walls are talking | { poppy / adrien } clue

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

♔

It was a lot.

Adrien had spent many a night staring at the ceiling above his bed, wondering what could've been so important to his father that he chose it over Adrien's mother. Over a family. Over him. Now, standing in a courtyard with all of these strangers, he saw. The sprawling mansion, the manicured lawn, the people in worker's attire jutting in and out. It was a kingdom. And it was a lot.

It didn't make anything feel better, but it was nice to have an answer. Maybe, he thought, taking a seat on a shaded bench, I'll be able to sleep.

The girl closest to him was a fire, all smoldering features and molten red hair. Hot to the touch. His mother had always said you could tell everything you needed to know about a person by how they held their shoulders. Hers were pushed back, forced into their rightful place as she held her chin up.

Flames consume; she came here to take. Adrien only came here for answers, really. The money would've helped, sure, but he'd been raised without it: there was little difficulty in living without something he never had. Still, he wasn't an idiot. Telling the others who he was, why he was here, it would've been sacrilegious. He wanted them to think he was here on his own merit. He wanted them to think he actually had a chance at this, and who knew? Maybe he did. If he was going to be given this estate, though, he wanted it to be because he deserved it. Not as a truce act.

"Cigarette?" he asked the girl, sliding one between his own lips and holding the pack out to her. Was she the type to play with death? To dare him to come and find her? Something told him she'd stand a chance if she wanted to fight back. But there were lots of ways to die; He'd learned that long ago. It was finding a way to live that was the trick.

"They say smoking is bad for you, but so is the sun, apparently," he said, cautiously, "if it's not one thing, you know?"

[sidney]

She could get used to this.

The lifestyle of the rich was something Poppy had always sought out, never working terribly hard to achieve it—why would she when a sliver-tongued comment and a simple twist of her plump, petal-pink lips could get her anything she desired? But oh, how she lusted after it. Courted it by day and seduced it by night, learning its every curvature, mapping its every hill and plane. It was here that she'd always pictured herself, walking up a path made of the same masonry, heels clicking happily along the stonework. It was here that she'd always envisioned herself, striding past butlers and maids, tossing her fur coat and matching bag into their arms. It was here, in this place—at the entrance to this magnificent mansion—that Poppy knew where she belonged and what she deserved. 

All of it. 

And she would do anything to get it. 

A certain kind of craving had made a home within her chest the moment she'd opened the letter, and it was one she had every intention of fulfilling. No matter who stood in her way. She almost felt bad for them, the others, as her eyes scanned along the courtyard, sizing up the competition from behind her darkened, oval shaped sunglasses. If you could even call them that. To compete with her, you had to be on her level. Something of an equal, to hold your weight in a fight with a girl who was all rage and all ruin. But as a voice called to her from a few feet away and she pushed her gaze toward its direction, all she saw was something less. 

Handsome and soft-spoken, somewhat cynical—it would seem, he comes closer to her despite all the warning signs she has in place. Nose turned up, eyes focused just behind where he stands, not an ounce of recognition toward his direction. He offers her a smoke and she wets her lips upon approach, listening carefully as he reveals far too much in the presence of such an observant creature like she. 

So, you like to play with fire, then? She asks silently to no one in particular, eyes narrowing as she lifts the cigarette from his mouth instead of one from the pack in his hand.  Pushing the glasses shielding her eyes from this so-called dangerous sun he speaks of, she gazes up into the sky and basks in the warm glow of morning before taking a long drag. "I'll take my chances," she drawls, flicking ash onto the pristinely trimmed lawn beside them. Shall I ignite you first? Poppy massages the tip of her ring finger against the pad of her thumb as she looks him over, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she considers it. Could he survive the inferno? Could any of them? Her gaze drifts away briefly, momentarily landing on a few more late arrivals. I doubt it, she thinks, but Poppy loves surprises. 

"Sun or smoke—" or you "—I think I can handle it."

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

♔

"Sun or smoke— I think I can handle it."

He recalled a saying about playing with fire, about the consequences of doing so, but he couldn't remember exactly how it went in that moment. That's how it always was though, yes? Educated and level-headed, unbreakable until the moment arrived when he might ought to know better.

He'd been alive for eighteen years, and he still couldn't see past the feeling of a glance, or a touch. Call him intuitive, or call him impulsive. Either could've been true.

