ᴊᴀᴍᴇs ᴀᴜʙᴇʟ ǝɹnʇɐǝⅎ ǝɹnʇɐǝɹɔ ǝɥʇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hedgemaze) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2016-11-30 10:45 pm
hedgemaze) wrote in finalflight2016-11-30 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
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.
Fʟᴀsʜʙᴀᴄᴋs | 𝚃𝙵𝙻𝙽 | YEAR BEFORE
Of course, Devon would think wording it like that was unfair. Her cousin, Lucy Flemming, a year older than her, had always made an effort to make her feel included in outings compared to the other Flemmings who would display awkward politeness and civility around her. Sure, Lucy could be a bit flighty, a bit of a boast (especially about her fiance who she always reminded everyone about, he was just that good), but why wouldn't she be? She was a lovely and proud Flemming with blonde hair, blue eyes, a generally sweet disposition, and a wicked streak for academics to match. Devon really did like her in the end and wouldn't ever wish ill on her.
Of course, those good qualities didn't exactly equal good sense. Devon is visiting England, far from her home from Portland, Oregon. Lucy and some of the other girl cousins decided that it was a perfectly good weekend to visit a popular dance club. Devon tagged along, not one to turn down an outing just because she isn't used to it (she had to convince her parents that yes, Lucy would watch out for her and it would be too loud for her to fall asleep). And of course, there's always the prospect of finally finding someone attractive that she could maybe start something new with.
And yet, it's rather fruitless. Her cousins are having a wild time on the dance floor, some at the bar, taking shots. Devon has a feeling she was going to the only sober one at the end of the evening because she's ended up on purse and phone duty. She nurses her own drink while sitting in a quiet corner of the bar, playing a game on her phone (And people wonder why she doesn't get out much.)
That's when she glances at Lucy's phone.
There's a loud whooping from Lucy who twirls her athletic body with some nameless friends. Devon slides her cousin's phone over to herself noting that it was unlocked. Excellent. She goes through her contact list, looking for a certain name... Ah. There he was. The Golden Boy. The Fiance of the Year. She's not sure really, why she decided to go through with this silly prank even though she and Lucy have done it to each other before. Maybe it's the alcohol, but more than likely, it was just Devon being Devon. A wildcard of a young woman.
And so, a new message appears...]
Fantasizing about the apocalypse is fun and shit until the conditions that could lead to one suddenly seem feasible
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ƑƖαѕн Ƒσяωαяɗ | YEAR LATER
No matter where she goes, it'll follow. They all will. Because she needs to return to them. She belongs to them.
The past few months have been, in a word, stressful. Stressful beyond belief.
When the announcement and order was given, Lucy Flemming was dumbstruck and would not look Devon in the eye and her pleading messages to make amends with her beloved cousin went unanswered for the rest of the year. Her aunts and uncles were outraged, demanding answers from Lucas Jayden Flemming, the esteemed patriarch and questioning his much too sudden judgement and their disdain towards the favored grandchild was no longer hidden. Devon's mother, Christine, pursed her lips, after a heated discussion with her father over a phonecall which ended with a sickening silence and although she tried not to cry in front of her daughter, Devon knew that worry plagued her every night and she would cry to Aaron, her father, who did his best to soothe his wife and reassure his daughter that perhaps this new path was not so bad. Devon wouldn't leave them forever, they would save up and visit her, she can always fly back to see them. (Oh, but the worry got to her daddy too, both him and Mom would wonder who would be there for her sleepwalking episodes, what if she got lost, they don't want her out of their sight). Her parents, despite how they felt, helped Devon with filling the appropriate paperwork and making the necessary preparations for the big move.
Her teaching supervisor was confused, but sympathetic to Devon, being sure to leave her kind words and have the entire classroom create a lovingly made scrapbook album for every child to give their goodbyes and thank yous to Miss Devon. Some of the children, bless their souls, were bright eyed at her moving away to Britain, asking her questions about the seemingly mysterious kingdom. Devon could only smile and answer the best she could, not wanting to break their hearts with her own forlorn feelings.
