#I was supposed to post this when the plot drop happened forever ago so Ssh let’s pretend

[jroycethethird]

who: royce van doren iii, featuring the van doren family and staff

setting: verdant vale hall, the family’s mansion home, a day after the fire

triggers: injury tw, death tw, sexism tw, anti vampire rhetoric (sorry my vamp baddies), mentions of smoking, and pip using a whole lotta words probably incorrectly, also sad golden retriever crying in the gif below

“Honestly, is this really the right course of action? Surely he should have stayed at the hospital, at least for a little bit longer!”

“Not this again, Blythe, we’ve been through it — We can bring in the best of private home care to Verdant Vale and keep a far more watchful eye on him home! He needs rest, and the best professional care money can buy.”

The back and forth arguments echoed down the vast corridors of Verdant Vale Hall, accompanied by the rhythmic click of heels chasing down the familiar winding path to the east wing. Royce could already picture his childhood room — sage green walls and solid mahogany furniture, a perfectly preserved large room straight out of an interior design catalogue, unscathed by the annals of time. He had rarely occupied it before, JR and Blythe opting to send him off to boarding schools his whole life. He spent more time away from “home” than within it, sometimes he thought Verdant Vale in all her glory was just another stranger in his life, one that still bellowed before him as though she knew him perfectly inside and out. Maybe she and her ancestral ghosts did, and maybe they chortled at his expense.

“Sir, you ought to slow down… you’ll wear yourself thin,” an assistant murmured from beside him, her hand hovering diligently at his elbow. Royce sometimes likened them to eager vultures, ferrying their near-dead prey so they could feed off his gilded carcass. He didn’t like being doted on like this, not when it wasn’t genuine.

“Tut, tut, I’m quite fine,” Royce said, chin jutting out and high, pompous as ever. Yet each step brought a great deal of pain and inconvenience. His skin still felt aflame, boiling and scalding wherever the linen of his fine clothes touched him. Not even the bandages or medicine helped calm the lick of phantom flames against his skin, and Royce blinked hard to will the memories away. Being there in the bowels of Starlight as she went alight, nothing but red, red, red around him. You’re fine, stop being a pussy. He swatted a bandaged hand at the hovering assistant, passing the ornate cane hand from his right to left hand as he took the final corner towards his childhood bedroom. “I don’t understand why I can’t live out my misery in my own house, instead of this dreaded mausoleum. In fact — hey, you, you want to be helpful? Go start Goldie Hawn’s engine,” he referenced his beloved yellow 1973 Guila Spider Volce, so ridiculously named. “I’ll meet you down in the garage shortly,” he motioned the assistant away, and yet she didn’t falter, ushering her injured employer into his bedroom. Royce saw the way she deferred silently in reverent glances to his father, the hallowed Van Doren patriarch, who nodded sternly to her as he continued arguing with Royce’s step mother.

“Mr. Van Doren, let’s get you to bed,” she said in a soft, but firm tone, pressing her fingers into his elbow. “Perhaps I can take you for a drive sometime later, yes?”

“Traditrice,” he muttered in a perfect Italian accent to the now-smirking assistant as he begrudgingly entered the room. “So this is what hell looks like,” he hummed, looking over the shelves of first edition books, shiny model cars and hand built boats, among other knick-knacks around. Remnants of a youth he barely remembered.

The shuffle of shoes coming from the adjoining balcony caught Royce’s attention, and a smile grew over his face before the two nearly identical blonde women came in, one with a potted plant in hand. “But the devils here are such swell company, brother,” chimed Cecile Van Doren as she skipped over, a gentle kiss to her brother’s cheek given in greeting before offering up a snake plant. “A gift,” she stated and Royce snorted.

“Yes, and quite a welcome one since I see none of my plants made it since I last visited,” he let his voice raise towards the bickering adults by the door as he looked about him. There were less plants than the hobbyist florist recalled in that room. “Thank you, Cec. I’d take it off your hands, but apparently I’m oh so fragile. Don’t want to break it as much as I’ve broken myself.”

“Sweetheart, we are looking after your well being!” Blythe sighed dramatically from where she leaned against the door jam, glowering still at her husband, “And you’re needed in tip top shape… Our annual Garden Party is upon us, how could we do it without you? Your Uncle Monty will never let us hear the end of it.” Yes, because that was more pressing than anything else going on around town. Heaven forbid he not be in top form for his mother’s ridiculous high brow party.

