Jacques leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as he stared at his 'Wife'. He let the silence hang for a moment, partially because he was genuinely curious about what brought her here and partially because, deep down, he still held a grudge over the wine bottle incident.
Did he deserve it? Hell no. Well... Jacques might've. Actually, no. Jacques was one hundred percent due for a bottle to the head. But Jack? Jack sure as hell didn't. And since he was stuck being Jacques now, that only made things more complicated.
Life was exhausting like that, but as any mentally stable (mostly) and well-adjusted (also, mostly) adult in his situation would do, he chose the healthiest possible response: pretend he'd done absolutely nothing wrong.
Ever.
It also still hurt like a bitch! Wait… did it?
Jacques paused, caught in a rare moment of genuine confusion. With a bit of mental recalibration, he realized that no, his body didn't actually hurt like a bitch anymore. Oh, it still hurt. Definitely. Just… not like a bitch.
Did that make sense? Of course, it made sense. At least, to him, and that's all hat mattered.
Back to reality, his stare seemed to be working judging by the way her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Her discomfort was subtle, but Jacques with his dearly departed Ol moustache Spider Jacques senses caught it. That little flicker of annoyance was almost too satisfying. Willow looked like she was considering reaching for a another bottle.
Yet here she was, standing firm, looking like she'd rather swallow nails than stand in his doorway, but too determined to leave.
Persistent, he thought. He could respect that in a way, even if it annoyed him a bit. Also, that look of disgust was kinda sex—Nope. Cutting that thought off right there.
Even his brain had limits.
Jacques straightened, letting out a small sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You know," he began, his voice light with faux amusement, "I was having a perfectly good morning. Or night. What time is it, anyway?" He asked not expecting an answer.
He glanced vaguely toward a wall, remembered he didn't have a clock anymore since he broke the old one while Aura Farming in his room, then gave up on the idea entirely. Couldn't be arsed. Probably overslept. Not that it mattered. He felt good. Refreshed. Like someone who hadn't done anything wrong in his life, ever.
Willow didn't respond immediately. When she did, her voice was careful, but it was clear she was forcing it. "As I've said... I wish to talk. With you."
Jacques shot her a long, unimpressed look that he wished could convey how much 'out of shits' he was at that moment.
He blinked once. Slowly. "Fascinating," he said at last. "I also wish to speak with literally anyone else."
He looked at her for a long moment, the silence stretching out until it started to feel like its own kind of argument. Then he sighed when the smug edge was guilt-tripped outta him.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Damn it.
Why did his Pa raise him to be decent at the worst possible times?
"Listen, cunt, any knobhead can be decent when things are cushy. , It's when it's proper shite, when you've every right to walk off or kick off, and you don't, that's when it counts. Now take the fuckin' bins out, you lazy twat. I ain't sayin' it again."
Fucking gems of wisdom, Pa.
He leaned out of the doorway, stepping back into his room. With a vague wave of his hand, he motioned for her to follow. "Fine, come in. But if this is some elaborate scheme to finish me off, at least make it quick. I've had a long day—week—whatever."
He slumped onto the edge of his bed with a little more force than he intended, wincing as the motion jarred his recovering body. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it wasn't exactly comfortable, either. Still, being able to move without setting off a whole mess of pain felt like a small victory. Small blessings.
Willow stepped inside, but stayed by the door, scanning the room like there might be something lurking in the shadows. Her arms were crossed. Jacques couldn't help but notice the way she puffed out her chest, though. Probably just a habit. A way to put on some confidence.
He should have cared more about the way it made her chest look bigger, but honestly? He was too tired to give a shit.
Tits just didn't do it for him right now, and wasn't that a damn tragedy?
Willow made no indication that she was going to move.
Jacques exhaled through his nose. Right. Before she chickened out and left or worse, grabbed another bottle to re-enact the last fiasco. He grabbed a nearby chair and gave it a push. The wheels squeaked as it rolled toward her, an unspoken invitation.
"Have a seat," he gave a spoken invitation as well just in case it wasn't clear enough, gesturing vaguely at the chair. His tone wasn't as smug as usual. More practical. Less condescending. Less chance of bottle on the cute head.
Sure, he was still salty as hell about the bottle incident. His bruised ego—along with the actual bruise on his head—wasn't so quick to forgive. And his reconciliation plan? Yeah, that was a mess. In hindsight, he could admit that it was kind of ass. Jacques was also smart enough to know that a conversation, however uncomfortable, might actually do them both some good. And frankly, it didn't hurt his odds of survival either.
Willow hesitated before finally sitting down.
Jacques leaned back slightly, watching her, eyebrow raised. He waited.
And waited.
And waited.
He looked at her.
She looked at him.
He raised an eyebrow. She took a deep breath. Opened her mouth…
…And closed it again.
Then, the following few minutes were spent with Willow twiddling her thumbs and glaring at Jacques's floor while he, himself, was trying not to fucking getting on with it! Or fall asleep.
'This is going to take a while,' Jacques thought to himself, and with that, his mind drifted to more pressing matters. Like the fact that when he glanced at the clock again, unflinching 10:00 was staring back at him from an unnecessarily expensive timepiece.
That meant, for the last hour, Tranquil Deer had been his bitch. Jacques now had a portable healing Shikigami!
LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO!!!
Internally, the excitement was a little too much, but at least he could savor the small victory. Externally, he allowed himself a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk. If anyone had been watching closely, they might've caught it. But only if they were really paying attention.
So, until he was alone, Jacques refrained from jumping to his feet and shadowboxing his way through his excitement.
Wait. Was that why his body felt a bit better? Was that why the pain had lessened, and he no longer felt like crying from his boo-boos? He hadn't actually used Tranquil Deer yet, but his body was definitely feeling just a little bit lighter.
Yeah... he could feel it. The same thing had happened with Divine Dogs. That small but strong thread of connection, binding them to him.
Oh, this changed things. This changed everything.
Holy shit, he was definitely going full throttle tonight to test if he was actually that in tune with his summons and, more importantly, their abilities.
As soon as Willow stopped fidgeting around, pretending to be mute and giving him that "I'm about to explode with words but can't quite manage it" look...
"Willow, dear, love, sunshine, and all that etcetera etcetera..." Jacques started speaking softly, his voice carrying the kind of patience he really didn't have. "I don't mean to rush, and I understand that this is a bit of a... moment, but if you could please just..." He let his words trail off, flicking his wrist in the most polite "PLEASE HURRY THE FUCK UP" way imaginable.
He wasn't trying to be a dick, no, seriously. He knew that this was not supposed to be a simple conversation, but this was a bit much. Somehow, she was making it feel like pulling teeth. All of them, at the same time. It was clearly a massive hurdle for her, but goddamn, that fidgeting was pissing him off.
At this point, even silence felt like progress.
Willow ground out through clenched teeth, glaring at him. "I want to, but you're making it hard."
"Me?!" He replied, feigning scandal with a hand to his chest. "The nerve!"
"It would definitely be a bit easier to speak," she shot back, voice tight, "if you stopped, just for a tiny moment, telling me to slit my own wrists with that filthy Aura of yours."
Jacques blinked at her, taken aback by her words. Oh, yeah. His Aura did do that shit. He kinda forgot. "Right," he muttered, "It slipped my mind that it sometimes radiates 'do it, do it, fucking do it, pussy!' vibes. My bad."
Willow scrunched her nose at his vulgar words, which, fair enough. She took a deep breath before speaking again. "I knew you're on a high since you just unlocked it just a couple of days ago, feeling like a big boy, but try to control your emotions, Jacques. You're not a child."
Jacques sputtered elegantly at that. Shit. He couldn't let her know that he was still green. That would wreck his "An Extremely Dangerous and Definitely Experienced Fighter You Shouldn't Fuck With" image, which he was relying on to coast through problems until he actually was an "Extremely Dangerous and Definitely Experienced Fighter that you shouldn't fuck with".
He tried to play it off nonchalantly, crossing his arms. "I don't blame you for mistaking my presence and the intensity of my Aura for a lack of experience. I unlocked it the day I crawled my way into this cursed land. I simply deemed it fit to hide my true power, to test myself and give others a chance."
He leaned back a little, as if to make his casual deflection seem effortless.
Whatever expectation Jacques had for his earlier theatrics with Winter having a sequel was swiftly crushed by the look on Willow's face. She was not buying it. At all. She said nothing, did nothing, but shot him one hell of an unimpressed look—as if she was staring down a grade-A dumbass. No, scratch that. She knew she was looking at a dumbass.
...rude.