Oh, but worst of all was poor baby Ian. A nine year old, sure, but always the dear squirt to his big sister. Thinking about who would take care of him now that she wouldn't be around distressed Devon the most. He was so sensitive and she wanted to see his soccer games, she wanted to embarrass him in front of his friends, she wanted to treat him to ice cream on Fridays and watch his favorite movies on the weekends. Ian had been the most quiet out of everyone on both sides of the family about the whole matter. But he gripped Devon's hand more tightly in the mornings when she dropped him off for school and he ate all of his vegetables more easily instead of protesting, as if trying to make everyone's life easier with that minimal task. He only started to cry when he and their parents, waved to Devon as she walked to her plane terminal.
And after a long flight and a persisting fight with jet lag, Devon Ava Winters stands before the Aubel Estate in all of its high British glory. To say that she felt overwhelmed is an understatement. Portland was green, but here, the green is an ocean. Grandpa had a fancy place or two and they might have been about the same size, but Devon never felt intimidated in those places like she did here. Those were filled with family members and with Lucas's robust personality that could fill every nook and cranny. Here, there was just so much emptiness.
When Philip Aubel greeted her cordially, but briefly, her reply felt automatic and robotic. Soon, her bags and packages were swept away and she's left with the grey hound, a truly friendly face. You can always count on dogs. Devon is soon in the front hall, and kneels on the floor, ruffling the dog's head in an absentminded manner. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders, bangs obscuring her tired eyes. She's dressed in a leather jacket and modest pants and flats. Hardly the ideal picture of a glowing fiancee. Her thoughts had been all over the place and ironically, it's been making it hard for her to sleep which was a stupid benefit. There was no sleepwalking during the whole debacle at least. That would have been too much on top of this arranged marriage business and ruining ties with her extended family (well, the Winters are still there, but their humor probably wouldn't pull her out of this funk).
It was all so frustrating. Why the sudden change of mind? Why the urgency? Why did it seem like her mother and grandpa kept withholding information from her as if this engagement was truly for Devon's benefit? Grandpa's reasoning was simply that Devon needed it more than Lucy. Lucy had many other prospects and she was not wanting for a promising career with her brains and talents. She didn't need this marriage to be successful. Devon, on the other hand, needed a boost. She deserved better than being a schoolteacher.
Yeah. Being treated as a switchable object is way better than reaching out to kids," is Devon's uselessly sarcastic thought as she stands up, looking down at the grey hound. She sighs and speaks to it while looking at her new home.]
Guess you'll be my first friend then? I could really use it.
[Devon takes comfort in the fact that she hasn't seen her partner to be yet. He is, in fact, the last person she wants to see after this emotionally trying journey.]
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one month later | ˙ʎɹǝʅʅɐƃ ʇɹɐ uʍo ʎɹǝʌ ɹnoʎ
When he is at the estate, though, he's begun to notice a few... changes. Paintings that he remembers were not there before. And he'd come back the next week, and they'd be moved, only to have something completely different in its spot. He has no doubt that Devon was indulging herself in her new studio, and apparently was in the mood to do a bit of redecorating around the house. Sometimes he'll stop and look at one for a good couple of minutes, trying to make sense of her process, or what images she's painted this time around. Usually it's a fruitless endeavor, though he can appreciate it aesthetically.
Of course, one day, when Simon trots past, leaving tracks of oil paint from his paws (ochre, it looks like), James is a little less appreciative. He stares after his canine in disbelief, then turns to look down the hall, calling out:]
Devon!
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𝚃𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜
It was only when she stared at a blank canvas for 20 minutes, exhausted from of ideas that had been used up in the past month, did she decide to pick up her phone, swiping through its contents so that she could play a game first. The ring, still on her finger, catches the light and gives her pause.
The contacts list is pulled up and Devon taps James's name.]
Quick question:
How many of your suits combined equals the cost of the engagement ring???
