Work Text:
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You can beat the heat if you beat the charges too
They said I was a cheat, I guess it must be true
And my friends all smell like weed or little babies
And this city reeks of driving myself crazy
(Taylor Swift ft. Florence Welch)
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For a whole five minutes, all Armand could do was stand in the doorway of his own kitchen, in his Gucci slippers and his silk kimono that cost more than a mid-sized sedan, regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.
Because for some reason, in a house with eleven rooms, a whole pool with jacuzzi, four lounging rooms with TV, every single guest at his house had to be in the kitchen exactly at 10 am where he was supposed to enjoy a quiet breakfast. On a Tuesday.
Archibald was sitting at the marble island, wearing one of Armand’s spare robes—the Egyptian cotton one, which he had definitely not asked to borrow—eating a grapefruit with a spoon like a Victorian invalid while mishandling the $4,000 Italian espresso machine.
Then there was Miss Sao—Shuǐ—perched on the counter like a bird of prey wearing a pair of Doctor Martens. She was drinking from a purple Monster can while holding a Froot Loops box in the other.
And she wasn't even supposed to be back from her classes until the afternoon. Something must have happened if she was here earlier. She handled Armand's books, and did the necessary adjustments when something did not match. They were supposed to sit down later this evening to review a ledger for the tax refunds before the Art Gallery's end of year audit.
His lawyer had insisted.
And then there she was of course, miss Morales leaning against his liquor cabinet, looking entirely too sharp for the morning in a tailored blazer and black silk pants. She was pouring a generous amount of his 1998 Rémy Martin into her cappuccino.
"Oh, good. You're here" she greeted him without looking up, capping the bottle. "I just got the subpoena quashed for that 'import' shipment from The Caymans. You're welcome, by the way."
"You are my lawyer, Ana. I pay you an obscene retainer to keep me out of prison, not to drink my alcohol," Armand countered, taking the bottle from her hand and placing it back where it belonged.
“I consider it a hazard bonus,” Ana protested, watching her bottle disappear. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to explain to the Feds why your shipping containers are labeled ‘Art Supplies’ but weigh three tons?”
“It is heavy marble,” Armand sniffed.
"From the Caribbean?"
“It's a new kind of rock"
"I believe the term you're looking for is bricks” Shuǐ added, without looking up from her… breakfast, if it could even be called that. “Also the manifest didn't match the weight distribution. I cooked the books before the audit, adjusted the inventory spreadsheets, and encrypted the real drive. You owe me overtime.”
Armand rolled his eyes. “Fine. Add it to the invoice.”
“I already did.” she replied. “Besides, let her drink. Dealing with you sober is hard enough.”
“I am a délice to work for, Miss Sao” Armand corrected, flipping his hair over his shoulder. She mumbled something about him calling her just Shuǐ but he ignored her. He turned to Archibald instead, who was currently making a face at the espresso machine, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead despite the ac being on. "Archie, stop molesting the machine. You’re dripping on my floor.”
“It’s just hot in here. I hate Florida,” Archie complained, wiping his face with the sleeve of Armand’s robe. “I swear, I woke up this morning and the ceiling was practically sweating. It’s humid. Clammy. Moist.”
"Don't say moist," Florence groaned, walking in. She was wearing a Burberry trench coat over what looked like a sequined cocktail dress, her mascara smeared in a way that suggested there had been some…scuffle.
"Does anyone have Advil? …Or tequila?"
"I have another one of this in my car" Shuǐ offered, shaking the can in the air.
Armand narrowed his eyes at Florence. "Are you— just getting in?"
"Yeah" she rasped, dropping onto a stool next to Archie and cradling her head.
"Rough night with the Lordship?" Archie asked, and completely failed at hiding the venom in his tone.
Florence didn't even look at him. She just held up a middle finger. "It's ten in the morning, Archie. Don't start."
"Here" Ana just casually slid her a shot from the bottle she had apparently re-acquired while Armand was distracted by Archie.
"Thanks, you're an angel" Florence replied, and downed it in one go.
Ana chuckled, leaning her hip against the counter, looking at Florence with appreciative eyes. She reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Florence's ear.
“You look cute when you’re hungover, Flo. The smudged eyeliner gives you a very ‘on the verge of a breakdown’ vibe. It works for you.”
