FIC: Tea in the Day Room (SP)
I must beg your forgiveness. As you know, all of these stories are just world building for the ideas that have been in my head lately. I came to a point, last round of writerverse, that required something of the plot I'd come up with. The problem I ran into was that I still needed to world build! There are still things in my head that I haven't been able to get out that you need to know before I get much further.
One of the sticking points in my head has been Lady Cyril Ann Bray's past. She was the one character that came into this world with a name and an identity already sort of intact because she came from the previous incarnation of the Streetlight People. Part of the reason that she made the jump was because I liked her so much! Problem was, when I started to write out some of her past, I tried to tweek it too much so that it came out all twisted up and not right at all.
So the reason that I must beg your forgiveness is because this is not necessarily what you've been led to believe about Cyril Ann from some of the past stories. This, I believe, is more in line with the history that I want her to have, though.
I also must beg your forgiveness because this ends on a cliff-hanger that I never intended to have! With any luck, I'll find time to write tomorrow (Easter Sunday) and will get CA out of the predicament she finds herself in.
Title: Tea in the the Day Room
Prompt: Coming Home
Word Count: 1508
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original - Streetlight People 'verse
Pairings (if any): none (although this is in the implied Xie/Cyril Ann part of the story)
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/Underage): none
Summary: Commander Bray has requested the presence of his daughter. She would never dream of turning him down. If she'd known how this would all turn out, she might have at least tried to come up with an alternative for the day.
"Hello, Daphne." It was all Cyril Ann could do to keep the smile plastered on her face. Of all the people still working in her parents employ, this woman was the worst. Part of the problem was that she'd been around nearly as long as Cyril Ann had so that she felt she was owed some sort of due from the family. The other part of the problem was that Mrs. Bray agreed with these sentiments wholeheartedly. For every hour of labor that the woman was made to put up with, she was given twice that to sit in front of the fire and rest her feet.
Cyril Ann had always thought that was normal. The first time the chamber maids at the school had scurried away when she tried to make conversation with them, Cyril Ann had thought she'd done something wrong. It turns out that the staff of the school, as with the staff of every other house in the city, didn't believe that talking to their employers to be in their job description. What Daphne thought of as a right of her station and years with the family, others would have taken as an abomination.
Of course, it was exactly that lack of cohesion with the rest of their peers that had made the whole of Cyril Ann's life possible. No one had ever equated the dirty street rat with the esteemed daughter of a commander of the army, a man so decorated they'd given him a title to go along with all of those medals and honors. Not only was he a commander but he was the Commander, a title he could use until his death. And he fully intended to. Mrs. Bray wanted none of the officialness of titles just as she wanted nothing of the society that her husband's postion had set her a part of. She preferred to be the same woman she'd been on her wedding night and would continue to be until her death. She was a woman who wasn't accustomed to having staff and so she treated them like family to help wrap her head around the fact that she paid them a wage to do a job that she could very well accomplish on her own.
On the other hand, Cyril Ann found that she liked being a Lady. The title, not one that many held, was unique enough that she got noticed when she bandied it around. In her current circumstances, it had covered over many tiny indiscretions and cleared paths for her that would have been otherwise closed because of her earlier circumstances. She was fast finding her title to be great use to her. As she did, the distance between her mother and herself grew wide.
They'd had little in common before Cyril Ann had decided to go to school. They had even less now. The only reason that Cyril Ann had taken the time to come home was because she'd received a summons. Her father, well into his dotage, preferred that his only daughter come visit from time to time to assuage his guilt that he hadn't done more for her. If she was lucky, she wouldn't even run into her mother on this visit.
Daphne, it appeared, had other ideas. "Your mother is waiting for you in the day room."
"My... mother? I'm here to see my father. I'm sure he's in his study."
The woman, though slight and thin, bared her way in such a way that Cyril Ann would never have dreamed of trying to slip by. "Your mother," she enunciated, "is waiting for you in the day room."
There would be no getting away from it this visit. Mentally shoring herself for the conversation she'd been hoping to hold off on for a few more months, Cyril Ann raised her chin a few more inches so that she was looking down at the housekeeper from a much greater height than normal. "Fine. I'll go see my mother but I would appreciate it if you would alert my father that I will be late for our pre-arranged meeting."
The look that Daphne gave her was full of venom. "Your father isn't in today. He's at his club."
"But he... I got... oh." Because suddenly she knew why this message seemed a bit more strange than normal. She'd thought it was because her father's age was finally starting to overtake his good sense. Now, it appeared, Daphne had interfered. She doubted her father even knew she was planning on coming today and had never sent her any sort of message. The thought that this woman had that sort of power over her parents was slightly terrifying.
She entered the room cautiously, not sure what to expect. Her mother, always a mouse of a woman, didn't bother to look away from the window she was gazing out of. There was nothing interesting happening on the other side of the glass but still she stared through it as if there was nothing else to see.
"Mother? I've come to see you. Shall I have Daphne bring the tea things round?"
"You aren't here to see me. You came to see your father."