𝚃𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃
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нεαʟıпɢ тσυcн
On the day that James is supposed to come home, Devon is cleaning up her studio, making sure that there isn't any paint around and that all papers and brushes are off the floor. That's when she notices Simon, laying at the doorway.]
Hey, buddy...
[She kneels down to stroke the greyhound's head, examining him closely. He's an old dog, but he bounded around the estate with a nice quirky energy. The past few days though? He seems more tired than usual. Devon frowns, looking for any other signs that he might be sick.]
C'mon, let's go downstairs. Your dad's coming home, remember?
[She makes a start towards the staircase turning her head to see if Simon will follow.
He doesn't.]
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˙ǝuoz ɹǝƃuɐp ǝɥʇ oʇuᴉ ʇɥƃᴉɹ
It's a week after the fiasco in the maze, and James is vaguely annoyed at his throat and lungs, wishing that his asthma would shove off for the rest of the night. But he's not going to waste the energy to force himself to feel better, so it appears that he's at an impasse. He pushed through the day mostly fine, only having to use his inhaler once today, but as the evening wore on, his patience began to disappear, his motivation to do much else waning just as quickly.
So he retires early for the night, disappearing into his bedroom, trying to pass the time by reading. He breathes deeply, ignoring the tightness in his chest. It's mild, at worst, but annoying.
Currently, he sits in his bed, reading Dostoyevsky, with his door closed. Hopefully he'll be able to fall asleep soon.]
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˙ɹǝddᴉɹʇ ʎɐp ɐ sɐʍ ǝɥs
You know, James, you ought to take Devon out more often. How long has she been cooped up in this house? She must be going mad by now. Did you notice that she keeps moving her paintings around nearly every week? Not that I care, but surely you can do more than just let her stay in your mother’s room all day, drowning in oil paints. Take her shopping, for god’s sake.
James grunts, sounding vaguely annoyed, not looking up from his book.]
Is this a suggestion or a command, I wonder?
[You’re a grown man, I can’t command you to do anything. But I can still strongly recommend that you should act in a certain way, if I think it’ll be beneficial to you in the long run. She doesn’t even have a car here, or a license to drive in the UK. She's stuck, for the time being.
James puts his book down, looking at his father from across the drawing room with skepticism.]
She hasn’t said that she wants to go out shopping once. She hasn’t even mentioned leaving.
[His father waved away the remark, stating, She’s too nice for her own good. Too considerate. Probably too afraid to ask for you to chauffeur you around. So don’t put so much stock into her not asking you.
James exhales in exasperation, gnawing at his lower lip. Silence passes again.
The weather’s nice today, you should perhaps go-]
Enough, enough. I’ll take her. [James stands, and puts his book away on a shelf next to him, shaking his head.] I swear, sometimes it’s as if you were going to marry her.
[As James begins to walk out, he can hear his father chuckle behind him. If I were your age, maybe! His son rolls his eyes, and disappears out the door.]
[It isn’t long before James manages to track Devon down. He has his jacket on, and cars keys in one hand. Sunglasses rest on his head as he approaches her.]
Devon, we’re going out. Apparently.
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Bright Eyed | Cloudy Skies
This sucks, is the gloomy thought of a young Ian Harvey Winters as he stares at the sky from his windowseat inside the car that was driving him and his parents towards the estate. Christine and Aaron Winters had recieved the invitation to the engagement party two months ago and the former became rather high-strung at the prospect and preparations (although it lowered somewhat when Aaron showed her that Lucas was paying for their travel costs, from there to back). Ian could have been left at home, but he refused. He was going to go see his big sister and the dumb fiance that was supposed to be his... Ugh. Brother-in-law. Ian doesn't get how being married to Devon would make anyone his brother. He didn't need one when he had the best big sister until recently when she had to move away. Christine had reassured her young son that Devon would be fine (he could tell she was doubtful though) and that her husband was a good man (he DEFINITELY could tell Mom was doubtful). Ian knew his sister. In her emails, she sounded fine and over the course of the past few months, she even sounded happier as time went on.
