Sugar's Gone Sour

[Salazar Slughorn]

It had been a tiresome day at work - paperwork, mostly, though he'd had to step in and oversee a meeting with a pair of hostile goblins, too, which had dragged on longer than anyone had expected - and so Salazar had returned home a little late, heading upstairs to wash and change before dinner without greeting his wife first. The children, as always, had already eaten their dinner earlier, so he stuck his head in the room briefly to check on them - poor Alexander was crying in the nanny's arms - before descending the stairs for his own dinner.

It couldn't be said the meal was his favourite part of the day. In some ways, formal dinner parties were a relief, a welcome addition of company he often actually enjoyed, and much less awkward than this tradition, eating his evening meal only in the company of his wife. Some nights it was bearable, or even near-pleasant, with only some mindless small talk - how was your day? the usual, and yours? - and food to distract them. Sometimes it passed quickly, or in silence. Else, it was an easy opportunity for some disagreement.

Elvira was already at the table when Salazar sauntered in. He murmured a greeting, offered her a fleeting glance, more concerned with his weariness that was now being overtaken with hunger. Sat, waiting for the meal to be served, his gaze idly made its way to his wife, for want of a better distraction. He hadn't spent a huge amount of time in her company these days. He had been finally able to see Scarlett again in recent weeks after a long, inconvenient quarantine-induced separation, which was perhaps part of the reason, and he wondered whether Elvira noticed the difference. During whatever it was she did with her days. It had only been a fortnight, too, since he'd attended the black ball without her; Salazar wondered whether she was nursing some indignation, or merely had remained entirely oblivious to this.

"Alexander's crying again," he informed her neutrally, as they were served their soup.

@Abraham Aesalon
@Elvira Slughorn

  

[Elvira Slughorn]

Elvira's sentiments on nightly dinner mirrored those of her husband. While it was rarely outright spoken, Elvie knew that he was just as disenchanted with her as she was him. Still, when one shared their lives with another, it did well to at least attempt some semblance of civility. Even if such a thing was a task in and of itself when one had a husband such as Salazar Slughorn. She hardly paid him heed as he sauntered in late - so brazen was he! - her eyes only slightly narrowed as they imperceptibly followed him to his seat. She was angry with him as she near always was and wished that their food would be served swiftly so that the whole ordeal would be over and done with. She'd given up her life and career for this man for nothing - he didn't need to steal away her whole night too.

The words that broke their silence made her brow raise ever so slightly - a crease between them forming with some sense of distaste apparent on her features. "Yes, babies do that, Salazar. Though I admit I'm quite surprised to see you remember he exists - after all you've certainly no great care for the rest of your family." She said it almost flippantly, only a hint of bite to her tone though she knew that he would know what she was accusing him of. "The nanny is sure to be attending to him." She added idly, not particularly wishing to talk to him because it was all so pointless. Their marriage had clearly been a mistake and she bore him no small amount of bitterness for stealing away what would have been a promising career with false promises of marital bliss.

After a moment, she looked to him with a more neutral and almost bored look: "I trust you'll not inconvenience yourself with worry. Then again, you wouldn't do that, would you?" She gave a slight hum with her words, making a mental note to check on the babe after dinner. Just because she loathed Salazar entirely didn't mean she had to treat her children with the same amount of dismay.

[[oops lol elvie a bitch sry not sry]]

  

[Salazar Slughorn]

His comment had not been especially calculated, as conversation starters went - certainly, it might have warranted a moment of motherly concern or a mere 'yes he has, hasn't he?', followed by a change of subject - but Salazar supposed he had subconsciously known that he would be granted much better than that, had subconsciously been looking forward to it.

