Chapter Text
Wriothesley’s leg shook violently as he sat in the waiting area of the Palais Mermonia; it was far too long since he had last been on the surface, evident by the rate at which his right limb bounced, up and down in a manic rhythm. He was in his best clothes, free from stains and rips, accented with silver medallions and chains that served less purpose at actually detaining rowdy prisoners, and much more as a fashion statement.
This is so official , he thought to himself, silver eyes darting around the hall, a cacophony of typewriters filling the warm, thick air, I have to do my best.
The melusine at the desk - Sedene - peeked her head past the edge of the wooden desk, head tilting to the side as she took a long, hard stare at Wriothesley. He had heard that the melusines had some sort of special bond with the Chief Justice, but for him to be under this much of an inspection before he even met the man? It was ridiculous.
The door to his right opened, revealing the entrance to the Iudex’s office; the man himself stood in the middle of the doorway, ethereal as described, and positively glowing in the sun shining from behind him. Wriothesley kept close attention to his body language, much as he had grown accustomed to in his time in the Fortress, but there was nothing he could discern from the man. He was, to put it bluntly, unreadable.
“Ah, Mr. Wriothesley,” he spoke in soft baritone, eyes cast down to where Wriothesley was sitting on the waiting couch, “I’ve been expecting you, come in, please.” The dark haired man obeyed, chains clattering as he rose from the couch in a hurry to get inside. He peeled off his coat the moment he got inside, hanging it up on the golden coat rack by the door; he noticed the Chief Justice removed his also.
“Thank you so much for seeing me today, Chief Justice,” Wriothesley thanked as he walked towards the desk at the end of the room in the main atrium, “truly, it is an honour that you selected me as the next Administrator at the Fortress of Meropide.”
“Take a seat,” the Iudex stated, taking his own, “and no need to thank me. You taking control of the Fortress is entirely your own doing, and instead I should extend my gratitude to you.” Wriothesley sat himself on the couch to Neuvillette’s left; he felt his face heat up from the praise.
“You flatter me, Chief Justice,” he responded, hands crossed in his lap in poise; it was only right to be on his best manners whilst around the Iudex.
“We’ll be working in a close diplomatic relationship, you may call me Monsieur,” the white haired man drew out a short chuckle, slightly informal and dismissive, “and your title? How do you wish to be addressed?
“Just Wriothesley,” came his response, and with it a raised eyebrow from Monsieur Neuvillette, “Your Grace, if you must. It’s what the people at the Fortress have developed a habit of calling me.” The Iudex seemed happier with that answer; he suddenly paused before his next sentence, and reached his hand to a drawer beside him.
“O, where are my manners? I never asked for your drinks preference. What would you like, Mr. Wriothesley?” he questioned, pulling out a small box filled to the brim in teabags of various origin and flavour. He took a long hard stare, going through the options in his head.
“Just plain old black tea, please. Two sugars,” he decided, finally, pulling out a bag of dark Fontainian tea. Monsieur Neuvillette chuckled again.
“A fine choice, although I would’ve thought you wanted to try something new. This is the same brand you have in the Fortress, after all,” the Iudex spoke softly as he placed the tea bag into the small pot on his desk, accompanied by two equally small teacups.
“I know what I like, and I know what it’ll taste like. Perhaps another time, Monsieur,” Wriothelsey half heartedly defended himself; it was slowly starting to feel that no matter what the Chief Justice said to him needed to be accompanied by a rebuttal of sorts, much like a court case.
The Iudex poured the two cups of tea for the two of them, stirring in the sugar eloquently with his gloved pinky finger raised; Wriothesley found it oddly hypnotising, watching as the tea gained on one uniform colour with only a simple clockwise stir. Before long, the steaming teacup was placed in front of him, the aroma rising directly to his nose.
“I supposed we should begin your official paperwork. You’ll be able to get paid now,” Monsieur Neuvillette stated, drawing a small folder from between the stacks of paperwork and books in his desk; he stopped for a sip of his tea.
“I have no use for Mora. Coupons, that’s what I need,” Wriothesley dismissed the idea of payment, shaking his head at the concept itself. The Iudex’s eyebrows furrowed, an expression between uneasiness and deep thought.