JR sighed, in equal drama as his wife, running a large hand through sandy hair streaked in white-silver at the temples. “You know, son, if you accepted the vampire blood, then we’d be out of this mess rather quickly. You could be back to your strong, healthy self sooner, and back to doing what really matters: helping the coven and keeping that Supreme from running this dignified group into the mud.” Royce did not resist the eye roll or groan at his words, though the latter could have been his reaction to slowly easing himself (with the help of that dedicated assistant) into a large tufted arm chair.

Before he could spit out a sardonic reply to his father, another voice lifted above the chatter instead. “So it’s okay for Tripp to take vampire blood to cure what aren’t even that critical of burns, but the second our lives are threatened as repercussion of dark magic you lay down the law and deny the rest of us the chance to survive an untimely demise?” Kathryn Van Doren let out a single cynical laugh, arms crossing tighter over her chest as she set a dark glare on their father. “But of course, he’s the prodigal son, the Van Doren legacy, so of course he can cheat death while the rest of us must accept it if our time comes.”

“Kathy,” Royce admonished, but he was once more cut off by the Van Doren patriarch speaking up.

“Let me make this abundantly clear — absolutely no child of mine shall become an undead leech. We are a proud witch lineage, and I will not live to see any of my children go against what is our natural order. There is a dignity in dying, Kathryn. But the administering of blood to ensure your brother’s speedy recovery is different. It has nothing to do with cheating death, it is a modern form of medicine I would allow for him to use just to return to his real purpose: to help lead the coven. Did you not see how your brother stood up there and spoke reason at the last coven meeting? It’s clear he has an important job to do here. And on that alone, I doubt such a life would be sacrificed in recompense for what that wayward witch did. A Van Doren man, in his prime, won’t be taken down by a measly curse.” JR spoke with such devotion, Royce almost missed how absolutely crazy and off base he was. Almost.

“So my life, mom’s life, Cecile’s life — even your own life, daddy dearest,” she spoke the term of endearment with such venom, her words alone could paralyze, “all of that is fair game, but Tripp gets to defy your archaic rules just because you think he’s, what, more important than anyone else here? Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound?” Kathryn raged, eyes blazing. Royce clocked in almost instantly that this was a fight his unfortunate accident came in the middle of, one that perhaps had been going on since the news broke to the coven. And from how both his younger sister and their father stood, square shoulders and staring one another down, he could see it would not let up anytime soon.

“Would you like something to drink, sir? Perhaps a coffee, or a water?” His assistant murmured to him.

“A whiskey would be great, actually.” She gave him a look and Royce sighed, “Oolong, please. I’m afraid a commotion is about to happen, so make it quick and find cover.” His blue eyes scanned the four family members caught in a tense standstill before him, searching their minds for what he could glean.

Kathy was afraid to die, she was too young. She had potential, a whole life ahead of her, she could be so much more than this, and father’s refusal to accept this desire to save her own skin burned her deep in her stomach. Cecile, ever the good little girl, didn’t want to fight father, but she ached deep down. Half terrified in what could become of the recent dark magic usage, half wanting to so confidently and ignorantly believe their father when he said things would be okay, no matter the outcome. And Blythe, who perhaps in that moment just wanted any excuse to be away from JR for a bit. Maybe death could be the perfect vacation. Did they have country clubs and pool boys in heaven, she wondered.

Then there was the illustrious patriarch, looking smart and refined in his blue linen suit and pale lemon dress shirt, a navy and yellow pocket square peeking out of his jacket’s breast pocket. His craggy face was stern, an impassive stone face that was unwilling to bend to the dark gaze coming from the petite blonde across the room. His mind was unreadable even to the telepath, ever skillfully closed off from his son unless he wanted Royce to read him. Those times when he let his dark gaze and mind fill with such powerful disappointment so as to upset Royce should he dare explore his head. But that wasn’t now. Instead he was clear and focused solely on staring, unblinkingly, back at Kathryn.

Royce sighed irritably. “Dear god, Kathy, you’re an adult — if you want to take vampire blood, just go and take it,” he waved a hand dismissively at his younger sister. “And you—” He pointed a bandaged hand at his father, standing stupidly tall in his room of all places, stirring up family drama, and when Royce had a raging headache, “—give up that silly damn notion of coven leadership. I’m not the Supreme, Poppy is, and, in case you haven’t noticed this, attack wasn’t aimed at me. In fact, it was clearly a mistake. So instead of slightly our dear leader, maybe think about the fact that an assassination attempt was clearly made towards her.”

