benderminki

[lothiriel84]

Cards on the Table (pt. 2)

A series of post-canon vignettes, each from a different character's point of view. [Part 2/2]

A Faro’s Daughter one-shot collection. Deborah Grantham/Max Ravenscar, with a side of Phoebe Laxton/Adrian Mablethorpe.  

[go back to part 1]

6. Lady Mablethorpe

Augusta Laxton surely was the most insufferable woman on earth, Lady Mablethorpe decided as her son finally bundled his affronted mother-in-law into her carriage. Not that she blamed Phoebe, of course – with a mother like that, anyone would sooner take to their bed than receive any visitors, and there was the poor girl’s condition to be considered. If there was one thing Lady Mablethorpe was not willing to tolerate, it was risking the health of her future grandchild – and prospective heir to Mablethorpe, as she cherished the hope – for the sake of such a selfish creature’s greediness and insensitivity.

“I thought she would never leave,” murmured Arabella at her side, heaving a not-precisely-ladylike sigh of relief. As she couldn’t help but agree on the sentiment, if not her niece’s manners, Lady Mablethorpe simply nodded her assent, and turned her attention to her cup of tea.

“I for one am glad to see Adrian standing up for his wife,” Deborah Ravenscar declared, not unreasonably, and if her ladyship hadn’t heard it with her own ears, she would have called anyone a fool who dared to suggest that her nephew was in fact capable of anything as undignified as a snigger. Marriage was doing Max a world of good, she had to admit, and for all that she still congratulated herself on being spared such a dubious connection, she privately had to acknowledge that, gaming house or not, Lady Bellingham’s niece displayed more respectability and sense than many a duke’s daughter.

“I’m terribly sorry you had to bear witness to such a scene,” Adrian apologised presently, and all but collapsed into the nearest chair. “Lady Laxton is – well, you’ve seen. Truth be told, we’re planning to remove to Mablethorpe as soon as Phoebe is well enough to face the trip.”

“I agree that is probably the wisest course of action,” Max considered thoughtfully, relieving his wife of her empty teacup. The new Mrs Ravenscar offered him a quick, warm smile for his troubles, and let him fuss with her shawl with a look of barely concealed amusement.

“Adrian, dear, do you think Phoebe would be willing to receive me, if only for a few moments? I would very much like to offer her my congratulations in person.”

“Oh, I’m sure she won’t mind seeing you, Deb,” was the prompt reply. “She’s ever so fond of you, and with good reason, as you well know.”

If her ladyship had to suppress a wince at this overly familiar form of address between the pair, she was too well-bred to let it show. And as her nephew appeared more than willing to tolerate such liberties from both parties, it was hardly her place to intervene.

“Give our cousin my love,” Arabella prompted sweetly, even as Max stood offering his arm and escorted his wife out of the room in a most attentive manner. Well, this is beyond everything, she thought to herself, and it took her a full minute to finally register the peculiar way her niece-in-law’s dress – sporting a much more conservative cut than she was normally wont to wear – hugged her figure.

“Max, you impossible creature!” she gasped as her nephew resumed his previous place on the settee. “Are you to tell us we ought to congratulate you as well?”

Had the sudden smile gracing his customarily severe countenance not been indication enough, the air of contrived innocence assumed by her niece would have been her answer. It was plain that Arabella was in on her brother’s secret, just as Adrian had been kept in the dark until that very moment.

“You mean – oh Max, and you never said anything! When are we to expect...?”

“Late summer, we believe.”

As her ladyship’s grandchild wasn’t due until early autumn, she was forced to hold back an irrational twinge of resentment – which promptly turned into a gleam of excitement as the full possibilities started to dawn upon her. So absorbed was she in the contemplation of a much desirable closer alliance between their two families that she all but missed her son’s heartfelt congratulations, and was only brought back to the present day by the sardonic look in her nephew’s eye.

“I fear it is incumbent upon me to warn you, ma’am, that I am determined to see any son or daughter of mine married out of choice rather than duty, or any relation’s wishes.”

“Don’t be absurd, Max,” she chided him, deeply irritated that her secret hopes should be so openly addressed, and just as callously dismissed.

“No child of mine will be induced into matrimony by anything but the deepest of loves,” Adrian declared with an air of affronted dignity, eliciting a startled giggle from his young cousin – who was well enough informed of the circumstances accompanying the sudden transferral of his affections from one lady to another, her aunt reflected gloomily.

Still, Lady Mablethorpe consoled herself reflecting that nothing prevented one of her future grandchildren from falling in love with one among her nephew’s offspring, and she would be there to help things along if she had any say in the matter.

7. Christopher Grantham

“Mr Grantham, what a pleasant surprise! Have you come to visit your sister?”

The gentleman in question shut his eyes briefly, and valiantly set out to ignore the small pang of longing in his chest. Arabella Ravenscar was as lovely a vision as ever in her walking dress and bonnet, and he was faced with the sudden impulse to run up the stairs and gather her in his arms. Only the painful memories of the lady’s inconstancy in her affections stopped him from acting on such an impulse, and he remembered himself in time to bow deeply as she passed him by.