And, at least in this one rare instance, Elvira did not disappoint.* An eyebrow quirked, he lifted the spoon to his lips, having his first taste of the soup and pretending it wasn't still utterly scalding. As it burnt its way down his throat, he tried to hide that irrational smugness that she was already, underneath her constant coolness, riled up. "Well, he was making such a racket, he was hard to ignore," Salazar returned, rolling his eyes, though in truth he did rather care about all his children, whether or not he showed it in front of his wife. "It's rather more difficult to tell if someone is suffering if they do so in utter silence, after all, wouldn't you say?" His gaze flickered to Elvira, just on the verge of idle innocence. "It would be a surprise if anyone were to notice such mute placidness." Salazar added, as though he forgot her very existence on a daily basis. Really, it mightn't have been much of an exaggeration to liken her to a mouse, as suited to quiet little corners as she was. What had stood out about her in the first place? It had to have been her outer beauty... though whether falling for that pretty face had ever been a clever move, he did wonder.

Salazar did not feel the need to defend himself too heavily against her accusations of his all too evident disinterest. Oh, she was directing it towards an entirely untrue apathy towards his children, but Francis, Clara and Alexander were not here to hear it, and they would feel quite differently, he was sure. "Oh, I certainly do hope there's nothing too amiss with him," he answered after another mouthful, extending none of that sentiment to his wife. Not that there was anything he was supposed to be worrying about for her sake, Salazar presume. What could there be? She had stayed at home, stubbed her toe perhaps, tales of that ilk. Tragic.

*ouch Sally you're such a dick Elvie is justified in every way

/sorry for being super slow m'dear <3

  

[Elvira Slughorn]

Elvie had never thought herself to be a particularly aggressive sort of woman - in fact there was a serene grace to her that was nearly impossible to be rid of - but Salazar had for years seemed to be the exception to all of this. His words prompted her brows to knit together - the only visible sign of the rage she felt towards him (him merely walking by her caused her to be murderous these days, it seemed) - as she settled instead of merely imagining herself leaping across the table and choking the life from him. Of course she'd never do such a thing - she was not so undignified and in truth likely incapable of such an atrocious act. But she would be lying if she asserted that the thought of hurting him at least a fraction of the way he'd hurt her wasn't appealing.

As soon as her features had harshened, she forced them to relax, content enough to just let her mind provide her with fantasies as she instead did the same dance with her husband that they'd become so very good at. She allowed herself a moment to be amused by the fact that she'd dreamt so much of dancing with her husband - but never the verbal dance they so often did. "I suppose I was too harsh on you - " she gave him a pointed look before addressing him with a pet-name that lacked in any and all affection - "dearest." She made no immediate move to explain herself, playing the game with the same air of disinterest that he was. If there was one good thing he'd given her - aside from her children - it was the ability to match him word for word in these silly spats.

The conversational pause came and went and when she opened her mouth to speak again it was with a voice that might have been sweet if one were good at deluding themselves: "After all, not all have the mind for perceptiveness...and they do say that men wouldn't know a thing unless it were right in plain sight." There was a lilt of amusement as she tried to give a detached air - she'd not let him have the satisfaction of knowing just how terribly he'd wounded her through their years of marriage. If she had to bear his presence she'd do it with unwavering pride and grace.

/sorry for long wait D:
@Elias Grimstone

  

[Salazar Slughorn]

Well, she had said nothing more on Alexander, so Salazar presumed the babe was well enough. Just loud, then. He returned to his soup, anticipating whatever sort of response Elvira might be cooking up to his other remarks almost eagerly.

Dearest. It was the sardonic inflection there that saw his expression show some reaction, appraising her a little more directly than he often did. Usually - whether he mocked it or not, the truth remained indeed that his wife's presence had faded much throughout their marriage, so that her form existed always on the periphery, ever loitering at the frayed edges of his field of vision. That was, until she piped up, until there was the chill of her coolness washing over, waking up the room. He sat ever-so-slightly straighter up, half-smirk chiselled immobile on his face, as he considered the words 'I was too harsh on you' and what they might precede.

Sometimes he almost thought he liked her better when she was on the attack. It rarely served to hurt him, in any case, and proved far more of an amusement than an exhaustion. Her sweetness was certainly more invigorating when it concealed a sharper taste, at his expense or no. "Well, you may be right," he said, smirk still present. "On the other hand, of course," Salazar mused, pseudo-philosophically, "perhaps men like me are all the more fortunate for it. Much less to be plagued by, then. It may well be for the best, to be oblivious to as much as possible; and perhaps it is advisable to consciously keep such things out of plain sight, too, that the glaring letdowns one must face not be quite so evident." Well, he made no claims to being a philosopher, nor in coming up with any radical thoughts, but his words had the taint of honesty that would sharpen them quite enough itself.

