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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Then your mother has good tastes. My father listened to the album once, and asked why I thought it was anything special. He just couldn't grasp it.

He never did strike me as a fan of weird alien looking men who possess the power of wicked guitar.

Also... You don't have to reply to this part if you don't want to, but I can't tell if you two get along or not.

[He doesn't respond immediately to that, only letting Ziggy Stardust the Martian sing a little more through the car speakers. James supposes that she'd be able to tell, with time. And if they were to be married one day, why should he hesitate in talking about his father with her? It would be a moot point.]

Sometimes we get along, sometimes we don't. To be honest, the distance helps; it's a large house, and I can go an entire day without seeing him there, without even meaning to. [He shrugs, an attempt to sound casual.]

He was never really around when I was younger. The estate was probably not where he ever wanted to be. Instead, he'd rather escape his somewhat torturous home life by finding comfort in the warmth of women that were not my mother. As you can imagine, that made my own home life... less than ideal.

But that was a long time ago, and he's sorry for it now. But sometimes, some things come too late, don't they?

[She listens to him quietly as James explains his father. And it was the first time he's mentioned his mother.

During an extensive conversation with Lucy in previous years when it was first announced that she was engaged, her cousin had spoken in a hushed tone about James Aubel's mother; how the marriage to Philip was troubled and that it had driven her past the breaking point. Lucy had often marveled that James was amazing for enduring such familial hardship, raising to great heights, being successful, charismatic. Devon also recalls that Lucy didn't seem to worry about the long distance of the engagement and certain words come to mind.

"I was engaged; it wasn't as if I had the freedom to sleep around with whatever women I pleased."

That explains a lot actually. Devon and some other family members were skeptical of how faithful James was. She definitely had her doubts, what with his looks and infuriatingly confident and smug manner along with his off-handed treatment of people on the surface.

But she knows better now. Devon leans back in her seat to look up at the sky.]

... I guess it's a good thing you can still be around with him. Despite everything.

Was he the one who told you to take me out?

[He had half expected more pressing questions about his father, and maybe even his mother. And that is where he would have to draw the line, not sure he'd be willing to go into more detail today, especially concerning the latter. Never mind that he was certain that she had probably heard about the circumstances of her death; it was a big ordeal when it happened, and not exactly something that could be kept secret.

(Barring certain secrets that he kept buried within in, and had no intention of unearthing.)

He's glad for the slight change of subject, at least enough to careen away from darker matters. He scoffs.]

Am I that transparent?

Transparent like plastic wrap.

Or glass if that sounds fancier for you.

Neither. Fine crystal.

[But all joking aside...]

Yes, he was the one who "strongly suggested" [can you hear the air quotes?] that I take you out today. Said that you were probably feeling too cooped up in the estate, and that you should have something else to do other than just paint.

Well. I sure do have an astute dad-in-law.

[She muses mostly to herself, before continuing.]

I think I might have been feeling cooped up, but didn't realize it. I get really wrapped up in my work as you can tell, so sometimes I do need a nudge in the other direction.

Besides, good on him though. This is the first time we've spent together outside. I'm really looking forward to it.

[James makes no comment on whether or not his father is “astute”, though a small part of him begrudgingly might have to deign him thanks later for telling him to take out Devon. It seemed that she was wanting to get out the house — just neither of them realized it.

He wonders, vaguely, if he should be more attentive to her. He doesn’t want for Devon to be bored out of her mind, after all; but then again, he’s not exactly a mind-reader, is he?

At the last remark, he raises a brow.]

I’m glad you’re looking forward to it, but I must warn you, that I’m not a very exciting person to go shopping with. I’ll just smile and nod while you try things on, or carry your bags. But I might not have much input.

[That probably isn’t what she meant when she said she was looking forward to this, James.]

Oh, c'mon. I promise you, I'll make it more engaging than that.

[She sees this as a chance to bring up more conversation, more ways to discover things about him. You never know what can happen on a shopping trip that isn't just about clothes.]

Oh, I'm not complaining. I'm just giving you fair warning.

[Because honestly, he's envisioning this like the stereotypical fiance who sits outside the dressing room while on his phone, muttering "uh huh"s to his bride to be, as she comes out wearing dress after dress after dress, asking him "how do I look?"

But he supposes if art supplies are involved, it might not be so bad.]

Well. Like everything else in life James, we put effort into making things worthwhile and polish the dull moments to get the shine underneath.

[With that said, Devon leans back in her seat arms behind her head, to just relax for the rest of the ride before they reach the city.]

❋ ❋ ❋

Oh. My. God.