“Do you not desire to live in the city? You’ll need Mora up here… or would you like your own house, somewhere on the beach in the Liffey Region?” Monsieur Neuvillette questioned him, reading through the paperwork he pulled out from the folder.
“I’ll take the apartment, I just can’t guarantee I’ll do a lot of living in it. I’d much prefer to stay in the office at the Fortress, I’m no stranger to sleeping on a couch,” Wriothesley answered, glancing out of the window for a split second to look at the bustling streets below, “as for the Mora… keep it in a bank for me. If I need to return to the surface at all, I’ll need at least some, right?” He tried to chuckle at his statement, but found it rather sad once he spared it a second thought - he had been down there for so long that money had no value anymore.
“Very well. As for staffing, I trust that you have already made reasonable amendments to the structure of the Fortress. After all - you’ve been the de facto Administrator some time now, this meeting is only an official contract signing, per se,” Neuvillette explained as he turned the paperwork towards Wriothesley, gesturing to the ink pot as he did so.
He swiped the page in a flourish, unbothered to actually read over the terms of his so-called employment; it would be very out of character for the Chief Justice, of all people, to make him sign a fraudulent contract. Neuvillette offered him a small nod as he slid the paper back across the desk.
“On a personal note,” the Iudex started, pausing to finish sipping his tea, “I would like to extend an invitation to a… ball of sorts. As you’re now - to some extent - a member of the Fontanian governing body, Lady Furina asked me to invite you. Please, don’t feel pressured that you have to attend as you have so outwardly expressed your distaste for the surface, but I’m sure she would appreciate it.”
It was odd to see Monsieur Neuvillette so flustered and personal, especially since Wriothesley had only seen him on official business, be it a Fortress inspection or a trial he had to testify at; the subtle red dusting painting his cheeks akin to a bush of roses kept Wriothesley focused directly on his face - a cough from the Iudex altered the warden that he was staring.
“I- uh, yeah. Yes ,” he corrected himself, mentally untying his tongue, “I’ll attend the ball. When is it?” Wriothesley felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and his own face suddenly felt toasty. Too damn long in the Fortress, he scowled mentally, I’ve lost all of my social skills.
“Not for another month,” the voice of the white haired man in front of him brought him back to reality, “I trust you know how to dance?” Wriothesley almost dropped his tea at the blunt question; he swore he could see a smirk upon the Iudex's face.
“I’ve dabbled. Fundamentally it’s just like boxing, is it not?” Wriothesley watched as Monsieur Neuvillette’s faux-smile turned into a subtle frown; he opened his mouth to speak, but Wriothesley got his words out first, “it’s just a series of footsteps and hand movements with another person, just less violent.”
“How could you compare the art of dancing to that brutalist sport you enjoy? Have you no class, Mr. Wriothesley?” Neuvillette refuted the claims, although Wriothesley could tell he was only feigning the disdain on his voice.
“Quite the opposite, Monsieur,” he smiled at the Chief Justice, “clearly, you forgot that there is an ‘arts’ in ‘martial arts’.” He accompanied his statement with air quotations; Neuvillette squinted at him, eyes flicking up and down.
“I’ll take your word for it,” he finally stated, staring directly at Wriothesley, “I take it you know how to waltz, then?” Wriothesley gulped at the question, hand weaving back to fiddle with the hairs on the back of his neck. He couldn’t help but note the change In Neuvillette’s tone now that he was no longer speaking to him ‘officially’.
“I’m aware of the basics. It’s just forwards and backwards, right? Besides - I don’t see myself ballroom dancing with anyone,” he stumbled over his words despite knowing exactly what he wanted to say - something about the Iudex’s piercing glare was making him feel uneasy and flustered, “I’m only doing this out of respect for you, Monsieur. I’m good for a party, not good for a ball.”
“Very well. I trust you,” Neuvillette nodded as he spoke, leaning back into his chair, “I’ll visit the Fortress some time within the next week to hand off your copy of the contract and any other valuable paperwork.” Wriothesely nearly snorted through his subtle laugh.
“Don’t you have workers in the Palais Mermonia to do that for you? I can’t imagine you ever wanting to go near the Fortress,” Wriothesley questioned, head tilted to the side slightly. He could hardly even conjure up an image of the well-kept Judge surrounded by Fortress’ dripping walls, not to mention surrounded by criminals he no doubt had a hand in sentencing.
