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]

[Devon's drinking like a fish on her end. She sighs when it comes to her mother.]

Yeah, a little. She's kind of got a high-strung personality so she's always got something of an all business type of personality when you compare her to Dad.

[Her cheeks had been reddened when they left he first pub, but it's weird, it's like they've lightened up again during their walk to their current stop. Down the drink goes...]

[hedgemaze]

[He's quietly eyeballing how easily she downs those drinks. And wasn't she a bit... redder before? Ah, maybe it's just his imagination.]

Making sure you don't slack off, and all. The job of mothers everywhere, isn't it?

[winterheart]

I mean, if Dad isn't gonna do the overprotective bit, she fits the bill pretty well!

[Maybe it will dawn upon them later once the night is done, but Devon's strength when it comes to drinking certainly is not normal by any means.]

And trust me, Mom's scary.

[hedgemaze]

[He scoffs when she says that much.]

Believe me, I can see that. Though I hope she has a slightly better opinion of me now, after the visit.

[winterheart]

[Devon grins as she takes a sip.]

Well, she can't argue if I'm happy with you.

You know, I make my mom sound really overbearing, but I do love her. She cares a ton, maybe too much. [So that's where Devon gets it from obviously, but toned down to be more low key.]

... Cause you know, I was her only child for the longest time before Ian. And she was so worried when she gave birth to me because I was kind of weak as a baby.

[hedgemaze]

[And there's an audible pause when she tells him that, though it's filled with the noise of the crowd around them. James looks down at his glass, and takes another long drink, before he responds.]

You were sickly?

[He asks, even though he knows the answer. He knows more than her at this point, doesn't he?]

[winterheart]

[Devon nods as she easily flushes down the rest of her current glass. Another one soon follows for her to start on.]

Mm hm. Really weak apparently, so it was kind of a miracle that I made it out of that at all.

[She really has no idea.]

[hedgemaze]

[Ah, and there's that pang of guilt that twists in his chest. He takes another drink, even longer this time, enough to drain his glass. It burns on the way down.

He raps his fingers on the counter before speaking again.]

Well, I'm obviously glad that you did.

[He's not sure how to linger on this subject without feeling bad about it, so he twists it around slightly.] When I was younger, I was of weak constitution as well, you know. More than just asthma.

[winterheart]

[She leans on her elbow to really look at James as her lips brush her glass.]

Really? Seems like you got past most of that too aside from the asthma.

[hedgemaze]

I did.

I grew out of it.

[(He did more than just grow out of it, he changed, and yet he didn't. One and the same, he thinks. One and the same.)]

[winterheart]

Well, you definitely aren't a pipsqueak like you were in your pictures anymore.

[Devon is such a secret bully. But they know each other well enough by this point to know that she's just joking, her form of affection.]

[hedgemaze]

Mm, you certainly wouldn't like me half as much if I was.

[He's fine to move the conversation along.]

More drinks, then? You barely look like it's affecting you at all.

[That is a bit... odd, if he takes the time to think about it. If thinking through the haze of alcohol wasn't going to be an issue, in the near future.]

[winterheart]

Mmmm, yup! [She's certainly chipper and nothing about her manner appears to be affected by any alcoholic side effects. Her feelings and emotions are rather clear cut.]

Next pub! I'm not sure what drink we're on by now, but one of us is not gonna stand straight by the end of the night.

James, let's find a bar that serves American shots. Those are fun in that awful kind of way.

[hedgemaze]

[He reaches out with his empathy, focusing on her emotions alone -- he ignores the swirling storm of the others around him with disturbing precision. And surprisingly, everything is sharp and clear. The cloud of alcohol is not at all affecting her bright and lively nature; it's the same as it ever has been.

He wonders... well. It would be hard to say one way or another, wouldn't it? Without further testing at least.

Of course, he wrinkles his nose at her suggestion.]

You have a strange definition of the word "fun". [But don't get him wrong. He can take it.]