“Indeed I am, Miss Ravenscar,” he replied politely, quickly averting his gaze. “Permit me to wish you a very good day.”

When he was finally admitted to his sister’s presence, Kit Grantham was still so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t immediately notice the hustle and bustle of servants, as if they were in the middle of packing their mistress’ belongings for an imminent journey.

“Are you going out of town?” he ventured to enquire at length, and was met with a tinkle of laughter from his dearest sister.

“I’m sure I explained it all to you in my last letter, Kit,” she shook her head, apparently amused. “Max and I agreed that Chamfreys would be a great deal more comfortable for my confinement.”

That finally prompted his gaze to drop to her stomach, and he couldn’t refrain from widening his eyes at the sight he was met with. His sister was – huge, there were no two ways about it, and for the first time in his life he actually stopped to consider such an uncomfortable topic as childbearing, and how it might affect any and all females of his acquaintance.

“And are you – I mean to say, is everything – oh, don’t make me say it, Deb, I beg of you.”

His sister took pity on him, and offered him a sympathetic smile. “We are both as well as can be expected, and I’m positive your nephew or niece is eager to meet you, when the time comes.”

“I’m sure I have no idea how ladies are so willing to put themselves through any of this,” he blurted out, immediately blushing at his own forwardness. “Oh, forget I said anything, I’m all out of sorts this morning.”

Deb considered him for a long moment. “Did you by any chance happen to run into my dear sister as she was preparing to go out for her walk in the park?”

He let out a rueful sigh, twisting his gloves in his hands. “I was so sure of her, Deb, I still cannot conceive how she had it in herself to deceive me so.”

“Oh, Kit, I know for a fact she didn’t mean to, but she’s so very young, and more than a little spoilt besides. I hope with time to have more of a good influence on her, and I’m so very sorry you had to suffer because of this – but let me be blunt and assure you that the two of you would not have suited in the slightest, and it is much wiser to take the time to get better acquainted with your prospective partner for life before setting your heart irrevocably on them.”

Kit Grantham turned a mildly reproachful gaze on his elder sister. “Deb, by your own admission you and Ravenscar had only been acquainted for two weeks before he proposed, and you weren’t even in town for one of those same weeks.”

Deborah laughed. “That’s true, but I would hardly call ours an ordinary courtship, and you said yourself that we must have been both out of our senses to even consider marriage after I had him locked in our cellar.”

“Utterly and completely mad,” he nodded with conviction, though deep down he was quite in awe of how noticeably happy his sister had been since becoming Mrs Ravenscar. Perhaps there was still hope for him after his disappointment, after all.

Once he’d kissed his sister goodbye and presented her with his most sincere wishes for a smooth confinement, he left the house in Grosvenor Square with a spring in his step, and the first glimmer of hope that he might, one day, procure the same kind of happiness for himself.

8. Miss Ravenscar

“Arabella, my dear, how can you forget your manners so?” her mother complained weakly after her as she rushed up the stairs, and all but barged into her brother’s study unannounced.

“Good day to you, Belle,” Max greeted her with intolerable composure, gathering the documents spread in front of him into a neat pile. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

“Max, how could you be so unbearably reticent in that note of yours? You must tell me everything, at once!”

“Why, I thought I had been perfectly clear,” he demurred, yet she could clearly see the corners of his lips trembling into the beginnings of a smile. “Both mother and child are perfectly well, and they are currently resting – or at least, they were doing so when I left them, not half an hour ago.”

“Max!” she glared at him in frustration. “Am I the aunt to a little boy, or a girl?”

“Always so impatient,” he shook his head, and stood up. “You are aware, I’m sure, that the proper thing for us to do is to go downstairs, and share the announcement with your affectionate mother.”

“You know very well you don’t care a fig for propriety, and as for Mama, I’m positive she will survive. It’s not as if she’s the child’s grandmother – not really, anyway.”

“And thank heavens for that,” she heard him murmur under his breath, and gave him a hard pinch in retaliation. “Now, if you think you can behave yourself for longer than two minutes at a time, it would be my pleasure to introduce you to the new addition to our family party.”

Mollified by the prospect, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and offered him a most demure smile. “I will be on my best behaviour, I promise.”

In short order, she was introduced into her sister-in-law’s bedchamber, greeted her with a kiss on her exceptionally pale cheek, and couldn’t refrain from taking hold of both of her hands and questioning her at length about her ordeal.

“Do not fret yourself so, my dear,” Deborah reassured her warmly, patting her on the arm. “It is not so very bad, and you will see for yourself how the blessing that comes of is well worth the pain.”

Arabella cast an extremely dubious glance at her pallid complexion and the look of utter exhaustion about her countenance. Still, Deborah’s eyes were sparkling with barely restrained joy, and she could hardly miss the brightness of her smile when the nurse strode in with her charge in her arms.

“My dearest sister, I would like you to meet your new nephew, Adrian,” Max announced, with no small amount of pride in his voice. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the delicate features of the sleeping infant’s face, his miniature hands curled in small fists around a corner of his blanket.

“He’s so tiny,” she breathed out in wonderment, extending a finger to trace the contours of one diminutive fist. “Did you say his name is – Adrian? Does our cousin know?”

