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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[Ian plops down on his bottom again, dangling his legs.]

Something must've happened. If she's not telling you anything, that might mean she doesn't know how to talk about it or doesn't wanna talk about it.

[He glances upstairs and then back at James.]

She only goes upstairs like that for her, "Leave me alone," time. Guess she wants to brood and bum out.

[He sighs a little exasperatedly, though it's a bit exaggerated.]

And yet if I was acting that way, I have no doubt she'd tell me that it'd be best to talk about it, don't you think?

Brooding or not, I should go up there and ask her exactly what's wrong. For all I know, the issue might just crop up again -- and I don't enjoy being in the dark. Especially if it was possibly something that I did.

You know, I gotta hand it to you. You're handling this real well like an adult.

[Ian, he IS an adult!?]

But be careful, man. I don't even like knocking on her door when she's like that. Girls are scary.

[He gives Ian a lopsided smile at the "adult" remark, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he shakes his head, saying:] The terrors one faces when one is engaged. Such is my duty, it would seem.

[And leaving Ian with that thought, he stands, heading over to the stairs.] Wish me luck.

~*~*~*~*~

[Knock, knock, Devon.

James' knuckles rap lightly on Devon's door, even though it's a formality at best.]

Devon?

[Ian had left for his friend's house right after his conversation with James, giving him a thumbs up before leaving him alone with Devon.

Devon, in the meanwhile, has changed out of her clothes, after finding an old set that was untouched by her parents. Most of the clothing left behind when she moved to England were mostly sleeping ones consisting of pajama pants and light shirts. She's already dressed in a very casual set, something she would never wear at the estate. England's weather usually didn't call for shorts anyways.

She had always had a habit of retreating to her room when things in her life were too stressful such as school and job hunting, or when she was just in a bad mood. Not so different from anyone else really, but it was a very specific habit of hers, shutting everyone out just so she can wait out her sourness.

She's just finishing off painting her nails while laying flat on her stomach, legs crossed behind her, when she hears James knocking on her door outside. Without really thinking, she answers.]

Come in.

[... Okay, self, Devon thinks, now you gotta deal. Great.]

[James opens the door, stepping in and lightly shutting it behind him. The first thing he notices, of course, are Devon's (almost) bare legs, crossed behind her. He then notices what she's wearing, and he has to blink in pleasant surprise.

Not now, he tells himself. She obviously wasn't in that sort of mood.

He walks over to her bedside, indulging himself to sit at its edge.]

So... [He trails off, looking at her expectantly. As if giving her the chance to say something first, before he really has to pry.]

[Devon looks up at him, waving her hand in the air to let her fingernails dry.]

So.

[Okay, terrible start. She has to reprimand herself because she doesn't WANT to be in this mood, but at the same time, shutting people out was easier than having to deal with him right now. Devon pushes herself up so that she's sitting instead.]

Thinking of taking a nap right now?

[James is definitely getting Bad Mood vibes, and he's not even having to use his empathy. He raises a brow, but gives himself a moment before he chooses his words.]

You know me. A nap always sounds wonderful. And yet how can I sleep peacefully knowing that you're glowering at me from across the room?

[Well maybe not glowering, but it gets the point across.]

That's why I'm in here so the glowering can bounce off into the nothingness that is my bedroom walls.

[Devon, that's not helping the Bad Mood Vibes.]

No, I'm pretty sure they pierce right through them.

[Yeesh.]

Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or are we going to keep up this back-and-forth indefinitely?

[God, when he puts it like that, she feels even more foolish, even more childish. There's even a part of her that wants to act out and be more selfish, to just push him away again and...]

[She exhales deeply and then her shoulders relax as if giving up and Devon moves closer to lean her head against his shoulder.

She didn't want to push James away. Even if they had their push and pull moments together, having him far from her is far from the truth.]

Sorry.

I'm... I'm mad at myself. For feeling mean about you.

[Even James feels some tension leave his body when she puts her head against his shoulder. He puts an arm around her, pulling her a little closer, reassuringly. Her statement is puzzling, regardless.]

"Feeling mean"? Did I do something wrong?

No, no.