Jacques tried to keep a straight face, trying desperately not to let the heat rising in his cheeks show. Don't cringe. Don't cringe. As long as he could avoid cringing, he might still have some shred of dignity left.
But it wasn't working. His attempt at a cool, collected poker face was slipping. Willow's eyes didn't even flicker. She wasn't buying a word of it, and Jacques could feel the weight of his own embarrassment creeping up on him.
Never admit to anything, Jacques! Deny! Deny! Deny!
Her arms were crossed, and she looked at him with that same expression his old English teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, used to give him whenever he started making an arse out of himself. "You're really something, you know that?" she stated with exasperation. Mrs. Jenkins used to say that, too! "Jacques, I told you, didn't I? You can fool others, but never me. I can read you like a book, and you're not even trying to turn the page."
Jacques said nothing and mimed what could only be a 'No idea what you're talking about, mate.' shrug.
Willow sighed, shaking her head like she was considering whether or not to bother with him. Then, to his surprise, her posture softened just a bit, and she uncrossed her arms.
Going for the Hat-trick of doing an impression of Mrs. Jenkins, Willow's voice took an almost different tone that was more focused, like she was teaching him something important, rather than scolding him.
"Leaving like this will only invite problems, especially with Whitley's life at stake." She said with narrowed eyes. "I'm going to walk you through something. Close your eyes, Jacques."
Jacques was really hesitant to reveal how full of shit he was being, but he supposed going around metaphorically telling people to 'An Hero yourself on a live stream, pussy' would become a bit counter-productive. Still, he made sure to make a whole show and a big deal out of it as if he was doing her a favor.
"Picture a hexagonal container," she said simply like she was explaining the simplest thing in the world. "There are holes in each side, six in total. Imagine your Aura—your energy—moving through those holes, between the sides of this container. As you picture this, let the energy flow in a counter-clockwise motion. Don't force it. Just let it flow naturally."
He reluctantly did as she said, and for a few moments, the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Jacques swallowed, trying to picture what she was saying. He could almost feel it, like a faint hum in the back of his mind. But the more he concentrated, the more confused he got.
'Fucking come on... just...'
"Don't force it!" Willow snapped, nearly giving him a heart attack.
"I'm nooot!" Jacques whined, lying as easily as he breathed and stopping his attempts to force it. He pushed forward, a bit more gently. He couldn't back down now, not in front of her.
"Now," Willow continued."As you let the flow happen, pay attention to where it gets caught. What makes it stop? What makes it change direction? That's where your emotions are getting stuck."
Jacques clenched his jaw, trying to hold onto the thought, pushing the flow through his mind like she'd said. It felt like trying to get a stubborn car to start.
"Good," Willow said, more gently this time. "Now move it through gently, counter-clockwise."
He focused harder. This time, when he moved it, something snapped inside him. His eyes shot open, wide in surprise. The world around him suddenly felt sharper, clearer, as though a veil had been lifted. The hue of his Aura—though still not perfect—was lighter, more contained, almost like it was glued to his body.
It was strange... but not entirely wrong.
Willow, however, didn't seem impressed. She looked at him with that bemused expression like he'd just done something barely acceptable. "I guess that's the best we can hope for," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
Jacques didn't know whether to be offended or relieved. He felt a surge of energy like lightning crackling through his veins.
But then there was a weird, almost uncomfortable pressure building inside him, like everything was shifting, and something wasn't quite in balance.
He tried to relax.
Without warning, his Aura exploded outwards. It shot further than it had before, pushing against the walls of the room.
Shit.
Willow gave him a look that could freeze hell over. It was the same expression one might give a dog that had just shit all over the carpet after you told it not to piss on it.
Oops.
Jacques was starting to get a lot of practice with his poker face.
He leaned back slightly, attempting a more refined tone, laced with just the right amount of smugness. "Oh, I knew that would happen. Naturally. But, say, how does one refine the process? Not that I need the advice, of course," he added with a faint, dismissive wave of his hand. "I've had my Aura since the moment I set foot in this wretched land. This is merely... an exercise. Testing you, as it were, to see if you know what to do. Hypothetically speaking, of course."
Jacques had expected the lie to roll off his tongue, but it landed with a weight that was anything but convincing.
Fuck, that was genuinely sad. His internal monologue immediately followed with a brutal self-assessment.
Willow didn't even blink. She just stared at him with the kind of expression that made him wish the floor would swallow him whole. "Damned if I know. I never had that issue; I was simply telling what my master used to do when her Aura got out of control," she said with disinterest.
