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| Abira's Room [Faye Manor]; [In The Year 1884, This Room Belongs To Abira Faye] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 13 2010, 01:12 AM (766 Views) | |
| Isobela De Luca | Jun 13 2010, 01:12 AM Post #1 |
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![]() -&- "Better, Rowland." Her encouragement wasn't entirely misplaced; it was a drastic improvement off of his previous attempt. Of course, it could not have gotten much worse, but Abira believed in the spirit of positive reinforcement. She had not lied. It was no worse than before. Of course her remark was whispered, as no amount of silencing spells erased that uncomfortable feeling that accompanies forbidden activities. The literal fact that they couldn't be heard did nothing to diminish the unease or tremors of fear. To say she was being careful was an understatement. There was, naturally, an element of fun and delight here as well, as there usually is with endeavors you know you ought not to take. At that moment, she was teaching him a movement spell: the incantation, as her's had been cast correctly, were causing her heels to scurry around the room without her. She had thought they might race once he'd mastered it and could make his own shoes move. They were yet a little ways from that point. But no problem, for Abira was smiling in spite of herself, rubbing the side of her ear as she relaxed and muttered the necessary Reparos. "No matter." She echoed her thoughts, the pressed smile on her lips kind. "Just...don't wave the wand so much." It wasn't his own wand, of course, which she knew had to be part of the problem. She had managed to steal a wand for him a few weeks ago (stolen from the dungeons, while she tried not to think of whose wand it might have been), but it had not chosen him. The fact that wands were fickle was just part of life, she supposed. After all, Rowland had a wand, when magic was kept between the pureblood family's, the nobles and high class; it was illegal in any other circle, and indeed stamped out. He was lucky to have a wand at all. That was how she tried to look at it. Abira thought with a bitter twinge, having this gift could be quite unlucky for him indeed. "Again." She murmured, dropping her own wand so that her shoes fell inanimate once more. It did not help anyone to dwell on uncertainties, and worry long before worrying was called for. Another light smile graced her lips as she nodded to him. ![]() Edited by Isobela De Luca, Jun 13 2010, 01:13 AM.
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![]() And I'll blend that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins, cause your heart has a lack of c o l o r and we should've known... | |
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| Deleted User | Jun 13 2010, 02:53 AM Post #2 |
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Rowland scratched the back of his head in embarrassment as he surveyed the damage done around the room. At least the armoire's doors had not been blown off their hinges and he avoided general structural damage to the walls. Positive aspect first, after all. The not so positive came from the fact that he had, accidentally of course, exploded a couple of pillows; he was currently standing in quite a pile of feathers and other...pillow stuffing, while more still floated down and landed on him. He exhaled sharply upwards to blow away a small feather away from his hair. Not to mention some of the wooden paneling had been stripped bare; how he did that, he would never know. Yet, it was time to continue on. The twenty-eighth time is the charm? "Sorry," was his immediate response every time he casted the spell now. He couldn't quite get it right, that of course being an understatement. He fiddled with the wand absent-mindedly, still quite -he didn't want to use the word giddy, but that was exactly how he was- giddy over the fact he had one to begin with. In his home village, one of the few places in England that refused to industrialize, when he was taught, also in secret, by the Elder he had to borrow a wand as well. They were understandably few wands to go around and even less people who knew how to make them. So that could explain why he was a bit distracted, not to mention he kept worrying about someone walking in on them. There wasn't really a way to explain the situation, and get away with it that is. He nodded as he was instructed to stop his 'swashbuckling' of sorts, and keep the wand brandishing to a minimum. Right, he could do that. That was something he was still trying to master- the fact that he didn't have to have long, thorough, and extravagant movements in order to get a spell to work- that was the common mentality that came from growing up in a house where the most common form of entertainment came from story telling and card games. Stories of the frightful and intimidating wizards, with their gallant weapons and etc. Folk tale and myth, to most, and Rowland himself needed to stop thinking that he was living out one of those stories. Seeing as how this was real life, as real as it was going to get anyways. Lifting his wand back up, he pointed them at his shoes- surprised they weren't engulfed in flames or melted or disintegrated, or anything of the sort- and performed the wand movement, uttering the incantation again and hoping for the best. The best refrained from making an appearance. His shoes did seem to hover and wiggle a bit in mid-air, but that could have been the entire floor moving. He stepped back, blinking and coughing as he somehow caused his wand to send forth sparks and smoke preceded by a small 'tuff' noise. He waved his hand in front of his face, clearing the air and noticed that the armchair's legs had shoes on; he blinked again. Twenty-ninth time was the charm? NPC-- Rowland Stone
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| Isobela De Luca | Jun 13 2010, 04:19 AM Post #3 |
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Abira had never known any uneducated wizard to be so powerful when so completely out of control. It was as amusing as it was frightening; there were those among her peers who (besides considering the fact that she was tutoring him base treachery) would consider this dangerous as Rowland might turn around and eliminate them all, overthrow the government and the way things were through sheer force. Anyone who thought Rowland was capable of that clearly didn't know him at all. And she wasn't talking about the fact that his spell-work at that moment was...lax. At the armchair wearing shoes she suddenly clasped her hand to her mouth, sitting amidst a sea of feathers. It was not in fear, not in shock, but in pure joy. That was utterly hilarious. Genuinely amused and hardly frustrated she got up, trailing a few feathers behind her and wrapped her hand around his wrist where the wand was demonstrating. "Like...this." She muttered the incantation again, moving his hand with her own and then pulling back as she suddenly felt a shock of worry; there was only one cause of that. Her sensory spells around her the entrance to the hallway that her room was on the end of. Immediately taking his wand from him--without asking--she waved her own around the room once, sweeping it back into order in a single long, extended motion. Her eyes narrowed in on the books repairing themselves, the pillows reforming and stuffing back, glass mending and papers floating through the air until they sat back on her vanity. Without taking a moment to examine the work she had reached around her neck, grappled for a key and approached that same vanity. The tarnished, golden key off her necklace fit into the keyhole with ease, turned with a click and she threw the wand inside it. It laid beside a small device that looked rather like a clock. It had a few whirring little gears, spinning around and around, and a runic language carved in small symbols around the side. Mother-of-pearl inlays were surrounding the clock face, and below that hung a small pendulum, swinging back and forth though the clock's hands stayed still. Abira cast a half-second glance at it, brow furrowed and then had closed and locked the drawer in time for her door to open. ![]() -&- Edited by Isobela De Luca, Jun 13 2010, 04:19 AM.
