May 15th, 1891 — Zabini Residence, London

They had survived the reception (ha!) without incident. Whether that was a testament to Mathilda's hosting skills or the general unwillingness of well-bred men and women to publicly scrounge for scraps of gossip was anyone's guess. Domitian did not imagine it had much, if anything, to do with the newlyweds themselves. While Mr. Prewett and Camilla had made a passable show of liking each other, at least for now, the reason they'd married so suddenly was hardly a secret. The best that could be hoped for under the circumstances was that Camilla would take a good long while to get pregnant, if she did at all. At least then, people might speculate that Mr. Prewett's conscious had gotten the better of him after he'd deflowered her and he'd decided to do the honorable thing of his own volition, rather than being forced to the altar at wandpoint because of a suspected pregnancy. If everyone was going to know his sister had offered herself up to a man before marriage, the best that they could hope for was that they'd suppose she'd only done it once, not that this was some torrid recurring affair that had only progressed to something more because she had backed herself into a corner. Time would tell, Domitian supposed.

The other thing time would tell about: Calliope's pregnancy. She probably ought to have given birth already, so it wouldn't be much longer now. So far, she had shown no indication that she intended to do them all the favor of dying during the process.

"I fear I've been somewhat remiss in my brotherly duties," Domitian announced to his sister with only the barest of preambles. If he had any particular feelings about this statement, they were not evident in his tone; he declared it as impassively as he might have remarked upon the weather. The servant who had been pouring tea finished and handed him his cup, and he waved a hand to dismiss her, leaving the two Zabinis alone in the sitting room.

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Bellona Zabini Aldous Crouch

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   Bellona Zabini

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Bree made this!

"What duties might those be?" Bellona asked with a small frown. As far as she could see, Dom and Matilda had gone above and beyond what society would demand of them today; further still, under the particular circumstances.

She was glad that, at last, the reception had dwindled and the joyous couple had retreated to their own dwelling /sex palace. Bella knew, really, that she ought to follow suit, leave her brother and his wife to their quiet, but Calliope and her pregnancy loomed large enough to fill the house both literally and metaphorically. She was in no hurry to return to that with any swiftness.

— Domitian Zabini —

  

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Domitian ran his tongue slowly over the upper row of his teeth as he considered how to answer her question. He was loathe, as always, to say too much; he did not like to give the game away even to those he considered to be playing on the same side as he was. For ten years he had been careful never to so much as raise an eyebrow that could have been considered a challenge to his father's whims, because staying in Cosmo's good graces was part of his plan. The London home had been purchased with Zabini family money, and their annual expenses mostly came from the same allowance he had been afforded since reaching adulthood and taking a wife his father had selected for him. His wages were hoarded, a stockpile against disaster, against what he assumed was the inevitable: when his father would turn on him and cast him aside just as he had cast their mother aside. While he'd been working for ten years to ensure that his family (in any iteration, whether Matilda left him with the children or took the children with her or remained stolidly by his side) could weather it, he was by no means eager to cross that bridge yet, and he wasn't sure that he could trust Bellona not to repeat anything said to her this afternoon. He thought she understood the gravity of the situation, at least now that Camilla had eloped, but she was young; she might make an offhand comment with no thought for the consequences, and he had to protect himself in any event.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure how he could have this conversation while maintaining neutrality, and his interaction with Camilla in the aftermath of her bedding Mr. Prewett had driven home to him that this was a conversation he needed to have.

"Forgive me for being both blunt and a little crass," he began in a level tone. "The first time I asked Camilla what she wanted from her life was after she had already ceded most of her bargaining power to that oaf, and I do not intend to repeat my mistake."

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Bree made this!

Her brother had always been a man to choose his words carefully, and Bellona was visibly surprised at the ones he chose to utter. Her expression, though, quickly shifted to irritation.

"I am not Camilla," the witch hissed firmly. "I have no desire on further tarnishing the family reputation!"

— Domitian Zabini —

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   Domitian Zabini

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"I'm pleased to hear it," Domitian returned easily. He had not seriously believed that she would be so stupid, knowing that Camilla's happy ending, as it were, was far from the only possible outcome in such a situation. Then again, prior to the Santa Antonina he had not seriously believed that Camilla would have been so stupid, either. His assumptions about his sisters were not to be trusted in making plans moving forward, it seemed, because they were both capable of surprising him.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the way events have unfolded makes your situation more difficult," Dom continued. He wouldn't have said the words at all, any more than he would have wasted his breath telling her the sky was blue, except that they provided a good prelude to what he really wanted to say, which was: "While I am sure that you are up to the task, you may benefit from an ally."

