YES WE'RE VERY HAPPY

[blacklisle]

The Fake Relationship Meme

You're not together. But you need to make people think you are. Because of reasons.

Maybe you secretly can't stand each other. Maybe you like each other, just not like that. (Or do you?) Maybe this is the only way you'll ever get to be with your crush. Maybe you just need to give off that couple vibe in public, or maybe you're going to be forced to engage in some hot'n'heavy fakeout makeouts. For reasons, okay?

You know the drill. Post, tag, profit.

1. Home For The Holidays ⇢ You need to prove to your parents that you do so have a significant other. Just until they're gone.
2. No Singles Need Apply ⇢ The place is perfect, but the landlady will only rent it to a nice, respectable couple.
3. It's Not Safe For A Woman Alone ⇢ One of you is vulnerable in this big, bad world without a partner to protect you.
4. Public Relations ⇢ There's only one way to stop these pesky rumors: start your own.
5. Undercover Mission ⇢ They'll never suspect a couple of lovey-dovey honeymooners of... whatever it is you're actually up to.
6. Marriage Of Convenience ⇢ It's good for both your families. Or your finances. Or your hetero street cred. Whatever: might as well make the best of it.
7. Well That Escalated Quickly ⇢ It's common knowledge that you're together, except you're the last to know. Is it worth correcting people?
8. Free Space ⇢ Bring your own bottle scenario.

Comments

[satanism]

( he's not expecting a kiss, leans toward it instead of placidly accepting. it's true that he doesn't quite suit the persona he's decided to wear as an excuse, that he's lacking any lustful glances or leading touches that would mark a man so hungry to have her that he'd need a taste before they married. still, it's not quite true to say he's unresponsive, either — her arm around him, the quick press of her mouth to a scruffy cheek. affectionate window dressing, he knows, better to ignore. ultimately empty, like pinning meaning to the way the wind blew. it just turns out to be harder than he'd like to admit not to react to it, when his life is more or less empty of that sort of touch. )

Tonight, ( Daniel agrees, actually a little relieved to be rid of her. Margaery is a tiring exercise that requires him to try and keep up, which involves effort he's not used to expending. he's less relieved to lose the glass she flits away holding, and notably never returns with. Daniel is definitely experienced with that particular trick, his mother has used it on him more times than he can count. he could just go get another of his own, but ultimately decides he'd rather do it in private than with the lingering remnants of well wishers and court gawkers. he's already got a room in the building, courtesy of his father — apparently an appearance at the hotel bar after his own engagement party would have been gauche. Daniel doesn't actually give a shit what his father thinks would look bad, it's just coincidence that he'd rather be alone to dwell on what is to come.

eventually, he's directed to more stately accommodations and the woman that would be his wife, and Margaery does seem to be on her lonesome. a vision in white and yet somehow a meticulously designed temptation, and he certainly notices with a momentary if obvious appraisal.

Daniel hasn't changed, but he's ditched his suit coat and his tie. a few more buttons loose now that the party is over, the night mostly gone. it's only after he finishes most of the drink she'd neglected to give him for a good two hours that he does break the silence, staring out a dark window at a city that looks like specks of light below. )

I wonder. Did my father extol you with our family legacy? ( he suspects not. Mr. Le Bail never makes it into interviews or biographies. certainly not into marriage talks. shocking, truly, that the Devil didn't get more obvious due. )

[versigny]

[ Daniel looks like he could be from a movie scene in this moment, mostly empty glass in his hand as the softer lights of a quietened city wash over his features through a window. she can imagine how good the picture would look, maybe with a filter or two, and an asinine caption to go with it, like can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you<3. a perfect treat for the masses to devour through the greatest joke of a circus in their time. oh, social media.

she's just swallowed a mouthful of sparkling water as he speaks, and Margaery shakes her head once, even if he can't see it. ] No. I believe my grandmother asked when we first had dinner together, but he was able to wind around it quite easily. [ like water around a rock, effortless and fluid in a way that even Olenna had to admire begrudgingly. a shock, really, after dealing with families like the Starks and the Lannisters, who were better at showing their claws than sheathing them.

whatever he wants to say, he clearly feels more comfortable not looking at her while doing so, and Margaery steels herself for the possibility of that conversation with her grandmother. her first instinct is to think that maybe, somehow, the Le Domas legacy is a complete sham. their investigators had been completely thorough and all the sources had matched up without a detail out of place, but what if? ]

Is that why you wanted me alone?

[ a gentle prompting, tone serious for once, with none of her lilted sweetness. her objective has shifted, that much is clear. ]

To tell me about your family's legacy?

[satanism]

( Daniel laughs, but there's nothing really pleasant about it. an absence of actual humor to round it out. ) I've never met a man so talented at saying so much and yet so little. ( not a loving distinction to level at one's father, but it's the truth. Tony was so effortlessly full of shit Daniel thinks he might have even convinced himself of the easy lies he spins for everyone else.

he wishes it were so easy. to confess they're broke, that all their offshore investments have evaporated, and underneath the manicured facades their dominion was failing. it'd be the easiest possible way to lose interest — this match isn't about him, it's about his name. about his family, the prestige that comes along, the way it easily supplements and builds her own. but a name is nothing without power behind it, and if he and his entire family were broke they'd be all talk and image and nothing to back it up.

as much as Daniel would like his family to fail, it doesn't seem possible. risky investments that seem dead ends flower the second he throws any money at it. he once won nearly a hundred thousand from a scratch off card he found on a dirty bathroom floor. he'd thrown it away, as if he could feel the bloody fingerprints all over it, but it was a drop in the bucket when every possible venture a Le Domas made instantly flowered into fruitful dividends. )

Yes. Our legacy. ( he finishes his drink, staring back at Margaery with a dispassionate expression. is it really worth telling her the truth? will she even believe him? perhaps not. confessing the ugly truth of his family only to get nowhere for it isn't exactly appealing. he battles with his options and while his motivations are mostly selfish — scaring her off, to the next mark and her next marriage into power and as far from him as possible — there's something a little deeper, too. he doesn't have to like her to not want her to die. to hope to avoid her blood on his hands, splashed there alongside Charles. )

