psl; [a marriage of inconvenience]

[hedgemaze]

THE AUBEL ESTATE is located in Derbyshire, England, a stately old home reminiscent of centuries long past. Long ago, it had fallen into disrepair and abandoned until previous generations of the Aubel family purchased the land for themselves, having found their fortunes in matters of real estate. Since that time, the outside has been restored and the inside has been renovated at least three times. Four, if you ask the uncle who remembers the one summer where the chandelier fell from the dining hall, taking a large portion of the ceiling with it. How embarrassing, if such a thing is true.

In its present state, it straddles the line between the old and new. The large, prominent rooms are ostentatious as they are filled to the brim with austere English culture; the smaller quarters, traditionally used by the servants and staff, are far more modest, and over time have allowed the tendrils of modernity to creep in as a result. Regardless, the home is impressive no matter how you look at it, and there are few who do not cast an envious glance at the estate as they pass by Derbyshire on their way to town, or perhaps northwest to Manchester, if they've even farther to go.

PHILIP AND JAMES AUBEL, father and son respectively, are the owners of the home, though only the father remains for any extended period of time. And even then, he only stays perhaps one or two seasons at a time, until he returns to his home in London, spending one or two seasons there, before returning again, living out his life of retirement to the fullest. James visits nearly every week (driving in from Manchester, and back) in the Spring, until the first freeze of Winter, when nothing will grow. Though they have a staff of two dozen -- give or take, depending upon the time of year -- taking care of the estate and its grounds, James is more diligent about keeping up appearances of the house, showing a special interest in maintaining the complex hedge maze on the land directly behind them. Only he keeps access to its center, a literal walled garden of seasonal flora.

AS RECENT DEVELOPMENTS WOULD HAVE IT, James has been drawn into an arranged marriage by his father and an old business acquaintance. She is scheduled for an extended visit soon, and the staff have done a meticulous job of preparing the hall for her arrival -- and the rest of the rooms, as well, if she is expected to make her living here permanent, one day. Today, the weather is clear and the help is eager to aid her in unpacking. The grounds are green and the family dog, an old greyhound with cataracts in one eye, bounds up to her with a slow wagging tail. The father will greet her, of course, with all the usual formalities, and though he doesn't know her all that well at all, she at least seems nice enough. He disappears soon after, leaving her to her own devices as she sees fit. James himself is nowhere to be found.

Somewhere, sooner rather than later, a collision course of first impressions will take place.

----------

D I R E C T O R Y;

➤ shitpost.
➤ first impressions.
➤ diamonds.
➤ text her, texter.
➤ saviour.
➤ flirt.
➤ closer.
➤ cross-examine.
➤ PARTY CRASHERS.
✶ elle + devon
✶ elle + corvus
✶ ian + james + corvus
✶ devon + james
➤ alien abduction.
➤ sleep now.
➤ bathe.
➤ remember.
➤ drink.
➤ welcome home.

Comments

Fʟᴀsʜʙᴀᴄᴋs | 𝚃𝙵𝙻𝙽 | YEAR BEFORE

[winterheart]

[In the time before the unusual arrangement, Devon Ava Winters, lived what she would call, a fairly simple, but content life. Uncomplicated (usually) in most aspects, even when she had to deal with her mother's side of the family.

Of course, Devon would think wording it like that was unfair. Her cousin, Lucy Flemming, a year older than her, had always made an effort to make her feel included in outings compared to the other Flemmings who would display awkward politeness and civility around her. Sure, Lucy could be a bit flighty, a bit of a boast (especially about her fiance who she always reminded everyone about, he was just that good), but why wouldn't she be? She was a lovely and proud Flemming with blonde hair, blue eyes, a generally sweet disposition, and a wicked streak for academics to match. Devon really did like her in the end and wouldn't ever wish ill on her.

Of course, those good qualities didn't exactly equal good sense. Devon is visiting England, far from her home from Portland, Oregon. Lucy and some of the other girl cousins decided that it was a perfectly good weekend to visit a popular dance club. Devon tagged along, not one to turn down an outing just because she isn't used to it (she had to convince her parents that yes, Lucy would watch out for her and it would be too loud for her to fall asleep). And of course, there's always the prospect of finally finding someone attractive that she could maybe start something new with.

And yet, it's rather fruitless. Her cousins are having a wild time on the dance floor, some at the bar, taking shots. Devon has a feeling she was going to the only sober one at the end of the evening because she's ended up on purse and phone duty. She nurses her own drink while sitting in a quiet corner of the bar, playing a game on her phone (And people wonder why she doesn't get out much.)

That's when she glances at Lucy's phone.

There's a loud whooping from Lucy who twirls her athletic body with some nameless friends. Devon slides her cousin's phone over to herself noting that it was unlocked. Excellent. She goes through her contact list, looking for a certain name... Ah. There he was. The Golden Boy. The Fiance of the Year. She's not sure really, why she decided to go through with this silly prank even though she and Lucy have done it to each other before. Maybe it's the alcohol, but more than likely, it was just Devon being Devon. A wildcard of a young woman.

And so, a new message appears...]

Fantasizing about the apocalypse is fun and shit until the conditions that could lead to one suddenly seem feasible

[hedgemaze]

[The nights that James wishes for sleep the most is when it eludes him most readily.

Tonight he stays at his estate in Derbyshire, and having finished his normal routine during the day, he's retired to his bedroom to rest. It's early yet, especially for him, but his throat feels tight tonight, his breathing shallow. His work in the gardens, perhaps, what with ozones and allergens, may have instigated it further, he thinks. His breathing does not suffer nearly as much as it did when he was younger, but there are days where it's worse than usual. Today is that day. Tonight is that night.

It's more uncomfortable than worrisome, more annoyance than concern. He's not even used his inhaler once tonight (though that was more out of pride than reason), and with enough focus, with enough... change, he can often will it away. Force his body to obey, though for some reason his throat and lungs were more stubborn than the rest, impossible to ever completely "fix". There's nothing James hates worse than spending a night tossing and turning. He had flipped on the telly, but nothing was of interest to him; the screen became nothing more than white noise, volume turned down, lights flickering with fluorescent movement as adverts played with their usual fervency.