  

[Elvira Slughorn]

The insinuation that she was the letdown in their relationship made her want to scream. Of course she did so - if only internally - her face still holding that look that was similar in manner to his smirk. She wanted to curse that smirk right off his face but she knew better. He was her husband, unlucky as she was for it, and she would not raise her wand to him for ladies didn't do that. And though she might have foregone her passivity over the years, she would not stoop to being more ill mannered than he!

"Oh I quite understand," She said it with an insincere smile. "After all, marrying well, having a lovely life with lovely children...how ever do men such as yourselves live a day without falling to your knees in despair?" He was lucky to have a wife such as herself! She was a woman of beauty and grace and everything any man could ever want in a wife. She was not at fault for his poor taste. That was all on him and she would not allow him to think otherwise. "But I do suppose being a terrible husband is enough to inspire an obliviousness in someone." She said it lightly, as if they were still speaking in vague terms but they both knew that wasn't true.

  

[Salazar Slughorn]

Maybe that had been a little harsh, calling her a letdown. Well, Elvira had been, that was no lie, but she made up for it well enough nowadays. She was a changed person through her unhappiness, however much she might attempt to be the young woman he had - regrettably - proposed to, and yet the changes had been a good thing. Merlin, had she been dull: her shine had worn off even before the strain of age and time had had a chance to take their toll.

"Oh, all anyone can try to do is to make the most of their situations, I assure you," he said idly, answering her sardonic rhetoric with absolutely nothing but unironic frankness. She could not see where he was coming from; Salazar had never, indeed, necessarily expected her to. Just because a life sounded perfect on paper did not mean it was as fruitful as one might've hoped. This life - this marriage - had been nothing that he'd hoped, really, though of course, he admitted internally, it was not Elvira's fault for not anticipating that when he had not anticipated such a thing himself. Still, he would never go so far as to share that with her - no, the only thing that kept him going was her perpetual anger and scorn, the chance to bicker, to strive for further turmoil to save him from this ugly hollowness of 'happiness'.

He turned back to his soup, scraping up the last of the first course and munching thoughtfully on a slice of bread, having not reacted to that blow, the "terrible husband" Elvira was oh-so-subtly referring to. As if he were speaking on an entirely new subject, with a new innocence and mildness, Salazar looked up. "What more would you like me to do for you?" He had dropped all pretence of unnamed hypothetical persons, wondering instead whether she would let rip with her accusations or instead pretend she had not brought up the matter at all.

Perhaps he was a bad husband - he didn't care, to be honest, that she thought so - but what would she say? He provided for her and their children. They lived a comfortable life. He made his way to her bed once in a while (if not in the recent past, but luckily he had other outlets there). What, ought he pay her more attention? He was doing that right now.

  

[Elvira Slughorn]

Elvira both loathed and loved these moments. The biting words between herself and Salazar. On one hand, it was the only way she could truly get him to acknowledge that she existed - a thing that, despite her efforts, she still desired from him on some levels - but on the other? On the other she resented him entirely for being so atrocious that he had made her resent near every aspect of her life as it currently stood. There were times when she could hardly look at her children for how much they might have favored their father in a certain situation. She loved her children, truly, but seeing her husband reflected in them made it entirely difficult for that love to remain unconditional.

She couldn't keep her lips from pursing slightly when he looked up at her and asked what she wanted from him, more or less. Her first instinct was to tell him to drop dead - it would be terribly convenient if he did. Perhaps then she could find a man who knew how lucky he was to have her - her children could have a father who wasn't a scourge upon the world. She likely didn't truly wish for him to drop dead, for there had been a time where she'd seen enough merits in him that she'd been willing to be his wife. She couldn't for the life of her remember what any of those merits were but surely they had to be there.

Her attempt at optimism wasn't really working - he was terrible.