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![]() And I'll blend that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins, cause your heart has a lack of c o l o r and we should've known... | |
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| Miles Fitzgerald | Jun 13 2010, 04:34 AM Post #4 |
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"And just what." Damocles sounded utterly exasperated, though perhaps with a hint of amusement coloring his tone, ", has been going on here?" The room appeared not only spotless, but in a lot better shape than Rowland kept his own. He supposed that was typical of his sister. Abira tended to keep everything in her life in order, whether or not it meant doing a bit of housework herself. Sometimes he really didn't understand her. She knew how to cook on her own, did some of her own housework, and yet worked in the top levels of government while single and appeared uninterested in a husband to take care of her in the slightest. Make that most times. "I've been looking for you for half an hour."He looked straight at Rowland as he said it, still exasperated, and still amused. Mostly, he was in disbelief, shaking his head at him. "And now I come and find you're here with my sister." His eyebrow was arching as he looked between them, noting that Abira was rolling her eyes but had the simple look of having been caught doing something she shouldn't. Oh, dear merlin, bloody hell. He turned back around on Rowland, eyebrow going up and his finger pointing at him, "There had better be an explanation for this, because I swear Rowland if you're trying to--" He looked at his sister for a moment and decidedly censored himself, "--shower affections on my sister, I will make your life a living hell." And yet this literally was just like every other day of this week. -&- ![]() Edited by Miles Fitzgerald, Jun 13 2010, 04:35 AM.
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| Deleted User | Jun 13 2010, 05:38 AM Post #5 |
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Rowland was about to apologize, yet again, because it seems destruction went hand in hand with his spell-casting, or rather attempt at spell-casting but stared amused as Abira looked on the verge of laughter. Such reaction calmed him down substantially, and he started grinning in amusement as well. Maybe his approach at spell casting should be spontaneous; just attempt and see what happens. Of course, it was already a given that said tactic would probably be on the offensive and as a last resort, but at least he knew he wouldn't be completely useless in the case of the emergency. Sure, he couldn't think of any situations that would lead to him purposefully revealing his ability to use magic, but one never knew. Just as he was about to get ready for try number twenty nine, Abira pulled back and looked worried. He frowned immediately, "What's wron-" wand taken away from him. He didn't protest for he knew what that meant; someone was coming. Only sparing a small moment to look on fascinated as she cleaned the room in its entirety, Rowland pulled his shoes back on as quickly as he could; hoping on one foot so as to not lose balance (as incredibly unorthodox as that sounded). He looked up in time to see a rather peculiar object inside the now open vanity. No, he wasn't talking about his wand, this object was much more unique -and that was saying something all in its own- and more mystifying than a wand. It looked like a miniature grandfather clock, lavish and exquisite, although that a characteristic quite common in the Faye household or so they would point out. Rowland himself would point out that the shiny things remained shiny for a reason. Well, that was a half-lie, he wouldn't point that out. In any case, whatever was inside that vanity was not the work of decoration on the family's part or up-keeping on the servant's hands. He turned around to face the door as it opened, not entirely surprised to see who it was. The question had him immediately replying back in a hurried tone with, "Nothing, nothing at all er...clearly, as you can see..." Alright, that was certainly smooth, Rowland. Might as well wear a big sign on his forehead that reads 'partaking in illegal activities' and save himself the trouble of lying, badly. Rowland...did not lie very well. He kept secrets very well, but he did not lie. Which was not to be mistaken for bluffing, for he was good at that. It was a rather odd and complicated arrangement that he would explore more in depth, as soon as he was out of this uncomfortable situation. When Damocles said he had been looking for him for half an hour, Rowland had to repress a laugh and a scoff, which he did quite well; he was rather proud of himself for it. What Damocles meant when he said that he had been looking for him was that he had sent others to look for him and in the end ended up doing so himself. Unless he was bored and also hiding in which case Rowland could see him doing so. Rare case, however, rare case. It took him a brief moment to understand what Damocles was implying, as Rowland looked at Damocles and then at Abira; his eyes widening as he shook his head, "No, nothing of that caliber, what? I wouldn't, noooooo, of course not." He even raised his hands in front of his chest in defense, shaking his head. Alright, now how was he going to be talking his way out of this one? Truth be told, he was rather anxious to find out himself. "There is, an explanation, of course," Rowland assured, nodding immediately. "I was...walking, purposefully," he amended, knowing that aimless wandering would only get him in deeper trouble, "To do all chores assigned to me when....I heard...a ruckus." He cleared his throat and nodded again, sparing a quick glance at Abira. "A ruckus, yes, and I came to check on it and discovered that Lady Abira was trying to ward off a...rat," he clapped once, trying to believe his own story before he continued, "But no harm done, the rat was sequestered and taken care of and all is well." Rowland was able to deduce that this imaginary rat was quite the character. Rowland cleared his throat again, "Is there something you required of me, m'lord?," he asked, bowing his head forward as he tried to move the conversation along. For the sake of Abira and himself and...most of all that poor rat. NPC-- Rowland Stone