Finally, he gets up and opens the door to the balcony overlooking the back of the house. He steps out and inhales the night air, the coolness feeling good in his lungs, and when he opens his eyes, a sliver of a moon peers down at him. He frowns.

In his pajama pockets, plaid and loose-fitting, his mobile buzzes. James' brows knit in vague surprise, and he fishes the device out, unlocking it and looking down at the message on the screen. He reads it more than once, twice, three times. It wasn't rare to receive texts from his bride-to-be (it wasn't even uncommon, on some days), but it was the content that confused him. He knew she was in town, but the message had little to nothing to do with that -- was she drunk?

He shakes his head, sliding the phone back into his pocket. Leans against the railing, looking out over the grounds for a full five minutes. Then, out of boredom, or out of nagging curiosity, he fishes his phone out once more and replies. Nothing better to do, after all.]

Like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker.

[He's quoting something. Someone. He doesn't suppose Lucy would care either way. Then, something more mundane:]

Tell me about your current apocalypse and its feasibility, before I suffocate to death.

ƑƖαѕн Ƒσяωαяɗ | YEAR LATER

[winterheart]

[She doesn't want to sleep during her plane ride, but to no avail. It's the same dream again; the inky blackness, the sensation of falling off an edge she cannot see. Piles of feathers, silvery and opal like. She walks forward in the blackness, being lead by someone. Something. It calls for her. It's telling her to come back. Don't go, don't go, come back, come back, where are you going?

No matter where she goes, it'll follow. They all will. Because she needs to return to them. She belongs to them.

❋ ❋ ❋

The past few months have been, in a word, stressful. Stressful beyond belief.

When the announcement and order was given, Lucy Flemming was dumbstruck and would not look Devon in the eye and her pleading messages to make amends with her beloved cousin went unanswered for the rest of the year. Her aunts and uncles were outraged, demanding answers from Lucas Jayden Flemming, the esteemed patriarch and questioning his much too sudden judgement and their disdain towards the favored grandchild was no longer hidden. Devon's mother, Christine, pursed her lips, after a heated discussion with her father over a phonecall which ended with a sickening silence and although she tried not to cry in front of her daughter, Devon knew that worry plagued her every night and she would cry to Aaron, her father, who did his best to soothe his wife and reassure his daughter that perhaps this new path was not so bad. Devon wouldn't leave them forever, they would save up and visit her, she can always fly back to see them. (Oh, but the worry got to her daddy too, both him and Mom would wonder who would be there for her sleepwalking episodes, what if she got lost, they don't want her out of their sight). Her parents, despite how they felt, helped Devon with filling the appropriate paperwork and making the necessary preparations for the big move.

Her teaching supervisor was confused, but sympathetic to Devon, being sure to leave her kind words and have the entire classroom create a lovingly made scrapbook album for every child to give their goodbyes and thank yous to Miss Devon. Some of the children, bless their souls, were bright eyed at her moving away to Britain, asking her questions about the seemingly mysterious kingdom. Devon could only smile and answer the best she could, not wanting to break their hearts with her own forlorn feelings.

Oh, but worst of all was poor baby Ian. A nine year old, sure, but always the dear squirt to his big sister. Thinking about who would take care of him now that she wouldn't be around distressed Devon the most. He was so sensitive and she wanted to see his soccer games, she wanted to embarrass him in front of his friends, she wanted to treat him to ice cream on Fridays and watch his favorite movies on the weekends. Ian had been the most quiet out of everyone on both sides of the family about the whole matter. But he gripped Devon's hand more tightly in the mornings when she dropped him off for school and he ate all of his vegetables more easily instead of protesting, as if trying to make everyone's life easier with that minimal task. He only started to cry when he and their parents, waved to Devon as she walked to her plane terminal.

And after a long flight and a persisting fight with jet lag, Devon Ava Winters stands before the Aubel Estate in all of its high British glory. To say that she felt overwhelmed is an understatement. Portland was green, but here, the green is an ocean. Grandpa had a fancy place or two and they might have been about the same size, but Devon never felt intimidated in those places like she did here. Those were filled with family members and with Lucas's robust personality that could fill every nook and cranny. Here, there was just so much emptiness.

When Philip Aubel greeted her cordially, but briefly, her reply felt automatic and robotic. Soon, her bags and packages were swept away and she's left with the grey hound, a truly friendly face. You can always count on dogs. Devon is soon in the front hall, and kneels on the floor, ruffling the dog's head in an absentminded manner. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders, bangs obscuring her tired eyes. She's dressed in a leather jacket and modest pants and flats. Hardly the ideal picture of a glowing fiancee. Her thoughts had been all over the place and ironically, it's been making it hard for her to sleep which was a stupid benefit. There was no sleepwalking during the whole debacle at least. That would have been too much on top of this arranged marriage business and ruining ties with her extended family (well, the Winters are still there, but their humor probably wouldn't pull her out of this funk).

It was all so frustrating. Why the sudden change of mind? Why the urgency? Why did it seem like her mother and grandpa kept withholding information from her as if this engagement was truly for Devon's benefit? Grandpa's reasoning was simply that Devon needed it more than Lucy. Lucy had many other prospects and she was not wanting for a promising career with her brains and talents. She didn't need this marriage to be successful. Devon, on the other hand, needed a boost. She deserved better than being a schoolteacher.

Yeah. Being treated as a switchable object is way better than reaching out to kids," is Devon's uselessly sarcastic thought as she stands up, looking down at the grey hound. She sighs and speaks to it while looking at her new home.]

Guess you'll be my first friend then? I could really use it.

[Devon takes comfort in the fact that she hasn't seen her partner to be yet. He is, in fact, the last person she wants to see after this emotionally trying journey.]