“I have personal business to attend to,” came the Iudex’s response, “I would like to check up on Sigewinne. Besides… I’d like to see proof of your dancing abilities.”
If the person in front of him was anyone other than the Iudex, Wriothesley would’ve taken this slight jab as flirtation, especially so as he felt his face burn up from the imminent embarrassment he would feel when Neuvillette found out he was lying about his abilities. The man before him must’ve noticed, his lips drawn in a tight line; if Wriothesley was somehow more delusional, he might’ve seen a smirk again.
“Ah, my apologies for being so forward,” Neuvillette continued after Wriothesley stayed silent, “I simply would not like you to embarrass yourself in front of Lady Furina; she’ll over-dramatise it and probably sell it to The Steambird for a good headline. It’s certainly not good publicity if it comes from her lips.” Wriothesley covered his face and chuckled, more awkwardly than he wanted.
“Ah- of course, be my guest, Monsieur,” Wriothesley smiled from behind his hand as he spoke, “anything else you need from me, professional or personal?” The desire to furl into a ball on his bed out of sheer embarrassment was growing by the second.
“That’ll be all. Expect me in a week,” the Iudex spoke calmly to him, offering a short nod that meant both ‘I understand’ and ‘get out of my office’. Wriothesley took the second option literally and left the office the moment it seemed ‘classy’.
A week passed by quickly as Wriothesley occupied his busy mind with repairs here and there at the Fortress, as well as the occasional match at the Pankration Ring; he engaged in idle chatter with his staff and prisoners alike, allowing himself to join in with the ‘hot’ gossip shared from mouth to ear again and again.
In his spare time, he meticulously organised his office-slash-living quarters, keeping it as dust and moisture free as possible for an underwater Fortress, up to the standard they Neuvillette would at the very least appreciate. When the Fortress grew quiet at night and Wriothesley couldn't sleep, he found himself practising his waltz footwork to the idle tune of the gramophone in his office. It wasn’t fantastic dance music, but it had to do until he finally decided to go back to the surface.
He was in his office when Neuvillette entered it, announcing his presence with three monotonous raps on the door, soft in sound yet firm in the pressure - just like Neuvillette, the administrator noted.
“Tea?” Wriothseley asked the money Neuvillette ascended to the top step into his office, “Inazuman or Sumerian blend?” Talking about tea was the one and only topic he could keep a full, distinguished conversation in - perhaps it was time to learn about music and the arts, especially with the ball coming up.
“As long as it’s made with Fontainian water, I do not mind,” Neuvillette stated as he sat down on the sofa tucked to the wall of the room; it was used as a bed more often than not, when eve Wriothesley was too tired to retreat to his actual living quarters - but the Iudex didn’t have to know that. The silver haired man sat perfectly upright, legs tilted slightly to the side, hands in his lap; it was all poise and grace compared to how slumped over Wriothesley was.
“Our very own,” the administrator stated to the room, picking out the green tea bag from the collection on his desk, “Sumerian rose and lotus it is.” Neuvillette nodded in his direction.
“Apologies if I seem a little… stiff. It’s unusual for me to come here on unofficial business,” Neuvillette apologised, attempting to make his seating position less awkward by crossing one leg over the other. If Wriothesley was a sane and normal man, he would not have cast him a glance.
But Wriothesley was far from sane, and certainly not normal; his gaze dropped to the Iudex’s thigh, tracing the line at which his boot dug into the soft flesh of his leg. Neuvillette must’ve noticed his stare as he dropped his leg back down again and returned to his original position. The administrator shook his head rapidly to shake away the thoughts, much like a dog shaking off their damp fur after a bath.
“I never saw you visiting our old Admin while I was down here, why am I an exception?” Wriothesley dared asking, leaving his desk with the two cups of tea and sat himself down right beside the Judge.
“Truth be told… I just think you’re quite the interesting character, Mr. Wriothesley,” Neuvillette started, relishing the tea in his hand with long, slow sips, “taking over an entire prison in a time of need with little managerial experience, yet somehow managing perfectly fine, it’s rather fascinating, don’t you think?” Wriothesley felt his face burn up again; he chalked it up to the slight spicy flavour profile of the Sumerian tea, even though he knew the praise was getting to his head.