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| Isobela De Luca | Jun 13 2010, 06:16 AM Post #6 |
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The moment her brother had walked through the door -- already telling Rowland off before a single foot had crossed the threshold -- Abira had just shut her eyes and turned for a moment. Bloody typical. Turning back she returned before Rowland had spoken, dropping the key beneath the cut in her gown and remarking with her eyebrow as high as her brother's, "And just what makes you think you can enter my private chambers without knocking?" Huffing, she walked towards the door and shut it behind him. It was with her hand still on the gilded knob that she heard Damocles' brilliant assessment of the situation and took a sigh of relief. HHe really could be thick sometimes. Most times. Her eyes fluttered as she breathed. Merlin, if he really thought that was what was happening he was more oblivious than she thought. More likely he just wanted to find some reason to threaten Rowland; it did seem to be a hobby of his for reasons Abira could not understand. Still, it was better that he think that than what was really going on. Abira was not a fool. Rowland had trusted her with his secret out of accident, and neither of them were willing to do the same with Damocles. For all her own affection for her brother, she could not help but be aware he could not keep this secret. The Fayes were the same as the Grants, the Morvannas, the Selwyns, and the list continued--magic was a forbidden art. And where Damocles' own views might be uncertain towards her, she was aware of his respect for their father. Merwyn Faye's signature on several laws setting up boundaries to 'stamp out the infidels' made his own position clear. It wasn't until she had stopped smiling that she turned around, returning to pouting at having been so rudely intruded upon, and thus she realized too late that she had left Rowland to invent to cover story for them. That really hadn't been the best idea she'd ever had, come to think of it. After he assured Damocles he had it wrong--with the same gestures that had so thrown off his wand work and elongated syllables that made her smile--she stepped forward again and said quite practically, "That's right. A rat. If it hadn't been for Rowland I don't know what I would have done." Actually, that would have been completely accurate if there really was a rat in her chambers. She couldn't stand them, and while she did try to avoid the stereotype of women that was so ingrained in society, in this particular area she could quite easily go right along with the stereotype. "You really do have an overactive imagination, brother." Her voice was tight. ![]() -&- |
![]() And I'll blend that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins, cause your heart has a lack of c o l o r and we should've known... | |
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| Miles Fitzgerald | Jun 13 2010, 06:34 AM Post #7 |
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His finger stayed pointing threateningly at Rowland as he began blundering his way through an explanation; his eyebrow was raising higher with each 'nooo' and weird gesture. Really, did it have to take him twelve seconds to say a simple explanation as the one he was giving? Time was far too precious. Or really, Damocles was seriously impatient. Hesitantly, his finger came down as he said in disbelief, "A rat. You threw a ruckus over a rat." Abira nodded at him, clearly aggravated. Well then. All this fuss over a silly rat? It was inconceivable to him that women got so worked up over rats. They were so easily dealt with. Particularly, as was now evident to Abira as well, when Rowland was around. He'd become something of an expert at that as the house was so frequently infested. Rats. "Seems I owe you a debt of thanks, Rowland." He turned back to his servant, eyebrow dropping as he shook his head from side to side in the slightest bit of disbelief. "You've saved my sister from a vicious beast." At the look Abira gave him he returned with a tease, "Do stop doing that, sister." If they were six again, both of their tongues would be out, he knew. As it was, Abira looked like she was close to doing that regardless and turned around. In good humor and with a growing smirk, Damocles turned back to Rowland and said simply, "And yes, I needed you, if you're done fighting the rats. It seems Father wants to throw a ball, and I do not seem to have any clean clothes for such an occasion. Remarkable how that happens, isn't it?" His eyebrow was up again. "I simply can't understand it." He was pulling back, but the look on his sister's face was one he could not ignore forever. Whatever it was that had gone down with that rat must have been pretty traumatizing, for he could see she was breathing a little heavier than normal (as he did not think she had a corset on at that moment, but then again, how could he possibly tell?). He'd interrupted, then. Perhaps not what he thought he had, but since when was an overactive imagination a bad thing? It kept him young, in his opinion. Kept him...inventive. "And my room needs to be cleaned." He added as an afterthought, "And then we're going to have to get you clothes too, as you'll be attending the ball as well." "Splendid, Rowland you'll have to save me a dance." Abira's words were light, though she seemed to be perfectly serious but for the raised brow. "Ah, no." Damocles cautioned, smiling in spite of himself. -&- ![]() Edited by Miles Fitzgerald, Jun 14 2010, 04:49 AM.