Damn it, Wife dearest don't give up on me! Also, what was that second part? "Master?"
That sounded kinky. Wait, no—fuck that. He could definitely convince the maids to start calling him that.
But then his brain turned traitor. He got stuck imagining cute, scantily dressed maids—And then, out of nowhere, Sieben's voice popped up in his head, calling him "Master."
Goddamn it, you bald fraud, get the fuck out of my head!!
Jacques scowled, shaking his head as if trying to physically dislodge the damn thought. Christ. Why the hell was his brain so goddamn messy?
"Lady Fria," Willow continued with a huff. "She's the only other person I know who had the same unstable Aura as you. Hers was far more appealing and soothing. Yours, though…" She crinkled her nose in distaste. "Yours is just horrible."
Jacques tried not to get his feelings hurt by the last sentence, and he was able to some success, mostly due to Klein's bald head still lingering menacingly in his mind. So Willow had a teacher, huh? Also, Fria? that name rang a bell.
It was like a door creaking open in the back of his mind, and no matter how hard he focused, he couldn't see what was behind it. Lady Fria. It sounded important. Maybe even familiar.
Fria... Fria... Fria...
His fingers twitched as he mentally tried to trace the name through the fog of his body's memory. Why did it seem like he should know it? What was it about her that felt like something he needed to remember?
Shit, he was coming up blank.
Jacques let out a low sigh, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. The harder he tried to pin it down, the slipperier it seemed. He had no delusions that this wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass, like all the other shit he'd been pulling lately. He just hoped, like the aforementioned shit, it would have the decency to wait until he was bullshit strong enough to bite its ass back.
Willow, meanwhile, had shifted her gaze to the side. Her fingers lightly traced the edge of the chair's armrest. She didn't seem particularly invested in his inner crisis, though the slight frown tugging at her lips hinted that her thoughts weren't entirely settled either.
Neither of them spoke for a while, the silence stretching as Jacques's mind spun in circles.
With nothing better to do, and too stubborn to admit he was actually curious, he decided to try that trick, control, whatever-the-hell thing Willow had just shown him.
Still, the whole "someone out there has an Aura like mine" tidbit gnawed at him. For a brief, fleeting moment, his "special little snowflake" status had been kinda nice.
Ah well, it was good while it lasted.
He closed his eyes and tried the exercise, moving his Aura in that counter-clockwise flow she'd described. Soon enough, it drew closer to him bit by bit.
It was clunky, like trying to guide a stubborn mule, but at least it didn't hurt like a bitch like the last and in his defense, the first, time he tried to fuck with it.
Small wins.
It also turned out that, for whatever reason, it helped Willow finish whatever emo self-pity festival she was having inside her head.
Jacques didn't bother to comment as she let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. She rubbed at her forehead with the back of her hand, like she was trying to wipe away the frustration building inside her.
"Jacques..."
She started again, her voice softer this time, but still holding that bite.
Jacques stayed quiet, leaning back on the bed with his hands resting on his knees. He tried not to look annoyed or amused, just… waiting.
"I came to apologize," she finally said, her voice softer than he expected.
That caught him off guard, but he didn't react much. He just watched her, letting her talk.
"For the wine bottle," she went on, her fingers tightening on the armrest. "For breaking it over your head. For…attacking you."
Jacques blinked and raised an eyebrow, more out of habit than genuine surprise. An actual, heartfelt apology? From Willow? He hadn't seen that one coming.
"Well," he started slowly, leaning back just a little more. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. "Thanks, I suppose. That's… very mature of you." He extended an olive branch. How humble of him!
Willow's jaw tightened, but she didn't snap back like he half-expected. Instead, she lowered her gaze, her fingers loosening their death grip on the chair's armrest. "I wasn't in a good place," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "I haven't been... for a long time."
Jacques tilted his head slightly, considering her words. "Mostly my fault, I admit," he added, forget the olive branch, Jacques just fucking lobbed out the whole damn tree like it was nothing!
Willow's head snapped up, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Oh, don't you dare," she hissed, her voice venomous. "You don't get to play the repentant here, Jacques. I still wish I'd hit you harder."
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Not playing anything, darling. Just acknowledging the obvious. If we're being honest, this whole mess between us? Pretty sure I set the stage for it."
