Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-12-09 10:55:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, peony min |
Who: Peony (& NPC Suoh Min)
What: A very unexpected call
Where: Peony's office
When: This afternoon
Rating: G
Status: Complete
Peony smiled softly as she flipped through a folder of instructor reports -- so long neglected -- and stroked Quiz, who had taken up residence in her lap under her desk. The additional warmth was welcome, and the task at hand was one she enjoyed doing -- and having the time and opportunity to do properly. She was just a bit ahead on her afternoon tasks; she thought she might be able to retire early for the first time in weeks. A special dinner, perhaps, in private celebration, and an hour or two alone with a book. Silent Winter, perhaps. This time of year was always a little melancholy for her, but her father's prose would keep her company and paint around her the faraway landscape of home. It was as though her thoughts summoned him, a strange and inexplicable magic across time and distance; she looked up from her papers at the sound of footfalls in her doorway and felt her eyes widen and her jaw go slack, a rare expression of shock on a face most always serene. He stood in the doorway, grayer now than when she had last seen him, his face creased with new lines she had never seen, his expression as uncertain as hers surely was as well. "Peony." "Father." The cat was dislodged from her lap and she somehow made her way across the room; the subsequent embrace would have been surreal but for the warm solidity of him. It had been over five years since the last time she had heard his voice, or been held in his arms. "I did not know you were coming," she murmured against his shoulder. "We did not have time to write." We. The word had the warmth fading from the embrace. Of course. She had written of Pyr's condition, but there was no way to deliver a message instantly through the Mist that hung, heavy and unforgiving, between Emillion and her father's home. The letter had been sent the slow way, by ship. She had written again of his recovery, but that missive would likely still be in transit -- of course, with their son in mortal danger, they would have packed their things as soon as the first message arrived. "Pyr is well," she was quick to reassure. "Yes," her father said, "I know. We spent the morning with him. His mother is still with him, and Sky." "Yes," Peony said, "of course." It was entirely understandable, sensible even that that would be his first stop. She did not resent it, any more than she resented the fact that a mother surely worried for her children; she did, however, feel a disquiet at the thought of her stepmother so close, and a guilt that had never really faded for the troubles she had allowed to come to Pyr and Sky. "I am sorry," she said simply. Not only to have worried him, but also for her failure as protector. There was little she could have done that she had not; that did not change the fact that she felt at fault. "You are blameless." She stepped back from him, her usual serenity slipping into place to hide the turmoil in her heart. "I am a poor hostess. You have had a long journey, Father. Perhaps a cup of tea, while we converse?" "I would like that," he told her, his own expression shuttering too. In some ways, she thought they were further apart now than when they let pen and paper speak for them; she could not think what to say to him, now that he was standing here. "Perhaps we may adjourn to less official surroundings for our conversation." "Of course," she agreed. It would not, she sensed, be an easy conversation in the least. "Please, this way." She opened the door between her office and her personal suite of rooms, gestured for him to precede her. He stopped, placing a hand on her shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze before pulling back. "I have missed you," he said. "And I you." But her heart was heavy as she followed him out of the office. |