“Not at present, though it will be our pleasure to inform him as soon as he visits, like he promised,” her brother smiled, his eyes searching for Deborah’s. “He is after all the reason why we met in the first place, and I cannot think of a better way to honour his – most unwitting – role in bringing us together.”

“Oh, but you must prepare yourselves, Mama will be most disappointed that you didn’t choose our late father’s name for the child,” Arabella said ruefully. “I wish I could talk her out of it, I really do, but you know her, Max.”

“I do,” Max nodded with a great deal of forbearance, and took hold of his infant son with such an air of practiced ease that had his sister most surprised. “Now, we shall go downstairs and introduce the little one to Olivia, thus sparing my darling wife the trial of being faced with my stepmother’s complaints until she’s well on her way to recovery.”

“That’s most considerate of you, dear husband,” Deborah laughed, her gaze lingering on the child with such undisguised tenderness that Arabella found herself wondering what it would be like, one day, to hold her own son or daughter in her arms.

9. Phoebe Mablethorpe (née Laxton)

Young Lady Mablethorpe quietly studied her husband as he leaned over the bassinet with an expression of pure rapture on his handsome face. He looked ever so pleased with their newborn daughter, and yet, she couldn’t seem to put her mother’s rather uncomplimentary speech out of her mind.

“Oh, Adrian,” she whispered timidly, walking up to his side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do my duty and provide you with an heir. I promise it will be a son next time.”

The sudden, horrified look on her husband’s face gave her pause, and she didn’t even think to resist when he gathered her in his arms quite abruptly.

“Phoebe, how can you speak so! I find I have no words to express how much I love our little Deb, and I wouldn’t want to trade her for anything in the world, do you hear me?”

“I do,” she nodded meekly, hiding her face into his waistcoat. “It’s just, Mama says that – ”

His arms tightened around her, and she felt him press a fierce kiss on top of her head. “Dearest, I hate to speak ill of your mother, you know I do, but the truth is, you ought not listen to a word she says when it comes to such matters.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologised at once, nestling further into his embrace. “And I do love our daughter so, I hate to think she will be looked down by our families until I can bear you a son.”

Adrian chuckled, and placed a gentle finger under her chin. “Well, my mother for one is positively delighted with her granddaughter, if only because she’s already forming some serious designs for her to marry into the Ravenscar fortune. And you know how pleased our cousins are that we named her after Deborah.”

“I will never allow my daughter to be forced into matrimony against her will,” Phoebe declared with unshakable conviction, all but suppressing a shudder at the horrific memories of her parents explaining in no uncertain terms how it was her precise duty to accept, and even encourage, Sir James Filey’s suit. “Oh, Adrian, I don’t know what would have become of me, if you and Deborah hadn’t come to my rescue at Vauxhall Gardens.”

Her husband kissed her very tenderly, his fingers coming to rest at her cheek. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore. And I thank my lucky star that I found the most delightful companion for my life that night.”

Her heart swelling with joy, she found she had no room left to tie herself in knots over the past. And if their daughter chose to break the moment by making her presence known quite forcefully, that was surely her prerogative; as a new mother, she found she could hardly begrudge her child anything, let alone this.

10. Lucius Kennet

Strolling into the house in Berkley Square after an urgent summoning from Lady Bellingham, Mr Kennet was more than a little surprised to be welcomed by her ladyship rather than one of the servants.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Lucius,” Lady Bellingham proclaimed in a most agitated manner, clutching at her vinaigrette. “My poor nerves are in such a state, I swear I don’t know what to do with myself. Oh, to think that I should live to see the day – but I daresay I won’t, I can feel my spasms coming already.”

“Calm yourself, ma’am,” he urged her, not particularly moved by such a declaration. “And start from the beginning, if you please.”

“Foolish, headstrong girl! She says she shall never see him again, and he’s such a proud creature he will undoubtedly divorce her – we shall all be ruined, and there’s that poor child to be considered, it doesn’t even bear thinking!”

“I’m willing to bet any sum of your choosing that it won’t come to that, ma’am,” he replied with a considerable deal of amusement, earning a reproachful look from the respectable matron.

“I wish you would take this seriously, Lucius. You know very well how Deb is – she refuses to be reasoned with, and now she’s locked herself in one of the rooms upstairs, and she declares she won’t leave even if her husband comes here on his knees all the way from Grosvenor Square and begs for her forgiveness.”

Mr Kennet looked out of the window just in time to spot a carriage bearing the Ravenscar crest stopping in front of the house, and grinned in anticipation of a most diverting scene. “As to that, we shall have to wait and see,” he winked at her ladyship, and went to answer the door himself.

Ravenscar looked momentarily startled at his presence, but was quick to regain his composure, and barely deigned him with a contemptuous glance as he pushed past him and went straight for Lady Bellingham.

“I need to see my wife most urgently, ma’am,” the man gritted out between his teeth, his hat half crushed in his grip. “I beg you to give me leave to seek her out for myself.”

“And what makes you believe she’s here, hmm?” Lucius drawled from the entrance, his arms crossed in open defiance of Ravenscar’s wishes. If he knew his gentleman, he had more than half an idea of where all this was going, and he was determined to have his fun in the meantime.

