[It’s a few weeks since Devon unwittingly stumbled into his bedroom, and James is back at the estate for the weekend again. He’s sitting in one of the drawing rooms with his father, on the first floor. They’re both reading, and apparently have little to say to each other; which, in James’ opinion, is fine. The youngest Aubel flips a page in his book (The Pygmalion), eager to lose himself in the play, when out of nowhere, his father speaks up.
You know, James, you ought to take Devon out more often. How long has she been cooped up in this house? She must be going mad by now. Did you notice that she keeps moving her paintings around nearly every week? Not that I care, but surely you can do more than just let her stay in your mother’s room all day, drowning in oil paints. Take her shopping, for god’s sake.
James grunts, sounding vaguely annoyed, not looking up from his book.]
Is this a suggestion or a command, I wonder?
[You’re a grown man, I can’t command you to do anything. But I can still strongly recommend that you should act in a certain way, if I think it’ll be beneficial to you in the long run. She doesn’t even have a car here, or a license to drive in the UK. She's stuck, for the time being.
James puts his book down, looking at his father from across the drawing room with skepticism.]
She hasn’t said that she wants to go out shopping once. She hasn’t even mentioned leaving.
[His father waved away the remark, stating, She’s too nice for her own good. Too considerate. Probably too afraid to ask for you to chauffeur you around. So don’t put so much stock into her not asking you.
James exhales in exasperation, gnawing at his lower lip. Silence passes again.
The weather’s nice today, you should perhaps go-]
Enough, enough. I’ll take her. [James stands, and puts his book away on a shelf next to him, shaking his head.] I swear, sometimes it’s as if you were going to marry her.
[As James begins to walk out, he can hear his father chuckle behind him. If I were your age, maybe! His son rolls his eyes, and disappears out the door.]
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
[It isn’t long before James manages to track Devon down. He has his jacket on, and cars keys in one hand. Sunglasses rest on his head as he approaches her.]
˙ɹǝddᴉɹʇ ʎɐp ɐ sɐʍ ǝɥs
You know, James, you ought to take Devon out more often. How long has she been cooped up in this house? She must be going mad by now. Did you notice that she keeps moving her paintings around nearly every week? Not that I care, but surely you can do more than just let her stay in your mother’s room all day, drowning in oil paints. Take her shopping, for god’s sake.
James grunts, sounding vaguely annoyed, not looking up from his book.]
Is this a suggestion or a command, I wonder?
[You’re a grown man, I can’t command you to do anything. But I can still strongly recommend that you should act in a certain way, if I think it’ll be beneficial to you in the long run. She doesn’t even have a car here, or a license to drive in the UK. She's stuck, for the time being.
James puts his book down, looking at his father from across the drawing room with skepticism.]
She hasn’t said that she wants to go out shopping once. She hasn’t even mentioned leaving.
[His father waved away the remark, stating, She’s too nice for her own good. Too considerate. Probably too afraid to ask for you to chauffeur you around. So don’t put so much stock into her not asking you.
James exhales in exasperation, gnawing at his lower lip. Silence passes again.
The weather’s nice today, you should perhaps go-]
Enough, enough. I’ll take her. [James stands, and puts his book away on a shelf next to him, shaking his head.] I swear, sometimes it’s as if you were going to marry her.
[As James begins to walk out, he can hear his father chuckle behind him. If I were your age, maybe! His son rolls his eyes, and disappears out the door.]
[It isn’t long before James manages to track Devon down. He has his jacket on, and cars keys in one hand. Sunglasses rest on his head as he approaches her.]
Devon, we’re going out. Apparently.