Hephaestus "entered Chloris' box" Burke (igni) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-04-08 22:00:00 |
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Walking out of Borgin & Burkes always left Hephaestus with a bitterness in his mouth and a sense of grime that he could not shake off. He rarely visited the shop that was his father's pride (although "single reason for living" was, in Hephaestus' opinion, a better label for it), for even though there remained some very few positive associations after his schoolboy summers working within the darkened rooms, the dislike he bore his father -- a dislike that bordered on hatred -- was too great, too visceral, and overshadowed whatever fond memories he may have had. It had been a while since he'd last visited -- a year, maybe two -- and Hephaestus' wouldn't have gone at all if Caractacus hadn't peevishly insisted on a face-to-face meeting where he could hawkishly peer at his son with some indescribable version of a smile on his face as he demanded payment for something that Hephaestus was sure any other father would give his only son free of charge. Two names that had cost him a galleon too many; and the sting of it was definitely worse than the actual ridiculous loss of money. Civility required an increasingly Herculean effort, and by the time Hephaestus finally made it home, the first words out of his mouth were, "Scotch. Leave the bottle," to which Furber stared but hurried to obey without comment. And now, slumped in an armchair, he was well on his way through his second glass. He felt old and grey and tired; the ever loyal manservant had whisked away his coat and papers and even put away his walking-stick, then left his master to the drinking. Chloris returned from her visit with Persephone (and a subsequent shopping trip for a new hat) vibrant and full of excited energy. She first went to check on their lovely daughters, who napped quietly in their beds, the nanny and wetnurse nearby. She did not bother their sons, knowing that the boys were most likely enjoying their playtime and would not want to be disturbed by their overly fussy mother. She smiled at the thought of her boys in their playroom and fought the temptation to peak. Their governess would have it all in hand, she needn't bother them. She walked through the hall and passed Furber, who avoided her eye. It made her take pause; of all the servants in the home, Felicity, her lady's maid, and Furber, Hephaestus' manservant, were allowed quite a lot of priviledges in the house. One of those was that they did not have to hide and never be seen nor heard. Furber rarely ever avoided her glance and so she turned and called to him. He hesitated before he turned with a slight bow, "Yes, Mistress Burke?" "Are you feeling quite well?" Her hands clutched her little white purse, and she looked over him as though his clothes would tell him what was wrong. "Yes, Mistress. Quite well, thank you for asking." "Are you certain? You look as though you paled when you came into my presence." "I-" the man hesitated for a moment, "Master Burke has returned, Mistress, and I fear... in a foul mood." Chloris lifted her chin in acknowledgement and waved him off, "Please make certain that the kitchen is on time. Master Burke and I will take supper in our suite. After that, you may be off for the rest of the evening. Thank you." "Thank you, Mistress Burke," and with a bow, the manservant turned and continued down the hall. Chloris continued on her way as well, her lips slightly pursed. Why was Hephaestus in a foul mood? Everything had been going so well, and she did not think there had been any reason for his mood to sour so. She went to pass by their suite to go to her dressing room first, but decided against it, opened the grand door to their suite, and entered quietly. There she saw her husband, slouched in a chair, brooding. She crossed the room and took off her gloves, pulling one finger at a time, and slightly raised her eyebrow at him, "Well? What is wrong, my love?" Hephaestus almost rose from his seat -- but then, when Chloris stepped up to the chair that he had taken refuge in, the tenseness in his legs faded and he simply raised his glass to his wife in a movement that was half-toast, half-greeting. "Wrong?" he repeated in a neutral tone; he lowered the glass and stared at the golden liquid that remained. "Why should anything be wrong? I'm just enjoying the... contents of my liquor cabinet." Chloris set her gloves down on the side table and pursed her lips. While her husband might be speaking in a rather neutral tone, she knew better. That and Furber's revelation to her that Master Burke was in a foul mood - she wasn't buying his feigned neutrality. "Oh, you're quite right," she said as she rounded and sat in an arm chair away from him, "You sit with a bottle of scotch next to you all day, every day. Why should I believe something is wrong?" "It's a 40 year old beauty," was the reply, quieter and even flatter than before. Briefly he studied his wife as she took a seat across from him; then Hephaestus' gaze flicked back to the glass, which he contemplated before knocking back what was left. "I was at Borgin and Burkes' today," he added after a moment. Chloris was nearly cross at him, and nearly made some snide remark... until he said what made his mood foul. She sighed and got up, settling next to him on the arm of the chair, and running her fingers through his hair. She hated Caracturus Burke. Hated him to the ends of the earth. Hated him more than Narcissa Malfoy, which was saying something. She would never forget the words she had spat at the older man when she was a mere 18 year old child, and she would never forgive him for the years of torment he had (and continued to) put Hephaestus through. "Oh, my love," she said gently and pressed her lips to his temple, "Why?" "Why?" Hephaestus made a vague gesture, his fingers twitching through the air before he reached over to retrieve the bottle. "Business." Business was the only reason he would be compelled to see the man who'd sired him, which was ironic in itself considering one of the great sources of their enmity. "They have affiliated businesses on the continent -- I wanted to know which. Of course the man took every advantage to try to rob me blind in the process." A short bark of a laugh escaped him; he pressed a kiss against Chloris' cheek before turning his attention back to the bottle. "It was a long day." "Hopefully not museum business?" Chloris frowned slightly, her brows furrowing the littlest bit, "You know I would never wish you to enter into that place of business and discuss things with that horrible man on my behalf." She continued to run her fingers through his hair, and nuzzled his cheek lightly, "I'm sure it was a long day. I am so sorry." She didn't stop his abuse of the bottle... yet. She would, but right now, if he wanted to drink - let him drink. Hephaestus wasn't given much to alcohol, and even when he did indulge, he tolerance of its effects was high. Still, there was something wholly satisfying about the sensation of the liquid as it burned his way down his throat, which was why he was about to begin his third glass. "Library, although I'm tempted to rob all of these associates' uses for our own purposes." He went quiet, a deep sigh escaping him as he finally let himself submit to Chloris' affectionate ministrations, and after a moment of comfortable silence, he spoke up in a tone that was a degree less bitter than it had been. "How was your day?" Ah, both of the Burkes had been in Slytherin for a reason, both of them cunning and driven. She chuckled lightly under her breath and pressed another kiss to his temple, "I wouldn't blame you if you did. Would serve Caracturus right." She slid off the arm of the chair and took his hand, gently tugging him to the couch where they could sit together comfortably. "My day was fine. I went over to see Persephone. She's going to help me with some of the interior design of the museum. Once the baby is born, of course." The drink and his wife's touch had eased some of the tenseness from his frame, and so Hephaestus was easily guided to the couch. The bottle was left by the armchair, for three glasses of the scotch was enough; he wasn't going to waste more of it on his father's account. "There's a girl with fine sensibilities," he replied, briefly cheered at the thought of his favorite niece. "And how is the pregnancy progressing? It's been a while since I last saw her and -- sit closer." And he wrapped his arm around Chloris' waist and drew her to him. |