0200 hours


Layton stirred in his sleep, awareness slowly washing across him as the fog of dreams receded from memory. His flat in Atreus was typically minimalist and not necessarily where the wizard chose to spend his nights, yet it was the only alternative if he wished to bring home a guest. Bare, inoffensively beige walls gave no clues of personality. To encourage the credibility of a public personal, his many bookshelves sported literature on classic theatre and foreign history. A grand Wireless set gave one the impression of a man who did not often listen but could easily be talked into an unwise purchase.

Here, in the bedroom, however... Layton's brass frame bed had little accompaniment in spite of its stylistic form. Only a wardrobe of dull clothes and a dresser where he displayed antique enchanted tea sets.

Nothing too glamorous: meant to indicate an ageing wizard's sentimental fancy. Not glamorous enough to merit the attention of Josephine St.Just, at least.

He made a tired, grunting sound as he pressed his elbows against the mattress to sit up. Dark red sheets protected his modesty - rather uselessly - and carried the scent of sex, perfume. A deep and clean musk softened by almond. As sophisticated as its proprietor. Layton squinted at the woman examining a particularly fine saucer, its rim of gold catching the yellow light that fell across them from the corridor outside.

No doubt she knew he had been roused. "Bit late for a night cap, isn't it?" Layton yawned, glancing at his wall clock.

The tea set was probably one of the finest things in the flat, perhaps outside of the bed sheets and frame.  It was an altogether plain place, almost suspiciously so.  This was not the sort of place one lived.  There was no life to it, no sense of home – a place for practical purposes. 

To Layton’s benefit, Josephine did not ask questions.  She preferred to keep her observation to herself.  And, as the dead of night crept over London, Josephine rose from between the fine sheets and silently transfigured the stockings at the foot of the bed into a silk robe and slipped it on over her pale shoulders.  Bare feet touched the cold floor and Josephine moved to examine the only seemingly personal effects in the entire flat: tea sets. 

Lifting one of the delicate cups in her hands, she turned it over in her hand.  The pattern was subtle, its rim and matching saucer lined in gold.  Each piece of the set matched in that particular detail.  Her appraiser’s eye noted the Japanese style, her conclusion made final by the styling on the teapot.  Though the cup was dainty and beautiful, there was a strength about it – probably an enchantment.  She touched her wand to the rim and  traced it in a slow circle.  The little cup began to glow.  Another charm.  She lowered her wand, reasoning it was most likely enchanted to detect what it is in the liquid. 

She glanced back over to the bed as she heard stirring and immediately lowered her wand so the glow would cease.  Either he was unaware of the property of the tea set… or he had a reason to worry his tea might be poisoned.  Both prospects were intriguing in their own way.  ”Bit late for a night cap, isn’t it?”

A slow smile crept over her features and Josephine chuckled lightly.  “So sorry if I woke you,” she apologized, though only half heartedly.  It wasn’t as though there was much else to do except grab her belongings and floo if he hadn’t: the tea set wasn’t even worth pilfering.  “Where did you acquire this?” she held up the saucer, “it’s an interesting set.” 

All women who smiled were beautiful women - and Josephine, attractive even in the ferocity of erotic climax, furthered Layton's point quite well. He sat up fully and ran a hand over his face. Jesus. It was a mistake bringing the witch back here: she was too awake and he was half-asleep, unwound by their exertions. The lack of aggression was lucky. He wouldn't need to draw his wand from where he'd instinctively tucked it in the side of the mattress.

Easily within reach. Yet not easy enough. Josephine was wielding hers.

       "Where did you acquire this?" she asked as he moved closer to the edge of the bed and swung his bare legs to the floor. "...it’s an interesting set."

That was a fair question. Layton made a pretence of glancing at the saucer, as if though trying to tell it apart from one his many others in the collection. He knew right away which one she had picked up. What a good eye she had, if he didn't say so himself.

"Kyoto," his voice was deliberately uncertain and he muddled together a half-truth for his answer. "Business trip on behalf of my employer - Noh theatre, I think it was. Bought it off a bloke there." A polite way of saying murdered and pilfered.