Are you religious, darling? ( no need for petnames, now, only the two of them in the unspectated dark. it slips out anyway. )

[versigny]

[ while it’s been painfully obvious that Daniel has no small amount of grievances when it comes to his parents - and that’s putting it nicely - his attitude has always struck Margaery as somewhat odd. instead of something like anger or a desire for attention, it’s more resignment. even with all the scandalous affairs and the trail of heartbroken girls he’s left behind (only according to the tabloids), it’s never seemed like acting out more than it might be Daniel doing whatever he wants as a privileged rich heir; drinking himself to death and fucking.

perhaps it’s because he’s self-aware enough to know that everything he has is because of his parents? a question of worth, then.

she stares back steadily when he finally meets her eye. if there’s anything she can commend Daniel for, it’s that his expressions never give anything away. there’s nothing she can sink her scrutiny into - no flex of the jaw, no gentle furrowing of his brows, no awkward shuffling of his hands. and yet, he’s somber enough that she can feel the heavy tension in the air; this is not a meeting requested of a drunk, horny fool. so when he asks, she’s surprised but not flippant. the pet name doesn’t escape her notice either.

there’s a genuine thread of thoughtful musing in her answer. ]

No. We only go to church to network, really.

[ it’s quite amazing, how many churches in America have built themselves in empires, big enough to afford their pastors private jets. a far cry from Jesus humbly walking on water to get to where He needed to go, but so long as they invest in her family’s business, she can’t exactly judge. ]

I don’t think you can be filthy rich and religious. [ she smiles cryptically. ] Not in any meaningful way anyway. Why do you ask?

[satanism]

( heartbroken seems extreme — there'd been tears, here or there, but Daniel thinks he'd know if he'd found love and left it behind. he's not known for his internal fortitude, if he had fallen in love, would he really have been able to just cut and run? even to keep someone he cared about from the fate he was born into? likely not, and he's fairly certain he's never been close enough to wonder. he closest he ever got was Charity, and heartbroken had certainly not been the right word for her reaction to his disinterest in marriage. Charity had been downright livid when Daniel, in no uncertain terms, told her marriage was not an option. despite years of dating, and at least a handful of months of heavy-handed hinting. the only thing broken after that was his nose.

he's distinctly glad Charity doesn't have the money to leave Canada, now that he is engaged to a pretty blonde from old money. it's been years, but he suspects Charity would see his pending nuptials as a personal betrayal to the marriage he refused to give her. Charity was shockingly vicious, considering she hadn't been raised a Satanist. he doesn't want to know how she'd react to his marriage and is mildly relieved that Charity is not likely to have an opportunity to voice her opinion, at least not to him directly. and likely with the safety off of the handgun she kept in her purse.

the offhand reference of attending a religious institution for networking purposes doesn't offend him. he'd expected as much. the Tyrells seemed to be devout only when it suited them and conservative investors. despite his family being notoriously straight laced and traditional, Margaery no doubt knows already that none of the Le Domas have ever attended a church, ever. a little at odds with their image, truth be told, but she's about to learn there's a reason for that. )

I hope you weren't counting on a church wedding, ( he muses dryly, and half to himself. if this disaster makes it to prime time, she'll have to marry him at the estate, with no religious affiliates present.

Daniel finally moves from the window, joining her properly. dark eyes on icy blue, as open and candid as Margaery has ever seen him. because he knows what he's going to say is unbelievable and explaining his family history from behind an impassive mask would make it even less so. ) I ask because my family is religious, if you could call it that. If you were a good Christian girl, I suspect confessing you're marrying into multiple generations of Satanists would be rather alarming. ( Daniel hopes it is alarming either way, but with a woman that openly notes her ties to religion are financial, it probably doesn't matter to her any more than the prayers she'll whisper when commoners and cameras are watching.

and yes, he did just spit out the satanism thing without much warning. he could have weaved a tale or tried to lean into the drama and legacy like his father, but Daniel is tired of Le Bail and his Le Bullshit. might as well spit it out, right? )

[versigny]

[ he joins her on the bed, looking remarkably alert for someone who's been steadily staring into a whiskey glass for the better part of the night, and - what he says definitely takes a moment for her to process. ]

Satanists.

[ repeated, to make sure she's heard him correctly. and for the first time in a long time, she's speechless. at a complete loss for what to do or say or even think, because this is so far out left-field that even her most creative level of intuition couldn't have predicted this. and there's another tension to the pause, too - the one that waits for Daniel to inevitably break character and say, "just kidding!" or something equally immature before laughing at her expense. but there is none, just a long stretch of silence as her mind whirls around what this even means, a tornado of thought, of disbelief and logic going to war with the part of her that thinks, maybe, actually -

because in some ways, it makes sense. the lack of a paper trail, the serious luck when it comes to investments and financial planning decisions, the way everything the Le Domas empire touches turns into gold faster than Midas' fat finger could. she knows her family's wealthy enough that she and her children could be set with a freakishly lavish lifestyle, right up to their gilded coffins and $30,000 burial outfits. but Le Domas money is at a level that not even the Lannisters can claim to come close to - and how would that be possible without some shred of wrongdoing? and what would Daniel have to gain by telling her his family is all sorts of fucked up, especially when he has to know how extensive her network is by now?

but. Satanism.

what the fuck.

what the fuck. ]

What does that mean, exactly?

[ her voice is calm, expression not exactly one of outright, unflattering skepticism (she hopes), but there's a furrow in her brow that definitely indicates doubt. ]

[satanism]

( she has, in fact, heard him correctly. somehow, he has managed to namedrop satanism with a perfectly straight face. besides, Daniel is not really the type of guy to pull a punked, his humor is dry but fairly obvious. despite how deadpan he can be, he doesn't really turn it into a punchline, instead preferring to be legitimately clever over just surprising. )

It means I sacrificed a goat every midsummer from 13 to 19. I got a break when I was at school, but sometimes I'm expected to go to the estate and slaughter some livestock in the interest of giving the devil his due.