[hedgemaze]

[James Aubel won’t show to greet his new fiance until a good half-hour later.

It wasn’t as if he was unaware of her arrival; in fact, it would be impossible not to be. He had been told of the exact day and time she would arrive (more than once, his father made certain he wouldn’t forget), but beyond that, he could… feel the presence of another, far away, but present. It was like a small stone had been dropped into a still lake, and James could feel the ripples cascading towards him. He had frowned, reaching out a bit further with his mind, feeling what it was she felt — apprehension, stress. A decided want to not be here.

He shifts his weight from where he sits — a small, white gazebo somewhere on the western grounds, big enough for three people at the most — and stretches his legs out, settling his head back and closing his eyes. If she didn’t want to see him, he was fine by that. He’d rather stay here, soak up the sun, enjoy a nap. Let the sun sink into his bones, and let her, the new stranger he was supposed to marry, take in that big, empty estate. Why should he impress upon her his presence, when it was clear that he was likely the last thing she wanted to see? It worked out for both parties, in the end.

And so half an hour passes before James is pulled out of his shallow slumber by the approaching of another presence. One far more familiar, one that radiated an unwavering confidence, though tinged at the edges with a keen guilt that could not be ignored. The young man frowns a little, but resists opening his eyes. Resists moving. Maybe the presence would leave.

Get up, James. What on earth are you doing out here? Your fiancé’s arrived, and you should be in there saying hello. Show her around!

James cannot help but grunt a little at his failure to be left alone. His father either didn’t care that he had been “sleeping”, or knew that he had merely been pretending to. He turns his head to look at him, still lazily slouched in his seat, as if a hammock would be the next best thing to napping in a gazebo, if he could have his way.]

She doesn’t want to see me right now. Let her get used to the house. She has Simon to keep her company.

[His father scoffed. Yes, let the dog be the host for the day. Are you mental? Get up. Now.]

Fine. [James hesitates only for a second before standing, this time allowing himself a stretch. Philip Aubel continued to say something along the lines of, And you need to shave. Make sure you take care of that before you leave.] Fine, I will. [James tried to wave his father away, even as he began walking back to the house.] Don’t worry so much about me — I’ll show our new guest the upmost hospitality.

[His father didn’t follow after that point, nor did James expect him to. He walked across the grounds, green blades of grass crunching underneath each step, and only when he was close enough did he call out:]

Simon!

[The old greyhound would hear him, undoubtedly, and if his fiancé was with him, then the dog would not fail to lead her to James. He would bet money on it.

Within the manor, Simon’s head turns, floppy ears perking up. While the attentions of a new person was all well and good, one of his owners was calling him, and he was eager to oblige. He barks, then bounds off towards one of the exits to the outside. He stops, pawing at a closed door, whining.]

one month later | ˙ʎɹǝʅʅɐƃ ʇɹɐ uʍo ʎɹǝʌ ɹnoʎ

[hedgemaze]

[The rest of the month passes by uneventfully for someone who's just acquired a new fiance. Of course, for events to actually happen, James would have to be around more often than just the weekends -- the truth of the matter is, he's not.

When he is at the estate, though, he's begun to notice a few... changes. Paintings that he remembers were not there before. And he'd come back the next week, and they'd be moved, only to have something completely different in its spot. He has no doubt that Devon was indulging herself in her new studio, and apparently was in the mood to do a bit of redecorating around the house. Sometimes he'll stop and look at one for a good couple of minutes, trying to make sense of her process, or what images she's painted this time around. Usually it's a fruitless endeavor, though he can appreciate it aesthetically.

Of course, one day, when Simon trots past, leaving tracks of oil paint from his paws (ochre, it looks like), James is a little less appreciative. He stares after his canine in disbelief, then turns to look down the hall, calling out:]

Devon!

[winterheart]

[Devon wasted no time at all in putting herself to work.

The first week was sending emails to her family, even setting up a video call for Ian so she can carry her tablet and give her brother a virtual tour of the estate (Ian sadly said he wished he could either be there or that she would come back soon. She tried not to choke up.) Unpacking properly came next. She had help from some employees to make her new art studio spic and span, and supplying it with new wooden long table, an easel, and proper disposal bins. Her own supplies came in several cardboard boxes, courtesy of her parents.

And after what seemed like forever, Devon eagerly got to painting, losing herself in the process, dipping, wiping, stroking, blending, scratching new ideas down in her sketchbook, applying them on the canvas. Before she knew it, she had finished three, no five paintings within two weeks.

Well, she couldn't help it. It turns out, being the fiance of a very busy and wealthy businessman could be absolutely and mindbogglingly boring. Boredom is heinous to Devon and doing nothing about it more so. Her dad always said that whenever she isn't sleeping, her bursts of energy were really quite something.

She couldn't just let her paintings sit in the studio either. That's not what art was for, art was for seeing and digesting. So Devon enlisted some more help to hang the canvases where she saw fit and aesthetically pleasing. She would even take input from the workers who found that she was even willing to take their critiques if something just didn't look good. That was fun.

There was all kinds of paintings. Abstracts, a lot of flowers, some very precise still life pieces, figure paintings, landscapes. There was a pile of feathers depicted once. That one was only on the wall for one day.

James never really said anything bad about what she was doing so Devon kept at it. She hadn't really... Talked to him all that much ever since she started living in the estate. Even less considering he was away on business all the time. Ah, well. She's been making do.

Ack, her portrait of Simon isn't going well though. He's walked off and that's when Devon hears James's voice. She furrows her brow and then leans out the doorway to look and see where his voice came from. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and she has a stained apron which has pockets, filled with brushes, stained with color. She sheepishly returns the call.]

Yes? I'm in here...! As usual!

[Sad really.]

𝚃𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜

[winterheart]

[Devon didn't text James immediately the weekend after he gave her an official engagement ring. It may seem like she was doing so out of consideration for his work (that was only partly though). If anything, she didn't send any messages because she didn't know what to start with.