Damn, he thought. He was really on a roll with this humility thing. Almost admirable.
But he should probably crush whatever dreams of starting an olive garden at this point if he's just giving all branches away.
"Don't you ever forget that," she bit back with an ice-cold tone.
Jacques sighed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. "Well, glad we're on the same page, at least."
"Don't mistake my apology for doing what you had coming for years for forgiveness," Willow shot back, her words sharp but quieter now, missing the fiery edge they once held. "I will never forgive you."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Jacques replied.
"I will never forgive you," she repeated, almost as if saying it aloud helped her believe it more. Her voice trembled slightly, but her glare didn't waver. "What you did—what you've done—there's no coming back from that. Not for me. After everything I gave up for you... never."
"...I understand," he finally said.
"I will never forgive you," she said a third time, her voice breaking. "I hate you with all my heart for what you've done to me." Her breath hitched as her hands gripped the armrests tightly, her knuckles pale. "But I hate myself even more for letting you do it. More than I could ever hate you, I hate myself...for losing my kids."
For once, he didn't try to fill the silence with his usual commentary. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand when not to speak.
Saying nothing, he waited for her to continue. She didn't at first. Willow's shoulders sagged as she leaned back, and for a moment, she looked utterly spent.
Her gaze dropped, lingering on the bandages wrapped around his hands as if they held some kind of answer or judgment.
"I don't buy it, the words you said... about trying to be better. But..." Willow finally said, her voice trembling. The glare on her face softened, morphing into something more desperate. "Back then, you said you wanted to give back after taking everything from me. Was... that a lie too?"
Jacques met her eyes for a moment, then leaned forward, letting his chin settle on his knuckles. He thought back. Yeah, he did say that. In the heat of the moment, caught up in the rush of bullshiting his way through it all, to feel better, bigger than what he was when he unlocked his powers, he almost forgot.
The question was: Did he mean it?
He lifted his gaze back to hers. "They weren't a lie. Having the family be so fractured and weary of one another was something I want to fix."
Yes, he did.
He meant it. The words hadn't been a lie, but he could tell, looking at her, that her intentions were purer and more noble than his ever were. That bothered him, but only in the way everything bothered him. And, as usual, he did what he always did. He paid it no mind.
Forward was the only way to go, he reminded himself.
Willow's eyes flickered to the bandages on his hands again, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Her expression didn't change, but there was something in her eyes that looked like it might shatter if she wasn't careful.
That still left something he wanted to know.
He leveled her with a gaze. "Now then, tell me, Willow, what is it that you want to take away from me?"
Willow's fingers curled around the fabric of her long skirt, her knuckles tightening. "Everything," she said, the word heavy in the air between them. "I want to take everything from you: The house, the company, the wealth...and my children. I want you to know what it's like to be stripped of everything." She paused, her breath catching for a moment. "But..."
Her eyes dropped to the floor, then back to him. She seemed almost... uncertain.
"But..." Willow's voice faltered for just a moment. She swallowed hard, once again, her gaze avoided his for a second before locking back onto him. "But I can't, can I?" she continued, bitterness creeping into her tone. "I can't take that from you. Because in the end, I don't want anyone to feel what I felt, and... I don't want my own son to hate me even more."
Jacques didn't retort at first. Instead, he leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing just the faintest bit. So that was what she wanted. "...Whitley, huh."
Willow's expression flickered with something between frustration and sorrow, but she didn't answer right away. Her fingers gripped her skirt tighter, as if it helped her in holding herself together.
"I don't want to be the one to ruin him," she muttered under her breath, though Jacques heard her clearly. "I didn't want him to end up like... like me."
"That's a nice sentiment," he said."But you're not doing him any favors by keeping yourself in that little bubble of yours, Willow."
"I know that!" She snapped at him. "I know that...I know. That's why I came here. I want to be ..his mother again."
Jacques said nothing aside from a soft contemplative noise. Was this...a good development? he wasn't really sure. It probably was, wasn't it? at least compared to Canon, all in all. It would probably help him, too since this is technically not too far from what he wanted.
Her eyes flicked to him, but there was something there, too—a flicker of doubt.
Oh, right.
"Okay. Good luck, I suppose." Jacques said simply.
She looked at him.
He looked back at her.
"I want to be his mother again," she repeated, voice softer now, almost fragile.