( that's a rather sensationalist part of his family's odd traditions, but he can tell Margaery is on the ropes, not at all expecting that level of confession. maybe dredging up the dreariest and darkest parts of his lineage will keep purchase in that unsettled feeling. broaden it to the point it can't be ignored. make her feel it'd be easier and smarter and safer to just cut and run, leave his grandmother's ludicrously large engagement ring from before blood diamonds were a political concern on the credenza and just find a less perilous step upward in her climb toward ultimate ambition. )

I don't know if it's real. Great great granddad solved some evil puzzle box and a dude with a mustache gives us all the fortune and favor we could ever ask for? Sounds like bullshit, if you ask me. ( and Daniel does want to believe it is, even though there's an uncomfortable part of him that wonders. Alex told him enraptured once that he'd seen him, Mr. Le Bail, sitting in his chair. it was immediately after Charles had been murdered, and Daniel remembers the awed tone in his brother's voice had made him feel so sick he'd wretched and wretched for hours until there was nothing left to give up. ultimately, though, whether it's real or not doesn't matter. )

The thing is, my family doesn't think it's bullshit. And a part of the deal was playing a game, any time someone new joins to fold. That means you, my dear, and maybe you'll get lucky, maybe you'll get chess, or checkers, or chutes and ladders or mahjong. But maybe you won't be, and that's why I'm telling you this. ( it's not entirely unselfish. Margaery was beautiful and smart and certainly a catch, but Daniel has no interest in marrying her. he might have slept with her just to assuage his curiosity — it didn't seem possible she could be as mild mannered and demure as she easily projected to the world. but marrying her was an entirely different beast, and Daniel does not want to be married. to her, or anyone, because he knows full well the strings that come along. )

I get you're getting something out of the Le Domas name, but whatever you're hoping to get, is it worth dying for? Because if you draw the wrong card, it doesn't matter if Mr. Le Bail is real or not. My entire family will hunt you down like an animal and kill you, because of some traditional obligation to a shadowy figure from the 1900s.

[versigny]

[ her eyes never stray from his as he speaks, and it's here and now that Daniel gets the full blast of Margaery's scrutiny; somehow, the topic of Satanism as a means of excessive wealth and incredible good luck doesn't make her feel as bound to her usual frontage. no fluttering eyelashes or coy smiles here - just Margaery Tyrell attempting to pin a strange specimen down so she can inspect him for any hint of masterful lying or really, really poor taste in jokes. her expression does change, minutely, when he mentions the very real and direct threat to her life.

oh, for fuck's sake.

she leans back when he's finished, clearly splicing out the information that he's dropped, turning each word over in her mind as her eyes fall to the empty glass in his hand. instead of speaking, she takes it, intentions clear when she gets up to stalk her way to the bar again, pouring a generous serving before knocking back about half of the amount in one go.

too good to be true had been the very first thing her grandmother said, impatiently, carelessly, when her father proposed a marriage with the Le Domases rather than the Lannisters. of course, at that time, they were under the mistaken impression that Joffrey would be easily controlled by the weaknesses that plague normal men and he'd be much easier than tabloid favorite Daniel. but now, with the heat of Cersei's hatred at her back, forcing her to propel forward in this path, she's faced with the possibility of two uncomfortable truths.

Daniel is lying or telling the truth. if he's lying, fine. she's a mite uncomfortable with how incredibly expansive his imagination is and what it might indicate about his character, his mental state, but - it's far better than the alternative. and given the dread in the pit of her stomach, and the way he's provided so many details, Margaery knows she's more inclined to believe him.

when she comes back to the bed, she has a glass of whiskey for herself, although still not nearly as full as the one she returns to him. ]

Do you know what will probably happen to me if I don't marry you?

[ her question is gentle, detached, not unlike a physician giving a patient the chilling truth about their prognosis. this time she's the one not looking at him - she's staring far off into the distance, cursing Joffrey and hoping he's truly burning in hell. ]

A woman named Cersei Lannister is out there, counting every single one of my steps, probably having me followed, just for the chance that I might slip and fall into her trap. The fire that killed my third husband was most definitely her doing. And that. Is because she remains under the impression that I killed her firstborn son, my second husband.

[ technically, she's wrong. Olenna had had the foresight not to tell Margaery what really happened until the trial was over. ]

So you see, Daniel. If what you've told me is true, I am quite fucked either way. I can refuse to marry you, bring a lot of heat on our family names, and die of suspicious causes in a week's time because the Lannisters remain more powerful and wealthier than my family is. Or I can marry you, get hunted down like an animal and die - but still retain a connection to your name that will hopefully be enough to give my family more leverage.

[ her sigh is both deep and impatient, because this really is bullshit. is it really so difficult to marry someone filthy rich and relatively attractive so they can pop out an heir, a spare, and an extra to continue family legacy? ]

I am fucked, either way. And I know it's just pure pettiness talking, but I think I'd rather die by the hands of your family than Cersei Lannister. It'd feel too much like she's won and that's an awful last thought to have.

[satanism]

( she takes his glass and leaves with it, and Daniel is too grim to wonder after whether she'll actually return with it this time. he doesn't follow her when she goes. he doesn't quite know how to take the reaction, and the pretenses he'd dropped to strip bare the ugliness of his honesty slowly piece back together. this woman is a stranger, and she could use what he'd told her against him, and quickly. Daniel wants out of this match and to avoid the chance of murder on the menu, but he can't bring himself to want his family to truly suffer. if he could, maybe he'd do a little more than complaining about his father's viciousness or trying to get Emilie to pick up the sacrificial slack. if he wanted to tear his family apart, maybe he'd tell someone that Charles was laid to rot so long in their barn cellar that there's none of him left but his wedding finery.

but he doesn't.

