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

[winterheart]

Well, I was able to make about 10 paintings during that one month.

That probably counts for something.

[animalqueen]

You paint? There's a studio in the house?

[winterheart]

I asked for an unused room and made it my studio to be specific. That's where I spend a lot of the weekdays unless I get someone to drive me out to the city.

I don't mind it really. Gotta say, I've been super productive.

[animalqueen]

It sounds like it.

[Anyone would be productive if they were stuck at home almost all week, but she decides not to say that much.]

You really have to rely on someone else to drive you, though? I'd go stir crazy.

[winterheart]

I'll look into getting my own UK driver's license. Wouldn't hurt to have even though it's barely been a year since I've moved here.

[Devon remembers that she has a stomach and needs to eat and gestures Elle to follow her.]

C'mon, let's get a bite to eat. I don't want to keep you stuck here talking with me.

[animalqueen]

[She hesitates.]

I'm sure you have plenty of people who want your attention without me hanging around.

[winterheart]

There's a macaron table if that'll tempt you?

[She doesn't want Elle to feel left out and so far? Devon genuinely likes talking to her. The fact that Elle's an ex doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest.]

[animalqueen]

[Fuck, macarons...]

Well... I guess it wouldn't hurt to hang around for a little bit longer.

[winterheart]

Yeah, and you're free to take any treats and food home if you feel like jetting early. We ordered some nice takeout boxes for guests just for that.

[The macaron table is soon approached! They're mostly seasonal flavors such as cinnamon sugar, gingerbread, chocolate peppermint, and a special spiced apple macaron. Devon grabs all three on a plate and passes it to Elle first. She's gonna be the best goddamn hostess in the world.]

So Elle, what is it you do? Have you been living in England long?

[animalqueen]

[How can she say no to free food, let's be real. And they've even had the foresight to let them take it home in neat little boxes!

She takes a plate, looking at the macarons; they're so pretty, it'd almost be a shame to eat them.]

Huh-? Oh, I'm a... writer. A freelance writer, mostly. Someday I'd like to get a book published. And I've been here for about... four years now?

[winterheart]

Oh, that's seriously cool. I knew a freelancer or two back home.

[Devon takes the spiced apple macaron and relishes in a bite before continuing.]

And I guess if you're gonna write anywhere on Earth, the home of The Bard is one of the best places, right?

[animalqueen]

Oh, oh no-- [She shakes her head, and waves her free hand in a dismissive manner.] Don't hold me up to those standards. You'll make me panic.

Besides, I'm less into iambic pentameter and more... well, I don't know. Gothic horror, I'm thinking.

1/2

[winterheart]

A genre that should never leave this sweet planet. That's a wonderful goal to have, Elle.

[Meanwhile, a certain little brother wanders over to the macaron table reaching for the chocolate peppermint before Devon looks down at him and shakes her head.]

Kiddo, how many has that been so far? I saw Aunt Louisa give you one already and Cynthia gave you two!

[clearsight]

[Said kiddo, Ian, wrinkles his nose at Devon.]

You got to try all of them saying it was for "testing."

[He does back off though, but not before looking at Elle. Ian tilts his head at her in confusion. And then he shakes his head.]

Maaan. Good luck.

[Devon, appropriately enough is baffled, but Ian leaves before either of them can say anything else.]

[animalqueen]

[Oh, what a cute kid. Are they related? She smiles down at him, and-]

Wh...what?

[What was that all about? Somehow, she felt as if she was being quietly judged when Ian looked up at her like that.]

[winterheart]

I'm... I'm so sorry.

[Palm meet face.]

I need to tell him to stop doing that.

[animalqueen]

[She actually laughs at little at the bizarre moment that just happened.]

No, it's fine. It's just... I was really confused there for a second. Kids will be kids, though. Is that your brother?

[winterheart]

Yeah. The baby of the family.

If it helps, he's the most intense brother-in-law that should keep James on his toes.

[animalqueen]

[She finally decides to eat another macaron, speaking when she's done.]

Good for him. Someone should.