"Oh, my dear," She tutted lightly, her tone condescending with every syllable, "there isn't a thing you can do for me," She wanted to add a short of ceasing to exist at the end but even she knew better. She was his wife and much as she loathed it she knew that he held the power truly in many respects. "After all, I should hate to inconvenience you with the task of being a good man and husband - I daresay you wouldn't know what to do with yourself anyhow." She added it almost as an afterthought because it was likely true.

  

[Salazar Slughorn]

Her answers were just getting better and better. Salazar supposed he knew he oughtn't react to that with glee - she was now just insulting him, his hopelessness, his apparent awfulness - and perhaps she was even right, but still he couldn't bring himself to care. Somehow, impossibly, Elvira should have realised what he was before she agreed to marry him.

"You? Hate to inconvenience me?" He echoed, his disbelief jarringly cheerful, a hand pressed to his heart dramatically. That didn't sound right at all. No, that was what she was made for, and she seemed to have gotten the hang of it well enough to possibly be drawing at least a little vicious pleasure from it, herself.

Salazar was near-tempted to simply agree. "Perhaps I shall try anyway," he said, not bothering to disguise his smirk. Oh, how hard he would try. With any luck, his all-too-obvious insincerity would vex her more.

How to begin such a thing, to be a good husband, a good man? Well, start small, perhaps. Show interest in her. He set down his spoon, and glanced across at Elvira again, fashioning his expression into some semblance of earnest inquiry. "You haven't yet said! How was your day, my love?"

  

[Elvira Slughorn]

She should hate terribly to ever admit it, of course, but Elvira somehow enjoyed the verbal back and forths they had. Of course, the smug reaction to her words merely reignited her desire to strangle the life from him. Truly, he was far too handsome to be so loathsome but instead she simply watched him with eyes that insinuated much less interest than was actually the case. Even to herself she'd never admit it, but if this was the only way she could snag his attention she'd take it. Even if it infuriated her to no end. After all, she could hardly believe he was as nonplussed about the discordance in their relationship as he put off. Or maybe he truly was spawned from hell - at this point she hardly cared, so long as she bothered him at least a little bit.

Letting a smile play on her lips - not sincere, of course - she simply took a sip of her drink and listened to him talk. Oh how amusing it was to see him attempt at actually being a decent human being. And even more amusing to watch him fail. Though she knew better than to think he was actually trying. Salazar was incapable of empathy as far as she was concerned but if he wanted to sit here and play games well...it was the highlight of her day.

"Oh, darling, my day was quite lovely." She said it with the same insincere smile in place. "Taking care of your children has always brought me such absolute joy." Not, of course, that she did much aside from making sure they didn't get themselves killed. Some days she was able to play mother better but then some days...some days they were too much like Salazar for her to bear. "I daresay the only thing to top that feeling of joy is the time I get to spend with you." It was laughable, really, that he thought she would come undone by him. She was far past the days of being passive to his negligence - no, if he wanted a fight then he would get one.

  

[Salazar Slughorn]

He would not have begrudged her a lovely day if she had had one: he was not so heartless as to want to see her entirely miserable (miserable in his presence was well enough). Nevertheless, Salazar could not hear any truth in her words, so he had to assume her insipid nature just pervaded and tainted every aspect of her life, thus reinforcing the notion that Elvira was her own greatest problem, and not he. After all, he provided for her, and had never locked her in the house to stay cooped up indoors. If she had sacrificed her ballet career for him, then that had been her own choice. If she didn't like her own children, then that rested on her.

Salazar didn't think he was worried enough about what he had done to her to extend the worry to his children. He did not think that she would snap one day and smother Alexander, or stab Francis with a knitting needle - he presumed Clara would be the safest of the three - and as nonchalant as he was about fatherhood, he did have the decency to bristle defensively at the idea that Elvira might not even be fond of the children. "I'm so glad; that is everything that I could want to hear," he responded, as if her earlier criticisms had not already been music to his ears. Interested, check; affectionate; check. "Days at the Ministry are a blur compared to these moments," Salazar agreed. "I only wish we could spend more time together." Was that what she wanted to hear?

He reached across the table, as if - as a loving husband - to caress her hand, or at least offer it a condescending pat of faux-affection. It was like baiting a creature, wondering whether she would play along or lash out and slap his hand away.