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Bree made this!

At the words more difficult, Bellona's lips tightened into something that was not quite a scowl. She was all too aware of the fact that Camilla's action may, at the risk of being dramatic, have ruined her life, had been reminded of this in little ways throughout the party.

"And what sort of ally might that be?"

— Domitian Zabini —

  

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"That depends," Domitian replied levelly. The steam from his tea spiraled up lazily from the cup in his hands. He shifted his gaze to meet Bellona's eyes as he continued. "On my initial question. What do you want?"

Hopefully she would sense his meaning and not respond with something obvious and shallow, such as to marry. He was far more interested in what she wanted after that, and intended to do what he could to see her secure it. He had failed Camilla in that regard, he suspected — she may have gotten what she'd professed to want, but he was still sure she didn't fully comprehend the consequences of her choice, and wouldn't until she lived them.

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Bree made this!

"I want what I deserve," Bellona answered easily, almost too much so. She might have been embarrassed, had she not been speaking to her brother: he could know the she mourned all that seemed to be lost to her now, even if she would not allow all and sundry to do so.

"What I deserve, not what society feels I'm owed based upon some sort of moral accounting that weighs the sins of others more heavily than my own virtues." Such a blank slate was, she expected, too much to hope for.

  

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"You want a partner who appreciates your worth," Domitian summarized, with a sharp nod. It was good to hear her say it, though he had expected nothing less. Well, he had expected nothing less up until his washroom conversation with Camilla. Better to be a whore than to be nothing. It had alarmed him to hear Camilla speak so starkly of the value she assigned to herself, and how much it seemed to hinge on what others thought of her, and he had hoped to hear that Bellona wasn't so far gone that she shared her sister's opinions on the matter.

He paused before he spoke again, making a small performance of setting his tea cup down and adding a minuscule amount of sugar to the cup. He stirred until it was dissolved before he looked back over at her. What he intended to say next was dangerous, if she ever repeated the words to their father, and he hoped he'd judged correctly that she wouldn't. "The surest path to acquiring that," he said quietly — he trusted his servants' discretion, but this was too much to allow anyone to overhear. "— does not involve any pureblooded suitors."

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   Aldous Crouch

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Bree made this!

She echoed Dom's nod with a perfunctory one of her own. They were on the same page—though that really should not surprise her.

But from there, it would seem, their stories diverged substantially.

Puzzlement came first to Bellona's features, then defiance—both towards her brother's words and to the small voice within Bella's own mind that pointed out how sensible the statement was. The Macmillans, Lestranges, and Rosiers of the world might consider her grandchildren, even her children, as suitable husbands and wives, but the stink of muggle blood, generations back though it was, was still too fresh upon her. Why else, after all, had she struck out at every opportunity? It was certainly not due to a lack of charm, looks, or accomplishment!

All this made sense, yes, but it was hard to reconcile with the idea that in order to find a husband who knew her worth, the debutante had to lower her standards, to settle for less than.

She almost said as much aloud, almost, before it occurred to her: Domitian was not a pureblood, either. They had been raised in this world, raised with those values, but they were set apart. Bellona could not condemn a halfblooded suitor without condemning of of the two men she cared most for in the world.

Instead, she settled on a small grimace.

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   Domitian Zabini

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Domitian had hardly expected his words to be met with raucous enthusiasm, so he was not surprised by her reaction. He settled back in his chair, abandoning his tea on the table for the moment. He rested the tips of his fingers lightly against his lips as he watched his sister, waiting for his words to fully sink in. He would not insult her intelligence by laying out all of the evidence to support his assertion, unless she insisted on pretending ignorance. No matter what story they presented to the rest of the world, however, Bellona could not have thought that Fitzroy Prewett had chosen to elope with Camilla. She had already said (vehemently) that she was not Camilla and she had no intention of treading the same path, which meant tricking or forcing a pureblood man to marry her was out of the question. And if she wanted someone who truly respected her, perhaps even loved her, she wouldn't find the like on the membership roster of Black's. Pureblood men had prejudice as their earliest and closest bedfellow, and he ought to know. He'd been the same way, until ten years ago. He knew the way pureblood men saw the world, because he'd been taught to see it the same way.