[winterheart]

If we're gonna go crawling, we gotta have the good and the bad. Make it a complete experience.

[She walks to the exit, motioning him to follow her.]

Getting kind of worried though. I don't feel like I'm getting any closer to the bedroom.

[hedgemaze]

[Paying their tab, James is eager to follow. He raises a brow at her remark as they step into the night air.]

Then I'll make sure to try much harder.

~*~*~*~*~

[And he does. Try harder, that is. Upon making their way to the third bar, he's the one who'll make the order for these awful American shots that she's eager to indulge herself in. Two for the both of them, each a puzzling concoction, though he frowns as the bartender serves them their shot glasses filled with the stuff.]

As they say, "yay".

[SO NOT "YAY" AT ALL.]

[winterheart]

Don't overwhelm me with your excitement just yet.

[This is fun! Devon's having a lot of it and she eyes the shots with a critical eye.]

Hm. Looks like we got Fireballs up first.

Remember to slam the shot glass down once you're done. It's how we do it back in the States.

[Well, maybe, but it'd be a very American thing to do nonetheless. Devon grabs the glass of orange-ish red, the Fireball.]

Alright, to making bad decisions on the weekend!

[Their bartender rolls his eyes and makes a comment about how James does not look like a bad decision and Devon lets out a laugh.]

[hedgemaze]

[James mutters something along the lines of, Maybe so, but even that won't save me now, to the bartender, but lifts his glass up regardless. A Fireball. He mentally prepares himself for the blaze of cinnamon to go down his throat, telling himself it could be worse.]

To terrible decisions.

[Down it goes as he takes the shot. And he's right, it burns as he thought it would have, mental preparation or otherwise. He does slam the glass down, but not because he's meaning to, but because uuuuugh.

He scrunches his face up, trying not to cough.]

Wonderful. [/sarcasm.]

[winterheart]

[Her nose wrinkles because of the whiskey and its strong cinnamon notes and she slams her glass down at the same time as James. When she sees his face, she has to hold back her laugh.]

Be honest. How's it make you feel?

[The bartender can tell these two are having a fun night, or at least Devon is, and is getting to work on their next shots.]

[hedgemaze]

[He shakes his head, still feeling the burn in his insides.]

It makes me feel depressed for the poor sods who actually think this is a fun pastime.

[So wry.]

[winterheart]

This poor sod here says that to be fair, there are some okay shots. Oh, like the Lemon Drop.

[Thanks bartender. Two lemonade like shots are served to them and Devon takes one, swirling it around a bit.]

This one won't burn as much, trust me.

[hedgemaze]

"Trust me", says my wonderful fiance who tries to kill me with a gracious smile.

[He's joking of course. He can take a Lemon Drop, but god, how much more are they going to do.

(And is he feeling a little... tipsy? No, certainly not yet, not when she barely looks like she's had anything-)

He takes the shot and downs it, motivated by this thought. It's better, but not by much.]

Not exactly like candy.

[winterheart]

[She drinks it up, licking her lips as if considering the flavor.]

Kind of like cordial, don't you think? Oooh.

[The next shots seem like they're going to be more sweet. Coffee liqueur, Baileys, whipped cream... Well, we know what this one is.]

Okay, this one, we down it without using our hands.

[hedgemaze]

[This one, well. This one he's familiar with, given his time at uni; what young man man in his twenty-somethings has not had friends who thought the name of the drink hilarious, and the way to drink it equally so? It was just a given, at that point.

He looks at her, amused.]

I'm more than familiar with this. [He means the shot not what it's called, geez] The best way to make one look like a fool.

[Clasping his hands behind his back, he gives her a challenging look.] The both of us, fools. Ready?

[winterheart]

Yeah, I betcha are.

[Even their bartender has to laugh at the expected silliness and crudeness.

Devon uses one hand to pull her hair back and the other remains at her side.]

Ready when you are.