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| Deleted User | Jun 13 2010, 08:18 PM Post #8 |
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Rowland waited in expectant and rather anxious silence to see whether or not Damocles thought the 'explanation' was suitable. Rowland should have probably rethought the rat portion of the explanation seeing as how it seemed to be a motif with his ill-fabricated lies. He should be awarded some sort of title- annihilator of fictional vermin. It had a nice ring to it, he had to admit. It suited him a lot better than 'Lord Damocles' servant'. Damocles would disagree; he would point out that the addition of his name to any title or position only increased the credibility and importance of said title. And people wondered why his most frequent chore was polishing the mirror in Damocles' room. Thankfully, with Abira's assistance of course, Damocles thought the explanation suitable, if not a bit unnecessarily long and extensive. Rowland didn't do it on purpose though, he just had the tendency to drag out his sentences to give him more time to come up with suitable lies. One would think that working for a family that was quite practiced in the arts of treachery, secrets, and manipulation that he would have picked up a small skill set here or there. The fact he hadn't was either a miracle that proved his own innate protective shield, or some sort of deficiency. For obvious reasons he preferred the former explanation. "You owe me no such gratitude m'lord," he assured with another small bow. "It was my pleas- honor, it was my honor to be of assistance." Rowland apparently also had a chronic case of foot-in-mouth. He cleared his throat to refrain from laughing and continued to attempt to look serious. This after all was a serious concern and had to be approached with the utmost delicacy and...etc etc etc; his attention had already begun to wander. Something that was of equal amusement that he had to concentrate on not laughing was the interaction between the two siblings in front of him. Despite the propriety and manners and countless of other fancy terms with even fancier denotations, their interaction was quite normal. It reminded him of his own brothers and sisters back home. Except they were more likely to wrestle each other to the ground that to engage in a thoughtful and witty repartee. The wittiest thing uttered would probably involve comparing someone to a slug or snake's eyes. Alright, small moment of nostalgia was over. He was, after all, here for them. "That is quite remarkable, Sir. It is a shocking and surprising matter of how your wardrobe goes from being completely clean after I'm instructed to do so, to a state that is less than the perfection that you requested when you seek to wear them," he responded, his lips twitching briefly before he contained himself once more. He did clean the clothes, of course. He did...sometimes he tripped and they fell once more, and since he was only required to clean them once he didn't see a reason to do so once more. And sometimes he forgot...but most of the time the clothes were cleaned and folded and stored. But those fictional rats, they were everywhere. "Should I give the mirror a new coat of polish, Sir?" He asked, his eyes darting to the ground as he smiled briefly. Most people would not let Rowland get away with even half of the comments that he managed to come up with but Damocles was...lenient. On good hair days. It was why working for Damocles wasn't entirely horrible...some of the time. When he wasn't completely buried in workload from sunrise to sundown- but he had grown accustomed to that already; servant, after all. A ball, well this was slightly more interesting than other days. It wasn't like the head of the house threw balls avidly and frequently to show off his wealth and power and position. Oh wait. Smiling a bit at Abira's comment, his smile growing a tad bigger at Damocles' own response, Rowland replied directly to Abira with, "It seems I am disinclined to accept your request, m'lady." Even if he could, Rowland didn't really fancy dancing. But that was more because of the fact that he underwent childhood torture via his sisters thinking of him as a life-size doll. He had been going to 'balls' and 'tea parties' since childhood. Difference was he was sure he enjoyed them more back then. "I apologize for wasting your time and breath by making you look for me, m'lord," he decided to apologize in a gesture that could really only be described as: extend rear-end, place lips here. Bit crude, maybe, but thankfully that was why he was awarded the luxury of safety in his own mind. So far. NPC-- Rowland Stone
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| Isobela De Luca | Jun 14 2010, 03:35 AM Post #9 |
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"Oh, and it was vicious." Abira said, seemingly serious but for the smile crossing her lips. She nodded. "Terrifying, razor-sharp teeth, almost an entire six inches." She pulled her hands out to indicate the size of the fictional vermin and then turned to hide her tiny smile. It wasn't as though she minded poking fun at herself, after all, and the further she got her brother to pick on her over the story, the less Damocles focused on whether or not it was accurate. After all, why be disbelieving when he could take the mickey out on her this way? Oh brothers. Granted, she only had the one, and Evelyn was entirely different. Evelyn did not tease or prod her, when she was speaking with her sister at all. Eve had moved to another section of the manor with her husband, who had moved in as was customary. The fact was that nowadays, she rarely saw her sister