Daniel hopes Margaery won't return. that she'll top herself off and walk out the door with his crystal-cut tumbler and never return. the only part of him left in her life is a memory of his lips on the glass, and the evils of his lineage in her mind. but return she does, brandishing him a refill and a fuller twin for herself. he takes the drink, aware that the floor is still open, and it seems clear Margaery is finding her response.

truth be told, Daniel is more sentimental than he appreciates admitting. he's a black sheep for many reasons, and one of them is the fact the silver spoon he was born with has never been enough to absolve the stale taste of guilt. his family is full of excuses (or worse, don't even care at all) about the people they've stepped on, ground into the dirt, on their path to success. Daniel doesn't stop anything; isn't even sure he has the power to stop it even if he wanted to. but he at least knows how wrong it is, at least until he's got deep enough in a bottle of bourbon to forget, at least for a little while.

as she speaks, Daniel sort of sees the trajectory, before she finishes. he puts back half of his drink about mid-dialogue. he can almost see her knit herself back together from the shock, a warrior with an armor of calculated smiles and airy conversation. maybe the idea of his family's viciousness scares her, but not as much as the mire she's already drowning in. she's not willing to turn away a lifeboat, even if it's threatening to capsize and the occupants might eat her over help her, given the opportunity. he finishes his drink by the time Margaery's finished her thought — and with it, effectively signing the marriage certificate he was hoping she'd tear in two. )

Fuck, ( Daniel coughs, old rye burning down his throat. for what it's worth, he's not unmoved by her plight. Daniel doesn't want Margaery to die to a lioness or a raving pack of white collar satanists. he'd been aware of some of the complications, between Lannister and Tyrell. he hadn't realized exactly how dire. the mention of Cersei believing Margaery responsible for the death of her second husband doesn't feel great as her prospective fourth husband. still, that insight is almost secondary to the realization she isn't going to leave him, stitch together a scandal that absolves her of the match and move on to the next highest bidder.

this is happening. his only ace in the hole, and instead of folding she'd gone all in, and he doesn't have the spine to call her bluff. ) I hope you get Charades, ( Daniel muses bitterly, elbows on his knees, posture crumbled enough that his free hand can rub at the weary lines of his forehead. even if he doesn't want this, he's not so cold that he wants to see her dead. Charles' ghost following him for thirty years has been plenty, he doesn't need poison blue eyes and the steeled expression of a woman stuck between extremes of what death she'd rather haunting him too. )

cw mentions of violence | abuse

[versigny]

[ there's something like an amused huff on her part. charades, certainly, would be a dream even if she'll have to fake ignorant calm while she plays out something silly like bigfoot in front of his family. it's fine. it'll be fine. she's been alone with Joffrey, survived his fascination with medieval weaponry while turning a blind eye to the reports of abuse her private investigators kept bringing to her attention as their courtship continued. she's survived the den of lions at each funeral, the endless trials and interrogations and mocking interviews. nothing has shaken her yet. she hasn't come this far just to succumb to a crazy cult family that'll offer her life up to the devil.

but there are still gaps of knowledge, spaces that she needs to have filled in to formulate the best plans (contingencies upon contingencies), but when she looks at Daniel, he's already curved over like he already knows they'll end up with the worst possible outcome, resigned to her death. it's this honest sight that lends her to keep believing he's only told her the truth. her lips part, close, press together, all in the span of a few long seconds as she considers him. there's appreciation, somewhere deep in her heart, but it's easily suppressed by the number of ways her mind keeps working to figure out how to stay ahead. he's given her an advantage - now she just needs to keep tugging gently at his guilt without letting it cloud her efforts so he tells her everything else she should know. ]

Daniel.

[ she moves closer, touching his arm briefly. and if he deigns to turn and look at her, he'll see her expression, uncharacteristically serious and absolutely determined. a perfect reflection of her tone. ]

Listen to me. This is my choice. Even if the worst should happen, I don't want you to feel guilt over it. You've done what you can by telling me and that's more than I could have asked for, especially when we don't know each other.

[ she draws on all the empathy she can muster up in this moment, pushes aside the details and connections that don't matter. wondering about his family's fortune and thinking he'd wanted to fuck her suddenly feel like they were forever go. ]

I just... want to make sure that if I do pull the wrong card, I'm as prepared as I can be.

[ it's been a long time since her brothers have chased her around their manor, and yet Margaery still remembers the way she'd shriek like a banshee through the halls, and the adrenaline that lingered even after she found safety in the arms of a nanny. will she be able to stay quiet now, when she's chased with literal pitchforks? ]

Will you help me by telling me more?

[satanism]

( he's given her some kind of advantage, sure, but not enough of one. advanced warning wasn't quite an armed guard or a bulletproof vest. and despite Daniel's complicated opinions on his family, he isn't sure he has it in him to turn his back on them all for a stranger. Daniel doesn't entirely know if he believes in Le Bail, the legitimacy of their curse. maybe their easy fortune is the result of a placebo effect, they imagine they will succeed and intrinsically make choices that will. that no business venture has ever truly failed is a little suspect, but enough to believe in some shadowy demon figure has been pulling invisible strings in their favor for three generations?

pretty hard to believe, though Daniel isn't sure he's willing to risk being wrong. he'd love to have an opportunity to prove to his family that they've been murdering innocent (well. mostly innocent, some people willing to marry into Le Domas do turn out to be assholes) people for the sake of superstition. but the terrifying idea of Le Bail actually watching them from his chair is enough to scare Daniel into his own sort of compliance. he can't pick one person he barely knows over his entire family. he couldn't when he was eight, and he doesn't suppose he's any stronger now.

if Margaery is hoping for him to be a good enough guy to fall on his sword for her, throw his entire family to the fire to protect her — well, he's just not that good. Daniel's proven that once before. he might not actively participate in hunting her down if worst comes to worst, but he wouldn't help her, either. Alex is the only brother that might, and Daniel hopes Alex doesn't even show for their nuptials for exactly that reason. )

It's called Hide and Seek. You hide, the rest of us find. Armed with snubnosed pistols and crossbows. They turn off the cameras, but they put the place on lockdown. You won't be just walking out the front door.

