It came as little surprise that it was Seth who eventually broke the imperfect silence. "So, how does everyone like the food?"

"Excellent," Quinn said readily. They looked up long enough to lift a hand, thumb and ring finger touched together to form an O. They were a kaleidoscope of casual colour: a teal hoodie clashed with the striped pink top poking out from their half-open zip and, of course, the outlandish dye that shaded their hair. A silver stud pierced their ear. It came across like someone screaming for attention, someone desperate for those that glanced their way to take a second look, positive or otherwise. Tristan couldn't help but wonder what that kind of attitude hid.

He looked away. All of it was overwhelming to take in. He couldn't understand what possessed people who chose to dye their hair.

Murmurs of agreement went up from the other three, coupled with thank yous. Tristan kept his mouth firmly shut. The food consisted of pricy salmon stuffed with spinach and garnished with nameless herbs and sauces, and it tasted perfectly fine, but Seth hadn't been the one to make it. Complimenting him seemed useless.

"Good! Good, I'm glad." Seth inhaled as if he had more to say, but all that settled was more mixed quiet. Cutlery clinked and scraped. Quinn hummed a few broken notes of a song to themself.

Seth dropped his knife and fork onto his mostly-empty place, slumping back into his chair. His foot began to tap in a similar, irritatingly tuneless rhythm. Tristan's jaw clenched. He had to pause for a moment, gripping the handle of his fork tighter and resisting the urge to knock his forehead against the tablecloth to dispel his growing headache. Silence was nicer when it lasted.

"Oh!" Seth slapped his hand on the table, and Tristan turned his knife over in his hand, momentarily considering whether it was sharp enough to deliver a decent cut. He kept his eyes on its flat edge even as Seth spoke. "You must all be thirsty." He clapped his hands and raised his voice. "Waiter! Bring out the wine!"

Mere seconds passed before a bottle was placed before him, set down smoothly and affectionately as if it was made of glass. Seth treated it with none of the same care. He snatched it up and went to pour it into Constance's glass.

She flinched so hard that anyone would have thought he'd struck her with it. Eyes wide, she waved a hand in the most animated motion she'd made all evening. Even her voice had more than a threadbare strength to it. "Oh, no, no thank you. I--I don't drink. I'm sorry."

Seth jerked the bottle upright, eyebrows raising in some amount of disbelief, though he shook it away quickly. "That's quite alright. I'm sure something else can be found for you."

It was less a promise on his own behalf and more a prompt to that same waiter to return a minute later with water. Constance thanked him gently, her smile sincere, though she quivered with a slowly-taming fear, like one who had narrowly escaped danger and was afraid it would resurface if she sat still for too long.

Her necklace had dropped back to rest against her chest as she ate. Pushing his glasses up, Tristan cast in a subtle, analysing glance, and found it fitted in quite well. A silver cross. So she was one of those twitchy devout Catholic girls.

Religion was, for better or worse, another concept he couldn't bring himself to understand.

As if the wine had been some kind of catalyst, chatter seeped into the air after that, cresting once all the meals were finished. Tristan was content to sink to the fringes of it and shut out much of its detail, though he still kept track of the ebb and flow of conversation, the flickers of topics, turned over like the pages of a newspaper and scanned over in case they were of any use. Even so, this late in the evening and at a proximity this close, even that was exhausting. His headache deepened as the voices layered over one another in conflicting, abrasive sandpaper. He couldn't help but take a sip or two from his own glass if only to take the edge off.

It did that at least. His thoughts settled into a thick, murky flow, and he sat back, letting his eyes close for the moment. The detail dimmed all the more. He had to dig the heel of one shoe into his ankle to remind himself to keep listening, if only a little. He'd become blind to all of them if he refused to listen entirely. Otto was partaking in a match next week, which was significant somehow. Quinn was saying something about Instagram. A complaint, perhaps? It must have been for Kordyn to agree so vehemently.

Seth was talking about a gun.

Tristan's eyes snapped open, but he was too late. The reassuring weight at his waist was plucked away. He clapped a hand to the empty holster, supposedly concealed beneath his jacket, and pinned the grinning boy with a scowl.

A few shiny black strands of hair flicked away from Seth's eyes as he tossed his head, dipping out a backstep which carried him out of Tristan's reach. Clutched carelessly in his right hand was a gleaming silver revolver. It was polished, it was antique, and it did not belong in someone else's grasp. Hummingbird panic awoke in a flash beneath his ribs.

"Don't touch that," he warned.

