finalflight | psl; [a marriage of inconvenience]

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psl; [a marriage of inconvenience]

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.

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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.

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[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.

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?

[Well, she doesn't quite look ready to venture out, but then again... this was kind of short notice.]

Er, shopping. [Because that's what women like to do, right? Shop for clothes and jewelry? His father mentioned shopping, so he's just rolling with that.]

For clothes and the like. Surely you'd like to expand your wardrobe? I'd figured we'd drive out towards Manchester.

[Not that he means that in a bad way, really. Though it might be misconstrued that way.]

[The wheels are turning in her head and then her face lights up,much like a kid's would at a n exciting prospect.]

Can I buy some art supplies too?

[He shrugs.] I don't see why not. I'm certain I can find an art supply store in the city, through the all-seeing omniscience of Google Maps.

[He gestures in her general direction.] Clean up, and when you're done, meet me in the driveway.

[And with that, he turns to leave.]

Edited 2016-12-05 17:44 (UTC)

[She scrambles to stand up and prepare herself for the trip to the city without taking too long. Devon's excitement grows when she realizes this will be the first time she's been outside of the mansion AND outside with James. It's a little silly, looking forward to something as mildly entertaining as a shopping trip, but to Devon, it marks itself as something important (it's like they're an actual couple and that some progress is being made).

In a few minutes, she's up and ready to go. She's dressed simply enough as she heads towards the driveway, with a large tote bag slung over one shoulder.]

I'm ready! And I guess I'll be in your good hands for the trip?

[James has the car pulled up in their very, very long driveway, parked in front of the house. He leans against it, looking at his phone as Devon approaches. Looking up, he takes a moment to appreciate the view — the way the sun hit her hair, the way she moved; he muses to himself that she is quite uncommonly pretty.]

My hands will always be good to you. [He says with a smug grin, bold enough to sneak in a small double entendre just because he can.]

Thought we’d take the convertible. It’s nice outside, and it’s about an hour and a half drive, depending on traffic.

Har har.

[Don't think she didn't get that because she did and she's just shaking her head at him. The sight of the convertible perks her up though.]

Well, if this is our first trip together, might as well do it with style!

[What? He's totally innocent.

He smiles and opens the passenger side for her to enter, then makes his way around to the driver's seat. Slipping his sunglasses on, he starts the car. The engine purrs in anticipation.

And the stereo kicks on, connected to his phone through blu tooth, and Don't Look Back in Anger by Oasis begins blaring. He turns it down, since he has a passenger with him today.] Ready?

[She plops into her seat with a bounce.]

Ready as I'll ever be.

An hour and a half is it? Think we'll find ways to annoy each other during the ride?

[god why devon]

Is that a challenge?

[He scoffs, and when they're both properly settled, he begins driving. The sun reflects off of his sunglasses, and the breeze plays at his otherwise neatly groomed hair.]

Here. [He tosses his phone over to her. It lands in her lap.] Find some music to listen to. Unless you're an Oasis fan, that is.

[She picks up the phone and puffs up her cheeks as she scrolls through some lists.]

Oasis is pretty cool. Unfortunately, I'm also American which means I am saturated with the swill known as bad pop music in my veins.

[She says that, but instead, she picks Makin' Out by Mark Owen, a rather obscure track, but one she has nostalgia for.]

Thankfully, I won't inflict any of that on you.

You're too generous, because an hour and a half of nothing but pop music? An awful form of torture, Devon.

[The song plays, and since he was the one who invited her to be the DJ, he turns the volume up.]

Never heard this one before.

Most people haven't.

[She beams as if proud of herself.]

It's what I call a hidden gem.

Oh? Know many more of those, do you? Hidden gems are nice, but there's a reason the more famous songs are, well... famous.

The invention of the repeat button sure does help.

[But she says that with good humor. After that song is over, she chooses, Don't You Want Me by The Human League.]

When in doubt, go 80s is what I say.

[He wrinkles his nose.]

Now, I'm all for the 80's. Britain churned out a lot of good music then. But let's not play this one.

[Devon is amused by his distaste and switches to Ziggy Stardust.]

Better?

Hm. Bowie is always better.

[A beat. Then:]

Though from one of the stranger concept albums out there.

[Devon runs a hand through her hair, smiling as the car zips down the road making the wind blow through it.]

Well, all I gotta say is that I'm gonna learn what you like and don't like very quickly during the next hour.

[And as she said before. Knowing the good and the bad, that's what's going to be part of this strange partnership they've landed in with one another. Devon can't really imagine doing this with anyone else at this point.]

At least where music is concerned, I'm sure. But honestly, I haven't met anyone who at least doesn't like the idea of Ziggy Stardust.

My mother was basically in love with Ziggy Stardust. Well, anything that Bowie did really. I grew up listening to him because of her.

Then your mother has good tastes. My father listened to the album once, and asked why I thought it was anything special. He just couldn't grasp it.

He never did strike me as a fan of weird alien looking men who possess the power of wicked guitar.

Also... You don't have to reply to this part if you don't want to, but I can't tell if you two get along or not.

[He doesn't respond immediately to that, only letting Ziggy Stardust the Martian sing a little more through the car speakers. James supposes that she'd be able to tell, with time. And if they were to be married one day, why should he hesitate in talking about his father with her? It would be a moot point.]

Sometimes we get along, sometimes we don't. To be honest, the distance helps; it's a large house, and I can go an entire day without seeing him there, without even meaning to. [He shrugs, an attempt to sound casual.]

He was never really around when I was younger. The estate was probably not where he ever wanted to be. Instead, he'd rather escape his somewhat torturous home life by finding comfort in the warmth of women that were not my mother. As you can imagine, that made my own home life... less than ideal.

But that was a long time ago, and he's sorry for it now. But sometimes, some things come too late, don't they?

˙ɹǝddᴉɹʇ ʎɐp ɐ sɐʍ ǝɥs

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