( Daniel feels a little traitorous, sharing details that she can use to potentially ruin his entire lineage if the night goes her way. still, the odds are so stacked against her, will it really hurt any to cough up a few details? maybe if Margaery escapes on her own, and nothing fucking happens, he will be absolved of guilt for picking her over his entire family and they can lighten up on this whole satanism schtick. it's been old for a good three decades now. )

Otherwise, there's not much to tell. There's floorplans of the manor online. Don't rely on your brother cutting you a path through my family, he won't be present. ( his father had a great excuse for why all the extended family should disperse after the ceremony. a night to induct a new Le Domas, no distractions. if Loras fought it, he'd be cordially escorted off the premises on the excuse he was drunk and disorderly. most extended family didn't argue. it was heartwarming, wasn't it, game night with a new family member? and with all of them gone, there were no witnesses if things went a certain way. no outraged mothers or fathers or brothers taking a stand and ruining their chances. ) And don't expect me to save you. I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not going to pick you over my family.

( he doesn't sound impassioned about the prospect. more resigned. as awful as his family is, it's his family. his love for them is cracked and frayed and convoluted, but he does still love them. )

[versigny]

[ hide and seek.

deceptively simple, childish, even. a perfect game to give the prey just enough hope. she would think, that's all I need to do? and pick somewhere safe to hide, expecting it only to take an hour - a few, at most, given the size of the place - before inevitably being found. or perhaps she'd even get tired of waiting and peek out to make sure they haven't forgotten her, that the game is still ongoing. Margaery swallows, has to close her eyes to settle the nausea that passes through like a sudden thunderstorm when she remembers Tony Le Domas had absolutely insisted on making the wedding location their manor. apart from the whole fucked up context of a satanic ritual, it's their own home. how can she ever hope to outrun and outsmart a group of psychotic individuals who have lived and grown up there when all she'll have to go on are floor plans?

it's with a slight shake of her head that she gathers herself up again, another sip of whiskey to clear any unnecessary reactions like anxiety and fear. floor plans, fine. he hasn't mentioned her being patted down or anything like that, so smuggling some weapons in her dress might help. even if it's something as simple as a taser tucked into her bra, it might be enough to take one of them down and steal their weapon and go from there. and if she remembers her childhood correctly, the advantage of surprise most often resides with the person hiding. she's often hidden, paralyzed by fear at the sound of her brother's footsteps, the telltale sound of a door sliding open, light flooding in before she shrieked and gave herself away - ]

I would pick my family, too.

[ she says it to him as much as she says it to herself, distracted, almost absentminded. it's not exactly comforting to think that their situations could be reversed and she'd probably be giving him a good time right about now, with kisses down his chest and her hand on his dick - anything to make it easier for her family down the line. men can't run as fast when they've got fat erections, can they?

her heart gives a sudden ache at the thought of her family. she can't tell them. ]

If you found me, would you kill me?

[ her question is faint, and comes after she's taken another mouthful of whiskey, effectively finishing off her glass. she almost lets it just fall to the nice carpet, dangles it off her fingertips contemplatively before pride sets in. it ends up on the floor but safe and sound, upright, because she's not sure she wants to risk walking around in her heels and break her ankle from feeling so wobbly. ]

You don't have to lie.

[satanism]

( i would pick my family, too. he manages to lift enough from his folded position to look at her properly, wonder at what sort of ugliness her family is guilty of, that she's had no choice to forgive. there's plenty of whispers, of roses plucking thorns when they stopped being useful or malleable. Daniel hadn't put too much stock in it, though Margaery's odd habit of finding herself attached to powerful men and suddenly black widowed through unspeakable unexpected tragedy is perhaps a bit too good to be true. even from Margaery's own lips, she can admit that Cersei Lannister blames her for the death of her last husband, and Daniel has to guess that association doesn't come from nowhere.

maybe we shouldn't, he wants to say. maybe they don't deserve the loyalty. but the idle and yet unquestioning way she says it makes Daniel suspect she's not the audience for it. it seems she's something he is not, someone who puts family first without question and without looking ahead for options to get out of it. without doubting and without hating and without resenting the strings and expectations. someone who can accept the ugly along with the good, for the good of those that mattered most. for not the first time, Daniel feels alone, choking on blood that truly was thicker than water.

would he kill her? Margaery doesn't know him well enough yet, to know he's weak. that he can't be the son his parents want, and knew it a long time ago. that he's long since given up trying. Daniel knows himself much better, and exactly how pathetic he is. could he kill her? his mouth feels dry, and he's all out of whiskey. ) No. ( she can believe it, or she can doubt it. after he'd just proclaimed he'd pick his family over her, it's fair if she decides he's full of it, that he might just be feeding her what he suspects she wants to hear. Daniel already knows he doesn't have the stomach for it, whether Margaery believes it or not. he doesn't want to hurt her, he said it already, and he wouldn't be able to kill her either. Daniel has done all he can for her already by telling her something he's certainly not meant to. his father would be incensed that he'd breach the safety of their dominion and ruin the potential of the match with the truth. Daniel doesn't intend to tell his family that he's informed Margaery, either, which is a boon in and of itself. gives her the upper hand of awareness, instead of blissful ignorance.

but that doesn't make him a safe place in the storm, or that she can rely on him if she happens upon him in a flight for her life. ) The best I could do you is a head start.

( he hadn't given Charles that much of a decency. he can still feel heavy hands on his shoulders, palpable relief and trust that a child, surely, a child could be trusted. Daniel feels a little ill remembering the horror in the older man's face as he realized even the children were as wretched as the wedding party. and that Charles was still a good enough man to not strike him for the betrayal, though certainly he'd deserved it. his empty glass is tormenting him, now. Daniel stands to fix that problem. ) Another, darling?