The voices around them had drained away. Once again, their eyes pierced him, and while he cringed, Seth couldn't care less. He dangled it in front of his face by the trigger, white teeth reflecting light. "It's gloriously shiny. Is it loaded?"

"I said don't touch it," Tristan snapped, jolting to his feet. He made a lunging grab for it, but Seth jerked it out of his reach, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

"Why? It's fascinating." He pouted, swivelling on his heel so that he could cradle the gun closer to his chest to examine it. Tristan's fists curled. He hated how fast his heart pounded, how difficult the noise made it to think.

"Do you have a licence for that?" Kordyn inquired. The tiniest hitch clicked into place in her voice, a stumbling block of fear.

"Of course." Tristan didn't spare her a glance.

Otto moved into his peripheral vision, something between wariness and anger boring into his side. "Why would you bring it here?"

Because an unidentified caller speaking of summons to a manor was beyond suspicious. Because, desperate as Tristan might have been, he was no idiot. Or perhaps he was. Revealing it was worse than not having it at all.

He locked his gaze onto the gun again and attempted to calculate the best path through which to snatch it. Quinn got there before he could. They plucked it barrel-first from Seth's grip, skipping past him as they turned it over in study. They shot him a quizzical glance, a shaken sly smile. "Looks like you're not quite as boring as I assumed."

"Please, give it back," Tristan tried, to no avail; it only spurred Quinn on. They threaded their finger through the trigger hole and mimed aiming at the chandelier. Badly, at least.

"Give me that." Otto took it off them with brows drawn low. His gaze scanned from it to Tristan, something dark dwelling within.

Now he stood, he truly looked like the boxer he said he was. The short sleeves of his dark crimson shirt left easily visible the bulges in his biceps and the size of his fists, and his square jaw was set. The unfortunate sour splash of regret found Tristan's tongue. "It's not loaded," he said weakly.

Otto hummed lowly. Uncomfortable as he appeared, Tristan couldn't help but observe the ease with which he held the weapon, noticeable in comparison to Quinn and Seth. The hairs on his arms prickled.

If only to fill this rather targeted silence -- one of few kinds he was less keen on -- he added, "It's not just a gun, by the way. It's a Colt revolver from the forties. It belonged to--"

"Yes, we don't care," Kordyn said sharply, waving a hand at him. Her heels clicked against the floorboards as she strode to Otto's side, tight sequined dress creasing with each step.

Offence rose in Tristan at her dismissal, but the look in Otto's eyes warned against a retort. It lingered for a moment before sliding to Kordyn. "Are you going to want to hold it now?"

Her hands went up in defence, eyes wide and head shaking with vigour. "No. Gosh, no. I don't want to touch that thing." Her lip curled in disgust.

"I do." The faintest echo ran an undercurrent beneath Constance's quiet little voice, the room's vastness lending her a firm edge. There was a strange amount of challenge in her eyes, intermingled as it was with fear. When Otto froze in the pin of her gaze, momentarily stunned, she slid the gun from his grip. Her silver cross necklace perched on the right side of her chest as if skirting away from her heart.

She didn't hesitate. In a few quick, hurried steps, she marched over to Tristan and thrust the revolver at his chest. He fumbled to take it, surprised at the urgency with which her eyes met his. They were the shade of dark, roasted chestnuts, flickering with an unnerving fire, though it winked out within the instant. She looked down and stepped away, arms wrapping her middle again, just as timid as before, as if the moment had never happened.

He couldn't help but continue to watch her as he slid his gun gingerly back into its holster, tugging his jacket over the top to hide it. "Thank you."

She nodded, eyes on her feet.

"Get rid of it." Otto's stare cut past her shoulder. "Please."

Tristan bit his tongue, saying nothing. His mind was on the thickness to Otto's tone, the tremor that tugged at it like a string tied to some other memory, and all the while aware of the rest of the mix there was to read from. Kordyn's barbed stare. Quinn's awkward shift from foot to foot. Constance, ever timid, stance made of steel and rubber and glass.

"Well," Seth interjected, apparently oblivious to it all. He strolled to the table and swiped his empty wine glass. "Who wants a top-up?"

Chapter Wordcount: 1739

Total Wordcount: 4793

Honestly, if I had to go to a social gathering with strangers, I'd take a gun, too. You never know when the solution to your problems will be gun.

This and the following chapter were supposed to be together, but they kinda diverged on me and got a tad longer. This novella thing is going great so far. But that does mean that we'll see a little more action in the next chapter :D

- Pup