“Ah, thank you Monsieur, but I must disagree. I’m just doing my due duty for the people of the underworld,” Wriothesley said with his eyes cast to the side; something about the Iudex’s iridescent opal eyes boring into his soul made eye contact increasingly difficult.
“It’s a noble duty. I’m sure you’ll gain the title of Duke in no time,” Neuvillette continued his easy praises, “speaking of… let’s dance, shall we?”
The Iudex shed his coat on the sofa behind him, leaving him in just his white, frilled shirt, slightly see through to the point that Wriothesley could trace the outline of each muscle of his torso with nothing but his eyes. Neuvillette has no right being this gorgeous, Wriothesley thought for a split second, eyes flickering between the Iudex and the floor.
“I’ll be the leader, you can be the follower,” the Judge stated, placing the needle on the gramophone; he took a moment to listen to the tempo and tone, and nodded to himself, “this music will suffice.”
“So you’re making me the girl?” Wriothesely asked, joining Neuvillette in the centre of the room.
“We’ve long grown out of terms like that. I implore you to learn the technical ones,” Neuvillette stated with his eyebrows raised, and that semi-smirk that Wriothesely was becoming sure wasn’t a trick of his eyes.
Before Wriothesley could further study the Iudex’s expression there was a subtle pressure on his waist, and then on his back. His entire body tensed up - it had been a while since he had been touched so intimately. All human contact he experienced were handshakes with new staff, breaking up prisoner fights, or competing in matches at the Pankration ring. As for intimacy, all he had was his right hand and a couple minutes of free time before he went to sleep.
Neuvillette adjusted the warden’s posture by pressing on his back, causing Wriothesley to stand up as straight as possible; the Iudex’s left hand remained on the administrator’s waist, while his right slowly weaved into Wriothesley’s hand and lifted it beside their heads. Wriothesley placed his free hand on Neuvillette’s shoulder.
“I see you know the position,” Neuvillette stated the obvious, adjusting his own posture now that the two of them were in the position, “now, follow my moves - I will not start slow.”
If anyone was listening in from downstairs and beyond the door, they would’ve thought this meeting was far from professional or diplomatic - and Wriothesley couldn’t help but think the same. There’s no way he doesn’t know what that sounds like.
Neuvillette wasn’t lying when he said he would start at the full pace, Wriothesley soon came to notice; his legs were slowly tangling upon themselves, and with Neuvillette’s legs as well. He was trying to keep up the best he could, following the back and forth rhythm that Neuvillette was tracing into the carpet, moving slowly into a circle as they completed each set of moves.
“You could be worse,” Neuvillette chuckled as the song drew to a close, “you’re tripping up a little, but it’s nothing we can’t fix.” Wriothesley pried himself away from the Iudex’s grasp on his waist - he missed the feeling of it, for some unexplained reason.
“We?” Wriothesely questioned once he finally processed what Neuvillette said, “what do you mean we?”
“I’ll stop by next week for another lesson - I said you could be worse, not that you’re good. If you so much as stumble in the vicinity of Lady Furina, she will eat you alive,” Neuvillette explained, taking the needle off the gramophone as soon as his hands were free from Wriothesley’s fingers, “we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
We . There was that we again; Wriothesley dwelled on the we for the rest of the evening, even when they had shifted to more professional business. They discussed some upcoming prisoner transfers, the specifics of Wriothesley’s contract and more details on the upcoming ball. As much as Wriothesley wanted to focus on what they were discussing, the echo of that we was still playing in his head.
Neuvillette left after another cup of tea and a short discussion on the tea quality based on the water it was brewed with, leaving Wriothesley in his rapidly cooling office. The spot on his waist that Neuvillette held felt like it was burning through his shirt, and his fingers tingled where they were held through the Iudex’s gloved hands. After a quick grunt as he left his office in the disarray caused by the meeting, he decided to retreat to his sleeping quarters for once.
And, for the first time in a while, his ‘date’ with his hand was accompanied by thoughts of a certain tall, white haired individual and a chorus of baritone we, we, we.