Venturously Yours,

Universally Creative

Octavius fisted his palms as everyone just continue to rumble on. His gaze fixated on the now empty chair. He felt a surge of anger at the way Catherine poke Eliot unnecessarily.

The habit of human's push and shove tactics has always failed him to understand. It's probably why he had just the one friend.

Early times, when he was in school and college though Ansel was by his side, Octavius had a knack of drawing a huge crowd around him. At first, it was cool. A nice change where people just surrounded him. Making him feel so special.

Then, they'd get bored and leave. Or do something impractical. Messes were made, nothing too scarring but enough to know people were meant to come and go.

Like the bloody artist he was, he searches for the ideal. Ideal lover, ideal friend, ideal life.

Of course, these are wish wells. One could hope but never acquire. Such is the burden he had to face but that didn't mean he didn't honor the man who was his friend.

Ansel was the living breathing opposite thing to him. Nothing ideal about the man. Yet, Octavius could rely on him, be himself. Isn't that what everyone is looking for?

People to accept them for who they are. Whatever they may be.

It's sad to watch Shirley talk only of Elixir's contribution while roping on Eliot like that. He didn't like it. And he knew, she was hurting somewhere in the corner of the house.

Unable to retain himself, Octavius stood up.

"What's the matter?" Just hearing Elixir's voice was sending him through another wave of disgust.

He just mumbled. "I need to use the bathroom."

He turned away before she could say anything but he did sneak a look at Ansel's smirked expression as he drank his wine.

Asshole.

Not the ideal friend but the best of the best friend he could have ever asked. But he is still an asshole.

Heading inside, he went up to search for her only to come back down with no where Eliot in sight. Where had she gone?

Only then his eyes caught the stairs leading down to the pantry. Quietly, he strode down and opened the door to see the familiar blonde hair and her back was facing him.

He swiftly got in, clicking the lock shut.

She swiveled around. Her hand was busy holding a tin of chocolate cream biscuits and one hung seductively from her lips.

He leaned on the door with his shoulder, folding his arms. "Well, well. What do we have here?"

His husky baritone made her freeze.

Eliot narrowed her gaze at him. The one low hanging tube bulb accentuated his chiseled features. They were almost as if he was carved from a stone.

An ice stone.

Stop drooling, Eliot! She snapped at him with her mouth full of Choco bicky. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you." He said it with such force of simplicity as if she dared to question him otherwise.

Swallowing the last bit of chunk, she dusted her hands after placing the tin back on the shelf.

She saw his collar bones flex as he stroked his chin, asking her. "What are you doing out here?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you." Her voice was harsh but she didn't care. She was high on rage, frustration and now, because of him, lust.