Suspicious.
Along for the ride in another car are cousin Helena Winters (29), beloved Aunt Mae (39) and paternal twin sibling cousins, Yaya and Donny Winters (two years older than he was). They were the only ones who could make the trip while the rest of Aaron's family would have to send their well-wishes from afar.
Even with all of this company, Ian felt lonely. He liked his cousins and he felt a little guilty that he couldn't be excited like them. Being in England was cool after all. They were staying in a big mansion-castle. Mom's side of the family was really awesome (Mom didn't really seem to think so) and sometimes he would brag to his friends back in Oregon about how Grandpa Lucas basically knew ALL the movie stars and had THREE mansions.
Of course, none of that mattered since they weren't staying at Grandpa's. The cars carrying the Winters families drive right up to the daunting looking estate. Ian would have thought that it was pretty cool looking except... It's the gut feeling again. It's wasn't terrible but it lingered like an uneasy weight on his shoulders. Ian always had this feeling ever since he was young. He never told his parents, but he told Devon. Devon didn't laugh at him. She believed whatever he said whenever he had a gut feeling.
Speaking of which.... His face brightens up when he sees his sister out in front waving to the cars. There's even a dog next to her... Whoa, a greyhound! He's never seen one in real life before.
But then Ian sees... HIM.
While everyone goes out to have a joyful reunion (Aaron and Christine are bear hugging Devon), Ian stays behind in the car, face pressed up against the window, glowering at THAT GUY...]
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˙sʅɐɯᴉuɐ ʎʇɹɐd ǝʅqɐʇᴉɹǝʌ
[Time moves quickly, and before anyone knows it, the day of the engagement party is upon them.
The Aubel estate it done-up to the nines this evening. As guests filter in (invited family, friends, co-workers, even vague acquaintances and plus ones), they’re greeted with a warm, inviting atmosphere. The Christmas decor compliments the austere architecture in the best way; boughs of holly, just like the song, hang on every bannister. Wreaths on the walls, and more than one Christmas tree sits brightly in the Aubel home.
The foyer is where most of the festivities take place, of course. There, stands the biggest tree, tall and sparkling and smelling of evergreen; beside it sits a 9-foot white grand piano, moved in from one of the drawing rooms, waiting for anyone hoping to add a bit of live holiday music to the already lively atmosphere. There are tables of hors d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne towers and should the guests filter into the dining hall (where the party extends to, and then to some of the smaller rooms in the same part of the house), they’ll be treated by even more food, and more seating for those who inevitably become too weary from partying, or too drunk to stand up properly.
Outside, it’s cold. Snow flurries flutter downwards and sticks lightly to the grass. Lights glow from the windows of the large house, and the murmur of talking and laughter can be heard by anyone who happens to be outside. (Hopefully you’ve brought your coat, if that’s the case.)
People are still continually filtering in (their fancy cars finding ample places to park in the Aubel’s long driveway), even as the party starts to reach full swing. Already it seems as if it’ll be a successful endeavor, lively and cheerful, and the night is still young yet.]
elle + devon; awkward.
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elle + corvus; even more awkward.
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ian + james; birds of a feather
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devon + james; baby it's cold outside
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мσηѕтєяѕ αƖƖ αяσυηɗ υѕ
She's at home, sitting near a fireplace instead of her studio as usual. A mug of tea sits on the table nearby and she's covered with a fuzzy throw blanket while reading a book on mixed media art technique. Devon's leaning her head on one hand nodding off into a nap. The warmth from the fire and what was leftover of the celebration surrounds her and it's dangerously cloying.
But she blinks herself awake and straightens up, shaking her head.]
Can't sleep out here...
[Outside, the snow has just stopped falling. In the sky where no one can see them, a murder of crows circles around the roof of the estate. Waiting. Watching.]
