who shot that arrow in your throat? who missed the crimson apple?

[heirship]

T O   W H O M   I T   M A Y   C O N C E R N:

my father is dead.
❧

Comments

[houseisonfire]

[ Before Aubrey falls asleep -- whenever that may be -- there is a tap on his bedroom window. ]

[heirship]

[ He hears it, partway through loosen his tie when the knock comes. He pauses, then tightens the fabric noose back up to his throat properly before coming to push the window open. ]

Good evening, Ladybird.

[houseisonfire]

[ She doesn't smile at him, no not yet. Simply holds out a hand for him to take as she lifts the hem of her skirt with the other. Balance is required to climb in from the cold and she takes it from him before alighting -- barefeet, unstockinged legs -- on the floor inside. Her black eyes are expectant. ]

Hello, Aubrey. Have they all gone?

[ 'They' meaning strangers offering condolences, tourists visiting to get a peek at Windham grief. ]

[heirship]

[ There is no smile for the beetle either-- not yet. But he takes her hand, helping her into the house. He'd been expecting her, ever since the doctor proclaimed the old bastard dead. It was, after all, her doing. Or his, rather, aided by her.

Accomplices. ]

Yes. No one can be bothered to stay late for an old man's dead body. [ Something subtly biting about the way he speaks, always. ] It isn't fashionable.

[hisbarbarian]

Such a shame, my dear Jordan, God rest his soul, left us just as quickly when the fever set its hooks to him. You have my condolences, and if you find yourselves in need of help in the arrangements, you need only to call upon me. It is a sad business, but I have experience in it.

[heirship]

Sad business. [ There's a certain insincerity to the boy, though it may be more habitual than purposeful. ] Yes. Very sad business indeed. But please, don't trouble yourself. My father's heir will surely want to take care of the particulars himself.

[hisbarbarian]

[She gives him a prim sort of look. Says nothing because he is not her son, not hers to correct, but if you were better mannered, you would watch your tone, little Windham.]

It is the nature of community to be troubled over the passing of such a fine member as your father was.

[heirship]

[ The boy has grown tired of condolences and mourning. The old bastard didn't care about much of anything but power anyway. That much, Aubrey supposes, is genetic between them. ]

Troubled. Certainly. Or eager to see him go, but proper enough to pretend otherwise.

[colliery]

Your papa is gone?

[heirship]

Yes. He passed of sickness this morning.

[colliery]

I'm sorry. You must be very sad.

[heirship]

Yes. [ A pause. A daughter of new money, certainly, not old. She's much too sincere for that. ] It is quite a sad occasion.

[docksides]

[ A hesitation, then gently touching his arm: ]

Aubrey?

[heirship]

[ There's something about being touched by her that both repulses and fascinates him. Her fingers are so thin, her hands so small. Soon, his ring will weigh heavy there. Pretty girl, really, but he can't bring himself to want her.

He tolerates her touch. ]

Miss Stonewell.

[docksides]

[ She knows. His obsession is for others-- and she is only a footnote. But, if she resents this, she swallows it. Not yet married, but taking up her duties already.

Be gentle, Robin. Be gentle with him. ]

Forgive me, Aubrey. I am uncertain how to comfort you. Your loss is great.

[heirship]

Don't trouble yourself, Miss Stonewell.

[ He can't call her "Robin." It's too familiar. He only likes her vaguely as she is-- porcelain-faced, hidden under layers of expensive dresses, quiet enough to brush aside-- but he can't want to see what else there is. He doesn't want to understand or love her or grow old with her.

She's too gentle a creature. That's the trouble. She can't hurt him, and worse, he can't bring himself to hurt her either. Which leaves her in no place with him at all. ]

It's hardly necessary.

entirely too much pussy on this post. -stops this.-

[reposing_spring]

[It would not please his sister to know how much this news amuses him. Sickness is a thing of his, the rapid and sluggish ways in which a body can destroy be destroyed. If you care to look, you will find this young man with his hands jauntily in his pockets: smiling, perfect teeth all in line in a perfect pink mouth.]

THE TESTOSTERONE HAS ARRIVED.

[heirship]

[ He sees you. Remembers you vaguely, perhaps-- but that's how it is, with Aubrey. The multitudes pass him by, and his eye only knows to linger on a certain few. Obsession and dismissal, but little between.

Still, that smile is unnerving somehow. One does not smile on an eve of death. It isn't proper. ]

If you're here to mourn my father, you haven't the face for it.

more than you, pussy boy.

[reposing_spring]

[Not proper at all, but then, he's never cared much for humans and their sense of propriety. He laughs faintly, giving the boy a mocking sort of expression.]

I don't care about your father, child.

/face in hands

[heirship]

[ There's a certain tension in Aubrey's shoulder. A suspicion. He's a suspicious boy, this one, and more than that, he despises being mocked. Inwardly, he hates the look on that face and makes his voice polite, steady. ]

Then I'm certain I've no idea why you've come calling.