That was a new tone, one full of an unusual amount of ire for her mother. She normally preferred that everything around her was stable and happy, often to the detriment of her young daughter's strange moods. Because Cyril Ann wasn't used to hearing her mother hurl about accusations, she wasn't prepared with a rejoinder as she would have been if this was anyone else.
"True. I was brought her on false pretenses. If you'd but sent me a letter yourself, I would have been more than happy to have come for a visit."
"You haven't visited in some time."
Since that was true, Cyril Ann knew better than to try to lie. That really would cause her mother to grow angry. "You never asked me round. I don't live here any longer, Mother. I have no idea what your schedule might be or when would be a good time to visit."
"So you have to be asked? What sort of lies has that school filled your head with?"
Daphne cleared her throat from the doorway. "The clergyman is here. The one that you rang for."
"Ah, Mr. Gibbons. Send him in."
Instantly, Cyril Ann was on high alert. She had run into Mr. Gibbons several times and in many different guises. While she could only guess at what he might have been called for today, she knew it boded her no good. Not the Cyril Ann that was a student of Grantsom Academy and certainly not the Cyril Ann that had run with a gang of street rats for several years and who was still a member in good standing with one of the more powerful gangs in Old City.
Wildly, she looked around for a means of escape. The day room had the window that her mother was so entranced with and the doorway that Daphne now guarded. Other than that, the only other way out was the chimney. She'd done it before, she could do it again. This was her good yellow dress and soot would never come out of it, even if she did think her hips would fit through the narrowing half way up.
Magic may be your only means of escape, she reminded herself, her hands balled at her side as she tried to think of what she needed to do to get herself out of this bind.
"Lovely to see you, Mythalda. Such a lovely day for a call on your fair house. Daphne, I believe I'll have two lumps of sugar in my tea, if you don't mind. And who is this? Certainly not your lovely daughter? Why, she's a young lady, nearly grown."
The words were innocent, as was the jovial tone, but there was an underlying menace that Cyril Ann heard. If she hadn't been worried before, she would have been worried after hearing this man speak. He was not one to be trifled with. No little stream of magic would close his eyes to her while she snuck out. He was the hunter and she was prey. No matter what she way she decided to run, he would be able to scent her until, at long last, she'd run to the edge of her familiar territory. For a reason completely unknown to her, Mr. Gibbons was a threat. Because she'd been a street rat and there were many who felt that the only way to clean up Old City was to rid the area of the wandering children? Because she was a student at a rather elitist academy that was quite a few steps out of the sphere of her parents reach? Because she could manipulate magic?
Whatever the answer, whether it be one of the questions she'd thought of or another one completely, Cyril Ann knew that she was in more trouble than she had ever been in. There would be no easy escape today.
This entry was cross posted at dreamwidth - where the cool kids hang out.
One of the sticking points in my head has been Lady Cyril Ann Bray's past. She was the one character that came into this world with a name and an identity already sort of intact because she came from the previous incarnation of the Streetlight People. Part of the reason that she made the jump was because I liked her so much! Problem was, when I started to write out some of her past, I tried to tweek it too much so that it came out all twisted up and not right at all.
So the reason that I must beg your forgiveness is because this is not necessarily what you've been led to believe about Cyril Ann from some of the past stories. This, I believe, is more in line with the history that I want her to have, though.
I also must beg your forgiveness because this ends on a cliff-hanger that I never intended to have! With any luck, I'll find time to write tomorrow (Easter Sunday) and will get CA out of the predicament she finds herself in.
Title: Tea in the the Day Room
Prompt: Coming Home
Word Count: 1508
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original - Streetlight People 'verse
Pairings (if any): none (although this is in the implied Xie/Cyril Ann part of the story)
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/Underage): none
Summary: Commander Bray has requested the presence of his daughter. She would never dream of turning him down. If she'd known how this would all turn out, she might have at least tried to come up with an alternative for the day.
"Hello, Daphne." It was all Cyril Ann could do to keep the smile plastered on her face. Of all the people still working in her parents employ, this woman was the worst. Part of the problem was that she'd been around nearly as long as Cyril Ann had so that she felt she was owed some sort of due from the family. The other part of the problem was that Mrs. Bray agreed with these sentiments wholeheartedly. For every hour of labor that the woman was made to put up with, she was given twice that to sit in front of the fire and rest her feet.
Cyril Ann had always thought that was normal. The first time the chamber maids at the school had scurried away when she tried to make conversation with them, Cyril Ann had thought she'd done something wrong. It turns out that the staff of the school, as with the staff of every other house in the city, didn't believe that talking to their employers to be in their job description. What Daphne thought of as a right of her station and years with the family, others would have taken as an abomination.
Of course, it was exactly that lack of cohesion with the rest of their peers that had made the whole of Cyril Ann's life possible. No one had ever equated the dirty street rat with the esteemed daughter of a commander of the army, a man so decorated they'd given him a title to go along with all of those medals and honors. Not only was he a commander but he was the Commander, a title he could use until his death. And he fully intended to. Mrs. Bray wanted none of the officialness of titles just as she wanted nothing of the society that her husband's postion had set her a part of. She preferred to be the same woman she'd been on her wedding night and would continue to be until her death. She was a woman who wasn't accustomed to having staff and so she treated them like family to help wrap her head around the fact that she paid them a wage to do a job that she could very well accomplish on her own.