It was only when she stared at a blank canvas for 20 minutes, exhausted from of ideas that had been used up in the past month, did she decide to pick up her phone, swiping through its contents so that she could play a game first. The ring, still on her finger, catches the light and gives her pause.

The contacts list is pulled up and Devon taps James's name.]

Quick question:
How many of your suits combined equals the cost of the engagement ring???

𝚃𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃

[hedgemaze]

[James is working from his flat in Manchester, reading over a couple of emails when his phone buzzes at him. He looks at it, and is surprised to find a text from Devon; at this rate, he figured she wasn't the sort to text often, since he hadn't received anything since the day he gave her his number.

When he reads it, he's a little confused. He types back a reply in short order.]

That depends on the suit. And didn't anyone tell you you're not supposed to ask how much a gift costs?

нεαʟıпɢ тσυcн

[winterheart]

[Devon's spirits seem to have lightened up since her conversation with James. She's even beginning to look forward to seeing him on the weekends so that maybe she'll gather more courage to just speak like she does over text. That transition probably won't be too sudden though. She doesn't know if the same audaciousness can be shown around her fiance so easily.

On the day that James is supposed to come home, Devon is cleaning up her studio, making sure that there isn't any paint around and that all papers and brushes are off the floor. That's when she notices Simon, laying at the doorway.]

Hey, buddy...

[She kneels down to stroke the greyhound's head, examining him closely. He's an old dog, but he bounded around the estate with a nice quirky energy. The past few days though? He seems more tired than usual. Devon frowns, looking for any other signs that he might be sick.]

C'mon, let's go downstairs. Your dad's coming home, remember?

[She makes a start towards the staircase turning her head to see if Simon will follow.

He doesn't.]

[hedgemaze]

[James returns early Saturday morning, as he had originally planned to. He was a little tired from the work week, but nothing out of the ordinary; the weekend often gave him time to recover, though he would never admit to it if asked directly.

Usually, Simon bounds up to him when he enters the foyer of their grand old home, but this time around, James doesn't even hear the click-clack of toenails coming to greet him. He finds it strange, but thinks little of it. He figures that maybe he's busy bothering Devon, or even his father, which was sometimes the case.]

Hello? [He calls out to a mostly empty house, the servants busy elsewhere.] Devon? Simon? Father?

[He sets his things down nearby -- just his coat and keys, really -- and ascends the stairs, looking to see what everyone is up to today.]

˙ǝuoz ɹǝƃuɐp ǝɥʇ oʇuᴉ ʇɥƃᴉɹ

[hedgemaze]

[It's another one of those nights.

It's a week after the fiasco in the maze, and James is vaguely annoyed at his throat and lungs, wishing that his asthma would shove off for the rest of the night. But he's not going to waste the energy to force himself to feel better, so it appears that he's at an impasse. He pushed through the day mostly fine, only having to use his inhaler once today, but as the evening wore on, his patience began to disappear, his motivation to do much else waning just as quickly.

So he retires early for the night, disappearing into his bedroom, trying to pass the time by reading. He breathes deeply, ignoring the tightness in his chest. It's mild, at worst, but annoying.

Currently, he sits in his bed, reading Dostoyevsky, with his door closed. Hopefully he'll be able to fall asleep soon.]

[winterheart]

[Ever since last weekend, Devon's made sure to double check, no triple check that her door is locked every night. She even put the key in the table drawer to throw off any attempts to reach for it easily at night if she happened to do something as complex as that in a sleepwalk. After a whole week has passed she's been able to relax and to be less uptight than before.

Her personal worries didn't stop her from noticing the fluctuations in James's attitude throughout the day when he came home (she's been warming up much more to him, ever since he helped her out of the maze). She had to ask one of the servants about his health. They're probably nicer to each other to a degree now, but she isn't so sure about other things. That's when she was informed about the asthma. Ah. So that's why he's in his room early tonight. Silly, how she only knows about it now.

Devon puts another layer of paint on her current canvas (an image of a bitten red apple) before deciding to also go to bed tonight. Staying up late all the time isn't healthy.

She walks to her room to change into her sleeping clothes, but pauses, glancing down the hallway. James's room wasn't far away. Devon's never seen the inside before and since his lungs are bothering him right now, maybe the least she can do is see how he's doing before he goes back to work.

One knock. Two knocks. Three knocks. Devon takes a step back from the door, feeling somewhat apprehensive.]

˙ɹǝddᴉɹʇ ʎɐp ɐ sɐʍ ǝɥs

[hedgemaze]

[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.]

Devon, we’re going out. Apparently.

[winterheart]

Huh?

[He's caught her in her studio, this time painting eggshells. There's a brush being held in her mouth as she looks at James and blinks before taking it out. ]

Oh? This is new. What are we going out for?

Bright Eyed | Cloudy Skies

[clearsight]

[A month passes by in a flash. Snow begins to slowly fall from the skies of Great Britain and the holiday season emerges from all corners of the country, Derbyshire being no exception. The staff has done a thorough cleaning of the Aubel Estate, preparing it for the eventual visitation of Devon Ava Winter's family. The young miss is practically bubbling with excitement, offering help with the decorations. With each passing day, she truly was the picture of a glowing bride to be. Hopefully, this would ease her family's concerns when they come to be a part of her engagement party, where everything would be 100% set in stone.

* * *

This sucks, is the gloomy thought of a young Ian Harvey Winters as he stares at the sky from his windowseat inside the car that was driving him and his parents towards the estate. Christine and Aaron Winters had recieved the invitation to the engagement party two months ago and the former became rather high-strung at the prospect and preparations (although it lowered somewhat when Aaron showed her that Lucas was paying for their travel costs, from there to back). Ian could have been left at home, but he refused. He was going to go see his big sister and the dumb fiance that was supposed to be his... Ugh. Brother-in-law. Ian doesn't get how being married to Devon would make anyone his brother. He didn't need one when he had the best big sister until recently when she had to move away. Christine had reassured her young son that Devon would be fine (he could tell she was doubtful though) and that her husband was a good man (he DEFINITELY could tell Mom was doubtful). Ian knew his sister. In her emails, she sounded fine and over the course of the past few months, she even sounded happier as time went on.

