questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are

[amourpropre]

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and Severus Snape β
What: The older generation have some catching up to do.
Where: Aspic.
When: Misdi late afternoon.

He hadn't been kidding about the mulled wine, because to joke about alcohol is a sorry state of affairs. The scent of it, rich and spiced, permeates the air and almost lends it warmth in contrast to the chill of the outdoors. Presumably, the comfortable tavern offers other things, but everyone has a niche.

Already there before Severus can arrive, Lucius does not put on the appearance of a man preparing to spring a trap. He would probably not be visible if this were the case. He sits in one of the low wooden chairs not far from the hearth, a leg folded over the other and observing the flames and cracking splinter of firewood within them rather than the clientele. He is, perhaps, not as Severus last left him, while also being exactly that; aged a little beyond his years, wearing the resulting weariness and injury of the final wizarding war as something visible if difficult to name. Despite his recline, he is not comfortable.

He is also dressed in Muggle sensibilities, with only the compromise of being a little dark in his colours and overly formal for his surroundings. The tavern boasts a somewhat low ceiling and a bare trickling of clientele; Lucius' occupation of the hearth-side is remarkably quiet, and no one has approached him save to make sure he didn't want anything more to drink.

Cane rests, black and silver, against his leg, with his hand on the hilt as his only but very significant sign of vigilance.

Comments

[amourpropre]

There's no Lupin, or Grindelwald, or Dumbledore, but there is a Lovegood, a Potter, a Rosier. But none of these names really flash by Lucius - even Harry's existence as Sebastian LeMat doesn't register too highly, and he's never considered that to be his secret to speak about. Having as little to do with the Boy Who Lived is an appealing retirement plan.

No, just the silent thing left between them, and he wonders how much Severus already expects. Lucius knows he was fairly conspicuous already.

Fingers splay, curl in against his palm. "Yes," he says, after a moment, the tiniest crack in the otherwise iced over welcome that Severus has so far gotten. Fair is fair; he told one of them already. Not that he will express this, at all. "You have yourself a younger analogue as well. Quite different to you, although similarly covert in approach. It took him longer to come to me, and I think he only did so because I found evidence of him first."

He had hoped, actually, that it was his contemporary sitting in front of him now. But things change.

[subtlescience]

And that, he decides, is confirmation he didn't particularly want. But he did need it. Forewarned is fore-armed, and he would like to avoid his analogue at all costs. In spite of this mental assessment, however, he shows no outward reaction to the news. Whereas Lucius twitches his hands - something he has come to think of as a release of tension - or tilts his chin or the thousand other tics he has come to associate with the other man, Severus is almost preternaturally still.

Save for a breath drawn in, slowly released, and a slight lift of an eyebrow - all as if to say Oh, well. He is taking this news far better than expected, or appears to be. Later, he'll find a nice brown paper back into which he can hyperventilate.

"And others?"

[amourpropre]

"You've only the one."

Kidding, identified as such if only because that dryly impatient tone of voice can only be facetious. Lucius finishes off his wine, and doesn't beckon for a second helping. "Evan Rosier, if you can cast your mind back far enough. Antonin Dolohov is present and harmless, except to himself and anyone in his more immediate vicinity. Lovegood, the Quibbler editor.

"But I do not pay much attention to the network, I will admit. You'd do better to ask the others." Oddly enough, with exception to the younger Severus, his business finds him casting his net wider than those of their community, even one so tailored to his comfort and principles.

[subtlescience]

Severus takes the suggestion to ask the others as another hint that he should give up his charade and promptly goes quite deaf to it. Instead, he mulls over this roster he currently has: two Malfoys, Narcissa, Rosier, Dolohov, the Lestanges. And on his side of things, Granger and Xenophilius. Likely straddling the fence is his doppelganger.

Even if the Lucius before him is reformed, Severus is outnumbered. Vastly so. After a long moment, he gives a thoughtful nod. This is enough to be getting on with for him.

"If you'll excuse me, I have other matters which require my attention." Such as ensuring the cavalry isn't sent to rescue him. He has the information he needed, and has never been much of one for socialisation, anyway. Later, once he's had time to consider his next course of action, he'll invite Lucius out for dinner. Or something. Drinks. Bemoaning their lot in life. The usual. "I am most obliged for your time and candor."

[amourpropre]

There is little left to study. There wasn't much before. Lucius could fancy he can make deductions about Severus' careful stillness, but little more than guesswork based off his own response to a doppelganger, and knowing what he knows of Snape. More detail is not offered when it is not asked for; Lucius remains sitting where he is in comfortable lean, with no reason to leave the warm space by the hearth or make gestures of seeing the other man to the door of a public building.

"It was nothing," he dismisses, politely. "Go see to your matters." And with that, he freely leaves Snape to go and endlessly think on all he is shared, feeling rather relieved that he has less of that to do, himself.