unaccompanied by either her husband or her daughter, Leah and such meetings did not lend themselves to pillow fights and gossip. The only time they truly spent together one on one was when they were shopping, and then they were in public. She supposed it was the proper habit to be in, but it saddened her a bit at times. When she turned back around, there was but a smile still in place. Rowland was inquiring after the state of Damocles' mirror and she remarked with evident delight, "I expect you'll have to, Rowland. We couldn't have a single smudge on that glass, it might endanger my brother's very health. " It was so, so easy to pick on him. As long as she was not making this worse for Rowland, she supposed, but then that was why she had spoken in the first place. She did not want Damocles to take frustration out on his servant--as she was aware he was prone too-- and as she'd joined the joke, she hoped he might not be quite as annoyed with Rowland alone. At least, would not blame him alone. Besides, Damocles needed to hear about his vanity every now and again. The fact that it was a running joke not-withstanding, his ego was utterly massive. Abira knew it had reason to be. The sole heir to their entire fortune, in this age of glory for Britain, the respect so many offered him was well-deserved. Beneath it all, she knew Damocles cared about the state of their family, and indeed the Wizarding World he would look after the way their father did now, as Undersecretary to the Minister, head of several councils and far more. It was astonishing what the length of a well-laden with gold palm could reach, was it not? Turning back around to the vanity, her dress rustled as she moved and spoke with a light lilt, "Well now, that's a shame. But it'll be nice to host a ball. We haven't had one in a few months; I was beginning to fear I would not be able to show off my new dress." She turned around with the same devil's grin in place as she looked at her brother and then winked at Rowland, "Be sure to be watching." See, it was so much fun to make the vein pop out in Damocles' forehead such as it was. It was just not an opportunity she would miss. Poor Rowland. ![]() -&- |
![]() And I'll blend that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins, cause your heart has a lack of c o l o r and we should've known... | |
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| Miles Fitzgerald | Jun 14 2010, 04:31 AM Post #10 |
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"Oh, all right, all right, just give it a rest!" At the wink and lilting remark, Damocles intervened. "I apologize for my overactive imagination, sister, all right? I jumped to conclusions. " His exasperation was evident, though he was the slightest bit amused. "So if you continue, I am only going to be forced to conclude I had not imagined anything and will be forced to follow through and indeed, make your life a living hell." It was one of his favorite threats, but in truth Damocles had several on hand in case he needed them. Which, in the case of Rowland at least, was often. Rowland had a bit of a reputation (that he admitted he'd helped along) as being the laziest servant ever to have graced their doorstep, but at the remark he only retorted through narrowed eyes, "A true mystery, indeed." His glare was met with nothing but wide eyes and frank smiles and Damocles sighed. Oh, merlin, his servant could just be impossible at times. Was it really so hard to do what he asked? He thought his demands were very reasonable. After all, they were paying Rowland to wait on them after all. It wasn't his job. Merlin, such a notion was quite displeasing. It was one he ceased to entertain but a moment later, laughing reluctantly at the cheeky remark. Should he deny that he enjoyed his own reflection? It would be folly to deny the truth, particularly when both of them knew him so well. Or, well, Abira did-- Rowland knew him in a far different capacity. It was for that reason alone that he was letting the comment slide; that, and his own amusement. Abira was continuing it, and he merely gave a tired sigh of, "I believe that addition to the list went without saying." And he turned, expecting Rowland to follow with a final nod to Abira. "Evening, sister." She was still on the ball, as he supposed girls usually were. Balls were thrown for them, he thought. He himself had hardly any desire to attend, and if it were up to him he would not. Were it not for the fine wine and charming women he was sure would start throwing themselves at him, the evenings were always a complete waste of his time. He had more important things to do, after all. More important matters to take care of. The evening was sure to be the same, or rather, so he thought. He went straight out the door again, not going ten feet before he'd turned around abruptly once more and lifted his finger back up, and straight back in Rowland's face. It was still bothering him that he'd been caught so incorrect, and had a lingering feeling that he wasn't as wrong as they'd made him out to be. It wasn't his fault. He'd found them alone and clearly slightly panicky. There was nothing wrong with his assumption. Nothing. There wasn't usually things wrong with his assumptions after all. "It seems I was wrong this time." He prefaced, begrudgintly. "But I mean really, you can't exactly blame me." After all, could anyone ever? "I find you two alone in there. And you, you've...got a suspicious look about you. Shifty. Like you have something to hide." His narrowed little glare was back, his eyebrow raised with his half-in jest and half-serious accusation. -&- ![]() Edited by Miles Fitzgerald, Jun 14 2010, 04:48 AM.