Suspicious.

Along for the ride in another car are cousin Helena Winters (29), beloved Aunt Mae (39) and paternal twin sibling cousins, Yaya and Donny Winters (two years older than he was). They were the only ones who could make the trip while the rest of Aaron's family would have to send their well-wishes from afar.

Even with all of this company, Ian felt lonely. He liked his cousins and he felt a little guilty that he couldn't be excited like them. Being in England was cool after all. They were staying in a big mansion-castle. Mom's side of the family was really awesome (Mom didn't really seem to think so) and sometimes he would brag to his friends back in Oregon about how Grandpa Lucas basically knew ALL the movie stars and had THREE mansions.

Of course, none of that mattered since they weren't staying at Grandpa's. The cars carrying the Winters families drive right up to the daunting looking estate. Ian would have thought that it was pretty cool looking except... It's the gut feeling again. It's wasn't terrible but it lingered like an uneasy weight on his shoulders. Ian always had this feeling ever since he was young. He never told his parents, but he told Devon. Devon didn't laugh at him. She believed whatever he said whenever he had a gut feeling.

Speaking of which.... His face brightens up when he sees his sister out in front waving to the cars. There's even a dog next to her... Whoa, a greyhound! He's never seen one in real life before.

But then Ian sees... HIM.

While everyone goes out to have a joyful reunion (Aaron and Christine are bear hugging Devon), Ian stays behind in the car, face pressed up against the window, glowering at THAT GUY...]

[hedgemaze]

[James had been told by his father to be on his best behavior when the rest of the Winters family came to visit; he had responded that of course, you don't need to tell me that, and had dismissed Philip Aubel's concerns quite readily. And when their cars roll up in the driveway and Devon's family comes out to greet them, James is all polite smiles, though they are edged with that lingering self-confidence that he can never quite shake completely.

Still, he's a generous host. He allows Devon time to enthusiastically hug her parents and say her hellos properly to everyone. When James is approached, he welcomes them, asks them how their flight was, etc etc. The usual things that a host must do. And he's quietly reaching out to feel their emotions, as well -- there are no surprises; they all seem very happy to see each other. Their emotions match their body language, their expressions.

Except for one, a lingering presence not directly before him...

James' eyes move to the car, where Ian sits, glowering at him. He can't help but raise a brow, vaguely amused at the boy's obvious disapproval. That must be Ian, he thinks to himself.

Later, his father comes out to greet everyone as well, and James lets a bit of the hosting duties defer to him. Simon trots around happily, tail wagging, excited for all the newcomers. In fact, the greyhound senses that there's still someone in the car, and rushes over to where Ian is, barking happily. He's a tall dog, but not quite that tall -- Ian may be able to see his tail wagging through the window, and will properly see Simon in his entirety if he sits up more. (Or even gets out.)]

˙sʅɐɯᴉuɐ ʎʇɹɐd ǝʅqɐʇᴉɹǝʌ

[hedgemaze]

[Time moves quickly, and before anyone knows it, the day of the engagement party is upon them.

The Aubel estate it done-up to the nines this evening. As guests filter in (invited family, friends, co-workers, even vague acquaintances and plus ones), they’re greeted with a warm, inviting atmosphere. The Christmas decor compliments the austere architecture in the best way; boughs of holly, just like the song, hang on every bannister. Wreaths on the walls, and more than one Christmas tree sits brightly in the Aubel home.

The foyer is where most of the festivities take place, of course. There, stands the biggest tree, tall and sparkling and smelling of evergreen; beside it sits a 9-foot white grand piano, moved in from one of the drawing rooms, waiting for anyone hoping to add a bit of live holiday music to the already lively atmosphere. There are tables of hors d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne towers and should the guests filter into the dining hall (where the party extends to, and then to some of the smaller rooms in the same part of the house), they’ll be treated by even more food, and more seating for those who inevitably become too weary from partying, or too drunk to stand up properly.

Outside, it’s cold. Snow flurries flutter downwards and sticks lightly to the grass. Lights glow from the windows of the large house, and the murmur of talking and laughter can be heard by anyone who happens to be outside. (Hopefully you’ve brought your coat, if that’s the case.)

People are still continually filtering in (their fancy cars finding ample places to park in the Aubel’s long driveway), even as the party starts to reach full swing. Already it seems as if it’ll be a successful endeavor, lively and cheerful, and the night is still young yet.]

elle + devon; awkward.

[animalqueen]

[When Elle Grayson received an invitation to James Aubel’s engagement party a month ago, she thought it was some sort of practical joke. She stared at the invitation, gold foil letters shining up at her, wondering just how oblivious the man had to be — later that day, she looked at it again and, scoffing, decided that she would write back that she sadly could not make it.

Somehow, she never wrote that reply. As the days passed, it slowly transformed into a “maybe” in her mind; it had been awhile since she’d been to Derbyshire, and even though seeing James would be as awkward as always, especially during an engagement party, she had to admit she was intrigued. She never saw the place during the Christmas season. (He had broken up with her in early November, just as the decorations were coming in to be put up.)

Eventually that “maybe” turned into a “yes” and she wrote back to RSVP. Sending it in the post, she almost immediately regretted it, and decided that she would just not show up, citing that she was sick with the flu. Or she broke her leg. Or was in a coma. Or anything, really, to keep from going. And yet here she is, the night of the party, standing outside wearing a green dress and black long coat, with the estate looming over her. The drive had been uneventful — though long, from all the way out in London — and even she had to admit that the outside of the house was suddenly breathtaking. She could only imagine what being inside was like.

The answer was, of course, very crowded.