“I would advise you to stay out of this, Kennet, or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Gentlemen, if you please,” cried out Lady Bellingham, reaching with trembling fingers for her smelling salts. “My niece is indeed upstairs, Sir, and I would lead you to her myself if I thought that would answer. I’m afraid nothing will serve while she’s in one of her tantrums, and I do declare she will be the death of me one day, but what can one do?”

As her ladyship looked perilously close to drop in a dead faint, Mr Kennet stepped forward to help her to the nearest chaise. The two gentlemen exchanged a tense look across the room, until Lucius eventually relented and nodded in the direction of the stairs.

“I’ll take care of the lady, you go upstairs and set our darling Deb to rights,” he smirked, feeling quite sure that, had Ravenscar not had way more pressing matters to attend, he would have happily knocked half the teeth out of his mouth.

It was nigh on half an hour later when Lady Bellingham came back fully to her senses, helped along by a glass of good Burgundy, and promptly resumed her gloomy predictions about the future.

“Think of the scandal, Lucius! I dismissed the servants as soon as I figured what Deb was up to, but I fear by then it was too late. And it can’t be helped anyway, if they’re set to have a breach, which looks more and more inevitable, and – oh, Lucius, they’re fully capable of murdering one another when they’re both in a rage, and where will that leave us?”

“If you have a little more patience, ma’am, you will see for yourself how everything will turn out for the best,” he hastened to reassure her, and indeed, he was soon proven right by the abrupt reappearance of Mr and Mrs Ravenscar, both of them looking oddly flushed, and more than a little sheepish besides.

“Not one word,” Deborah warned him as he took in their rumpled appearances, from his hastily rearranged cravat to the way her curls tumbled freely around her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grinned, and poured himself a glass of wine. “I shall drink to your future happiness, my darling.”

Deborah blushed most endearingly, and turned her attention to the afflicted matron. “Dearest Aunt Lizzie, we’re very sorry for causing you such an unreasonable amount of trouble. With your permission, we shall be on our way presently.”

“Oh, go away, you impossible creature,” her aunt waved her off feebly. “Both of you.”

Ravenscar looked as embarrassed as he ever was, which was in itself most diverting. “My apologies, ma’am,” he bowed, somewhat uncomfortably, and offered his arm to his wife.

“Faith, if young Master Adrian doesn’t get a new playfellow within the next twelvemonth, then I’m not Lucius Kennet,” he laughed under his breath, and tossed off his wine.

[spahhzy]

Jaune: Trivia, light of my life, mind explaining to me how our daughter started a Faro table in the 3rd grade?

Trivia, innocently: 'I don't know, and it's not Faro, it's highstakes UNO, but nonetheless I'm supremely proud of her! look at all she's brought in!'

Trivia opens her daughters pack back to see cookies, some trading cards, an assortment of hall passes, and one credit card that belonged to one Yang Xiao Long.

Jaune: Not going to lie, that's impressive, but let's return at least the credit card. The last thing we need is a Xiao-Long bursting in our home.

Trivia: 'Fine, but I will at least flaunt my daughters victory in her face first, it will be hilarious!'

Jaune smiles and laughs before nodding.

Trivia hugs her husband before going off to find her daughter and help her with homework (and give her some more tips in her little UNO scam)

[deadboyfriendd]

Cochise V: Fin

Summary: A dinner party turns into forever.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone!AU, drug use, drug overdose (apparent suicide), death of minor character by hanging, period-appropriate death and violence, angst, fluff, smut

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 869

“You figure we should get married?” He’d asked, turning his head to look at you. 

A gilded light streams steady through heavy canvas drapery and spills on to the floor in an abundant, golden puddle. The heat of the sun is already beginning to warm the floor in which it shines. A wide smile beams up at you, from the daguerreotype daughter of southwest Arkansas. She sits, hand and hand, still in a dance alongside Wilhelm. Tight-lipped smile wrapping itself around a wireframe structure– just the way you had left him. 

Your thumb traces the indent of twine over your ring finger, where the gold of your wedding band once sat. It rolls over itself, now worn and soft over your skin. You know that, later today, a string from the same expanse would be passed over the same way by chips and cards in a game of Faro. You recount the memory of moments past;

“No. Do you?” You’d replied, truthfully. 

“You don’t think about it?” He asked again, turning over onto his side. 

You flipped over in synchrony, eyes meeting his, “We’ve both done this before.” 

We both know how it ends.

“But not with each other.” 

You wouldn’t meet his eye. Instead, you turned, willing back the tears that always came too late. Eddie had habituated the upstairs home in coexistence with the hollowness of Wilhelm’s presence. 

His boots sat in the same place by the front door, though, one sat toppled over in the remnant memory of a sloppy, chaste dance from the night before, chair at the table left out turned sideways from bearing the same sloppy weight moments after. 

You think back to that smile. The glimmer of it is drowned by the refraction of light off of the remnants of your wedding band– blinding. The silt of violence stirs within you at the thought of these things in their place, placating sadness and the same hollowness of a second dead husband– how the world was cruel in that nature, to rob you of this peace twice. 