Like many who knew him in the public eye, Josephine would know Layton as Ira's personal assistant in regards to the Royal Opera House. It was a way of explaining his many absences; criminal undertakings in other lands disguised as enquiries intro touring theatre troupes.

The wizard rose from the bed, sheets sliding off his rough skin to reveal the usual exhibition of scars. He approached her from the side and slipped one arm along her waist. Gently, with no desire to keep her in place. "You like it?" a fond smile before a kiss was placed just behind Josephine's ear.

Layton breathed her in.

She was glad she had placed it correctly, however.  Her experience with East Asian items was limited.  She spent more of her time in the west of Africa, so there was a tiny thrill at correctly identifying something outside of her wheelhouse.  However, the story about the teacups was like the rest of the apartment: no nonsense, deceptively plain.

Judging by the number of sets on display, she would have expected a collector to have a more clear memory of his acquisitions.  Josephine herself was like a dragon.  Her flat was her cave and each little piece that lived in her apartment was part of her hoard.  She knew each one by name and their stories in minute detail.  She remembered the names of each of the vendors she bought from on various continents.  She had a sneaking suspicion there was more to the story of the tea set. 

He was not willing to offer it though, and Josephine was not one to press.  Not in an obvious way, anyhow.  She settled the cup and saucer down, adjusting them with quick hands to their original position – another skill she’d picked up from her line of work – looking as though she’d never disturbed a thing.  Her eyes lingered on the sets as he moved next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

She liked the warmth of another person and her weight shifted to her other leg, hip shifting into his body.  She was rather like a cat in that respect, she sought warmth.  It was partially why she had picked her profession and continued her assignments in a part of the world that was seldom cold, unlike England.  On a night such as this in the late winter… she let out a soft sigh as his warm breath fell on her neck. 

A involuntary shiver went down her back and she wet her lips.  “It’s unique,” she finally answered his question, “I like unique treasures,” anyone who knew Josephine would immediately understand how true this was, and often how perilous it could be for the people who previously owned such fine things.  Fortunately for Layton, tea sets were not her usual trophies and he was (for the time being) safe from a stun and oblivation technique she had perfected over the years. 

“Do each of these have a story?” she motioned to the case with her free hand, “from work travels?” 

She did not pull away from his touch; rather to the contrary, seemed to enjoy it, and so Layton slowly moved behind her so that his left hand could rest on her other hip as well. He made content sound of agreement as Josephine explained her love for all things unique. Yes. It was easy to see that. The witch herself was one of a kind, seeking out marvels known otherwise as anomalies or oddities to those less attentive to the act of Life.

He nudged the back of her neck with his nose, kissing where silky pale skin disappeared into lush hair.

          "Do each of these have a story? From work travels?"

Layton brought himself away from her scent, resting his head against the side of hers as he followed the gesture to observe the many other tea tray sets laid out before them. They appeared almost sinister in the dim light, gleaming with secrets of past owners.

"Yes," he said after a moment and then added in a softer voice. "All but one. The rosemary set was my mother's." It was the second closest to them - a dusk pink tea kit with an outdated design of rosemary flowers, something suited to the 70s rather than a timeless pattern.

There was no enchantment on it, one didn't need to be an expert to tell. "She took afternoon tea very seriously..." he murmured with a low, rumbling laugh. "Suppose I do too. So you collect unique objects?" he didn't linger on the former subject.

Mothers did not qualify as good post-coital conversation; and it was too close to the actual truth anyway. Layton leaned his head back to get a better look at Josephine's profile, smiling. "Or is it unique experiences?"

One might not know it from looking at her, but Josephine had always been a fan of physical touch.  She was content that her chosen partner for the evening seemed to feel the same.  Truth be told while Leandre was certainly amorous, he did not have any inclination toward affection in that way.  He was a gift giver and while that satisfied her desire to own and display treasures, it did not always satisfy her cat-like urge to be touched on her own terms. 

Still content, her claws stayed put and the cursebreaker leaned her head to make space for him to look over her shoulder.  She rested her left hand atop his on her hip, right hand hanging with a loose hold on her wand.  Josephine hummed lightly as he indicated each had a story: so intriguing.  They were of various styles and ages… her eyes flashed with intrigue as they swept over them once again.  The least intriguing, he indicated, had belonged to his mother and she nodded, “Lovely.” 