There were so many people, and not any that she knew. Whereas she would have liked to focus on the decorations, the holiday spirit lingering about the room, she suddenly felt self-conscious. Who was she supposed to talk to? James? She couldn’t pick him out in the crowd; he could be anywhere. And his supposed fiance? She didn’t even know she looked like. Someone comes up to her, offers to take her coat. She blinks and lets them remove it, to wherever coats are kept in this place. A giant coat closet? She wasn’t sure.

First thing’s first, then. Elle moves across the floor, smiling nicely to everyone she makes eye-contact with, though none of them bother to stop to engage her. Her object of interest is grabbing a flute of champagne, which she finds easily since it seems abundant tonight. After that, she’s back to not knowing what to do.

She decides to take action. Clearing her throat, she walks up to the closest person and taps them on the shoulder lightly, asking,] Excuse me, but do you know where I can find the hosts?

мσηѕтєяѕ αƖƖ αяσυηɗ υѕ

[winterheart]

[The engagement party was like a dream. Devon can hardly believe that it happened. The Aubel Estate is emptied of its guests and Devon's family returned to the States. It was a shame they couldn't stay for Christmas, but the dates just ended up as they were. Devon was able to spend an early Christmas of sorts with her parents and Ian. When they left, it was odd how it didn't hurt to see them leave as it was when she left Portland. Perhaps it's because she didn't mind her new home with the Aubels, most importantly, her home with James.

She's at home, sitting near a fireplace instead of her studio as usual. A mug of tea sits on the table nearby and she's covered with a fuzzy throw blanket while reading a book on mixed media art technique. Devon's leaning her head on one hand nodding off into a nap. The warmth from the fire and what was leftover of the celebration surrounds her and it's dangerously cloying.

But she blinks herself awake and straightens up, shaking her head.]

Can't sleep out here...

[Outside, the snow has just stopped falling. In the sky where no one can see them, a murder of crows circles around the roof of the estate. Waiting. Watching.]

[hedgemaze]

[It's a quiet night at the Aubel estate, and James is currently in a drawing room in the house, reading as per usual. It's almost odd for the house to be nearly empty again, or at least without Devon's family living with them anymore. Still, he's readjusted quickly enough, and barring the Christmas decorations that still hang in every room, things have gone back to normal.

James never did tell Devon about his experience with the crows that night, or the strange man. He didn't know what to make of it yet, and therefore saw no reason to worry her, without him offering a solution to the issue. It's made him more vigilant, at least.

As much as he can be.

Because there's only so much he can do, only so much he can constantly be aware, until something actually happens. He'd never wish for such a thing, of course, but that's never stopped bad things from happening before.

Speaking of, James peers up from his book, looking at nothing in particular. There's a strange sense in the air... but he can't quite tell what.

Maybe he should go check on Devon.]

JSYK - finally some calm

[winterheart]

Salutations, Mr. James Aubel,

A late Merry Christmas and soon to be Happy New Year to you and my granddaughter. I apologize for the fact that during the engagement party, I did not make myself present for the both of you. I must admit the variety of guests kept me busy as it did for you two I imagine.

I digress. There are more important matters to discuss now that you have had a good period of time to gauge the nature of your fiance. By now, I am sure you have noticed the many oddities that surround Devon. For that, I am about to explain and I am only sorry for the fact that I have withheld these reasons not only from her, but from you as well. Although Aaron and Christine are the best sort of parents she could ask for, they do not have the power and resources to protect her.

Many in my family have always wondered why I have fixated my attentions and adoration towards her in particular. The answer to that is that I simply love her as any grandfather would. She has grown into a fine woman and had I not felt the need to interfere, I'd dare say her marriage would not be necessary. But her circumstances, were bound to twist her path in life eventually. For that, I only have myself to blame.

Mr. Aubel, have you ever seen a dead infant?

[... That's one way to begin an exposition. In the Aubel Estate after that fateful night, Devon remains asleep in her room. The email from Lucas Jayden Flemming had the impeccable timing of showing up in James' inbox, marked as very important, very private. And most importantly of all, to not reveal this message to anyone, but himself.]

[hedgemaze]

[James is so, so tired. Everything in his body aches after his latest ordeal, and while he's glad that the outcome was not worse than it could have been, it's left an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

When he receives the email, late at night, he opens it immediately. Reading the contents, he's torn between being blunt and being polite, after all that has happened -- he settles somewhere in-between.]

Mr. Flemming,

Thank you for your email, and thank you for attending the party. Perhaps next time we will have a better chance to speak in person. Regardless, your presence was appreciated, as it always will be.

To the matter at hand. To say that I've noticed "oddities" about Devon would, frankly, be a laughable understatement. Her abilities (and the difficulties they entail) have made themselves known to me on more than one occasion. That you're willing to shed light on these matters comes not a moment too soon.

To answer your question, no. I have not seen a dead infant.

[He wonders how that morbid question is even relevant.]

Ɩιкє α яινєя fƖσωѕ

[winterheart]

[A sense of normalcy finally settles over the Aubel Estate after the holidays. After her last sleepwalking incident, Devon had a hopeful premonition that it would not happen again for a long time. There were some unsettling occurrences such as the number of dead crows outside in the snow and everyone could only assume that it was from the cold temperatures (and for a split second, Devon had a flash, something felt sickening as if her throat was being constricted... But then it was gone just as quickly). Everything was peaceful and Devon goes to work such as preparing for wedding plans (her mother insisted to start ahead of time) and to research into getting her driver's license in England and the processes involved.

There's only one problem though.

Devon started out the week well enough after doing some of her required reading for weddings and driving in England. Her studio was emptied of most of her paintings (her mother and cousin Helena, an art teacher, offered to take them home and put them in art auctions for charity) and so Devon immediately starts to plan on making new ones. That worked out fine while James is away for work.

For two days.

There were five completed paintings in two days. And she still had an itch. She decided to mold some shapes with clay next and glaze them accordingly. That ought to fix her boredom.