You thought to distrust it, though, you would still marry Wilhelm again knowing the way it ended. 

There would be no white dress, no poppies in spring covering the vast expanse of the wildflower west. There would be no veil to cover a face gleaming with innocence. No, this land was too harsh for that. 

Your brain settles on a place far off in the dissonance. A table that resembled your own with four chairs. Christine is charming, you’d decided. She was funny in a way that was almost mean. She was hardened– but not as much as you. You imagined yourself as friends. 

Your brain etches in the details of Wilhelm’s face. Kind eyes that you would never forget, laugh lines that you filled in after the fact. You’d swore you’d never forget, though, as it seems, time had cast a vignette around him. He would clap Eddie on the shoulder, whisper things for men’s ears only to Eddie– in which Eddie would fill you in after dinner. Wilhelm would know this, as well. 

You think of bidding them farewell. Of a hug and a promise of more dinner plans to come. But for now, it was goodbye. They would retreat back to their home past where the sun set. You would stay alight in its blaze. 

“I’m not promising you forever.”

“Is this for better or for worse?”

“We’ve already lived through the worst. Just us. Don’t give me your covenants,” He’d bartered quietly. He hesitated to touch you, “Please, honey, just a promise.” 

“A promise?” You’d asked, finally, turning back over your shoulder to look at him. “I can make a promise.” 

He’d nodded, sifting through your sewing box until he settled upon it. A thin leather twine. No covenant. No superstition. 

The west would be won, but not by him. Not now. 

Eddie settles in that same place, though, it is after dinner. He waits beneath the softness of your sheets. They no longer smell foreign.

He watched the way your skin rippled at your lower back as your bare skin pressed against your vanity stool, and the way your skin stretched over your shoulder blades as you pulled your hair to the side, raking through it with the brush in front of you. Your lips fell into a supple pout in concentration, and your lashes kissed your cheeks as you looked down. He allowed himself to free-float into the stagnant desert air. 

“Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“What did Wilhelm say to you? After dinner?” 

He sat back at that table. You had been correct. Wilhelm was tall, much taller than him. He was intelligent and not as gruff. In the beginning, he’d wondered why you’d chosen to love him after someone like Wilhelm. Something in the orange told him that they would return home soon. Wilhelm knew this, too. 

His hand was a comfort, clasped against his shoulder, his voice a gilden song. 

“Tell her I said it’s okay.” He’d whispered to Eddie, and he was filled with a sense of knowing. 

His eyes met yours once more, the darkness of night prevailing casted a shadow over your features. 

“It’s okay, Nellie.” 

[itmakesasound]

Meaning

In 1990's I didn't know who I was. Growing up in the cold war I fully believed that my life would end in nuclear fire.  I can't say how it started.  The room elephant of my alcoholic father surely had something to do with it.  But thinking, knowing, that there was no possibility of a future, that everything I cared for would burn, came to me out of the aether.  And once it was there I couldn't shake it.  I wore a lot of black.  My hair was pointy.  I didn't call myself a nihilist simply because I didn't know there was any other thing you could be. Then the Berlin wall fell. A fundamental part of who I was fell with it.  The fear that had cradled me, raised me, and shaded everything I did no longer had a source.  I had to plan for a future I wasn't equipped to believe in. I went to music school; I'd just graduated high-school and I had to do something. By day I studied Bach and Beethoven, pretended to sing in the choir, and struggled with crippling stage fright when my Classical guitar recitals came 'round. By night I went to punk gigs and parties in warehouses and squats and wondered what any of it meant. I played in bands.  Small time bands, in venues that were smaller still. There was always a pillar somewhere on stage and I always ended up behind it.  I didn't care.  Let the others fight for that one place on stage where the lighting budget was entirely concentrated.  It seemed a fitting reward for the drive that they had and that I completely lacked. Time went by and sometimes my gear was dusty and sometimes not. Things changed, unlooked for love happened. A child that I'd never wanted arrived and my ability to love two as much or more as I had one shocked me.  Still does. Music making faded from my life.  My life.  The one in the future I still didn't really believe I had. And then my mother died.  My grandmother had taken out an insurance policy on her towards the end of World War Two.  I choose not to think about the fear that would cause a parent to do that.  It paid me $500 and came with instructions to "Buy something fun." Fun was playing with my daughter and I didn't need $500 to do that. But I took my mother's wish seriously.  I thought back to moments of fun in my life.  And then I remembered... ...I remembered Wim Faros. I can't say for sure where or when.  It was at house gig, that I remember.  The furniture had been cleared away into a locked back room. There were garden chairs and a couple of ratty, thrift store couches.  A keg was threatening to collapse a wobbly card table and in every corner there were buckets with half inch of water in the bottom for the smokers . On one couch sat a young man. He seemed too young to buy booze, but hey, house party right? He was playing a guitar that I couldn't hear over the boisterous enthusiasms of youthful early evening drinking. Shortly before we were suppose to play I ended up on his couch.  That corner of the room was about as calm as it got on that hot summer night and I needed a moment to gather myself before we went on. I was immediately struck by his music.  It wasn't his technique, vocal or guitar. Nor was it the lyrical or musical content of his songs. It was the complete commitment he had to the music. There was not a shred of doubt in his performance.  You could tell that it didn't matter that only three or four people were listening. It didn't matter that the fuzz drenched two and half chord punk rock coming from the band in the back garden clashed with what he was playing.  He completely believed in the song, and he completely believed in the moment in which it was happening. I was floored. It had never occurred to me that this moment, right here right now, was something you could live for.  And live for so clearly, so overwhelming, that all else faded before it. My life had been taken up with worries of the future to the point that I'd forgotten to pay attention to the here and now. That gig was the one of the best I ever played.  In the garden under the stars, not a pillar to be found, with maybe twenty people listening, we were fast and tight. We were a sum much greater than our parts.  Our singer cracked wise with the audience and they responded in kind.  Mistakes were made and subverted to become part of the music as if they were intended all along.  We subdivided the sound of our youth and threw it out into the summer air where it was caught by the feet of dancing women.  I was in the moment, fully, in a way that I'd never been before. Decades passed and that night faded from my memory.  I wish I could say that I had learned to lived as though the now was just as important as the fearful future.  But old programming dies hard. Eventually though, the sad circumstances of a funeral and a simple request brought that night back to me.  Reminded me of the lesson of Wim Faros. I took that $500 and bought a looping pedal.  And suddenly music making was back in my life. I love that pedal; the puzzle box nature of live looping composition suits me right down to the ground. So too does the fact that when I turn it off everything I just played vanishes. It's gone from the world as if it had never been, reminding me to cherish this moment in the way I have been cherishing my fears for my whole life. Wim Faros has inspired me to love the moment, and that has made my life more musical. That's what he means to me. I hope that he means as much or more to you. All the best.