Florence hummed, leaning into the touch. “Don’t flirt with me, Counselor. My head is pounding."
"My point stands."
Suddenly, a crash sounded from the living room. Then the sound of shattering porcelain.
"Oops! Merde! Sorry!"
A blur of red hair in a mess of a bun sprinted into the kitchen, slid on the tile in her socks, and stopped gracefully just before crashing onto the fridge. Then came a little ball of white curls, who did slam into the fridge.
"Ismini…" Armand let out a defeated sigh. "What did you break?"
"Nothing!" Ismini replied, her eyes darting around the room. "Just... a vase. The ugly one. With the dragons, and it wasn't me, it was Fifi"
"And who brought that Chien here, hm?"
"She followed me!" Ismini insisted, scooping up the small, white ball of fluff that was currently eying anxiously around. "She looked lonely! And French! I think she speaks French. Oui, ma petite?"
The dog let out a high-pitched yap that made Florence wince.
"That," Armand said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, "is a caniche with a rhinestone collar. That is not a stray, Ismini. That is a kidnap victim. You have brought a felony into my kitchen."
"I prefer the term 'involuntary adoption'," Ismini corrected, grabbing a bagel from the counter and tearing a piece off for the dog.
"You will give it back”.
“No!” Ismini protested as Armand snatched the little dog from her arms and put it back on the floor. "How can you be so cruel, to a compatriot no less?."
"Ce n'est qu'un chien!" he snapped. It's just a dog!
"Your compatriot just peed on your slipper, Lefevre.” Shuǐ pointed a finger down.
Armand looked down. Indeed, a dark spot was blooming on the velvet of his left slipper while Fifi shook her tail. Merveilleux. This was simply parfait. Just what he needed!
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, channeling a zen he absolutely did not have at the moment.
“That vase,” Armand whispered with suppressed rage, “was Ming Dynasty. My grandfather stole it from a museum in 1942.”
“Well, it was ugly,” Ismini shrugged, kneeling down to scratch Fifi’s ear. “Bad feng shui. Right, Shuǐ?”
"Don't bring me into this," Shuǐ chuckled, hopping off the counter. She walked over to the trash can, discarded her cereal box, and crossed her arms. "Though she's right. The vase blocked the sight line to the patio door. It was a blind spot, I’ve been meaning to move it."
And that was when from the island, a horrific grinding noise erupted, and everyone whirled around to the sound of the noise.
Archibald was staring at the espresso machine, as it began to spew steam and dark, sludge-like liquid onto the counter.
"You absolute, imbécile. What did you do?” Armand snapped, rushing over to save the machine.
“I pressed the button that looked like a bean!” Archie defended himself, jumping back as hot steam hissed again. “Why does a coffee maker need a pilot’s license to operate? It’s pretentious, Armand. Just like you.”
“It’s manual pressure!” Armand groaned, “You have to tamp the grounds! You’re choking the group head!”
“Oh, I’d love to choke the group head,” Florence muttered into her shot glass. "God, I need a nap. If anyone needs me I'm at the pool house. My apartment is being fumigated.”
“I thought you were evicted,” Archie pointed out.
Florence rolled her eyes. “And I thought cleaning mold from your apartment didn't take a month, but here you are, wearing another man’s robe.”
Archie opened his mouth, but Florence cut him off.
"Cutler is coming over later, by the way. He wants to discuss 'zoning laws' with you, Armand."
A collective groan echoed through the kitchen. It was the first time they had all agreed on anything.
"Right... Well, I'm out. I have to cover Jacks' shift tonight at the bar" Florence waved a hand as she moved to stand up.
"Why?" Ana and Shuǐ asked in unison. Florence shrugged.
"I don't know, he said something about going out with Hector for someone's birthday"
"He's gonna get himself arrested" Ana rolled her eyes.
"Yep" Shuǐ nodded. "It's your turn to bail him out"
"No, even days are yours"
"Yes but if it happens after midnight, which will likely be the case, he's all yours" she grinned. "Besides, I'm meeting Jia and Anthi tonight for cocktails"
Ana mumbled something in Spanish to her coffee, that Armand was sure it was a curse.
"I know I don't have the moral ground here to talk about relationships—" Florence started.
"You don't" Armand answered, amused at the side eye he got from her.