This internship, for instance, could have been a sweet dream, where his father said all the right things and somehow fixed every mistake he'd made against Adrien and his mother. He could've built a relationship with the man who was meant to teach him how to shave, how to speak, how to feel. If he won the empire, his mother might have finally been able to rest for a while, to sleep a full night without worries of bill payments and hunger plaguing her.

But on the other hand, this could've been a nightmare in the purest form. Malcolm could've been all the things Adrein suspected: cruel, cold, unapologetic. He could've purposefully distanced himself from Adrien to prove a point. He could've refused him the prize and proved that this had all been for nothing. Adrien could've wasted the next year of his life making up for all the lost time in vain.

He'd risked his relationship with his headstrong mother to come here and given up valuable time he could've spent working. And for what?

He eyed the girl made of fire, and he wondered: dream or nightmare?

"And what about all this?" he asked, gesturing at the mansion behind them, "Can you handle it?"

She didn't strike him as someone who would ever shy away from a challenge, and perhaps that was good. But this was unheard of. This was twelve complete strangers vying for one job— no. Not just a job. An empire. This was a group of people who could each potentially take this business to soaring new heights, or send it crashing to the ground. And that was the rub of it, wasn't it? It didn't matter if Adrien had any real talent. It didn't matter if his ideas were better, or if he knew he could take charge. At the end of the day, the decision lied within the hands of one person, and he was going to choose the best man for the job.

And the rest of them, what? Went back to life as it was before?

"I think some are more prepared than others," he carried on, standing to face the brick walls. He made it a point to seem disinterested, to let her know she hadn't already gained the upperhand on him. He leaned in close, nodding to a girl with fiery red curls and way too much luggage, "Like the ginger over there," he said quietly, as if revealing some big secret, "I'd be surprised if she lasted a week."

[sidney]

The smoke fills her lungs, warm and sweet in the back of her throat, like coming home after a long day and finally getting to be yourself. Like inhibitions abandoned at the threshold of a safe space, however temporary it might be. Relaxing and soothing, smooth like the faux fur that encased her shoulders yet silky like the skirt that clung to her hips. Was it the cigarette or him? She couldn't tell, but it felt dangerous all the same. Comforting and appeasing in a way no one has ever been capable of eliciting from Poppy, and she wasn't even sure of his name. 

I'll have to keep my eye on you, she thinks as she takes another drag, pulling her jacket tighter around her fame as a breeze blew across the grass and sent a chill up her spine. Kissed by fire she may have been, but immune to ice she was not. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and the boy's question begs to be answered still.

Can she handle all this?

A part of her wants to boast, wants to say she was born for this. It's what she's been working for her whole life, a place to call her own. To expand her brand, to have her designs worn throughout the districts, her name revered from here to the Capitol. All she needed was this. A place to start. Money to help. Notoriety to pull her dreams from the depths of her pretty little head out into reality. But another very real part of her is unsure. Worried that perhaps she could be in over her head. Talk is cheap, and if she can't back up what she has to say with something impressive, then there was no point in her even being here. 

Ambition—wanting—can only get someone so far, and while Poppy was never lacking in her avarice, nor confidence, there was something gnawing in the back of her mind. Sacrifices were going to be made here, by her or by those around her, and what she knew more than anything else was she needed to be ready. Willing to do whatever it takes. 

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" She muses softly, letting her eyes wander back over to where Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding stood beside her. "I'd ask the same of you, but something tells me your answer would be yes even if you weren't sure." Like everyone else. He was here to prove something, just like Poppy. They all were. 

Some more so than others, it would seem. He leans in close and she tries her best to be unbothered by his proximity, but his apathy, his cool arrogance made her throat dry. He pulls her attention to some girl across the way, several bags of luggage in tow. How cute. She turns her head at the sudden intrigue for his makeshift wager on how long the princess will last and meets his chest with her palm, feigning the calculated touch for balance on the uneven terrain, but she smirks as she squints out across the lawn.

"I'll take that bet. She looks determined. In her element. I mean look at her luggage. It costs more than I make in a year." There's a bit of resentment in her tone, a sort of loathing for the privilege oozing from the girl's every step, but she tries to stifle it as she finishes. "Two weeks at least." Turning back, she lets her hand linger before peeling away slowly, the last drag from her smoke imminent, but she pauses before she takes it, eyes locking with his. "So, tell me, handsome, what do I get if I win?"