Fossil Fishy

[lothiriel84]

Cards on the Table (pt. 1)

A series of post-canon vignettes, each from a different character's point of view. [Part 1/2]

A Faro’s Daughter one-shot collection. Deborah Grantham/Max Ravenscar, with a side of Phoebe Laxton/Adrian Mablethorpe.

1. Lord Mablethorpe

When informed of his cousin’s engagement to Miss Grantham, Lord Mablethorpe immediately betook himself to St James’ Square, where he spent the better part of an hour questioning Deb as to what manner of horrible things Max could have done to thus prevail upon her. In the end, it was Deborah’s extravagant blush as she declared herself very much in love with the gentleman in question that eventually set his doubts to rest. As utterly baffled at this unforeseen turn of events as he still was, at least he had the presence of mind to wish her every happiness before taking his leave, and setting out for Grosvenor Square.

To Ravenscar’s credit, he met his cousin’s stern words on the subject of Miss Grantham’s wellbeing with a good deal of amusement, and promptly assured him that nothing could be farther from his intentions than to cause any further inconvenience to his betrothed; Lord Mablethorpe privately wondered at whatever past inconveniences Max might be referring to, but in the end he was too much in awe of his cousin to probe any deeper into the subject.

He didn’t get to see much of either Max or his intended bride after that, as he was planning to fetch Phoebe from Wales and properly introduce her into society as the new Lady Mablethorpe; he was therefore quite bemused upon received a letter from Arabella, in which she informed him she had taken it upon herself to act as chaperone to the loving couple, much to her elder brother’s chagrin. Being as much acquainted with Max’s habitual aloofness as he was with the matter-of-fact way Deb dealt with her suitors, he could hardly imagine the pair engaging in anything that might be deemed even remotely inappropriate; but then again, he couldn’t have imagined anything less likely than his headstrong cousin offering for the likes of Deborah Grantham, never mind her consenting to it, so perhaps he was the one in the wrong after all.

When informed of Miss Grantham’s impending marriage, young Lady Mablethorpe declared herself utterly delighted, and expressed a wish to call on Lady Bellingham’s as soon as they were back in London; she went as far as to timidly suggest she would like nothing better than to be introduced to Lord Mablethorpe’s cousin, as he was to be married to someone she owed so much of her happiness to – along with her dearest husband, of course.

Adrian made a mental note to write to Max, detailing how he desired for his new wife to be received, and assured Phoebe that he would grant her heart’s wish, in this as in all other matters.

2. Mr Ravenscar

With considerable effort, Max Ravenscar tore himself from his betrothed’s embrace, turning his glare upon the downright annoyance that was his younger sister.

“I have told you, Belle,” he warned her, struggling for some semblance of his usual composure. “If you don’t leave this instant – ”

“But my dearest brother, I couldn’t possibly do that,” she countered, all feigned innocence and concern. At that moment, he couldn’t agree more heartily with his stepmother’s wish to have the little minx safely married and out of their care. “You see, I do remember someone lecturing me at length on how gentlemen should never be trusted with a young woman’s reputation, and I’ll have you know I take such an enlightening piece of advice very seriously.”

“Very seriously indeed,” he retorted sarcastically, taking hold of Deb’s hands to prevent her from stepping away in her embarrassment. “If this is about that wretched ball you’ve pestering me about all week, I can tell you now – ”

“That we shall be glad to escort you to it, my dear,” Deborah interjected in a rush, meeting his frown with a determined look of her own. He opened his mouth to contradict her, noticed the telltale blush colouring her cheeks, and thought better of it.