  

[Elvira Slughorn]

Elvira merely pursed her lips at his reaction. It was incredibly childish of her to be discontent that she'd not ruffled his feathers as much as she'd wanted to, but still the feeling was there. It was much preferable when they were outright hostile with one another, she thought, because then it was easier to hate him. Even with all his condescension and her knowledge that he was being passive aggressive, she hated any reminder that her husband could be - and likely was to everyone aside from her - a charming man. She hated even the tiniest things that could spark even the most minimal reminders of why she'd once been enamoured with him.

Of course she realized that he likely wanted her to snap, to play her for the fool she must have been. It was cruel how often he could be so collected while she wanted nothing more than to scream like an animal at the way he treated her. He was quite clearly a snake in every manner of the word that he could coldly play along and ignore her grievances. And when he reached out to touch her hand, she wanted nothing more than to break all his fingers. She was hardly strong enough - or stupid enough - to manage such a task, dainty as she was, but the thought was still there when his fingers brushed her skin in a deceptively soft way.

She wondered for a moment what it felt like to have one's husband perform that gesture with true affection. She knew she'd forever be in the dark about that, though, for her husband must have been incapable of love. Still, there was some sense of longing for that as she looked at his hand, angry with herself that even after all these years she wished their relationship had not ended up so. But it was his fault that it had. He had taken her for a bride and promptly pushed her aside. That reminder caused her to brush his hand off none too softly as she looked at him, hoping her eyes would not betray her. "Oh, I'm quite certain you do." She had lost her desire to continue the charade, suddenly wishing to be excused.

@Elias Grimstone
SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG ADJKGALSKGDJ

  

[Salazar Slughorn]

She had evidently lost the will to play along, her brushing him off not anything one could mistake for gentle, and the loaded words that followed scarcely resembling those she'd just offered with insincere smiles galore a moment ago. Was it that she didn't believe it? Of course she didn't believe it; none of this was sincere. But she had asked for it. Salazar was certain plenty of husbands did not love their wives, and all those wives might ever gain was some faux-interest in them, once in a while. Plenty of men were likely more cruel. Salazar at least felt something for Elvira, or at least nowadays, now that he'd learnt to provoke her; you'd almost think she should count that as success.

She may have been tiring of the game, though, and where Salazar should have felt triumph - pretending he hadn't been trying to piss her off would be a barefaced lie - he didn't, quite. Instead there was just a little prick of disappointment, that that was all it took nowadays, and that it hadn't cheered him quite as much as he'd have hoped.

It was probably the cue to stop, so that they could finish their meal in (relative) peace, but Salazar was unforgivable. He tutted aloud. "And we were doing so well," he intoned, rolling his eyes. Women. Elvira was, if it were possible, more fickle than he! At any rate, at least the rest of his meal wouldn't be so disappointing.

  

[Elvira Slughorn]

She hated him. The man she was looking at - rolling his eyes as he was - was the most disgusting, terrible human being that had ever graced the planet. She was absolutely certain of that fact, every bone in her body reminded her how very loathsome she found him should she ever even try to forget. And yet...and yet he had power over her for all that she despised him. Elvira would like to think herself a proud woman, completely untouched by his indifference to her but such was not the case. She had wanted him once upon a time and that desire had turned to poison in her veins - poison that made her weak but never quite finished the job.

"Yes, I'm sure you'd like to convince yourself of that." Her voice threatened to tremble but no. She would not allow him to see how he made her feel. How he'd caused her pain for years and how the hatred she felt was only a result of his failure to soothe that pain. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she hated their broken marriage. That she delighted in their arguments because at least it was something and that was better than the first few years of her marriage where she might as well have been invisible to him.

She stood then, rather abrupt. "I find myself quite weary, husband - " Yes, she'd leave, but not without reminding him that it was his wife he'd driven away. "You enjoy your meal. I believe I'll retire for the evening." It was all an excuse but she hardly cared at all for that. She was suddenly uninterested in playing their little game. She was done - for the night, at least, much as she meant she could quit him with any finality.