"I'm rooting for you," Jacques added, trying to sound a little more encouraging this time. Ganbatte! Fight-O or whatever.
Willow closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Jacques smiled.
"Fucks sake, Jacques," she finally groaned, clearly frustrated. "I'm trying to say that I need your help!"
Hmm?
Jacques blinked in surprise at her outburst. "You want my help? What kind of help could I possibly give you?"
Willow sighed loudly, a bit too loudly for someone who was apparently asking him for help."I don't know, just... Whitley seems to think the world of you. For a long time, I had no damn idea why. But seeing what's happened lately, I can kinda ...understand it. You're still a fucking prick, a liar, and a massive piece of shit, but I guess you do care about our son. And if you said something to him, then... I guess..." She waved her arms, as if he was supposed to understand what she was getting at.
" I don't get it. Like, what?"Jacques shrugged, genuinely confused, and ignoring all the bad shit she said about him. It broke his heart a little, too." You want me to put in a good word for you or something?"
Willow rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "No, I guess not. Don't put a bad word, either! Just... play the middleman." She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a rare kind of pleading. "I just need you to help me bridge the gap."
Jacques' first thought was to bitch about how much of a bitch this was likely going to be.
His second thought was to stop acting like a bitch and just deal with it. He had what he wanted, after all. Just in some roundabout, annoying, bottle-broken-over-the-head-and-getting socked-by-a-deer- kind of way.
Jacques raised his arms. "Sure. I can do that."
"Okay, good," Willow said, nodding, more to herself than him.
"Okay." Jacques reaffirmed her words.
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Okay!"
Jacques gave her an 'okay' sign, though he wasn't sure why he was bothering.
"Okay," Willow said one last time, like she couldn't quite believe he was actually playing along. Then she seemed to remember something and quickly pushed her fist toward him. "Here."
Jacques reluctantly took the proffered key from her palm as she dropped it into his hand.
"The key to my... liquor cabinet," Willow said, almost embarrassed. "I want to... cut back. If I want this to work out. Not all at once, but... yeah."
Jacques didn't comment. He just looked at the key for a moment, considering it. This was a start, he supposed.
Jacques didn't comment. He just looked at the key for a moment, considering it. This was a start, he supposed. "Wouldn't it be better if you gave this to Ohma?"
You know, the Head Maid who more or less told Jacques to fuck off back when he wanted to talk to Willow. She sounded like someone who had Willow's best interests at heart.
Willow's face fell slightly, and she sighed. "No... we had a... disagreement lately." She muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll apologize later, but... it doesn't matter. It has to be someone whose very presence makes me so revolted that getting drunk doesn't seem worth it."
"Glad to be of help!" Jacques chirped, giving her a thumbs-up.
Willow shot him a pointed look, but she didn't say anything further. Instead, she simply exhaled, staring down at her hands in silence for a moment.
"Yeah," she muttered lamely.
Then, for the hundredth time that evening, they just stared at one another.
"Good Talk;" Jacques said after the third minute of smiling and nodding his head lightly.
Willow didn't respond immediately. She just stared at him, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, probably wondering why she was even wasting time with him.
She'd said what she needed to say. "Good, then that's that."
Hesitantly, she made her way toward the door. She held the doorknob, but before leaving, she addressed him again, without looking at him.
"Jacques, please… don't make me regret trusting you again."
Jacques smiled that usual smirk that didn't quite match the seriousness of the moment. "I'll do my damnest not to."
Willow nodded, seemingly satisfied with that. She opened the door and went through, but not before looking back at him.
She flipped him off.
"Go fuck yourself with a cactus, you miserable piece of shit!" she spat before slamming the door hard enough to rattle its hinges.
He stared at the closed door for a moment, as if expecting it to open again, but when it didn't, he sighed.
Jacques just stood there, shaking his head. Tsk, tsk, tsk...
The Lady of the House sure was eccentric.
"She really must try and act a bit more maturely," Jacques muttered, turning toward the door. "Slamming doors at her big age...'
He pressed his palm against the scanner, a brief buzz signaling the lock's activation. The click was satisfying, like the sound of a job well done, or at least a minor victory. With a flourish, he twisted the handle and turned back toward the center of the room.
Then, without missing a beat, he started shadowboxing, throwing punches into the air like a man possessed.
Tranquil Deer was finally his!
LEEEEET'S FUUUUCKINNNNNNG GGOOOOOO!!!!!!