“Oh! You truly are the dearest of creatures, Miss Grantham,” the little minx exclaimed in delight. “I can scarcely wait for the moment when I shall be able to call you my sister.”

You can’t wish for that more heartily than I do, he thought to himself, even as Arabella impulsively kissed their cheek in turn, and bolted for the door. Pausing on the threshold, she turned around, the perfect picture of mischief. “I will be back in half an hour. I trust you both to behave within the bounds of propriety in the meantime.”

“I shall never be able to look her in the eye again,” Deb lamented as her sister-to-be finally took her leave, yet did nothing to resist him when he gathered her back in his arms.

“Nonsense,” Max declared, wasting no time in resuming his previous attentions. Deborah sighed, made a token protest, then willingly surrendered herself to his embrace.

3. Lord Ormskirk

If there was one thing Lord Ormskirk despised more than being worsted, it was having his fiascos bandied about; which was precisely why he took every pain to make a show of civility towards Ravenscar, regardless of how much losing the divine Deborah to such a man stung him.

After all, he reflected somewhat cynically, he could hardly measure up to a man of Ravenscar’s wealth, and fool enough to offer the lady matrimony; at least young Mablethorpe had his youthful impetuosity to excuse him, but a gentleman of Ravenscar’s age and position ought to have displayed more sense. Unfortunately, his own pride prevented him from calling Ravenscar out, as it was more than apparent that – for some reason beyond his understanding – the delightful creature’s affections were irrevocably set on his younger rival, and he cared too much about his reputation as a gentleman to attempt anything about it.

As it was, he resolved to withstand the sight of the newlywed couple flitting about the crowded ballroom with the closest approximation to a bored smile he could manage. Looking as radiant as ever, Deborah never once left Ravenscar’s side, and was conducting herself with the dignity and grace of a gentlewoman; still, as the evening unfolded, Lord Ormskirk became aware of a curious alteration to her countenance, so much that he reluctantly started to pay attention to whatever manner of things were passing between husband and wife.

Ravenscar was doing his utmost to – provoke her, there was no two ways about it. From where he was standing, he had a clear view of Ravenscar’s hand resting at the small of her back, his thumb tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of her dress. Ormskirk could hardly recall any previous occasion in which the beautiful creature had looked this flustered, and by such a simple action at that. Ah, to be young, and in love, he sighed, shook his head, and lazily strolled towards the bowl of punch.

It was much later into the evening when he clapped his eyes again on the pair; Ravenscar was distractedly sipping a glass of port when Deborah sidled up to him, leaning closer to whisper something in his ear that very nearly caused Ravenscar to choke on his wine. After that, he appeared to be making his excuses to the rest of his party, and all but dragged his wife out of the room. Deborah’s musical laugh rang out clearly as they passed him by, blind to everything except one another, and whatever his sentiments towards the gentleman, Lord Ormskirk was forced to acknowledge how Ravenscar’s infamous luck extended much farther than his horses and cards.

4. Deborah Ravenscar (née Grantham)

Deborah woke up to her husband gently shaking her shoulder, and had she not been so impossibly tired, she would have been mortified to find herself in the position of relying entirely upon him to hand her out of the carriage. She even caught Arabella casting a worried look in her direction before wishing them both a good night and retiring to her chambers.

“It would appear I am turning more and more into a frail old matron by the day,” she jested half-heartedly as he dismissed both his valet and her maid, and insisted upon helping her out of her evening gown himself. “I am exceedingly sorry you had to find out only after our marriage.”

“I would hardly have expected this sort of thing to happen before our marriage,” she heard him utter under his breath, glanced up sharply to meet the odd look he was directing at her through the mirror.

“Whatever can you mean, Max?”

She studied his reflection as he reached for the brush and started applying it to her locks. There was something peculiar about his countenance, something she couldn’t quite place, no matter how hard she strived to.

“Had either of us been blessed with sensible female relations reasonably knowledgeable about such matters, I would have suggested you to seek out their advice,” he sighed. “However, I would never ask you to submit to the indignity of broaching such a delicate issue with my stepmother, or – heaven forbid – my aunt.”

“You’re forgetting Aunt Lizzie,” she protested weakly, by now thoroughly puzzled by his oblique remarks. The truth was, she was so very tired, and his gentle ministrations had her well on her way to falling asleep where she was seated.

Max had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed at her objection. “As admirable as your aunt is, I fear she might not be as well informed upon such matters as we might wish, or she would very likely have enlightened you upon your entering the married state.”

As the meaning of his words finally dawned upon her, she was suddenly grateful for the support provided by her chair, and the pair of steadying hands around her shoulders. She was dimly aware of the clatter of the brush hitting the floor as the room spun around her in a most dizzying fashion, and the next thing she knew she was lying on the bed in their shared chamber, her concerned husband dabbing at her temples with a damp cloth.

“I am well,” she hastened to reassure him, yet she had to concede he was probably right in preventing her from sitting up. “I’m just – surprised, that’s all.”