( not exactly the fun she'd been expecting when she'd showed up a pristine temptation, no doubt. Daniel wonders passingly how much of the spoils she'd been prepared to let him taste before a gentle refusal until veils and vows were involved. better not to dwell on it. still, why not get hammered? maybe she gets it now, why Daniel finds his cups his favorite company. life is a little less miserable blurred along the edges. )

[versigny]

[ he says no without hesitation. on some level, Margaery wants to believe otherwise, as he's shown himself to be a whole lot more than meets the eye, but there's something in the resignation that haunts him, like a storm that won't leave him alone, that makes her believe him. that, and the fact that his entire life (or what the world believes to be his life) has been splayed out for all to see. scandals like his are so easily swept under the rug with the right people, the right amount of money, and seeing as Daniel's never cared to keep a clean image for the sake of family or himself, he has no use for the brand of facades that she dwells in. he has always been honest, to a degree, about his unhappiness. people just never quite realized what he was being honest about. ]

A head start is more than I could hope for.

[ she leans down to reach for the cup she'd just set down, somewhat proud that when she reaches up to hand him the glass, her hand doesn't shake. much. he isn't her husband yet. they are still on opposing teams until the contract is signed and she picks a game that doesn't call for her to be murdered, so he doesn't have the privilege to see a proper view of her inner turmoil just yet. but they do have this night together, and she might as well take advantage of having him alone - understand him better, learn about his family through the way he speaks of them. even if Daniel catches onto her game, what will he do? give her a stern look with those sad puppy eyes over the rim of another whiskey glass? ]

So this is why you always refused to settle down.

[ thirty eight isn't old when your sperm is capable of knocking up girls at any age, but it's certainly pushing boundaries for an heir to the throne. at twenty six, Margaery's already toeing the dangerous line when it comes to age for women, given how much old people tend to fixate on thirty being a good cut-off mark for having children. (it's one of those things Pycelle loves mumbling on about, obvious in his attempts to strike enough fear in her heart that she agrees to one of his 'check-ups'. disgusting old man.) even if she lost her mind and decided not to go through with this marriage, there would be harder pickings for the field she's limited to; younger is often the wedding theme of rich white men, she's found.

she waits until his back is turned to kick off her heels and gingerly push herself off of the bed to test her ability to stand. her legs feel weak, like she's just ridden a roller coaster ten times, but they hold steady, and she's able to quietly pad her way towards him. the bed is a great place for pillow talk and sex, but during a conversation like this, it feels more like a conveyor of doom, like it's somehow too comfortable to be true and she'll be lulled into false security before it sinks her deep enough to swallow her up. ]

If, by some miracle, everything works out and I don't die, [ she speaks slowly, as if she's figuring out what she wants to say as she says it, leaning on the bar as an effective way of turning to face him ] would you even want to have children?

[satanism]

( he sees the stiffness in her movements, recognizes it as willful control to avoid showing too much. Daniel is old hat at that kind of stiffness, though usually he isn't hiding emotions so much as downplaying drunkenness. being an obvious lush is something his father won't stand for, and Daniel learned how to hide slurred words and sloppy gestures when he was still a teenager. drinking has been his vice for a spectacularly long time, so of course he's good at hiding it. he doesn't dwell on the hints of tremors in her hands, frankly he doesn't blame her. Margaery proves herself a resilient creature whenever given the opportunity. he has no doubt plenty of beautiful girls with hopes of a good marriage and an easy future would have crumbled in a situation like this one. granted she stands strong because she doesn't have an option to falter, but he knows how hard that is to accomplish.

departing from luxurious sheets and down pillows is a welcome shot in the arm. conversations like this are better suited over booze, instead of egyptian cotton. the ploy he'd gotten her here under is washed away now. as beautiful as she is, the idea of trying to sexually coerce her on top of the ugly reality of marrying into his family feels wrong, even for him. Daniel does have some limits, though he runs against them rarely. )

Hmmm. ( that's not quite an answer, more of a musing note in the back of his throat. but yes, this is why he's been a disdainful bachelor for so very long. Daniel had thought all of his siblings were more or less on the same page, but then Emilie got pregnant and suddenly Fitz happened. the irony of a satanist disallowed to live in sin is not lost on Daniel. he hopes Alex has the sense to cut off the roots of their family tree, too. maybe that's what his distance implies.

Daniel is in the midst of pouring them refreshers, only finishes the one before Margaery broaches a topic he didn't see coming a mile away. he's lucky he wasn't drinking, or he might have choked on it. )

I didn't exactly enjoy my childhood of slitting the throats of goats and chanting in Latin that Satan was entitled to my everything. I think my family tree already has enough branches. ( blunt, but more than enough of an answer. Daniel had been so persistent on evading the idea of marriage, he had never even considered the possibility of being a father. it's not that he hates the idea of children. in another world, in another life. without a curse handed down through the generations, maybe. but as it stands, no. he wouldn't doom an innocent soul without any say in the matter. at least Margaery could decide she wanted to risk damnation. a child didn't have that freedom, Daniel would know. )

Is that a problem? ( as old fashioned as it was, people with money didn't play by modern rules. a first born, someone to carry on a legacy, was downright expected from families as powerful and influential as theirs. Daniel wonders if this might be the stipulation that sours Margaery on him as a prospect — not the satanism, not the chance she could die, but that she couldn't birth a new rose to carry on her family's power and presidence. not that he suspects she won't marry him still, it's clear that she's committed to that hair-brained plan. but maybe she'll dust him out of the way to find someone more inclined. he softens the idea he could be her 4th dead husband with a mouthful of whiskey, somehow more darkly amused than appalled by the idea of his black widow still dragged into Le Domas gatherings as he rolled in his grave. )

[versigny]

[ she is grounded in her family like a rose blossoming in the safety of numbers, tethered to the nutrients of the earth and the mercy of the sun without complaint because she considers it to be an equal trade-off for all she has. and although Margaery so very rarely allows anyone but her family to see her face without any semblance of her mask, his answer is damning enough that she cannot quite hide the way her heart falls, if only for a long second. and if their eyes meet as her chin raises back up, poise slipped back in her gaze, all she offers him is a smile. ]

No.