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| Deleted User | Jun 15 2010, 02:22 AM Post #11 |
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Rowland smiled briefly as Abira continued recounting the details of the imaginary rat. It was quite a specimen, that monster he had thought up with his mind. Rowland remembered reading somewhere that the power of wishful thinking worked wonders. And yes, he did know how to read although it struck some people as a complete miracle; he wasn't a complete idiot. It was just a lot more fun to pretend he was. He was only nineteen years old for God's sake, twenty in July; he was allowed to have his bit of childish fun. At least, he thought so, and wasn't his own opinion important? Somewhat? With a touch of triviality? No? Ah, well. "It was a hideous creature, no doubt infested with malignant bacteria and parasites. I daresay we might have stopped an outbreak of disease and panic," he nodded in severity. No need to thank him, of course. He was proud and honored to save the family for who he worked for from deadly, conniving, infectious, and deteriorating abnormalities that were ever-present in the household. Oh, and fictional vermin, as well. Three guesses on who he was referring to previously? If someone had the answer 'each other', they were quite right. He shrugged his shoulders in blissfully false ignorance at having no idea on how such a fate could have befallen Damocles' wardrobe. "I will do everything in my power to ensure that the culprit of such polluting is stopped," he assured with a curt nod. Problem was, it was going to be a bit of a dilemma to tell soil and dirt to stop being dirty. But if it was what his lordship commanded, then it simply had to be done, and with minimal delay, as accurately and thoroughly as humanly possible. Right after he sprouted wings and flew. Which, consequently, he had been threatened with once. You hear the most amusing and charming things in a position like his. At Abira's comment and wink, Rowland immediately turned a shade of red not so different from the shirt he was wearing. He darted his eyes immediately to the floor and thought it best to refrain from saying anything. Although he did have a couple of comments, he doubted that they would improve his situation. The secret lessons with Lady Abira had been, as well as illuminating, progressive in the matters of actual human relationship and interactions. He was a lot more comfortable around her now (not that it made her any less intimidating), and light remarks came easier- remarks that were incredibly improper; he subjected most of them through thorough editing before they passed from his lips. So it was in his best interest to remain cautious and remember his place. Lest he woke up one day with a missing limb. Would that excuse him from his workload he wondered? When Damocles turned to leave, Rowland turned slightly to look at Abira once more, mouthing a simple 'thank you.' The gratitude was for the lesson, of course; and the help in ensuring that he did not meet a tragic and untimely doom (even if some comments made from her were likely to only hasten said doom). When he turned around and walked out to follow Damocles out the room, he was quickly met with another accusing finger in his face. Rowland so wanted to ask what he had done wrong now, but once again, refrained. He was trying to rethink his schedule today. He didn't think he got in trouble at all; he didn't even sneak in to the kitchens today in the hopes of receiving some sort of extra food that had been prepared and 'laid to waste'. Apart from breaking the ultimate law, he was a perfectly behaved citizen, today. Hearing Damocles admit he was wrong probably gave him a lot more smug satisfaction that was really needed. He inclined his head a fraction of an inch, before he took it back and shook his head, "A rare occurrence, m'lord," he assured. He spent a lot of time assuring it seemed. Assuring his own innocence, assuring himself of his physical well-being, assuring others of his mental well-being (they hardly believed him), assuring Damocles of his own prestige, etc. He desperately needed a new hobby. He was amused at how spot on Damocles was on his ascertainment that Rowland had something to hide. He had quite a bite to hide. He was left-handed, allergic to strawberries, afraid of heights, and not to mention he was a secret wizard in a society where only purebloods, nobles, and upper class were allowed to practice magic. Yet for all that, he only tilted his head slightly on one side and replied as honestly as he could muster, while shaking his head head slightly, "I am an open book." Written with invisible ink. NPC-- Rowland Stone
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| Miles Fitzgerald | Jun 15 2010, 01:02 PM Post #12 |
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“I don’t believe that for a second.” The remark was immediate as his finger came down and his eyes darted around the empty corridor. His head shook from side to side before he met them back to the gaze of his servant, who it appeared looked anxious over his response. As well he should be, Damocles nodded approvingly. With his lips pulled into a slight smirk, he continued with no one to assure but himself, “I’m not as oblivious as you would like to believe. I know something’s going on.” Well, rather, he did now. It seemed to him that it was something that had been going on for a while, however, as if he had just interrupted them doing something they shouldn’t, they were well practiced at hiding it. He comforted himself in the notion that either they were telling the truth or it would take true genius as he was to notice there was something up. So now if he could just figure out which it was… His eyes still narrowed, his hands had moved to his hips. “I only hope you aren’t getting yourself into trouble again. You have a knack for that.” Damocles’ lips twitched. For it seemed, he was almost smiling. Almost. He held the gaze of his servant evenly for a minute or two, as though with the force of it alone he would force out the truth. Abira had the same knack, actually, so he figured she’d probably pulled him into a plan of hers. Abira was another one always up to something; they were well matched in that. It was bound to be something she thought was important, something he wasn’t supposed to know about(though he admitted with Abira, he knew quite a bit that he shouldn't), which was just fine with him as he was hard pressed to care. But on the off chance they’d been telling the complete truth (and perhaps with an ulterior motive as well)… “If the rats are as bad as you say,” His lips were twitching again. “Then you’ll have to set traps in every bedroom, starting with the lower chambers, and working your way up to mine. I think I can handle a rat on my own if I spy one, but for those incapable of magic…” His eyebrow popped, “I won’t have them facing these creatures of nightmare, and as you’re evidently so good at it.” It was both in jest, and a serious order. Funny how often the two mixed for him. He inclined his head, trusting he had nothing else to say for Rowland to follow that. The order would be obeyed. Rowland might be a bit lazy, and the reputation as such was earned—but so was his trust. He turned back around as though to move on before he’d stopped and turned around short again, just shaking his head. “And for merlin’s sake, whatever it is my sister’s gotten you into, be careful, would you? It would be most inconvenient to have to replace you.” Most inconvenient. -&- ![]() Edited by Miles Fitzgerald, Jun 15 2010, 01:06 PM.