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JSYK - finally some calm
[... That's one way to begin an exposition. In the Aubel Estate after that fateful night, Devon remains asleep in her room. The email from Lucas Jayden Flemming had the impeccable timing of showing up in James' inbox, marked as very important, very private. And most importantly of all, to not reveal this message to anyone, but himself.]
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Ɩιкє α яινєя fƖσωѕ
There's only one problem though.
Devon started out the week well enough after doing some of her required reading for weddings and driving in England. Her studio was emptied of most of her paintings (her mother and cousin Helena, an art teacher, offered to take them home and put them in art auctions for charity) and so Devon immediately starts to plan on making new ones. That worked out fine while James is away for work.
For two days.
There were five completed paintings in two days. And she still had an itch. She decided to mold some shapes with clay next and glaze them accordingly. That ought to fix her boredom.
In another two days, she made a set of 10 small cups, completely finished, glazed with a soft green color, and one of the staff loved them so much, they asked to have the set. Devon parted with the cups, but the restlessness remained. Then she tried collage, sewing, some crocheting, tinier paintings on small square canvases, she baked three trays of cookies, and then peeled a whole bag of potatoes in the kitchen because she convinced the chef to let her sit and do the task.
Her energy burst remained strong and ongoing and it was driving Devon crazy. Was she finally suffering cabin fever, she wonders? It wasn't as if the estate felt suffocating. It was winter outside and it's not like she was all that eager to go into the cold. She considered texting Elle Grayson to see if they could set up a day where they could go out, but a) that didn't feel appropriate just yet and b) she was considering Elle's feelings and decided she too would not like to bear the winter chill. Was she...?
Oh, no. She doesn't want to think of the possibility that she was frustrated.
... But she doesn't want to be dishonest to herself out of a sense of useless pride. She and her fiance had reached an understanding of sorts didn't they? Time had worked its magic and one way or another, Devon is the closest to him than any man she's ever had a brief relationship with. She wanted to treasure that in her own way. After getting shooed away from the kitchen, Devon sat in her bedroom, scrolling through her tablet. And during that time she thinks. She really thinks and forces honesty from herself. What did she want? What would she be willing to do next? HOW would she go about it? And out of the million ideas and possibilities and considerations of the results and repercussions, a single silk thread, an inkling slips into Devon's mind, staying there to unravel itself. She glances at her bathroom, idly thinking that the tub was quite big and she's never used it before. That it would be nice to relax in there. That maybe...
A single line of text appears to James Aubel while he's away.]
wanna take a bath together
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˙pǝɥɔʇǝɹʍ puɐ puoⅎ ɥʇoq sǝᴉɹoɯǝɯ
Around him are bookshelves, lined with books. A great oaken desk on the other end of the room, with warm light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The smell of his father's cigar smoke lingers in the air, though the man had left the room hours ago. As considerate as ever, James muses dryly, at the thought, to a son who has asthma.
But even James is too relaxed to linger on the thought for much longer. The afternoon is too calm, too quiet, for him to care about things that might normally vex him.]
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αηɗ ωє тσσк тσσ мαηу ѕнσтѕ
[It's another normal week at the estate where James is away for work and everyone else is doing their own necessary work and errands. Devon is taking a break from her studio and taking a customary walk around the grounds for some fresh air. She's bundled up in a jacket, scarf and boots, but instead of taking the scenery in around her, she's on her phone, cheerfully conversing with her fiance.
Devon texts a good amount which is why when she wants to talk to James, she tends to start one or two conversations a week where they can talk about just anything that's on their minds. She always gives him a customary, "Good morning," or "Good night and sweet dreams :)," and of course, a "See you on the weekend." It's becoming it's own little tradition in a way, them being able to keep a connection despite the distance between them.