On the other hand, Cyril Ann found that she liked being a Lady. The title, not one that many held, was unique enough that she got noticed when she bandied it around. In her current circumstances, it had covered over many tiny indiscretions and cleared paths for her that would have been otherwise closed because of her earlier circumstances. She was fast finding her title to be great use to her. As she did, the distance between her mother and herself grew wide.
They'd had little in common before Cyril Ann had decided to go to school. They had even less now. The only reason that Cyril Ann had taken the time to come home was because she'd received a summons. Her father, well into his dotage, preferred that his only daughter come visit from time to time to assuage his guilt that he hadn't done more for her. If she was lucky, she wouldn't even run into her mother on this visit.
Daphne, it appeared, had other ideas. "Your mother is waiting for you in the day room."
"My... mother? I'm here to see my father. I'm sure he's in his study."
The woman, though slight and thin, bared her way in such a way that Cyril Ann would never have dreamed of trying to slip by. "Your mother," she enunciated, "is waiting for you in the day room."
There would be no getting away from it this visit. Mentally shoring herself for the conversation she'd been hoping to hold off on for a few more months, Cyril Ann raised her chin a few more inches so that she was looking down at the housekeeper from a much greater height than normal. "Fine. I'll go see my mother but I would appreciate it if you would alert my father that I will be late for our pre-arranged meeting."
The look that Daphne gave her was full of venom. "Your father isn't in today. He's at his club."
"But he... I got... oh." Because suddenly she knew why this message seemed a bit more strange than normal. She'd thought it was because her father's age was finally starting to overtake his good sense. Now, it appeared, Daphne had interfered. She doubted her father even knew she was planning on coming today and had never sent her any sort of message. The thought that this woman had that sort of power over her parents was slightly terrifying.
She entered the room cautiously, not sure what to expect. Her mother, always a mouse of a woman, didn't bother to look away from the window she was gazing out of. There was nothing interesting happening on the other side of the glass but still she stared through it as if there was nothing else to see.
"Mother? I've come to see you. Shall I have Daphne bring the tea things round?"
"You aren't here to see me. You came to see your father."
That was a new tone, one full of an unusual amount of ire for her mother. She normally preferred that everything around her was stable and happy, often to the detriment of her young daughter's strange moods. Because Cyril Ann wasn't used to hearing her mother hurl about accusations, she wasn't prepared with a rejoinder as she would have been if this was anyone else.
"True. I was brought her on false pretenses. If you'd but sent me a letter yourself, I would have been more than happy to have come for a visit."
"You haven't visited in some time."
Since that was true, Cyril Ann knew better than to try to lie. That really would cause her mother to grow angry. "You never asked me round. I don't live here any longer, Mother. I have no idea what your schedule might be or when would be a good time to visit."
"So you have to be asked? What sort of lies has that school filled your head with?"
Daphne cleared her throat from the doorway. "The clergyman is here. The one that you rang for."
"Ah, Mr. Gibbons. Send him in."
Instantly, Cyril Ann was on high alert. She had run into Mr. Gibbons several times and in many different guises. While she could only guess at what he might have been called for today, she knew it boded her no good. Not the Cyril Ann that was a student of Grantsom Academy and certainly not the Cyril Ann that had run with a gang of street rats for several years and who was still a member in good standing with one of the more powerful gangs in Old City.
Wildly, she looked around for a means of escape. The day room had the window that her mother was so entranced with and the doorway that Daphne now guarded. Other than that, the only other way out was the chimney. She'd done it before, she could do it again. This was her good yellow dress and soot would never come out of it, even if she did think her hips would fit through the narrowing half way up.
Magic may be your only means of escape, she reminded herself, her hands balled at her side as she tried to think of what she needed to do to get herself out of this bind.
"Lovely to see you, Mythalda. Such a lovely day for a call on your fair house. Daphne, I believe I'll have two lumps of sugar in my tea, if you don't mind. And who is this? Certainly not your lovely daughter? Why, she's a young lady, nearly grown."
The words were innocent, as was the jovial tone, but there was an underlying menace that Cyril Ann heard. If she hadn't been worried before, she would have been worried after hearing this man speak. He was not one to be trifled with. No little stream of magic would close his eyes to her while she snuck out. He was the hunter and she was prey. No matter what she way she decided to run, he would be able to scent her until, at long last, she'd run to the edge of her familiar territory. For a reason completely unknown to her, Mr. Gibbons was a threat. Because she'd been a street rat and there were many who felt that the only way to clean up Old City was to rid the area of the wandering children? Because she was a student at a rather elitist academy that was quite a few steps out of the sphere of her parents reach? Because she could manipulate magic?
Whatever the answer, whether it be one of the questions she'd thought of or another one completely, Cyril Ann knew that she was in more trouble than she had ever been in. There would be no easy escape today.
This entry was cross posted at dreamwidth - where the cool kids hang out.