It wouldn’t do well to criticize a mother’s taste in tea sets, even if it was not particularly outstanding.  It appeared to be so completely benign it had to be true (the set itself appeared as plain as he made it out to be).  “Tea is not the only thing you take seriously, I gather?” she raised a manicured brow and the corners of her lips tugged upward, challenging. 

His question, however, she took her time answering.  Leaning her head up, she stretched her neck and let out a deep breath while shifting her hips, perhaps just a little too slowly to have been only for comfort’s sake.  “Both,” she finally responded with the ghost of a smile on her face.  “Work brings me artifacts,” she neglected to mention personal gain, “and I am constantly looking for ways to expand my experiential horizons,” she turned her chin and blinked deliberately, “but only with the most unique people as well.”

It’d perhaps be enough to stroke his ego and get him to expand a bit on these prizes and why so many of them just seemed to be brimming with magic, all except the mundane one ascribed to his mother.  “Do you always pick up the most enchanting trinkets to take home?” she turned just enough to be able to face him and moved her left hand to his shoulder – tracing the ridges of scars along the way: again, these did not match the beige walled façade that he was trying to play off.  Her green eyes were full of curiosity as she examined his face, awaiting an answer that he could either fall right into her hand or use it as a springboard for flattery and dodge it as he had everything else. 

          "Tea is not the only thing you take seriously, I gather?"

Layton laughed, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile that reflected Josephine's own, though the stretch of her lovely neck fast became a distraction over the decision to respond. Her hips shifted languorously under his fingertips and he moved closer, hands sliding against the silk of the robe as his arms came entirely around the witch's waist. His bare chest pressed into her back.

Flattery did nothing for him but he raised his eyebrows in amusement at the implication of only with the most unique people. "Me? I'm common as mud." Layton murmured without seriousness and took advantage of their closeness to press a softer kiss against her jaw.

A strong, admirable jaw that he was sure had set itself in more stubborn ways before.

As she turned to face him, his arms adjusted to the new position while hands found a new home at the small of her back - no, a bit lower, though not quite at the swell of her buttocks. His smile faded slightly. Josephine touched his scars. Women liked to do that. It made him wonder what they saw: some map across the rough skin that he barely understood himself.

"No," he replied to her question in a thoughtful voice. "Not the most enchanting trinket. I would say.... interesting objects of desire." Layton thought that enchanting and trinket were mindless bauble words. And Josephine was neither of those things; neither were his personal belongings.

The wizard met her in the eye, lips now completely still as his hip pressed into her waist with meaning. "We covet what we lack in our lives, don't you think?"

Josephine hummed in disbelief as he claimed he was common.  He wanted people to believe that, that much was certain.  Josephine did not believe it for a second.  “These seem to disagree with you,” she pointed out as fingers brushed against smoothed over skin, slick edges suggesting that at one point there had been torn flesh here. 

Sure, she knew the odd duel left a scar or two… but this was different.  Deep gashes like claws, unmistakable teeth marks… more down his arms and where her thumbs rested.  “Unless there’s a boring story behind them as well?” she questioned, already hinting at her disbelief with laughter.  She just knew that there was something under surface that he was hiding.  She just had to figure it out.

There was hardly a puzzle in Josephine’s life that hadn’t been solved.  She did not intend to start leaving them half-done and haphazard at this point in her life either.  Though, it very well might have been less trouble, for all intents and purposes.  Certainly less so than wandering hands and shifting hips.  She could feel her own eyes flash and instinctively, Josephine wet her bottom lip, only slightly pleased – not unsurprised – that she was an object of desire and not at all on the level of trinket. 

He was right to say so, obviously. 

Inhaling sharply as he pressed into her hip, Josephine laughed again, low and husky.  “I’ve never craved anything common in my life,” she informed him and let her arms snake up and around his neck, tugging the silk from under his hands and bringing the hem up with it.  “So I believe you might be wrong,” she pointed out only half-apologetically, “I’ve heard that can be difficult: being wrong.” She shrugged dismissively - lest she allow anyone to think she'd ever been wrong in her life. 