“And yet here you are, the one broken because of it,” JR spat back.

Royce gave his father a crooked smile, “They can’t kill me that easily, pops.” He let his head lull back so as to get a clear look at Kathryn. Her mind was still simmering in rage, though her anger seemed angled at him now. Of course you’d think that, you’re the special little boy who can do whatever he wants, her mind said to him and he frowned. “That is an unfair assessment, but may I remind you it’s the 21st century. He doesn’t own you.”

Kathy just scoffed, dropping her arms to her sides. “He won’t let us.”

“You mean he’ll disown you if you do, and you’re woefully unprepared for the real world. Oh, sad, sorry, little you, Kathryn Isabelle Van Doren.” He didn’t mean to be so cruel, but dammit — wasn’t he the one with the burns all over his body? And where the hell was his oolong?

JR crossed his arms tight over his broad chest, nodding. “And he’s right — if any of you take vampire blood to escape death, I will disown you, and you’ll leave Verdant Vale immediately. If you want to be a vampire so bad, then you can go do that and be the clan’s problem. Save me a dime.”

Kathryn let out an undignified cry before storming off, blubbering a “you hypocrite,” under her breath. Blythe threw her hands in the air as the youngest Van Doren dashed past her. “Oh, excellent, that’s just wonderful, JR — she’s supposed to help me pick out the floral centerpieces for the Garden Party today! Now she won’t want to be helpful at all! Come on, Cecile, help me calm your sister down…”

Cecile gave her brother a half smile before carefully placing the potted plant down on the table beside his bed, dutifully following their mother out. “Maybe a visit to the country club, and a game of doubles at the court, will calm her? We can ask that cute instructor to play with us!” He heard Cecile’s voice echoing down the hall as the women retreated, leaving the Van Doren men to quietly stare at each other.

“Bravo, big man, you really are a testament to fatherhood, you know that?” Royce said with a cruel curl of his lip, turning the cane around in his hand as he leaned back into the velvety chair. “Can’t you see they’re terrified? Don’t need telepathy to see it. No ‘natural order’ talk can soothe the absolute all consuming fear an unexpected death can bring to a woman in her twenties. Have some compassion.”

JR scoffed, occupying himself with brushing his fingers over the spines of books on a nearby bookcase, barely glancing back at his son from steel colored eyes. “The Ancestors must be second guessing everything, after this last, what, year and some change dealing with this Catalyst? Then Silas Chamberlain…” He tutted under his breath before fully facing his son. “I’ve told you since you were a boy that you were meant for so much more than you could imagine. Seeing you up there, addressing the coven with such professionalism and grace… I’ve never been more proud of you, Tripp.” Royce’s eyes dropped at the affectionate nickname, one only his closest confidents called him.

“You mean you’ve never been proud of me at all before then,” he said lowly, digging the cane into the plush carpet beneath his feet. “It doesn’t matter — I’m not the Supreme, and I don’t want to be. Poppy’s good, she can handle all of this, she’s made to handle all of this, you’ll see. And maybe I can’t, maybe I’m not built to fight. What you’re so enthused about is my ability to memorize fancy words from a thesaurus and spin in into something not half bad.”

JR was quiet for a breath of a moment. “Someday, Tripp, you’re going to see yourself the way I do and then you’ll understand how much potential you’re letting go to waste. You’re a whole lot braver than you think.” He crossed the space between them, carefully laying a heavy hand over his son’s shoulder. “Get some rest, you need to preserve your strength for when it matters.” He paused before adding, “…Such as for that Garden Party your mother won’t let go off. We have that pickle ball tournament with Monty and your cousin Dashiell, and I’m not letting them take the title this year.” He shook Royce, perhaps too roughly before sweeping out of the room.

And finally, the Van Dorens left Royce to a calming silence. “My God, they’re idiots. The whole lot of them.”

Vrrb. Vrrb.

Just as he relaxed into the chair’s cushy back, Royce felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. He had every right to ignore it, but he carefully pulled the offending device out of his pocket and brought it to his face. “So help me, if that’s the gallery…” His threats trailed off on his tongue as he saw the Caller ID. Am I seeing things? He swallowed thickly before tentatively answering the call. Holding the phone there for a brief moment, Royce sucked in a sharp breath before bringing the phone to his ear. “Well, well… isn’t this a surprise,” he said in his usual charming tone.