Bellona may have been young, but she was not silly; she could certainly see the sense in his words. Whether she would be willing to act on them, however, remained to be seen... particularly since their father had ingrained into them all for so long that the only way to secure his love, affection, or respect was to continue existing in this pureblood world they didn't really belong to. Choosing intentionally to diverge from the path their father had laid out for her would take courage, certainly, but it might be her only path to happiness. Otherwise, she was in for several more seasons of stress at least. The best that could be hoped for was that she would find herself backed into a corner, as Camilla had been, acting out of desperation to win what she thought she wanted. Not even that was assured, however — as Calliope's growing belly daily reminded them, their position in their father's esteem was not guaranteed for the future.

"There is a certain give and take," he eventually allowed. "There are things you might stand to lose, if you chose that path." Their father's esteem, for one, to whatever extent she actually had it presently. Admittance to a certain brand of society events, perhaps, though she might have already seen herself excluded from such events due to her own blood status. "Which is why I began with the question I did. It comes back to that — to what you want. Whether you believe securing a husband who cherishes you, who truly respects you, is worth the risk of losing more — superficial things."

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Bree made this!

Bellona was quiet for a long moment. The words, when they left her, were measured, if stubborn.

"I lack the softness to be happy as simply a wife and mother," she pointed out. "My entire life has been spent as a ball of clay, being slowly but quite definitively shaped into a future socialite. It may sound superficial to you, a man, with prospects beyond the confines of society, but to give up such a life entirely for something as changeable as love is a fool's bargain."

It may not have been something regularly discussed (or discussed at all, frankly), but there was a time that Bella had known, as certainly as she knew her own name, how deeply fond of one another her parents were. And all that love had been thrown over with ease (well, with pain, but thrown over nonetheless) when push had come to shove. Without influence in society, what would she be left with when her own husband's affections wavered?

"Compromises may be made," she allowed stiffly, "but I am not a snake that can shed its skin and begin anew each season."

  

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Domitian's mouth twitched slightly in the direction of a frown, but only for a half second. He looked down at his hand, eyes tracing out the edges of his cuticles as he ran the edge of his thumbnail over the nails of the other fingers, turning her words over in his mind. Again, he had not expected her to be overjoyed by the suggestion, but the snake metaphor was unexpected and not exactly a glowingly positive sign of how she was receiving this. She did have a point, though. Domitian didn't think it was worth disregarding the notion of love and mutual respect, having lived so long in fear of evoking his wife's ire and losing his children as a result. On the other hand, he knew that if Matilda did divorce him, his life would not be over. Bellona, if she found herself in a similar situation, would not be quite as able to land on her feet as he was. Particularly not if she had alienated herself from half of society before her husband cast her aside.

Then again, their mother's position as a ensconced socialite and beloved hostess had hardly saved her when the time had come. Maybe it was all a fool's bargain, in the end.

"It's hardly a matter that need be settled today," he pointed out, his tone far lighter than it had been at any earlier point in the conversation. "I don't have a likely gentleman hiding behind the curtains. I only hope," he continued, quieting his tone again, "That if you are seeking a husband who will consider your merits independent of your own blood status, you will extend the same courtesy to him."

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Bree made this!

It was childish to pout. Bellona reminded herself of this as the urge struck her.

"You're right, of course," came her begrudging response. "Though I rather wish," she added with at least a bare hint of humour, "that you did have a gentleman hidden behind the curtains."

At least then, this hypothetical halfblood would have a face and her brother's seal of approval, rather than be some sort of amorphous blob of a gentleman whose merits she had to identify entirely on her own.

  

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Domitian raised an eyebrow and let out a slight huff of a breath, which passed for laughter among those who knew him well despite the fact that his corner of his mouth barely moved. She was joking, clearly, but it wasn't something he considered beyond the realm of possibilities. He would much rather have exercised his duties as an older brother by bringing pleasant and eligible bachelors around to meet Bellona than by issuing threats to a semi-dressed Fitzroy Prewett aboard the Santa Antonina.

"I expect our father will be otherwise occupied most of this Season," he began. His tone had changed: slightly louder, with a feigned sense of warmth. These were words intended to be overheard if anyone was lurking by the doorway, though he wasn't sure whether or not that was likely. Just in case, though, it was always good to put on a bit of a show to prevent suspicions from forming. "If you ever find yourself in need of a chaperone I hope you won't hesitate to call on me. As your ally," he added. These last three words were loaded, and he hoped she would catch the meaning. If she wanted to do some things her father or the rest of their family wouldn't approve of — if she wanted to get to know some halfblooded suitors — he could support her through it.

What they would tell their father, if she actually ended up receiving a proposal from one, remained to be seen — but that was a bridge they could cross when they came to it.

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   Aldous Crouch

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Bree made this!

"Then this Season is to be war?" Bellona asked, her wry smile almost predatory. With her brother in her corner, how could she lose?

  

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