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| Isobela De Luca | Jun 15 2010, 02:51 PM Post #13 |
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As Abira shut the door behind the exiting brother and his servant, she left her palm on the wood before bringing her ear up to it. As expected, she could hear just down the hall that Damocles had turned around again to question Rowland on his activities alone. Rather, he admitted he was wrong in that instance but asserted it didn’t mean anything. Typical of her brother, she admitted with a (loving) miniscule eye roll. He continued only to point out he was not as oblivious as he seemed and she muttered to herself with a malignant tease, “One could only hope, brother.” Her back, usually so ramrod straight, folded into the door as she attempted to hear. Rowland was being quieter than Damocles. That was also to be expected. Damocles didn’t care what was being said or if he was overheard. As eldest son and heir, his words carried with the weight that anyone around should hear and fall prostrate to the ground at his brilliance. She gave a delicate sigh. Rowland, on the other hand, she was worried about. She could not hear his responses—beyond the initial denial of holding secrets—and if harm came to him because she was teaching him, she could not say she would not care. She would not give herself up (as he was not her only student and she saw no use in only adding her own head on the line)—but she….She could not say she wouldn’t care. Turning away from the door and heading back to her drawer, she reached for the key around her neck to open it once more and stared down at the contents. Rowland’s wand had rolled behind her little clock and she lifted it, staring at the dutiful pendulum and stationary hands. Her manicured nails fingered the pearls in the interface for a moment as her brow furrowed deeper. She had almost forgotten it was there. This was a secret she had not, and would not, tell anyone. ![]() -&- Edited by Isobela De Luca, Jun 15 2010, 03:08 PM.
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![]() And I'll blend that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins, cause your heart has a lack of c o l o r and we should've known... | |
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| Deleted User | Jun 15 2010, 11:38 PM Post #14 |
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It figured that the one remark that Rowland had come up with that wasn't too far from the truth was the one that Damocles wouldn't believe. Yet he believed the story about the rats. The rats, in such a prestigious and most noble house that Damocles resided in? Such a subtle blow to his ego that he must not have picked up on it. It was, after all, its own entity by now. Once he remembered walking into the room and greeting Damocles and Damocles' ego separately. It was necessary though...Rowland wasn't very busy that day and he wanted an extra workload. He might have been a bit mental that day as well, but that was besides the point. But the fact of the matter was that Rowland was indeed an open book...in most cases. He wasn't very secretive by nature, which made lying a bit of a challenge for him, although he was getting slightly better at it each and every time. He also considered himself a pretty open and shut case, as it were- minus the magic. He came from a rather large family in a pre-industrial town, and was now working as a servant to make enough money to pay back some debts -the game was rigged, he was sure of it- and to help out said family because his mother would have had a heart attack had he gone to work for those 'god-forsaken factories'. Add a hint of recklessness, witty comments, and child-like qualities, cook slowly over fire for 4 hours, let sit until cooled, and that's how you made a Rowland. Fairly common dish, but that didn't mean it was boring. He was still able to compete even against the most fancy of dishes. A side note, he was best served with bread. "Of course you're not sire, wouldn't think of it," he nodded, amused. He certainly hoped that Damocles was wrong, though. It would be more beneficial to Rowland to have a master that was oblivious and dimwitted. Especially because Rowland himself had a tendency to be oblivious and dim-witted on occasions. It was truly a case of 'the blind leading the blind' sometimes. Thankfully Rowland was learning to be more attentive and concerned and- Oh look a bird, flying by the window at the end of the hall. Right, where was he again? Attentive...oh...well, he did say he was learning. No one was perfect anyways, no matter what Damocles thought of himself. He actually laughed out loud, once, just once, before he stopped himself and answered, "Trouble, m'lord? I wouldn't dream of it," he shook his head. If anything, he didn't get himself in trouble but rather, trouble sought him out and enveloped him in its cold and prickly little tentacles and then it proceeded to squeeze him and asphyxiate him until it suffocated all the common sense out of him and he gave in willingly to the trouble. Against such a malignant force, who could win? Certainly not poor, young, and inexperienced him. He claimed ignorance. And yes, he did claim it after the hundredth or so time. And now he was setting up traps for fictional vermin. Well, the bright side was that he wasn't going to be at risk of getting the plague. The not so bright side was that he had to spend the day doing something completely worthless, aside from cleaning Damocles' room and his clothes. The completely dark side was that once the traps were found with...absolutely no rats then he'd be in quite a bit of trouble. Would it be worth it to actually go looking for rats and set them loose in the house? That sounded like way too much work for him. He did need to sleep eventually. "You flatter me, your lordship," he commented, keeping from wincing. Just the mere thought of...every single corner of every single bedroom. Lord love him and have mercy on him, because it seemed that Damocles was not capable of such things today. Rowland, of course, could not complain because otherwise...he'd be a double liar. A liar lying about a lie...that was quite skillful, actually. Maybe he was much better at this than he thought. "I'm humbled to know you regard me as being slightly unexpendable, sire," he tried to say with as much gratitude as he could, not bothering to hide his amusement because he figured, with everything he was already doing chore-wise, how worse could it really get? ...Rhetorical question, of course. The universe did not need to prove him wrong, at this time. He implored it not to. NPC-- Rowland Stone
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| Miles Fitzgerald | Jun 16 2010, 04:54 AM Post #15 |