An almost bashful, modest look came over his countenance as manicured hands wondered at old scars across his shoulders and chest. Layton never hid them - in some ways it gave him a certain distinction that women liked. A shrouded history, an enigma to be pried open by just the right person. Like everything else in his life he knew to use it to his advantage.

           “I’ve never craved anything common in my life,” Josephine remarked as he allowed the earlier questions to hang in the air for a little longer in favour of watching her expression shift languorously.

Her arms around his neck brought them closer together, and he could feel the tender flesh of her breasts pressed to his chest through the silk robe.

"I lived abroad in South America for a long time." Layton finally answered, his voice barely a whisper but curiously unemotional; this was not the first time answering this question but a rare occasion nonetheless. "And I was not a good man."

He closed the narrow gap between them, mouths meeting in a slow and savouring kiss. They tasted of sleep and good wine. When he paused to breathe, a flicker of amusement caught his lips.  "I don't believe you are the kind of witch who likes good men, though, are you?"

How intriguing.  The way he delivered it, one would have thought he announced he was a beet farmer, there was such a lack of emotion behind the proclamation he had been in South America for a number of years.  Josephine knew something about that, though her equatorial adventures were on another continent.  And perhaps of an equally sordid nature, by the sounds of it. 

The scars now took on a new sort of mystery.  Were they human? Animal? Some combination of both… whatever the case, she doubted she’d acquire that information now.  He was guarded, as far as his stories were concerned anyhow.  There were far fewer reservations in other areas, as it turned out. 

Josephine tilted her head and allowed him to press his warm lips to hers.  The slow heat spread over her cheeks and downward toward the pit of her stomach.  Her muscles tightened and the tips of her nails inadvertently dug into the soft skin of the back of his neck.  She exhaled slowly out of her nose and laughed breathily when he caught her off guard.  A low hum from the back of her throat signaled her agreement. 

“I don’t believe in absolutes,” Josephine divulged, “anyone who says they are good is probably lying, and trying to prove it – insufferable,” she laughed again and pressed her lips right under his ear, lingering before she turned her chin up to get right next to his ear.  A slow smile spread across her lips and she slid her hands down the side of his arms, allowing her nails to scratch just a little as they went.  "Don't you agree?"

A cursebreaker better than most, Josephine did not push where she knew he would not give.

The prick of nails against the back of his neck made him smile into their deepening kiss. Oh, she knew how to use her hands well, this one. Layton tightened his hold on her waist with a thoughtful and content sound of agreement. Absolutes. Absolutes were theoretical. They rarely - if at all - existed in the real world.

          "Don't you agree?"

He took advantage of their angle, her lips by his ears, and lowered the tilt of his chin to seek out Josephine's elegant neck. "I do," Layton kissed just underneath her jaw - there was a red mark there, where he had worried the skin earlier in bed before drifting into sleep.  "Mm worse than insufferable. Absolutes are boring."

Another kiss, lower, where the slope to her shoulders descended. "But good people are not boring." Layton drew his mouth away so that he might better look at Josephine: take in the sight of her countenance while they spoke. "They are flawed. Always a crack-" he loosened one arm from her side to carefully touch her face, "- with something interesting showing through."

Layton traced the line of his guest's jaw, wondering what she might have done if he realised she'd been contemplating theft. At least, he suspected as much. Luckily people weren't often given to strong impulses where tea sets are involved.

"Bed?" he raised an eyebrow - barely discernible in the weak light of the room. "Or should I be readying a night cap for you?" Another smile, this time amused by the idea of serving her a hot drink in one of the sets.

She chuckled in agreement as she inclined her chin, eyes closed.  Jebediah’s lips pressed against her jaw and shoulder as he spoke against her skin.  Warm puffs of air made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  She was barely listening to what he said in the moment, but the key words she did hear were enough to confirm that despite his attempts to act as bland as unbuttered toast, he was anything but.
 
There was just a hint of something below the surface that engaged her interest.  Every word he spoke seemed to just confirm it.  Her teeth peaked out from behind full, pink lips as he touched the side of her face.  She turned her cheek into his fingers, enjoying the warmth.  “It’s a good thing neither of us are so good,” she turned her cheek again and pressed a seemingly chaste kiss to his fingertips.   

