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hedgemaze) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2016-11-30 10:45 pm
hedgemaze) wrote in finalflight2016-11-30 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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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[James is confused. Crows? That shouldn't be anything to be concerned about, right?
He peers out again, this time looking more specifically for birds, and- Yes, those are crows. Several, but nothing that he would have been initially alarmed at.
The fact that Ian is bothered, though, makes it a little more worrying.]
Why aren't they supposed to be here?
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[There's only one person that matters between the two of them so her name doesn't need to be said.]
I never see them do anything bad, but that doesn't mean they aren't. They scare me.
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Suddenly, these crows aren't so welcome anymore. He sets his jaw, deciding to at least shoo them away for now, if he can. For Ian's sake, even if it's temporary.]
Stay here, Ian.
[He turns to leave, intending to exit the house and do just that.]
no subject
[James is already off though and Ian looks back and forth between him, the party, and back at the window.
He decides not to listen. He trots after James.]
They won't do anything with a lot of people here!
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What do you think they'll do? Regardless, this is my estate; I'd rather not have them lurking on my lawn.
no subject
no subject
That all depends on how stubborn you are. I can at least keep them away for now. Isn't that better than nothing? Better than having you worry and not being able to sleep, at least.
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I dunno... There might be a lot more and...
[He stops when they reach the outside. There's a taller, darker figure in the distance.]
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He tells Ian:] Stay here. I mean it this time.
[And with that stern command, he walks out further across the grounds. If it scares the crows away, well, he's not concerned.]
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He's familiar with the boy. Whenever he was watching, so was the small one. Wherever he followed, the boy knew he was there. Not much to be done either way. The boy knew better. The boy knew that if he tried anything he and the birds had more than enough power to obliterate him. He is nothing.
The man walking towards them though. The one she is to be bound to. Different. Much different.
He stands there, regarding James. Hands in his pockets, beard lightly frosted with snow giving him the appearance of being rather old. He waits. He watches.
He wonders what James Aubel is.]
no subject
(Some small part of him, that voice rising back up in a hushed whisper, wonders if this man really is man.)
A few paces away, he slows down. Stops. His nice shoes are damp with melted snow, but he doesn't look concerned. Hands in his pockets, he strains a smile -- it lacks the warmth he gives to his friends and family (even the smiles he gave his father were less false than this one), and his tone is sharp. He's tired, after all, and it's been a long day. And this man makes him feel uncomfortable.]
Hello. Lost, are we?
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I am where I intended to be.
[Uninvited, yes. The outside is his natural element.]
You want me gone.
[Not a question. He knows.]
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Wherever you're intended to be, the party has ended. You know what they say about guests who linger too long. [They outstay their welcome.
The list was too big for James to keep up with all the guests, all the names. For all he knows, Corvus could be a wayward one, though something tells him otherwise.]
Your name, Mister...?
no subject
Instead of answering with the name he had chosen that night, he gestures with his head. Towards Ian.]
You should listen to him you know. Smart boy. Too smart.
no subject
Mention of Ian, though, gets a flare of that defensiveness, hasher, a wave of heat.]
And why should I listen to him? Unless you're saying you're a dangerous sort of man, lurking back here in my gardens. Is that the case?
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[But with that said, he turns around and gives a wave to James.]
Congratulations. To you and the bride.
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He can't help himself. From his mind, comes:] (Arse.)
[But he turns around soon after, dismissing Corvus as he had been dismissed. Another problem to hang over his head, it would seem. He forces the frown away, wanting to seem flippant and unconcerned when he meets Ian back at the entrance of the house.]
no subject
Through the quiet of the night, through the wintry chill, through the dark, there is a reply to James. A voice that is silent and loud at the same time.]
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He had just been coming back to where Ian was, smiling and opening his mouth to say something funny, when it rings in his head. A voice. That voice. His shoulders stiffen and he turns around, looking out into the night. He can't see anyone, not anymore.
How is that possible?
He'll not send back a response. He feels no need to humor the man who wasn't a man any further. And so Corvus' reply is just silence, carried by the wind.]