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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[She puts her eyes to work as they make their way around the estate, committing the rooms to memory. There really is a lot to take in and that was only the first floor. As they pass by Simon, she gives him another drive by petting before going up. She'll be doing that a lot.

As they go to the second floor and to her room, Devon makes sure that there's enough floor space so she can spread out for... Projects. She'll need to inquire if there's an unused room that she can go hog wild in.

And at James's question, without missing a beat, she answers promptly.]

It was nice and thoughtful for everyone to think of that. I'll have to find a way to show off my proper thanks.

[Zing.

Selectively oblivious? Already prepared with an answer?? Sincere?????

Sometimes, it's hard to tell with Devon.]

[Well, there's his answer to the question he didn't ask. Still, James isn't surprised. He would have been shocked if she had answered in the opposite manner.

He chuckles a little to himself, but doesn't explain why. Instead:]

No need for that. Your own room is the least anyone can do, in a house that you'll be living in.

[He motions down the hall.] When I'm visiting and you can't locate me, I'm probably in my own room. It's just down the hall, to your right. My father sleeps on the second floor as well, but at the opposite end of the estate.

[She is. So tempted to ask if it would be alright to use a scooter to get around the estate. What is she, 12? But Devon has fleeting thoughts such as those, whimsical, ultimately silly, things that she would only really express in text and doesn't show on her face at all.

A gaze is cast towards James's room and she nods.]

Gotcha. It's all clear to me, so that just leaves the grounds of the estate right?

[(also what's the wifi, the truly important question that she decides not to ask yet, it seems so improper even for her in this situation)]

Edited 2016-12-02 23:54 (UTC)

[He can feel a lingering question that she's holding onto, and he even pauses long enough for her to change her mind and ask it. But when nothing comes, he just looks down at her skeptically... and answers her question.]

On a day like this, it'd be a crime not to show you.

[Eventually they'll make their way to the grounds, green as far as the eye can see. It's obvious that a lot of effort is put into making everything seem immaculate. James leads her around the perimeter of the house.]

There's a rose garden just down there. During the spring and summer, they attract the largest bees you've ever seen, but they're usually harmless. And as you can see, there's more than enough room to go for a morning walk, and with how open it is, someone on the second floor of the house could see you, from all the way out here.

[He inclines his head towards the hedge maze in the distance, large and imposing. He couldn't pretend to ignore that.] Unless you get lost in there. Don't.

[Even Devon, in her somewhat fatigued state can't help, but smile at the prospect of roses. She's from Portland after all.]

With how big the grounds are, it's perfect for a morning jog too.

[When he acknowledges the hedge mage, she pauses to look at it. Something about it feels...]

... Definitely won't go jogging there though.

[But back to what she wanted to ask.]

What kind of roses are grown here?

[James is completely fine if she doesn't want to talk about the hedge maze. If it makes her uncomfortable, he won't do anything to assuage that.

Roses, though. He lists them off easily.]

Madam Isaac Peirre, Aloha, Windrush. Tuscany. Your basic Snowdrift. And a few others.

[Someone seems to like gardening...]

You like roses? A bit cliche.

[Pot, kettle....]

[Devon lets out a surprising laugh and shakes her head while smiling down at her feet. Her hands are behind her back as if she's finally relaxed somewhat.]

I'm from Portland, Oregon. The City of Roses? If I didn't have a small appreciation from the city with a garden of 7000 plus species, I'd have to rethink my life.

Seven thousand?

[What. God, he's never been to Portland before. He should. Maybe he can take a business trip there soon? Or come up with a reason to visit the in-laws? How big are their gardens? How can he-]

I... right. I had forgotten. In that case, I don't think this garden will be very impressive to you.

[For the first time since she's stepped foot onto the Aubel Estate, she's finally won a small victory. Mentally fist pumping in her mind, she looks up at James, shrugging.]

I don't know. We'll see about it when the Tuscany ones bloom. It's a good piece of home as any.

Edited 2016-12-03 01:31 (UTC)

[He's mentally recovering from the notion of 7,000 roses in a single place, but to his credit, he does it well. He clears his throat, straightening a little.]

Can't wait to hear your critique, then. The groundskeepers work hard to keep up appearances. Many of the plants here take up most of their efforts.

You probably put them up to it, don't you? I didn't think you'd know such specific roses.

It's good. The care put into the garden I mean.

[It's barely been an hour, much less a day, but Devon has some observations about James Aubel so far: frustratingly and rudely point blank with his remarks, but probably had those looks that helped him get away with it in his work and social life, especially with women. The latter, she doesn't know if he has a high opinion on, but enjoys their company nonetheless. Works a lot, but knows when to prioritize, such as getting her acquainted with the estate.

And he was kind of dumb with how others were feeling. She'd rap him on the back of his head if she could, for Lucy's sake even though her cousin would never talk to her again either way.

Without meaning to, she yawns lightly, and her hand moves to cover her mouth.]

Whoops. Sorry, everything's gorgeous here, but the jet lag's being persistent.

[He scoffs, but it isn't without humor.]

If by "putting them up to it" you mean "pay them well", then yes. I do. But maybe I am a bit biased. I've always been a little fascinated by things that spring up from the soil.

[But he supposes that was neither here nor there. He frowns when a wave of tiredness suddenly washes through him, and when he sees her yawn, he realizes why.]

You're just trying to say I'm boring you, aren't you? I understand.