[ there's no cold clip to her voice, no gathering storm of accusation or passive aggressive charge. it is what it is. and - it makes sense. she is trading her survival and the preservation of her family for the one future she's always wanted, the one joy she had looked forward to no matter who stood beside her at the altar and survived long enough to impregnate her. she wouldn't need to love her husband if she could pour her heart into her babies, nurturing them to be strong, confident forces in this world, watching them grow with a fierce pride that only a mother could ever know. Tyrell thorns blooming on steady Le Domas soil. what wouldn't they be able to conquer?

but it's for the best. she already loves her children, even when theoretical and impossible, enough to know that her heart would break if they grew apart from her for a choice they never made for themselves. she is ambitious, but never cruel. ]

I suppose it'll be just you and me then.

[ 'til death do us part. life has its cruel ironies and she hopes their wedding night won't be one of them, even if she can already see the headlines: SURVIVES THREE HUSBANDS, DIES AT FOURTH WEDDING! ]

You've undoubtedly thought about what will happen if I pick the wrong game.

[ her voice is deliberately light, fingers back to delicately curling over her glass. it is not blind optimism that colors her words and actions now, but a defiant sort of determined calm, a forced reminder that it's not over until the light leaves her eyes and her body grows cold. ]

So tell me what you'd like married life to be. Because if, somehow, I pick another game, you still have to adjust to me in your life for good. And I want us, at the very least, to be friends. Good friends.

[satanism]

( Daniel isn't a complete ass. he sees the disappointment flash across her features and can easily enough guess as to why. she brought the subject up, after all. children are a perfectly reasonable thing to want, and practically expected when you come from a family with blood as blue as theirs. it hits a little different, knowing it was something Margaery was hoping for instead of an expectation she might be relieved to let go of. a sour note at the back of his palette, though certainly not enough to change his mind.

couldn't, even if he wanted to. he'd gotten a vasectomy in college after a short-lived pregnancy scare with a girl he'd barely been seeing. the visceral panic at the idea of dooming a child to not only his family but potential eternal damnation had been terrifying. Daniel still remembers the miserable relief tinged with some kind of horror and almost disappointment when it'd turned out to be a false alarm. that quiet flicker of disappointment was a weakness he couldn't afford, so Daniel had made certain that there wouldn't be any further close calls. technically, it could be reversed — but Daniel is fairly certain he can remember himself and what exactly he'd be risking in the time required to get the necessary appointments, even if he ever finds himself in a moment of weakness.

he has yet to experience such a moment, and despite the look on her face he isn't feeling one now. he can feel passingly bad for the woman whose fortunes had been forcibly tied to him, but that doesn't mean he'll compromise on the one moral stand he has left. he's already marrying her, that's folding farther than Daniel ever intended to. no matter how tragic her expression, he's not going to change his mind. Daniel has to remind himself that Margaery has a great talent in making others (and especially men) thinking and feeling exactly what she wants them to. he can't afford to fall prey to the same. )

I suppose it will. And my obnoxious family, of course. ( with a better perspective on what his name brings and who his family is, perhaps she'd rather keep them at a distance. that'll only get her so far if they're inclined to use her starpower and influence to benefit the their bottom line. perhaps that would mean she'd keep him at arms length from her family as well. Daniel doesn't have a huge interest in rubbing elbows and making small talk with Loras Tyrell, anyway, so that's fine.

he laughs, too astonished to be put upon, at the idea of them being good friends. Daniel doesn't even know how to respond to that, so he doesn't. ) Frankly, I don't care what you do. You can go on and live your life exactly how you do now. I'd appreciate the same courtesy. ( Daniel has been independent this long, and he suspects his mother at the very least is hoping a practical and socially fluent wife can take him to task. Daniel is very much happy remaining not to task, or at least, not any more than he's already suckered into as it is. )

[versigny]

[ she had a similar conversation with Tommen on one of the very few times she managed to get him alone, without any lionesses lingering nearby within earshot, but unlike Daniel, he was a sweet child, easy to read and pliable to the softest suggestions whispered through indirect means. Margaery felt guilty every time he agreed to her ideas with docile enthusiasm, like the first time she tasted the inherent softness of lamb meat after the tougher textures of red meat and seafood, and the fact that it was always so fucking easy never helped. in comparison, this conversation is almost a welcome relief. she doesn't have to worry about a child's heart. ]

And how do you live your life?

[ as opposed to what everyone else says? is unsaid, but lingers between them heavily, and if his answer was meant to discourage, Margaery shows no sign of offense. to her credit, though, she also doesn't assume a more defiant expression either; just womanly patience in hoping for a genuine answer that'll inspire honest dialogue between them. if Daniel hasn't figured her out by now, she gets the feeling that he will before one of them walks out of this room tonight. her reputation as a Tyrell isn't just based on the family she was born in, after all. ]

Just because this is to be my life doesn't mean I can't do everything in my power to make sure it's enjoyable. And I meant what I said earlier. If you like to go out and fuck everything with two legs the world has to offer, I would never want to stand in the way of your happiness.

[ her gaze falls to the countertop space between them, taking a moment to reorient the vision of her future. without children, it'll literally just be the two of them. and while her family will always be the most supportive system to fall back on, she isn't very content with the idea of depending on them forever either. higher and higher, that has always been her ambition, but for what now? for a barren future of ambition and no legacy? ]

But you know as well as I do that you'll have to bear my company in many, many events over many years.