In another two days, she made a set of 10 small cups, completely finished, glazed with a soft green color, and one of the staff loved them so much, they asked to have the set. Devon parted with the cups, but the restlessness remained. Then she tried collage, sewing, some crocheting, tinier paintings on small square canvases, she baked three trays of cookies, and then peeled a whole bag of potatoes in the kitchen because she convinced the chef to let her sit and do the task.

Her energy burst remained strong and ongoing and it was driving Devon crazy. Was she finally suffering cabin fever, she wonders? It wasn't as if the estate felt suffocating. It was winter outside and it's not like she was all that eager to go into the cold. She considered texting Elle Grayson to see if they could set up a day where they could go out, but a) that didn't feel appropriate just yet and b) she was considering Elle's feelings and decided she too would not like to bear the winter chill. Was she...?

Oh, no. She doesn't want to think of the possibility that she was frustrated.

... But she doesn't want to be dishonest to herself out of a sense of useless pride. She and her fiance had reached an understanding of sorts didn't they? Time had worked its magic and one way or another, Devon is the closest to him than any man she's ever had a brief relationship with. She wanted to treasure that in her own way. After getting shooed away from the kitchen, Devon sat in her bedroom, scrolling through her tablet. And during that time she thinks. She really thinks and forces honesty from herself. What did she want? What would she be willing to do next? HOW would she go about it? And out of the million ideas and possibilities and considerations of the results and repercussions, a single silk thread, an inkling slips into Devon's mind, staying there to unravel itself. She glances at her bathroom, idly thinking that the tub was quite big and she's never used it before. That it would be nice to relax in there. That maybe...

* * *

A single line of text appears to James Aubel while he's away.]

wanna take a bath together

[hedgemaze]

[The text comes while James is in his flat in Manchester. Again, he's seated at his desk, laptop open in front him. After the holidays, the unsettling notion within him had died down, if only somewhat. There were no more signs of crows, and while James kept an eye on the sky with a bit more vigilance when he was in Derbyshire, he had to admit that it was a relief for no other... major events to happen in the time in-between.

He looks at his phone when it buzzes, seeing that it's a message from Devon. He blinks, reading it.

And reads it again.

A minute or two passes before he decides how to respond. At first, he wants to joke. To tease. Ask if she's playing a trick on him.

And then he decides, well, that would be foolish, lest she change her mind at retract her offer.]

Certainly.

˙pǝɥɔʇǝɹʍ puɐ puoⅎ ɥʇoq sǝᴉɹoɯǝɯ

[hedgemaze]

[The weather remains bitingly cold in January, and it's difficult for anyone living (or working) within the Aubel estate to not want to stay cozy and warm indoors. The same could be said for James, who -- having found a comfortable chair in a study, next to a blazing fireplace -- is seated and flipping through a book. He can feel the heat lulling him into a languid sort of nap, but he fights off the temptation to doze. It was too early yet.

Around him are bookshelves, lined with books. A great oaken desk on the other end of the room, with warm light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The smell of his father's cigar smoke lingers in the air, though the man had left the room hours ago. As considerate as ever, James muses dryly, at the thought, to a son who has asthma.

But even James is too relaxed to linger on the thought for much longer. The afternoon is too calm, too quiet, for him to care about things that might normally vex him.]

[winterheart]

[Devon is walking down the hall, with a mug of hot tea in her hands. She's feeling particularly cozy, in her knitted sweater with large sleeves, comfortable jeans, and her hair, freshly cleaned after a hot shower. She's thinking about just kicking back to marathon a crime drama on her tablet before passing by the study and spotting James within.

She can't help, but smile at him when she sees how comfortable he looks himself. Devon already knows that he does love his rest, something that mildly amused her back when they first were getting to know each other.

Instead of speaking up, she knocks on the side of the doorway three times to see if he's away in dreamland yet.]

αηɗ ωє тσσк тσσ мαηу ѕнσтѕ

[winterheart]

alright, so get this (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

[It's another normal week at the estate where James is away for work and everyone else is doing their own necessary work and errands. Devon is taking a break from her studio and taking a customary walk around the grounds for some fresh air. She's bundled up in a jacket, scarf and boots, but instead of taking the scenery in around her, she's on her phone, cheerfully conversing with her fiance.

Devon texts a good amount which is why when she wants to talk to James, she tends to start one or two conversations a week where they can talk about just anything that's on their minds. She always gives him a customary, "Good morning," or "Good night and sweet dreams :)," and of course, a "See you on the weekend." It's becoming it's own little tradition in a way, them being able to keep a connection despite the distance between them.

This week's conversation topic? Drinking stories, stories of getting plastered. Or in Devon's case, the lack thereof.]

so it's not like i hadn't had booze before then
you know, I snuck a beer or two in high school, maybe got into the wine cooler before Mom found me out
but I've never gotten drunk

Like, I found out about this when I went to a party in college
Had a guy in the crowd start to put the moves on me, offer me a drink
I was oblivious so I didn't think about how his goal was to get me plastered
So we talked a bit and stuff, he kept offering me drink after drink, I kept downing it all
A little buzzed, but I could see straight and I thought, "Huh, I think that was six, seven red cups already"

Poor guy was keeling over by the end of the night, I had to drive him back to his dorm
He cried in the back of my car about his dad issues and how he didn't support his dream of going into theater
Then he gave me homemade jam and his phone number

it was the wrong number

So yeah, that was a long-winded way to say, I don't know what it's like to be drunk! （⌒▽⌒ゞ

[Devon always seems to have a weird occurrence or two to recall and tell James. It keeps the week amusing.]

[hedgemaze]

[James finds that he enjoys Devon's texts in the middle of the week. It's a constant reminder of what he has to look forward to when it returns to the estate on the weekends.

Her stories are always so amusing, as well, lively and full of spirit. This one, it seems, is about her stamina when it came to drinking -- he has to admit he's impressed, and it piques his interest in more way than one.

James has been known to be able to hold his alcohol, after all. A small part of him chalks it up to his... ah, unusual circumstances when it came to his biology, but as his father always told him, "The Aubel surname is a French one, you know, and no one can drink quite like the French." He didn't know whether or not that was true, but James he did know that he had not met anyone who could drink him under the table yet.