[He smirks, before turning to head back inside. In that case, he can consider his duty done for the day.] Go back to your room and take a long nap.

[He's lucky she's too tired to really feel miffed about how he worded all of that. Well, she is, but again. Tired. Devon raises her brows and sighs lightly (she'll have her day soon, just you watch Aubel).

As they go back inside, she does have one or two more things to mention...]

I do have a question. More like... Are there any unused rooms in the estate? Not like a guestroom, I mean a room that isn't used for any purpose really.

[He furrows his brow, stopping on the steps to the second floor. What an odd question. He rests one hand on the wood of the bannister, turning to look at her.]

A room with no purpose? That's specific. What would you need it for?

Painting.

[She pauses when he does. And then she holds up her hand to list off a few more...]

Drawing. Printmaking. Sewing if Mom sends over my machine in the next few weeks. Pewter casting if I get really ambitious. Ceramics if I get an itch for it again.

...

...

Mostly painting though. Don't worry, I can get supplies myself.

[James blinks as she lists off each activity.]

So... you're saying you want studio space, is that it?

[She's an artist, then? Suddenly he's curious what her work is like -- but only passingly so, honest.]

[Devon nods eagerly.]

Yeah, that's it! I wasn't sure if there was a room that could serve that purpose, so I thought I'd ask. I'd use my room otherwise.

Oh, no. [James shakes his head, seeming adamant on the matter.] Don't use your room. You'll get paint all over the floor, and the help will lose their minds over it. Scrubbing stains out of antique rugs is no delight for them, I promise you that.

[He frowns for a moment, thinking. There's only the smallest moment of hesitation before he says:] Follow me. Again. [And he leads her up the stairs to the second floor again, to another long hallway. At the end, there's another room, and James opens the door.

It's empty... more or less. There's a armoire or two in the corner, covered up with a white sheet, and a lamp without a shade propped against the wall. But barring that, the room is empty, whatever personality it possessed years ago drained dry. It's a bit dusty, as if the men and women who cleaned paid little attention to this particular room -- either on direct orders, or simply because it was merely an empty storage area and did not require the attention.]

Would this do?

[When they enter the room, Devon circles the inside, running her fingertips over the covered armoire and then turns around, grinning. It's probably the best mood she's been in all year. Just having this space is enough. Something she could kind of call her own, something to carve out of the insanity that just happened to her life.]

Perfect. It's better than what I would have hoped for.

[He can feel the spike in her mood -- a good one -- and it conflicts with what he knows of this room. He smiles, strained, one hand braced against the doorframe as he watches her move about.]

Good. It's about time this mausoleum of a room found life again.

[Because this was once his mother's room, all those years ago. He won't tell her that much. It might unsettle her, and honestly, it's not a line of conversation he particularly wants to go down.

He won't step in, but he'll gesture in a mockery of a fake bow from where he stands.]

All yours to do whatever you want with.

I'll figure out where to start once I get a full night's rest.

[None the wiser, she walks outside, ready to retire to her room. Speaking of rest though? Devon's been avoiding the subject, but there's only so long before it comes up again especially if it starts up again.]

I'm... Going to keep my door locked at night.

[She purses her lips as she clasps her hands together.]

I haven't done any sleepwalking... That I'm aware of for the past few months, but. Better safe than sorry.

[Ah, right. The sleepwalking.

His frown returns. An interesting problem to deal with, one that he had been warned about ahead of time.]

Right. Have you ever hurt yourself while sleepwalking? This place is large and unfamiliar to you, after all.

[Though he has no emotional attachment to her, he's not so big of a jerk that he'd want her to go tumbling down the stairs or anything like that.]

Oh, no nothing like that.

[She shakes her head fervently disputing the notion. ]

I've just... I've ended up going far, far, away when no one was looking. No one's ever figured out why, but I've never walked into harm. I've even avoided traffic easily during one of my episodes.

[She avoided traffic? James can't help but look at her in disbelief.]

You wandered out far enough to go into traffic?

[Geez.]

We have acres of land here, so you'd have to wander very far to stumble into any real danger. But... [He purses his lips.] There are still trees and wildlife at the edges of our estate. It'd be best if you avoided stumbling out in that direction.

[He says as if she can help it. But still, if she wandered out that far, it would be difficult trying to find her. And it would be startling whenever she woke up.]

Maybe Simon would wake you up. He always wakes up when someone gets up in the night. Tries to sniff out what they're up to. But if all of that's remedied with a locked door, then we've nothing to worry about?

[That particular incident with traffic didn't even occur at night, which made it all the more frightening. She had taken Ian out shopping for some new sports shoes and while he was trying on another two pairs, and Devon, feeling fatigued, began to take a nap while sitting on a chair in the store.

And then she stood up and left.

No one noticed anything strange about a young woman walking by herself even if she looked rather dazed. She went through a crowd, coasting along until she was finally alone, walking across the street and onto the next block. Ian had zipped out of the store, running after her, yelling and tackling her before she went any further. Their parents had to lock all the doors and windows that night. That was just one, among the many instances of her dazed slumberous journeys which she hated repeating so many times.

Devon rubs her forehead and crosses her arms after James speaks.]

Simon might be a good idea. Great idea actually. If he barks, it'll wake me up.

[And what does she have to worry about? The restless dreams. The silent voices that cast an unsettling lull when she DOES sleep. But that's more than she's willing to share with the stranger in front of her.]

Then that's all there is to it.

[Hopefully.]

I'll get going now.

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