[ there's a small part of her that still wonders if he truly wouldn't prefer for her to pull the wrong card because thirty seven is a long fucking way to ninety, maybe even one hundred. a literal life sentence. wouldn't it just be easier to act the grieving widower for the rest of his life? but these nasty thoughts never get much traction when she catches another glimpse of his heavy eyes, the way a glass in his hand is so natural that he may as well have been born with it. ]

What's the harm in making sure we don't accidentally annoy each other to death?

[satanism]

( Daniel sees that as what it is, an opening to fill in the blanks. Margaery has what people say about him and what tabloids imply about him, and likely not much else. maybe a background check to detail his education and past relationships, though that could only get her so far. there's an absence between what the public sees of him and who he actually is, and Daniel is entirely at peace with that. besides, trying to get close to a wife he doesn't want and might lose in short order feels a bit like a waste of his time. he can't quite say why he's so certain that things will go sour, besides a lifetime of avoiding it on the chance. of course it feels like a certainty after decades of running away from the possibility. )

About what the papers say, only these days I do most of my drinking in private. ( he sees the opportunity to share and gently rejects it, leaving her to battle with the specter the media presents instead of introducing her to the reality. honestly, it's not entirely wrong. he likes women and he likes drinking and he likes the finer things in life, even if hedonism has gotten a little empty as the years stretch on.

the parts of himself speckled sparingly through his miserable existence aren't things Daniel is immediately keen to share with an essential stranger, especially one with the potential to be a threat if she wanted. she might have to wait until they're married proper to learn about the parts of him public perception hasn't managed to nail down, things like spending a little too much time watching reality television, or browsing crowdfunding websites to splash down thousands on causes that seem to merit it anonymously. that he likes his coffee with sugar and the only work he does is occasional book balancing for non-profits, and as little as possible for his father. he collects old vintages from all the beautiful places he's been because some part of him is distantly sentimental enough to enjoy a physical object to help him reflect on the things he's done and seen. at this point, those parts of him are starting to feel more temporal than the never-ending cycle of parties and events and promotions and family gatherings that never end up being optional. like he lost himself in the motions, to the point they've taken him over.

at least there's not a huge risk of this marriage intruding on Daniel's happiness, seeing as he didn't have much of any to start with. he doesn't see the need to share this with his would-be wife. he's no worse off with her, but Daniel seems determined that he won't be better off with her, either, through sheer tenacity of will. he's forcibly spineless in all sorts of things, forced to kneel to the family expectations even if he voices his discontent. the few avenues Daniel has control over, he doesn't yield easily. his empty life is one of those things, and throwing a pretty little wife in the mix doesn't mean he intends to change. )

I'm aware. I'm incredibly talented at presenting cordial ambivalence, sweetheart, you don't have to worry about that. ( she's already seen the truth of it, through the short-lived interactions at the party and motions he'd gone through with the most important of names and faces, like he'd had a bullet point list of important figures and had made a pointed tour of the room to say what was necessary to each with his bride-to-be at his side.

he yields, at least a little, at the innocuous suggestion that they at least try to get along for the sake of not despising each other. easy to do and awfully tempting, but it'll make the years longer if they do end up spending them together and Le Bail's thirst for blood is staved off a little longer. ) I like you well enough, Margaery. You're beautiful and you're smart and you have passions for things outside of wealth and circumstance. I don't blame you for all this, for what it's worth, but I still don't have to like it. ( it's hard not to hold it against her, when she's wearing the ring and will be wearing his name soon enough, a reminder of how far he's been forced to bend. but she's right that it won't help matters any to resent her for it. )

[versigny]

[ she imagines that he's been deflecting even more innocuous questions for most of his life, with how he manages to do it so gently but firmly. it doesn't even appear to be a learned art from a class or bullshit courses, but a level of skill noticeably ingrained, developed to be a reflexive personality trait as the first line of defense. and if he can keep your family at bay, how much easier would a stranger be? no matter how beautiful, how charming, or how engaging she tries to be, Margaery imagines he's worked his tolerance up for those traits, too.

but if there's one thing she figures he's not used to, it's genuine patience. and unfortunately for Daniel, she was willing to put up with Joffrey for life. compared to him, Daniel may as well be the glamorous, cheesy prince charming right out of her middle school dreams. ]

No. You don't. [ her admission is gently given, with no hint of discouragement or reproach. ] I like you too. I do. And I'm sorry that- it's under these circumstances that we have to meet.

[ it's up in the air too much, isn't it? her life, dependent on a coin toss. topple to one side and it is war without even a chance for diplomacy. Margaery thinks about the course of her life so far, the curses following her every marriage, and for a split second, finds herself wondering if the devil himself had designed this outcome, forced her into this specific corner with her unwilling company.

she finishes the rest of her glass to effectively silence those thoughts. it's foolish, borderline arrogant, almost, to think higher powers would take such an interest in her if they even exist. no. the only threat here is what the Le Domas family believes. she turns to face him, tucking her hair behind one ear and closing in to lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek. her hand comes to rest on his forearm for support, and she takes the opportunity to squeeze. Margaery's got the rest of tonight to be a wreck and throw herself into researching weaponry, refresher courses for self-defense tactics. ]

I won't force you to entertain my company any longer. [ if there's a fine line between self-deprecating and confident self-awareness, she likes to think she has it on lock. ] But thank you again.

[ after a moment of hesitation, ]

For what it's worth, if I get lucky and it turns out that your family doesn't need to kill me, I'm looking forward to getting to know you.

[ there's a few seconds of her padding around their room, soft until her heels are slipped back on, and her phone's in her hand, screen still unlocked from texting her driver. she takes her time, but there's a growing itch to step back outside, to immerse herself in the world beyond this quiet suite that has favored a haunting environment since their conversation. Margaery does, however, pause to glance at him over her shoulder; the next times they meet will undoubtedly be under more umbrellas of media spectacle, right up until their wedding. ]

Take care of yourself, Daniel.