You're just too popular.

[He makes a face.] Popular?

[A beat.]

I'm actually a bit more anti-social than you might think, Devon.

[Is that... what the issue was? It doesn't clarify anything. ~~James is a stupid alien.~~]

[JAMES... Devon wrinkles her brows and nose, something that happens when he says something that shows how off he is in terms of communicating with people and truly understanding them. It's a good thing they've gotten as far as they have in their relationship because Devon has found that taking her time to explain is better than being patronizing.]

I'm talking about how those two girls at the museum were flirting with you and how a ton of people around us were checking you out.

Oh. That?

[That. That, like it's nothing. Like it's practically lost its novelty to him.]

That happens all the time. I wasn't trying to outwardly garner attention.

[DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER, DEVON?]

[... Cue the muttering as she runs one hand through her hair.]

I can't believe I have to admit it...

James. I was... [Swallows as if she has to say something poisonous.]

I was jealous. I didn't like what they were doing. And I didn't like people staring at you either like they wanted a piece of you.

[A beat. And she raises up both her arms in a shrug.]

I mean, I don't blame them.

[It's nice to know, some levity remains even in her sour moods.]

[...oh.

Oh.

Her admission begins to make more sense as he replays the scenario over in his mind. He can't help but tilt his head at her and give her the smaaaallest amused smile.]

Jealous? You were really jealous?

[He chuckles.] You think I actually pay any real attention to those stares? To those women that come up to me, yammering about the same thing every time? Before I met you, I might have given them more notice. But now they're little more than background noise.

Now, then, if you wanted a piece of me, well. That's a different story. [Her levity is met with some of his own.]

[Her face flushes when he chuckles and his reassurance puts her darker emotions at ease. And of course, Devon can't help, but chuckle back at his mirth. When it subsides, she looks at her hands on her lap before speaking up again.]

... I needed to think about why I felt that so easily though. Because... I don't think I should be so insecure that I get mad when people so much as look at you. It's understandable, but not right.

But then I remembered. That we're serious. With each other and about how we're going to be together. It's a serious thing and I never had to be serious. Maybe because I didn't want to be because it meant I'd have to be vulnerable.

[Her one year relationship, she was never broken up about when it ended. That ex would be able to move on, find someone else who treasured him more and Devon hardly thinks about him these days.]

... I don't like being vulnerable. When the sleepwalking happened it made me feel that way and I just ended up the way I am for better or for worse. I compensated in other ways, not all of them good in the long run.

[He listens while she explains, wordless. He can understand her concerns, when she takes the time to communicate it to him. Still, at the mention of feeling vulnerable, he looks at her thoughtfully.]

If you don't like being vulnerable, how do you think I feel?

[It's not just you, Devon. He decides to make that clear.]

This is a two-way street, you know. The serious relationship of ours. I'm just as open as you, my heart just as made of glass and easily shattered if mishandled. But I trust you to not mishandle me, as I hope you trust me to do the same.

That said, no one would blame you for feeling trepidation. It's only human, isn't it?

... Yeah. It is. [She leans further on his shoulder, taking comfort in the closeness.]

I may not like losing to you, but I'd hate losing you even more.

Devon... [He turns his head to look at her, his expression taking on something more serious than it might usually.]

You're not losing me. I don't plan on going anywhere.

[She takes his words and his expression to heart. If she had been a lesser person, Devon may have assumed that those words were empty platitudes meant to placate her. But something, instinct or love, tells her otherwise. It tells her that it's a serious truth.

So she kisses him on the cheek.]

Doesn't look like I can shake you off anyways.

[Smiling, she pats a spot on the bed.]

So? Gonna nap until dinner with me?

[Yeah, that's all they're gonna do, right? Devon's sure of it.]

[He grins, feeling warm at the little peck on the cheek.

Of course, when she pats at the empty spot next to her, a different sort of thought begins to worm its way into his head again. He quirks a brow at her.]

Well... I could. Or we could do a little more than nap. We have the house to ourselves for now.

[He leans in a little closer, a sly smile on his face.] Those shorts of yours are terribly distracting, you know. You should remove them.

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