His usually vivid Elsie was reserved today. His hands could string her nerves and muscles taut just by gracing her. But she let him, despite her obviously aversion to it. He would have liked to do it all over again, but tenderly this time, to see her suffer through it. She'd been plenty slick for it last night, hadn't she? But there was no time. It was a beautiful thing, his traces on her body. Canvas of pretty complexion turned evidence of violence. She'd done it to herself, but he didn't mind her supposed insolence when it was remembered on her skin. Her compliance was accepted and her was gone from the room, mood light, but sure the air he left behind was not.<br/><br/>He was reading the paper at the table, if she had the mind to take note without meeting his eyes, his jacket was on the chair and his vest was not obstructing the view of his belt. It was yesterday's playmate, the one that had visited her land of freckles and connected them with railroads of welts. It fit the ensemble he'd chosen well enough, but it wasn't perfect, as he usually liked to style himself. Elsie could guess whether he was being nostalgic or if he was teasing her by wearing it. It could be a warning, either way.<br/><br/>"Look, the reporter wrote about us." he said and folded the paper once for integrity as he put it in front of her. It was an older picture of them, around their wedding, but the words were flattering. No stuff for the first page, but it seemed the journalist was impressed by how Mr. Williams had supported his wife. The actual chivalry had been rather crass, and the small article did not reflect it. "No damage." he meant his reputation, since he could not possibly be referring to her skin. "Perhaps I should invest in his career. I like the way he dances around things, and focuses on the matter." The mattering being how formidable Oscar was.<br/><br/>He sighed, content with the morning as he had some of his breakfast. He was noting the silence from her, which was adorable after he'd put so many marks on her to hide with her dress, built tall and long to give modesty when she was aiming for secrecy, but unseemly now when they were supposed to be social. He moved his fork to tap the brim of her porcelain tray, making ripples in the cooling tea to bring it to her attention.<br/><br/>"Would you mind telling me about your friends? I know you're tired but that is no excuse for being a bad conversationalist." he said. Under the table, in a wayward slice of light, the buckle of her newest leather acquaintance gleamed. "I won't be seeing you until this evening. I don't want to think about what a sour breakfast I had all day." It was almost amicable in meaning, but his voice was dangerously close to that bedroom rumble.