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.

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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.

Comments

[hedgemaze]

[His outburst of negative emotions seems to be working; the crows disperse (some even fall to the snow, dead) and his vision becomes clear again. Immediately, his eyes dart around to see where Corvus and Devon is, only to see the former drop the latter a few yards away.

He rushes forward without hesitation to where her unconscious body lay, but suddenly he hears the beating of wings, large and intimidating. Corvus lands directly in front of him, screaming into his mind, snapping at him with a large beak. The razor sharp edges catch at his sleeve, pulling and tearing, just barely missing skin -- far too close for comfort.

(He wonders if this is what an insect feels, being pecked at by a large avian creature in the grass.)

But James knows he has the advantage. He can feel Corvus' mind reeling, his stomach sick with human emotion. Finding an opening, he rushes in, swinging at the massive crow's beak. His neck, his wings. Anything. Once, twice, three times.

And at the same time, he blasts him with more emotion. This time, more personal. The sorrow of losing someone precious (the young James from another lifetime ago, the grief twisting into him like a knife), the confusion of someone you loved turning on you (his mother screaming at him, chasing him through the hedges), the fear of dying (his heart stopping, his lungs restricting). This time, the pain is sharper because it's more familiar. James refuses to relent.]

[coalheart]

[Corvus has never dealt with a human or a being that had something, no, someone to fight for. Did this man want to hold on to Devon Winters this much? Was he facing him and his crows and the cold for the sake of just this one female creature who is no different from any other being on this planet? He cannot comprehend. He had only wanted to take and move on above the clouds in the sky while circling the earth below.

(No, that is not the whole picture, he had always watched his better half live her life, surrounded by friends, surrounded by family, and while she kept her secrets, she used them to heal other creatures, she found ways to fix what she could even if she was not successful, why did he always hesitate, why did she become the better him, why, why, why, was she brighter, why did she make his half glow so much brighter than any other mate could?)

The blunt force of the poker and the combination of James' psychic attacks is making its toll. Corvus can barely see. His wings are fumbling everywhere and his aerial body is easily injured. He flops to the ground letting out a strained screech a choke. The pain, the pain, the pain...!!!

If he had his heart, if he had his half, he wouldn't hurt so much...!!

(He remembers falling to Earth, a helpless blob of incomprehensible flesh, he remembers the crows surrounding him, shielding him with their wings...)

There is no one to help him. His crows lay dead around them. He is injured, he is bleeding, he lets out one last noise and then silence.

He lies still.]

[hedgemaze]

[It isn't until Corvus lies still that James stops his assault, both mental and physical. He's breathing hard from the effort. For a few seconds, he just looks down at the bleeding form of the massive crow. Snow stains red in splotches around the creature.

If his priorities did not lie elsewhere, he would check and see if he were really dead, or if his breathing was merely shallow. As it stands, his mind immediately moves to Devon, the alarm in him triggering again. He drops the poker to the snow, and turning around, rushes over to her. He drops to his knees, propping her up with one hand, and the other supports the back of her head.]

Devon?! Devon!

[winterheart]

[There are bruises around her neck from the attempted strangling, proof that it was indeed the form of a man that had done this to her. There is no answer from Devon, but her chest moves up and down. Her heartbeat is steady. It beats. She's alive. Her breathing is quiet as if she's just sleeping and nothing else.

The light in her chest continues to glow and the bruises begin to disappear as if they were never there to begin with. Once they're all gone including any other scratches from the struggle, the light dims until it completely disappears.]

[hedgemaze]

[When she breathes, a wave of relief washes over him. She isn't dead; his whole world no longer felt on the brink of crashing down around him.

And then the glow brightens, the one in her chest, the one the man had called her heart. It beats and makes her bruises disappear, it feels warm, pushing away the cold of the snow around them.

Her healing? the thought whispers in his mind. Was it really related to her heart?

When the light dims, all he wants to do is hold her close. And he does.]

[coalheart]

[While the two lovers embrace, Corvus lies still.

And then he moves. Slowly. Gradually. He forces himself through the pain to become smaller, the same shape as a normal sized crow.

With one last searing caw, he shoots up into the air disappearing into the night sky. He will find another way to return. But for now he needs to rest. He needs to reconsider. He needs to get away.]