He considered her in that intent manner he occasionally displayed in her presence. “You truly had no reason to suspect that might be the case?”

“I – I did not think too much of it, if I am honest,” she admitted, fighting the blush she felt creeping upon her cheeks. “We’ve been married for scarcely over two months, after all.”

A teasing smile danced on his face. “And we have been nothing but diligent in our marital duties, dearest.”

Her cheeks in flame, she gathered whatever little amount of energy she still possessed to swat at his arm. “Max!”

“No need to sound so scandalised, my darling wife. But I will have the family physician summoned in the morning, so that we might seek further confirmation of your condition.”

Caught between utter bewilderment and bone-deep tiredness, she made no protest when he helped her shift under the bedcovers, tucking her in as if she were little more than an infant. He pressed his lips to her brow and she let out a sigh of contentment, and was only pulled back from the brink of sleep by a sudden thought. “However did you come to be so knowledgeable about such delicate matters, husband?”

He let out a soft chuckle, his fingers coming up to lightly caress her cheek. “You forget I have the misfortune of possessing a sister almost seventeen years my junior. And you should be well enough acquainted with Olivia by now to know that anyone living under the same roof as my esteemed stepmother would have no choice but to be extensively informed about every single one of her ailments, imaginary or otherwise.”

Deborah snorted her laugh into the pillow, and let his soothing caress lull her into a deep, dreamless slumber.

5. Lady Bellingham

Upon entering the house in Grosvenor Square, Lady Bellingham was vaguely surprised to be shown into the library rather than the front parlour where her niece usually received her; still, she thought nothing of it, until the door opened again to reveal none other than her nephew-in-law, who bowed politely and explained that, as his wife was currently indisposed, she was begging her aunt’s permission to come and visit her sometime in the afternoon.

“Of course, if she wishes to,” Lady Bellingham replied somewhat hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want her to overexert herself, knowing that she is unwell.”

The amused look Mr Ravenscar addressed her did nothing to dispel her confusion. “She will be perfectly recovered by the afternoon, I can assure you, ma’am.”

What a strange, strange man, she thought to herself even as she thanked him and took her leave. The truth was, she had been finding Mr Ravenscar’s conduct exceedingly puzzling ever since he had decided to send back the mortgage and those dreadful bills, all of this after being kidnapped and put in a cellar no less. Infatuation or not, she would hardly have expected such a proud man to offer for her Deb, and yet there they were – her niece safely married to the richest man in town, and herself very comfortably set in a respectable house in Berkeley Square.

Mr Ravenscar’s extremely liberal settlement – as well as his generosity in taking upon himself the remainder of her debts – was enough for her ladyship to feel secure for the rest of her days, and not having to worry for her niece and nephew besides. Still, she couldn’t help but occasionally harbour some lingering worries with regards to the potentially disastrous effects of her niece’s headstrongness and quickness of temper, even more so when combined with similar faults of character in her husband.

As it was, Lady Bellingham spent the remainder of the morning in a state of uneasiness, her agitation increasing by the hour, and she was just about to succumb to one of her fits when Silas Wantage showed up announcing that ‘our Miss Deb – Mrs Ravenscar, I should say’ was at the door.

“Upon my word, Aunt Lizzie, you look dreadful,” Deborah greeted her cheerfully, pressing a kiss on each of her cheeks. “What can possibly have happened since I saw you two days ago?”

One quick glance was enough to reassure her ladyship that her niece was indeed in as good health as could be hoped for; unfortunately, it was also enough to make her aware of the glint of barely concealed mirth in her eye, one that long experience had taught her foretold nothing but trouble.

“What was all that nonsense about you being indisposed, that is what I would very much like to know,” Lady Bellingham said with feeling, reaching for her smelling salts. “You are never ill, Deb – and if you’re up to one of your horrible tricks, I must beg you to tell me everything at once, before my poor nerves give way.”

“Nothing of the sort, Aunt,” Deborah assured her with one of her mischievous grins. “Max and I were simply waiting to be sure, and for all that we’d rather delay a public announcement for as long as can be managed, we both agreed that you should be informed presently.”

Lady Bellingham blinked, and promptly dropped the smelling salts. “Deb! You’re telling me – oh, I do declare, I will positively die of joy – and so soon after the wedding, too!”

“I can’t say I expected it to happen this early,” Deborah laughed. “But as Max is utterly delighted at the prospect, I hardly have any complaints for myself.”

“Oh, but we should write to Kit, of course! And Lucius, too – I know you said you have your reasons for refusing to receive him, but he has been extremely kind to us all these years, and – ”

“All in due time, Aunt Lizzie,” her niece forestalled her, shaking her head in amusement. “As I believe I mentioned before, we would rather keep the news for ourselves a little longer.”

“Very well,” Lady Bellingham conceded at length with a long-suffering sigh. “I won’t pretend I understand the point of such secrecy – but as I see you’re determined, it’s not for me to question your reasons, or your husband’s for that matter.”

Deborah offered her a warm smile – she looked positively radiant, now that she thought about it – and gracefully stooped down to retrieve the smelling salts from behind the settee.

[go to part 2]