“…a pleasant one, I hope.” The voice that came on the other line was just as he remembered — low, sultry and slow. He could imagine the smoke of a cigarette curling around the vowels as she spoke.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I guess that depends on you. Is this a pleasurable call? It has been a moment, though I suppose that time difference may play into it.” If not the divorce.

She was silent on the other end and he imagined her taking a drag from a cigarette while sitting in the corner table at that old pub she adored so much. The one they used to frequent, their special little haunt. Maybe that was off, he doubted she was anywhere near campus nowadays.

“You didn’t change your emergency contact. I got a voicemail yesterday saying you were in an accident? I always knew you drove too fast for your own good.”

Royce frowned, slumping in his chair. So that’s why she called — maybe as a courtesy but certainly as a warning. Get rid of my phone number. That’s what she wanted him to do. He ran his hand weakly through his mussed hair. “Is that so? Well, I think we did vow in sickness and in health, right? Till death do us part?”

“I think we chose to abolish that, unless I’m not recalling the last two years properly.” He heard the exhale of smoke and thought he could smell it through the receiver. “Do start wearing a seatbelt, darling.”

“Yeah, yeah, seatbelt, I heard you.” Royce didn’t have the heart to correct her, letting her believe it was a car accident instead of arson. “Two years and you still worry about me, huh?”

She didn’t reply, and Royce grew uncomfortable in the silence. “So is this an excuse to hear my voice, or something?” He wasn’t sure what he was trying, but the sigh that came from the other end of the line certainly wasn’t what he hoped for.

“J… Royce,” he frowned involuntarily at her correcting herself. For a second there, Royce thought the name, the one that only she called him, was about to come out. It would have been a sign, for something he didn’t realize he’d been hoping for these past two years. But it wasn’t a social call, and it wasn’t meant to last long. “I’m sorry you got hurt, it’s not what I wanted to hear, but I also didn’t want to hear anything at all,” she continued and he stayed silent as he listened. “This isn’t healthy, and I shouldn’t have even called, but listen, do me — no, do both of us a favor.”

“What’s that?” He said as he swallowed thickly, pressing his hand over his face and slightly muffling his words.

“Change your emergency contact… And lose this number, already.”

He let out a humorless chuckle as the weight of the words dawned on him, squeezing his eyes shut as he caught his breath. “Damn… Message received,” he muttered. “Nice hearing from you.”

She was silent for a short moment before saying, softer now, “Get well soon. Goodbye, Darling.” And the line cut before Royce could say anything more.

Pulling back and staring at his phone, Royce looked at the call history and her name now at the very top of it. His hand shook as emotions long since buried began to bubble up to the surface. As though those protective layers he’d grown over them had been burned away in that fire, no longer effective armor against the onslaught of hurt and turmoil just hearing her voice caused him. He swallowed and found that the lump in his throat was too strong to bypass. Curses. Damn this woman for coming back so easily into his orbit and then speeding away. And all to tell him to wear a seatbelt and lose her number… he hated it. He hated her for it.

He was so deep in thought, he missed the click of heels as his assistant rounded the corridor and found herself at his bedroom door again. “Mr. Van Doren, I apologize for the delay, we didn’t have oolong but I sent off for it. I did find a Moroccan Mint Tea inst—” her words were drowned out by a loud crash and crack as a smart phone collided with the wall on the far side of the room, glass screen shattering and pixels going dead as it fell uselessly to the ground. A dent and a crack left a remembrance of the sudden attack on the wall, and Royce’s gaze traced it as he let out a ragged breath. “S-sir?” The assistant sputtered and he turned his gaze towards her.

“…Oh, mint tea is just fine,” he said so casually, calmly, as though he hadn’t just chucked his phone across the room. He held his hand out, waiting for her to shakily deposit the cup into his grasp. Taking a slow sip, Royce’s eyes flickered up back at the assistant, clearly taken back by his actions. “Mm, yes, perfect, thank you. You can go now, but do me a favor and stop by the store and get me a new phone, won’t you? Put it on good ol’ dad’s card, too.” He waved her off before silently turning his gaze out towards the adjoining balcony, silently stewing and forever grateful to be the only telepath at Verdant Vale Hall.