The suggestion of retiring once again was tempting, but so was the prospect of being waited on and having a drink.  “I’d appreciate a drink, I think,” she smiled and turned her head to look at the tea sets again.  “Perhaps not out of your mother’s, set though,” she chuckled.  “It feels wrong, no?”

“It’s a good thing neither of us are so good."

He tilted his head to the side, eyes following her lips to the tips of calloused fingers. No. Not bed, not yet. Layton slid his arms away from the witch and bowed his head in her direction. "Only the most unusual of china for the good lady." At any rate he would serve nobody from the set his mother had left - it might be mundane to Josephine but to him it was the one true indication of  a history that had not been marred by his particular brand of violence.

One in which Layton had been more victim than perpetrator.


After a moment of deliberation, he chose a jade china set from amongst others and withdrew to the kitchen. It was an agreeable piece of the collection: pale green jade with rims of gold and ornate east Asian engravings. He had murdered an elderly witch to procure it; a family heirloom of hers that had no heir to receive it anyway.

Layton returned to the room with the tray and laid it on the bedside table, switching on the lamp so that they would be afforded a better view of the Rooibos concoction. A smokey, vanilla infused tea. Something appropriate for the wet weather tonight.

"Would you care to guess at its enchantment?" he asked Josephine with a mild-mannered smile as he sat on the edge of the bed; he was in his boxer shorts now, and a patchwork dressing robe.

With a small chuckle, Josephine tugged her robe a little tighter around herself and adjusted her belt.  Watching him move, she stayed her hands at her waist and observed his face as he made his choice.  As untelling as ever.  She couldn’t imagine he was as unexpressive as all that.  Perhaps trained to be, but definitely not naturally. 

Anyone who could incur such scars was probably adept at giving them as well. Very few people could do that with any icy expression.  Even Josephine could not.  As he picked a lovely jade set, Josephine made no move to follow him out of the bedroom. 

There was likely nothing interesting, at least indicated by the bare bedroom and he had offered to make the tea.  It was another chance to explore a little bit more.  Wandering back toward the bed she noticed a little stack of books.  Taking a seat on the side, she regarded the titles.  The only thing inconsistent with the type of person he portrayed himself to be was a slim, paperback. 

Reaching out, she grabbed the little book off the table and swung her legs after her, examining the cover.  Pirates.  Perhaps he had a type, she laughed to herself and flipped it in her hand before opening it up to any old random page, just to get a feel for the book.  It certainly passed the time. 

Several pages into a sea battle later, she heard footsteps and quirked her eyes above the page.  He returned, tray in hand and the warm smell wafting toward her.  She lowered the book onto her lap and lazily held onto it before pushing herself up further with her free hand.  Apparently, amidst cannon fire and white capped waves sloshing against the hull, she’d slipped almost horizontal age. 

Surprised at his question, Josephine gladly accepted the tea with steam floating above it.  Her eyes roamed over the teacup.  Guess the enchantment?  She quirked her eyebrow at him and readily accepted the challenge.  “Considering it’s purpose,” she thought out loud and tilted it just slightly in her hand – not enough to spill, but to consider it, “I imagine some sort of identification charm.  And judging by the fact it’s the same color as all of the others, either you intend to poison us both or the liquid,” a sniff, “a Rooibus,” she looked at him for confirmation, “is benign,” and then a sip.

She had gotten into his adventure stories, of which he had a full set spread between this flat in Atreus and his other apartments across the city. They were all pirate themed - Layton had fancied the idea of escape from his abusive father when he was young. He had gotten his wish in South America but the whimsy of such literature held a nostalgic charm. A sense of better days and better hopes.

The wizard watched as Josephine tried his Rooibos brew, something like a smile on otherwise still lips.

"You have a good eye. An I'm not just flattering myself," he commented lightly before picking up his own cup and saucer. "If the jade had gone red, you would know the deception. But I don't poison my guests."

Layton took a deep swallow of the tea before laying it down on the bedside table. "It's a woman's method, isn't it, poison? Or some women anyway-" his employer's visage floated to the surface of his mind's eye, pale as ivory, "- a less mucky way of going about it."