This week's conversation topic? Drinking stories, stories of getting plastered. Or in Devon's case, the lack thereof.]
so it's not like i hadn't had booze before then
you know, I snuck a beer or two in high school, maybe got into the wine cooler before Mom found me out
but I've never gotten drunk
Like, I found out about this when I went to a party in college
Had a guy in the crowd start to put the moves on me, offer me a drink
I was oblivious so I didn't think about how his goal was to get me plastered
So we talked a bit and stuff, he kept offering me drink after drink, I kept downing it all
A little buzzed, but I could see straight and I thought, "Huh, I think that was six, seven red cups already"
Poor guy was keeling over by the end of the night, I had to drive him back to his dorm
He cried in the back of my car about his dad issues and how he didn't support his dream of going into theater
Then he gave me homemade jam and his phone number
it was the wrong number
So yeah, that was a long-winded way to say, I don't know what it's like to be drunk! （⌒▽⌒ゞ
[Devon always seems to have a weird occurrence or two to recall and tell James. It keeps the week amusing.]
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нσмє αgαιη
She was going to go home again for a visit. Of course, there was more than one ticket to Portland, Oregon that was purchased. What better present could she even ask for than that?]
[With all the finer details of their travel ironed out, the journey from England to the United States goes smoothly enough without any incident that made the path bumpy whatsoever. The weather in Portland is rather cool and slightly grey with patches of sunshine as it transitions out of winter. The state is green and there's a liveliness that shines through it's more urban and business oriented areas. Although Devon and James are staying in a 5-star hotel in a prime spot in the city where they can have all the fun they want with various attractions surrounding them, their true first destination is the Winters quaint home in an innocuous suburban neighborhood.
As their driver moves their car up to the driveway, Devon looks out the window excitedly.]
God... I can't believe I haven't been here in months. It's like I never left! Oh, there they are...!
[Outside, there's Ian at the window and he runs to the front door waving to the couple. And by his side, there's a new family member who also trots by Ian's side to see who's coming in.]
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ιт cαмє fяσм вєуσηɗ
Aaron and Ian prove to be good company in the meanwhile and one day after picking up Ian from school, Aaron gives his young son some allowance money telling him to treat his future brother-in-law while he took care of some appointments. Now where would a nine year old treat someone who's way older than him...?
And surprisingly? It's a cafe.
The door bell to a modern, but cozy cafe that's well decorated with vintage odds and ends and colorful lamps is opened, alerting the baristas to their customers. The woman manning the counter grins at little Ian Winters, indicating he's a regular of all things.]
"Hey there, little guy! Been a while since we last saw ya with your sister!"
Hi, Lizzy. [Ian slides a 20 dollar bill like it's nothing.]
Can I get the orange lavender tea with honey? And a lemon poppy seed cookie if you still got any. Oh, and...
[Ian gestures to the taller man behind him. Lizzy blinks, looking up. And stares. She looks back at Ian. And then back at the incredibly handsome man who looks WAY too good, way too sharp and model-like to grace the cafe. Some of the other baristas are sneaking a peek and also gawking. Ian tries to ignore all of this silliness.]
Whatever he's getting, I think the 20 should cover it, right?
"... Right... Right... Um. Ian, who is this??"
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σηƖу fσσƖѕ яυη αѕтяαу
[Devon can't help, but let out a relaxed sigh as she gazes upon a piece of fine art displayed in the Portland Art Museum which she and James were currently at.]
This is more like it. Although, this reminds me that I should take an excursion to art museums in England too.
[After finally being granted some reprieve from her mother and relatives, Devon has taken the opportunity to spend some time with James in her favorite spots around the city. The art museum being a destination spot is no surprise whatsoever. Devon is in her element, enthralled by all the art that's housed within the building. She has an appreciation for all art forms, 2D or 3D, photography, textiles. She's a jack-of-all-trades herself so she understands the work that's put into every piece.
She hasn't noticed yet, but the art is not the only thing being appreciated in the museum...
Devon looks at James, arms behind her back as they stroll down the aisles.]
I'm surprised Ian didn't feel like going with the both of us today. Must have been tired out from school and keeping you entertained, right?
[Well, "entertained" isn't the right word for what the little brother and fiance went through to save a dog, but she doesn't know that.]
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