an unkindness of ravens

trente et un

— trente et un ; thirty one —

HENRI DIDN'T THINK HE'D ever felt as nervous as he did right now, standing under the lukewarm water of his post-game shower as the water gradually turned cold in a futile attempt to stall for time.

The Ravens had won, obviously, and Henri was probably the only one on the team who wasn't happy about it. It wasn't that he was sad; he was just too busy shitting himself about the fact he was about to appear on live national television to care about some stupid match. Henri wasn't a camera person — he didn't smile at the right times and he didn't charm in the delightfully fake way Soren could. Even worse, Jean would be there. Jean Moreau. His brother. Whichever way he turned those words in his head, they didn't sound right and he didn't think they ever would.

He was also stalling a little because he couldn't be bothered to deal with KJ and this was the easiest way to avoid him. He scowled every time Henri had happened to glance his way and didn't seem appeased by the fact he'd gotten to play while Henri was checked over by the team medic — who, by the way, deemed he'd be fine besides a bruise which was nothing new. It probably didn't sit well with KJ that for tonight's game, he'd played as a sub to a freshman rookie rather than the other way around.

"What took you so long?" Kit wondered, when Henri finally joined the rest of the team in the foyer, his hair still dripping.

Henri glanced at KJ who had murder in his eyes. "Nothing in particular," he said absently, more focused on the two men who'd come up to the Ravens. He knew what they were here for even before they informed him the car was waiting outside him.

"Wait, what car?" Aria jaw dropped. "Don't tell me Moreau Junior gets a private ride to the hotel while the rest of us slum it in the Coach."

"I'm not going to the hotel," Henri said.

Loren looked confused. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

The only one who didn't look puzzled was Soren and it didn't take him long to realise that. "You didn't tell them?" he asked, with a hint of disbelief.

Henri shrugged. "I figured they'd find out soon enough."

"Tell us what?" Matthias said impatiently, never one to enjoy being kept out of the loop. "Spill the beans already. And you've got to quit only telling Soren the important stuff, Henri. Totally unfair."

Henri ignored him, as usual, and glanced at Soren. "You can tell them," he said in French.

"Why should I?"

"Don't you think I'm suffering enough just being forced into this?"

"Watch what you say tonight," Soren said, sticking to French so the others couldn't understand. Henri took that as implicit agreement to deal with the Ravens. "There will be a lot of eyes on you tonight. One misstep and the Master will not be forgiving."

"Trust me, I know."

Henri spent the entire ride to where the show was being aired stuffed in the back of a car and counting all the ways this could go wrong. Considering he didn't know how it could possibly go right, the list was growing impossibly long and he might have been glad when their arrival put an end to his negative thoughts if not for what it meant. Inside that building, amid the cameras and TV crew and microphones, was Henri's brother. The thought tied his stomach up into so many knots he had to remind himself how to breathe as he was led inside by one of the staff members.

He was led into a room where a whole team of stylists, hair and make up and clothes, transformed him from a tired Exy player into something presentable on screen. His hair was styled for the first time in his life rather than falling haphazardly in his eyes and he was wearing the fanciest, and probably most expensive, clothes he'd ever worn before. "We'll be on in twenty minutes," one of the harried women running around with a clipboard told him. "Feel free to relax in our waiting room backstage until we bring you on."