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"I shouldn't think you would." The retort was spoken with a snap of a nod a heartbeat after Rowland assured him he wouldn't think of him being oblivious. Damocles spoke with the slightest hint of urgency, as though he needed to assure himself. Which was ridiculous. He wasn't oblivious. He had...selective vision. He only paid attention to what he cared about. If it was important, he was sure he wouldn't miss it. What he saw in his vicinity was sometimes mildly interesting enough worth paying attention--or at least, worrying enough. Rowland being discovered in his sister's chambers alone with her was one of those things that warranted a second look. Monstrous, disgusting, malignant rats aside. Damocles' eyes were still narrowed, but at the laugh his eyebrow popped higher and his eyes went wide. Indicating with both hands, he gestured into the air as if to say "who me?" in perhaps a slightly exaggerated expression of Rowland's, but he was smiling a moment later. "The trouble is, Rowland, trouble likes to find you." Actually, trouble seemed to find them all. This entire manor never seemed to be perfectly quiet, and he couldn't ever remember a perfectly peaceful time, even when he'd been little. Dragged from lessons to training since birth, he'd been inundated with the ancient texts. They'd made marvelous pillows. Large books like that often did. It wasn't until they'd put a sword alongside his wand in his hand that he'd begun to pay complete attention to his lessons. Dueling was, for the first time, something he'd appeared naturally good at. Besides talking, as Damocles had to admit that was a favorite hobby of his. Who didn't enjoy the sound of their own voice? With the light smirk in place, his hands slipped back to his hips and into his pockets. Rowland had cut off his laugh, but his smile was still in place; which Damocles was aware he was mirroring. His shoulders shrugged while he said with the same exasperated glimmer as before, "There's just something about you, Rowland." It was like he attracted drama. The whole household did. It thrived on drama, and gossiping--all the usual pastimes of a pure-blood household. So long as Damocles was at the heart of the talk, he really couldn't say he minded either. It had the bonus of keeping life in an otherwise duty-filled, horrifically boring place--rather interesting. Everything was made into an epic tale around him, whether or not it was himself spinning the story. He liked telling stories, actually; it was a trait of what Abira called that 'over-active imagination' of his. Yet for some reason, Rowland was still a mystery to him. Damocles knew he couldn't honestly have sacked him anyways, as some of the...more delicate, situations, Rowland had found him in immediately sprang to mind. He supposed that was the only thing keeping him there. It had to be. After all, the lack of clean clothes, why now, that might bother some other masters... Couldn't imagine why. At the nod, he echoed, "Just repeating my sister's words." He amended his comment, wanting to make it clear who it was who had really flattered Rowland, for no reason he could have voiced out loud. He was saving face. ...Except no-one else was in the hallway. At the last comment, there was a flicker across Damocles' face as he examined his servant's expression for a moment. The flattery, Damocles was used to (and expected). The amusement irked him slightly, but his lips were twitching and his eyes darting as he muttered, "Mm. Yes. Well." He turned, this time not turning back around as he remarked, "A very slightly." -&- ![]() |
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| Deleted User | Jun 21 2010, 12:57 AM Post #16 |
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Rowland's lips quirked briefly in amusement as Damocles' response came a little too fast for it to be anything less than a nervous slip. Hidden insecurities maybe? Rowland would love nothing more than to ascertain such a theory, but he knew the consequences of his 'foolish endeavors'. Besides, if there was anyone out there lacking insecurities of any kind, it was Damocles. He was overconfident, unhealthily so, Rowland would add. No matter what, however, Rowland couldn't deny that his master was a bit...thickheaded, and slow at times. Would he ever say that out loud? Not anytime soon, he much preferred having the ability to talk and such a remark would probably only lead to his tongue getting silenced/glued to the roof of his mouth/chopped off. Stated in order of severity. "You would think with your overwhelming power and influence you'd find a way to keep trouble from finding me, sire," he remarked innocently, shrugging his shoulders at the end, refusing to continue to laugh. It was always an exaggeration with Damocles. Rowland was not that bad a servant, and he was not that bad a trouble-maker. But, of course, in comparison to everyone else in the manor, servant and noblemen alike, of course it would appear that he was a spawn of Loki, Norse god of mischief, lies, and trickery. Although, seeing as how he wasn't a sea serpent, a giant wolf, or the ruler of the realm of the dead, that identity could be crossed off the list. The fact that Damocles continued to smile, both calmed down Rowland and made him suspicious altogether. You could never be too sure with this family. They all have several faces, not just two, and they liked to switch back and forth sporadically. But because Damocles rarely smiled when he was feeling 'evil' rather resorted to a full out smirk, or a glare, Rowland was trying to tell himself he was simply being amusing. Rowland had been known to possess such a quality from time to time. He wasn't always a pain in the rear-end, those were his past days. Now he was a pain in the pureblood rear-end. Higher up, much more exclusive; few bore his title. "Of course," he responded, amused that Damocles still refused to pay him a single compliment. Not an outright one at least. Maybe the man hadn't noticed it, but Rowland was a servant and he tended to notice...well, everything. It was innate, it seemed. What Damocles didn't understand is that the size of Rowland's ego would never in three lifetimes equal the size of Damocles'. Not unless there was a spell for that...there probably was. If that was true, was there a counter-spell? That would be most useful. And there it once, once again, a refusal to grant him a compliment. Although, Rowland never expected it, he rather like word games and being amused and annoying his master. It was all a game, it was called 'how far could he push Damocles' until he went over the edge and started assigning chores left to right'. A mouthful, he was aware. That's why he sometimes just referred to it as 'Rowland's asinine antics'. R.A.A. for short. Alright, so he had just come up with that now. Making a funny and mocking face as Damocles turned around, he straightened up a moment afterwards and merely spoke out, "Lead the way, m'lord." Onward to rat traps, ceremonial servant garments, and polishing mirrors. Did anyone else ever have such a pleasant delight? Note: enter sarcasm here. |
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