to marry wasn’t really the issue here. It was the answer to the question that he had been waiting to ask her for some time that truly captivated his attention. “Ah—” he said after several moments of silence, “The—” he started but fell silent again, a little more cautious this time than he had been the previous time. “It wasn’t meant to upset you and considering that it did, I apologize,” he started gently, the subject of war was important to him too, obviously. But he assumed everyone handled it differently. “I suppose I thought you’d be proud of me for taking such an important subject into account and reminding everyone of the aftermath, the effects,” he continued. “Seriousness has never been my strong suit but it certainly wasn’t meant in jest,” he continued.
Waiting for a few moments to gauge her reaction, he continued, “If I had known that you’d react so—strongly to it I wouldn’t have done it, you know,” he added for clarification. “Why didn’t you say anything?”