[The moment they reached the city and found a parking spot, Devon got to work on looking for the perfect shop to start with. No, not the sleek and modern designer fashion boutique. No, not the fancy shoe store. Something else had caught her eye and it's a small thrift store that's out of sight and out of mind for most shoppers that also had some art pieces on display mainly some eerie assemblage boxes. Devon is all over these, taking out her phone to snap some pictures and she turns to look up at James, her eyes shining.]

I know what my next projects are going to be!

[And as he said he would, he follows her, hands in his pockets, sunglasses still on. When she leads them to a thrift store, he can't help but feel mildly amused -- no expensive boutiques for her just yet, then?

And when she points out the assemblage boxes, he looks at them with a critical eye. He pulls his sunglasses off and lets them rest on top of his head.]

Those? They're terrifying.

[He's exaggerating, but... well. They are a little unsettling, he thinks.]

Huh. Yeah, kind of right?

[She had been mostly concerned about its construction, brainstorming how the pieces were put together and what was used to make them stick in there.]

But if I make my own boxes, I think I can make something beautiful. Although I could make something intentionally creepy at first. That would be a fun challenge.

Oh, I should stock up on some knick knacks so that I can have the supplies to get ideas to begin with. First off... Oh! Old dictionaries!

[And she rushes to the back of the store of used books, stepping on the foot ladder to reach for an aged and out of date dictionary, an old entomological book, and then she finds a box of old beads and buttons of various sizes when she moves to the bottom, scanning all the items before settling on those. It's a weird burst of energy from her, but she's just full of life being excited by the most mundane things, being able to see their potential.]

[And James blinks as she rushes off to find herself some old books, not quite expecting the sudden burst of energy. She was very passionate about her art, wasn’t she? He exhales with a smile, finding it endearing when she was like this. So caught up and focused on the potential of everyday things. Seeing the best in the old and the worn.

The thrift store, he thinks, was more of an antique shop if he really looked around. He lets Devon wander off wherever she likes — it wasn’t a very large shop, though it was filled to the brim with eclectic items. He passes down a row, and something catches his eye. Someone has put up a small collection framed “art”, though within the glass frames were various samples of nature — butterflies, pressed flowers, small pieces of tree trunks showing the many rings within, and even one that is a little less aesthetically pleasing.

It gives him pause, eyes lingering on it for a moment longer than the rest, before he looks over at where Devon is to see what she’s doing.]

Finding what you need?

Yup! I'm almost done here too.

[She's found a steal, in the form of two yards of indigo shibori patterned cloth and she makes her way back to James, her tote bag satisfyingly plump despite this being their first stop.]

What'cha looking at? Whoa... [The centipede catches her attention too and she stares at it, fascinated.]

Imagine that being framed on the walls.

[He frowns, not looking particularly fond of the idea.]

I’d rather not.

[Oddly eager to shift the focus, he eyes Devon’s tote bag.]

Already full? That didn’t take very long. What did you get?

Oh? Well...

[She opens up her bag to point to what she's going to take away.]

Got a box full of beads and buttons, 2 yards of this indigo on really good cotton-- I can't believe they're selling it this cheap, it's beautiful--, these books that I'm gonna tear up most likely... Oh.

[Small and then she takes out...]

Two broken music boxes.

Broken?

[He's about to ask what use are broken music boxes unless she plans on fixing-]

Ah, you... plan on fixing them up?

Oh, you caught on real quick!

[She beams at him.]

Yeah, it'll take some tinkering and a bit of a "push", but I bet I can make them work again. And after a bit of a paint job and some mild sanding, they'll be good as new.

A push? [He gives her a knowing look, having a feeling she knows exactly what kind of push she’s talking about.] Right.

Any idea what songs they'll play once you’ve got them working properly? Either way, you’ll have to let me listen when you’re done.

No idea. It could play Tchaikovsky for all we know. Worst case scenario, it's just an infant lullaby.

And if I get them fixed during the week, I'll send you a video clip of the sounds it makes.

[She turns one box around falling into a contemplative state.]

... I'll probably give one to Lucy if it turns out well enough. She loves music boxes.

[He hesitates, unsure what to say; he can feel her musings, how her manner has become more subdued after mentioning Lucy.]

You sound hesitant. You're afraid she won't accept it?

[A stab in the dark for him, but he may as well ask.]

Wellllll.

[She makes some gestures with her hands and says in a very American-like and flippant manner.]

She didn't answer my messages for a year so.

I'm being optimistic and saying 50-50, she'll take the gift, 50-50 she might just throw it away.

[He knits his brows together in consideration at that.]

Then maybe you shouldn't bother? If there's a chance she won't appreciate the work you've put into it, then why waste the time?

[Missing the point again, it appears.]

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