It sounds like Devon might prove to be something of a challenge.]

Obviously you just weren't challenged by the right person. That right person, naturally, being me.

нσмє αgαιη

[winterheart]

[Lucas Flemming had a surprise Christmas gift for Devon, a little late, but a gift nonetheless. When Devon opened the email and saw the itinerary, she was practically squealing, waving her tablet at James and Philip Aubel with excitement.

She was going to go home again for a visit. Of course, there was more than one ticket to Portland, Oregon that was purchased. What better present could she even ask for than that?]

* * *

[With all the finer details of their travel ironed out, the journey from England to the United States goes smoothly enough without any incident that made the path bumpy whatsoever. The weather in Portland is rather cool and slightly grey with patches of sunshine as it transitions out of winter. The state is green and there's a liveliness that shines through it's more urban and business oriented areas. Although Devon and James are staying in a 5-star hotel in a prime spot in the city where they can have all the fun they want with various attractions surrounding them, their true first destination is the Winters quaint home in an innocuous suburban neighborhood.

As their driver moves their car up to the driveway, Devon looks out the window excitedly.]

God... I can't believe I haven't been here in months. It's like I never left! Oh, there they are...!

[Outside, there's Ian at the window and he runs to the front door waving to the couple. And by his side, there's a new family member who also trots by Ian's side to see who's coming in.]

[hedgemaze]

[Perhaps James Aubel would feel more like a Stranger in a Strange World if he were a less travelled man. As it stands, it isn't his first visit to the States, nor would it likely be his last; however, it was one of the few visits that he's made on holiday, rather than related to some business venture of his.

Even so, he hangs back a couple of steps from Devon, as they approach her family home. Here, he is the guest, and they are the hosts. He has his hands in his pockets, smiling, though one does come up to rub at the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, looking up at the house.]

I like your house. [It isn't dull flattery, it's truth. There's something warm and inviting about it, whereas the Aubel estate -- though quite warm in its own unique way -- reeked with austere English posterity. The change is stark and immediately noticeable.

James catches sight of Ian running towards them, and his grin widens. And is that a dog he sees?]

The welcoming party is here.

ιт cαмє fяσм вєуσηɗ

[clearsight]

[A day or two after their arrival, Devon was the one who quickly found herself being dragged away from James and Ian by her mother and her father's relatives for wedding plan purposes and figuring out dresses, jewelry, who to invite, what she's been up to in England for the past few months, paying her respects... If Devon's texts to James are anything to go by (IF I DIE REMEMBER ME FONDLY, SAYONARA), there's no way she can escape from this hell hole.

Aaron and Ian prove to be good company in the meanwhile and one day after picking up Ian from school, Aaron gives his young son some allowance money telling him to treat his future brother-in-law while he took care of some appointments. Now where would a nine year old treat someone who's way older than him...?

And surprisingly? It's a cafe.

The door bell to a modern, but cozy cafe that's well decorated with vintage odds and ends and colorful lamps is opened, alerting the baristas to their customers. The woman manning the counter grins at little Ian Winters, indicating he's a regular of all things.]

"Hey there, little guy! Been a while since we last saw ya with your sister!"

Hi, Lizzy. [Ian slides a 20 dollar bill like it's nothing.]

Can I get the orange lavender tea with honey? And a lemon poppy seed cookie if you still got any. Oh, and...

[Ian gestures to the taller man behind him. Lizzy blinks, looking up. And stares. She looks back at Ian. And then back at the incredibly handsome man who looks WAY too good, way too sharp and model-like to grace the cafe. Some of the other baristas are sneaking a peek and also gawking. Ian tries to ignore all of this silliness.]

Whatever he's getting, I think the 20 should cover it, right?

"... Right... Right... Um. Ian, who is this??"

[hedgemaze]

[James takes off his sunglasses, slipping them into his blazer pocket as he enters the cafe. The smell is what he takes in first -- (sweet!) pastries and coffee. The atmosphere, which feels warm and cozy, is second.

The third thing, obviously, is the barista ogling at him.

He gives her a congenial sort of smug smile, mild by his standards. To be honest, he's rather used to this sort of thing by now, to the point where it hardly bothers him. (If it ever truly did at all.)]

Hello. [Oh, and he has a British accent, too. Watch out ladies (and gentlemen).] I'm James. Ian here is showing me around town, aren't you, Ian?

σηƖу fσσƖѕ яυη αѕтяαу

[winterheart]

Ah...

[Devon can't help, but let out a relaxed sigh as she gazes upon a piece of fine art displayed in the Portland Art Museum which she and James were currently at.]

This is more like it. Although, this reminds me that I should take an excursion to art museums in England too.

[After finally being granted some reprieve from her mother and relatives, Devon has taken the opportunity to spend some time with James in her favorite spots around the city. The art museum being a destination spot is no surprise whatsoever. Devon is in her element, enthralled by all the art that's housed within the building. She has an appreciation for all art forms, 2D or 3D, photography, textiles. She's a jack-of-all-trades herself so she understands the work that's put into every piece.

She hasn't noticed yet, but the art is not the only thing being appreciated in the museum...

Devon looks at James, arms behind her back as they stroll down the aisles.]

I'm surprised Ian didn't feel like going with the both of us today. Must have been tired out from school and keeping you entertained, right?

[Well, "entertained" isn't the right word for what the little brother and fiance went through to save a dog, but she doesn't know that.]

[hedgemaze]

[James can appreciate art, though he doesn't understand the effort put into it quite as much as Devon. Still, the pieces are quite the sight to see. He hangs close to Devon the entire time, though he's more than aware of the stares that have been tossed his way on occasion.

He'll flash them a smile every one in awhile, confident and sly, but it's all innocent in his mind. At the question, he laughs a little.]

Er... yes. Quite entertained. I'm a handful, you know.