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

[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.

[hedgemaze]

Ha... [He's mildly surprised at her forwardness, and is about to make a sharp remark, but you know what? Maybe he'll hold his tongue for now on the subject.] No comment.

[But now to tackle the shot. Hands still clasped behind his back, James gives pause, and then...]

Go.

[And down he goes, grasping at the edge of the shot glass with his teeth, then tilting his upper body and head upwards in an attempt to drink.

What a fool he must look like, but what fun it is to be one with her. He's pretty sure that whip cream is going to end up mostly on his nose at this rate. But what did it matter? He can feel himself losing the ability to care, inhibitions slowly beginning to drift away with each bar they visit, with each drink they take.]

[winterheart]

[Devon gets her mouth around the shot glass and then downs the drink, throwing her head back. Oh god, the whipped cream definitely went up her nose and when her head goes back down to put the glass down on the counter, she's struggling not to cough. There's a look of absolute delight at the fact that they just took this shot together in such a stupidly fun way though.

One hand is covering her face, shaking her head.]

There is nothing I can say or do that won't be used against me because of this.

[hedgemaze]

[It goes down easily enough, not burning as much as the first, and James somehow manages to keep from making a complete mess of his face.

He puts the glass down on the counter, still with his teeth, and when he straightens he's laughing at her.]

This was your idea. [-he says, with a bit of whip cream stuck on the tip of his nose.]

Oh, and you've got Blow Job on your face. [He can't resist... He just can't. And, by the way, it's true -- she's got a bit on the corner of her mouth, there, a little dollop of whip cream.]

[winterheart]

[Devon raises a brow with a, "Hm?" before using her finger to wipe off the whipped cream on the corner of her mouth...

And then she spreads it across her lips before pulling James towards her, bringing him into a kiss where he can taste the sweetness on the surface.]

[hedgemaze]

[And so he’s pulled into the kiss, surprised — he can feel the sweetness on her lips, and the taste of alcohol between the both of them.

Bloody hell, is she trying to make me lose it? the thought courses through his head, and yet he’s hardly complaining.

It takes a bit more willpower than usual to pull himself away from her completely. When he does, he notes that he’s transferred the bit of whip cream from his nose to hers.]

What a dirty girl.

[In the midst of the bar, such comments are lost in how commonplace they are. The atmosphere exudes and exemplifies his teasing nature. (And so does the alcohol.)]

[winterheart]

[Devon just smiles when he pulls himself away and she wipes the cream on her nose with the back of her hand.]

Didn't think we could go through the night without at least one of those right? Full experience, like I said.

[hedgemaze]

[A finger comes up to brush the whip cream off of his own nose. He brings it to his mouth, and then it's gone.]

Full experience, indeed. I hope you don't end up making me look like too much more of a fool for the rest of the night, though?

[winterheart]

[Damn.

The majority of the time, Devon can stand rather firm around James, but there are other times, like this where she may actually consider losing their bet intentionally. But the night's only part way done and the buzz of alcohol is only barely simmering within her.]

Well, I make no promises, but you can at least take refuge in the fact that I'm being a fool with you.

[Onto the next joint.]

* * *

[... Well, this is... Troubling. Funny, but troubling for James and Devon as she looks at her glass and then back at her fiance.

They're at their last stop, the sixth pub they've visited. It's smaller, quieter, somewhat more intimate as the night life begins to die down and people are starting to go home to nurse what has to be nasty hangovers for the next morning. Speaking of which...

Devon... Feels fine. Mostly fine. She's standing up straight and her cheeks do feel much, much warmer, her words have probably gotten looser as the night went on, but otherwise, she's certain this isn't what feeling plastered was like.

As for James...]

... Honey? Want me to call the driver for us now?

[hedgemaze]

[James Aubel is officially pissed.

He's leaning with his elbows on the counter, staring down at the drink before him. His cheeks feel warm, so warm, and everything around him seems to be obscured with a very delightful sort of haze. It feels good, but it's hard to focus. Difficult for him to filter the words that come to his mouth, and more and more often he's just letting them fly loose.

Her question registers, and he kind of squints at Devon for a bit.]

What...? No... no, we're not done yet.

[It's almost 3 am, the bars are closing soon, James.]

You... [He gestures at her, looking indignant, hilariously so.] You haven't won yet... Devon.

[winterheart]

[Devon takes a long sip from her mug, finishing it off. She looks down at him shaking her head.]

How many fingers am I holding up?

[Spoilers, none.]

[hedgemaze]

Two.

[He answers immediately. Confidently. Definitely two fingers.

...God, the room is starting to turn.]





Ugh. This is hardly fair. Bloody hell.

[winterheart]

What's not fair? I'm pretty sure that we drank the same amount of booze.

I'm just winning.

[hedgemaze]

[An arm comes up again to wave in her general direction. Was it at her chest? Difficult to tell with a drunken James.

Still, he’s holding onto just enough sense to not let slip what it is he wants to say.]

Just… you’re not fair. Standing there, looking perfect, after six stops. It’s inhuman. You cheated.

[Cheated!! ….god, his head.]