"But—!" Florence continued, gestured between Ana and Shuǐ "What the fuck, seriously?"
“Wait,” Shuǐ turned, wiping sugar dust on her cargo pants. “You said Beckett is coming here? Today? Now?”
"Yes, that's what I said."
“For ‘zoning laws’,”Ana wriggled two fingers in the air, rolling her eyes.
“Zoning laws means he’s snooping,” Armand said, finally silencing the espresso machine. He looked mournfully at the mess of coffee grounds on his pristine marble. “He suspects I’m laundering money through the art gallery again.”
“Are you?” Ismini asked, opening the fridge to look for something.
“That is attorney-client privilege,” Ana interjected, sipping her spiked coffee. “And also, yes. Allegedly.”
Shuǐ stretched her arms.
“I can remove him. Physically. I assume the property line extends to the gate? If he steps one foot on the driveway" She turned to Ana, "Can I legally break his kneecaps for trespassing?”
“Yes, you can,” Ana took a sip of her coffee. “And I know a guy who owns a pig farm in the Everglades. No questions asked. Kenford will make sure they eat everything.”
"I'll ask Valerie to borrow her pickup" Ismini volunteered, raising a hand. "There's some great spots there to set up my camera, I've been meaning to go"
Shuǐ smiled. "That settles it then".
"The Everglades..." Archie sneered, wrinkling his nose as if he could already smell the mud. "Isn't that just a swamp full of smelly men in boats and alligators? It sounds... sticky. And pedestrian."
"It is not a swamp," Shuǐ corrected immediately, offended. "It is a subtropical wetland ecosystem. It is the only place on earth where American alligators and crocodiles coexist in the wild. The biodiversity regarding wading birds alone is statistically significant. It is an ecological marvel, not a 'swamp'."
"Nerd," Archie muttered into his mug.
"And flamingos!" Ismini chirped. "Valerie said there are wild pink flamingos there! Can we catch one? For the house?"
"No," Ana said, not looking up from her coffee. "You cannot kidnap a flamingo, Ismini."
"But—"
"They are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918," She explained. "Keeping, buying, even transporting one is a federal offense. Only an idiot would get arrested for a Flamingo".
Ismini huffed, crossing her arms. "You are no fun."
"We could get you a plastic one instead?" Shuǐ offered.
Armand looked around his kitchen. At the dog peeing on his floor, the lawyer drinking his brandy, the bookkeeper having an energy drink for breakfast while threatening violence over a government official, and the two jealous lovers of said government official bickering over his counter.
“I hate you all,” he announced. “Every single one of you. I am selling this house. I am moving to a monastery in Tibet where talking is forbidden.”
“You’d get kicked out in an hour,” Archie said, opting for pulling a jar of instant coffee from the cabinet, like a heathen. “You talk in your sleep. Mostly about tax evasion.”
“And men,” Ismini added helpfully.
“I do not!”
“You totally do,” Ana grinned. “Last week on the couch you were mumbling about ‘Spanish holidays’. It was filthy. I took notes. ”
Armand flushed a deep crimson. “I am going back to bed. If Cutler comes, tell him I have COVID. Tell him I died.”
And then he finally turned to leave, eager to disappear into the quiet of his own bedroom, leaving the chaos behind him.
"Hey, Armand?" Ana called out.
He paused, hand on the doorframe. "What do you want?"
"We're out of almond milk," she said, holding up the empty carton. "You might want to order some before the Lordship gets here. He gets cranky without his tea."
Armand let out a scream of frustration and his kimono flapped angrily as he turned.
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Her phone was ringing. Florence was barely aware of her ringtone as it blended onto her dream, but it finally—unfortunately—, ended up waking her up.
She groaned, fumbling blindly on the nightstand. She knocked over a glass of water before her fingers curled around the phone. She blinked at the screen, it was barely past nine pm. He shift started at midnight, who the hell was calling her now?
Unknown Number.
She swiped answer and pressed it to her ear.
"If you aren't dying," she rasped in menacing tone, "I am going to hang up and block this number."
"Flo! Florence! My flower! My light in the darkness!"
Florence frowned.
"Jack?"
"The very same," Jack’s voice echoed, and she could hear in the background a hum of fluorescent lights "Listen, love, I need a tiny favor. A smidgen of assistance, there was—a slight hiccup in the evening's festivities."
Florence rolled her eyes.
"Why are you calling me?"
"Well," Jack hesitated. "I tried the primary contacts. Shuǐ usually picks up on the first ring at any time—insomniac, that one—but she went straight to voicemail. Then I tried Ana. No answer. Then I tried Armand, but he blocked my number last Tuesday after the incident with the llama."
"And..." Florence asked, sitting up and rubbing her temples, already regretting even answering "What exactly did you do?"
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The water in the jacuzzi was at the perfect temperature to dissolve the knots of tension in her back. Ana took a sip from her glass of wine and leaned back against the waterproof pillow.
The Florida heat had broken into fresh evening. The patio lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow, and the only sounds were the hum of the jets and Armand's voice as he was going off about how Archibald was trying to use him to get Cutler jealous, and annoy the hell out of him in the process.
"I just know he is doing it strategically," Armand said, as he re-twisted his hair into a damp bun. "It is a campaign of terror. Did you know he is insisting on that hideous yellow suit for the Swann gala?"
Ana opened one eye. "The canary one?"
"Canary? No. Canary is cheerful. This is jaundice yellow, Ana. He will look like a hepatitic banana. It is an assault on my reputation by proximity."
Ana hummed, taking another sip. "He’s trying to get a rise out of you. You shouldn't have told him that François was coming. Archie gets territorial."
"Territorial is peeing on a fire hydrant," Armand huffed, pouring himself more wine from the bottle perched on the edge of the tub. "This is psychological warfare. He rearranged the spice cabinet today. He put the cumin next to the cinnamon."
Ana grimaced. "That’s dark."
"It is diabolical! Someone could easily make a terrible mistake and ruin their morning with cumin-flavored Chai!"
"That someone being you?"
"Exactement!" he splashed a little water in his agitation. "And he used my face cream. The Chanel Sublimage. On his elbows, Ana. He said his elbows felt 'ashy'. That is three hundred dollars an ounce!"
Ana laughed at that. She shifted, reaching out to adjust the intensity of the jets, when movement by the pool house caught her eye.
Florence was walking toward them across the patio pavers. She was wearing a silk robe that was loosely tied, her phone clutched in her hand like a weapon she intended to use. She did not look happy.
"Florence," Armand greeted her. "You look terrible. Join us. The water is healing, and we are roasting Archibald."
Florence didn't look at him. She stopped at the edge of the jacuzzi, looking down at Ana with an utterly unamused expression.
"He called me," Florence said flatly.
Ana closed her eyes. She let out a long breath through her nose.
"Who?" Armand asked.
"Jack! Because neither of them picked up!"
"I’m in the water," Ana defended, though the relaxation was already evaporating. "And Shuǐ is out with the girls. Why is he calling you? It’s only nine."
"He was at Hialeah Park with Hector."
Armand perked up, intrigued. "The racetrack? Did they lose?"
"Worse," Florence checked her phone screen, reading the text she had evidently forced herself to memorize. "Apparently, they were winning. Then they moved to the slots. Then… Hector bet him five hundred dollars that he couldn't get a selfie with the 'Alpha'."
"The Alpha what?" Armand asked.
Florence looked at Ana.
"The Flamingo," Florence said.
Ana stared at Florence.
"Please tell me," Ana whispered, the taste of the wine was already turning bitter in the back of her throat, "that he did not jump the fence."
"He jumped the fence," Florence confirmed. "Shirtless. He waded into the infield lake."
Armand let out a delighted gasp, bringing his glass to his lips. "Shirtless? In the muck? Oh, très chic."
"He tried to put his arm around a bird. Security tackled him" Florence continued, "He is currently being processed for trespassing and… 'wildlife harassment'.
Armand choked on his wine, that quickly transformed into a fit of laughter that shook the water.
"Oh, mon Dieu!" Armand wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes as he looked at Ana’s furious face. "You said it! Just this morning! What was it? 'Only an imbécile would get arrested for a Flamingo!'"
Ana stood up, as the water dripped down her body. She grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself with more force than necessary.
"Florence," She said. "Please give me the keys to the Range Rover."
"Where are you going?" Armand called out, still giggling. "To bail him out?"
"No," Ana said, already marching toward the house. "I’m going to go murder him. And then I'm going to find Hector Barbossa and feed him to the pigs."
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