finalflight | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

High school?

[Oh, innocent American girl.]

I went to Eton. It's a boarding school for boys. Imagine living along with other boys your age, most wealthy, with instructors doing their best to keep their waning attentions. The results were, obviously, very varied.

Some days were dull, others were eventful. I didn't mind being away from home as much as some, so I suppose you could say that those years treated me well enough.

[He had a bit of a advantage, being able to read the emotions of adolescent male teens. It made climbing the social ladder much easier.]

Yikes.

[One or two of the Flemming cousins went to a single gender school. It always struck Devon as a completely different world.]

Well, things would have to be eventful when you put a bunch of boys together in one place.

That's a universal truth unlike any other. Too much testosterone, if you ask me.

My turn, then. Here's an easy one. What's your favourite colour?

Midnight blue.
Indigo is up there too.

I might brew up some actual indigo one of these days
Pretty hard to maintain if I'm not careful though

"Brew up" meaning not making a mess outside of your studio I hope.

I'm not gonna let Simon bathe in it, so not to worry!

Okay, so speaking of which, when did you get Simon? He's such a sweetheart.

Simon only wants you to think he's a sweetheart. He is, in fact, spoiled to the core thanks to my father.

[And you, too, James. Don't deny it.]

He was a Christmas gift from my father, eight years ago. He honestly has no bloody clue what to get me every holiday, and somehow he got it into his head that a puppy was exactly what a man busy with his work and barely ever at the estate needed.

Aw.
You like him anyways.

[Damn it.....]

He's fine, I suppose.

Did you have any pets back home?

Not exactly
Ian, my little brother, likes animals though
He always seems to find strays that need a lot of medical help
He and I were regulars to the vet clinic
Sometimes, we fostered some of them too

We took care of a three legged puppy once
SUPER cute >O

[A three legged puppy oh no..... James is secretly glad this is text, and so he doesn't have to hide the way his brow furrows and the way he purses his lips at the thought.]

Does your brother want to be a veterinarian when he's older?

[The conversation seems to flow a little more naturally now and Devon for one, is glad for it.]

He wants to volunteer when he's older
I think his heart might be set on mathematics or future soccer star
Oops
I mean, "football" ;o

[He chuckles at that.]

And let's not make that mistake again. That's a capital offence you know.

Do you miss him?

[Seems like a no-brainer of a question, but this is James we're talking about. He assumes the answer is yes, but he'd like to pry for more details if she allows it.]

[There's a pause. And her incoming messages, unlike her lighthearted words throughout the whole conversation that revealed her silly personality, is sobered by sadness that weighs down upon it.]

Every day.

[Though he can't feel her emotions over text, the conciseness of her message is... telling.

He's not... sure, really, what to say.]

I'm sorry that this engagement has made things difficult for you.

Thanks.
Jsyk
I'm not bitter towards you even w/ this whole engagement thing
You're just going w/ the flow for better or for worse
I don't like how it's making my family fight and making me feel like they'll never forgive me
and how Grandpa is hiding things from me

So what I'm saying is
You say some things that make me roll my eyes
But you're okay

[Good job, Fiance Person Guy]

["Going with the flow" is honestly how he's treated life for so many years now. She doesn't know how right she is.

Still, the messages give him pause. He appreciates her candor, though this sort of sincerity was unexpected. He had shrugged it all off initially as forgettable text from a bored fiance; now, it's something a bit heavier than that, and he isn't sure how to feel about it.

He supposes a faint sort of gratitude wouldn't be remiss.]

"Okay" isn't a very high mark, but I'll take it, this time.

Why do you need forgiveness? You weren't the one who decided to switch places. And do you really think your grandfather is hiding something from you? Something that required you to fly all the way out to England and marry a stranger?

Well, I actually like my family
So whether I need it or not, I don't want livid relatives on top of everything else :/
As for Grandpa, maybe he'll tell me eventually.
We emailed each other a lot

[There hasn't been many messages since then though.]

Livid or not, surely they can be reasonable. You're only doing what you were told; unless they're of the mind that you should have rebelled and said no.

Regardless, if there's a secret to be had, I'd press harder if I were you.

[There's more to it than that; maybe they didn't see Devon as one of them really, even though Christine was her mother. She was different, American, therefore supposedly distant and unrelated to Flemming matters of high society (and it all just based itself in uglier, uglier prejudices that no one dares to speak up about, just to keep a status quo).

But that's neither here nor there. Devon's glad she can finally get something off her chest.]

Well, I'll try at some point.

Hey, thanks for chatting w/ me. Sorry if I kept you from work
But this was fun! :)

You're welcome. Even I need a distraction now and again.

[He glances back at his laptop, at the emails staring right back at him. He looks at the time, blinking in the corner of the screen -- did he really spend that much time texting her? It didn't feel nearly that long.]

I should get back to work. I'll see you Saturday. Remember, no painting the dog.

psl; [a marriage of inconvenience]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject