Lucinda is in the business of trading babies. (socialight) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-06-07 23:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-06] june, ! npc, lucinda greengrass (née yaxley) |
Who: Lucinda Greengrass and !npc Stewart Greengrass
What: Lucinda finishes her plans for Ben's funeral and gets into an argument with Stewart
When: 7 June 1980
Where: Greengrass Manor
Status: Complete.
Rating: PG.
A funeral planned in 3 days. Done. Lucinda had not really thought it possible, but when she threw herself into something as she had this funeral, she was always far more productive. It had served as a distraction, really. Something to keep her mind from all the horrible things that could be happening to Hortense and Julianne at this very moment. Never in all her years would she have thought that she might actually be grateful for Ben’s death, and yet here she was, glad she had been in mourning so that she had not been at the Foundation and taken hostage that fateful Monday. But was she really? If she had been at the Foundation and taken captive, Ben would still be alive, and no torturous week could ever be worse than losing her dearest relative. And perhaps he would have been able to save her when the Death Eaters had broken in Saturday night, perhaps she would still be in the exact place she was right now, just not planning a funeral. But she would never know, because no matter how many ‘what-if’ and ‘perhaps’ games that she played, Ben was gone. There would be a funeral on Wednesday to prove it and hopefully put an end to her wondering. In a way, planning the funeral had been a method of closure for Lucinda. It was not, sadly, as therapeutic as she had told Lucius (and hoped) it would be, but it had given her some time to truly come to terms with Leoben’s death. She had done everything short of actually identifying the body, and had begun to accept the fact that this was no joke; Leoben was never going to return. That sentence still hurt to hear, but it was getting easier to accept, and by Wednesday, she knew she would have no choice but to accept. It probably would have been much easier to believe if she had gone to look at the body, but that was simply something Lucinda knew she could not do. Seeing what was left of her cousin, burnt and marred, would haunt her for the rest of her days in this world, and she could not bear it. There were some things she simply could not stomach, and the sight of Ben’s corpse was one of them. Instead, she would allow her last image of Ben to be a good one, a happy one, a handsome one, where he was playing with Daphne without another care in the world. She had made arrangements to make certain that his final wish be granted: to be buried with the Yaxley ring, but she knew she could not personally ensure it short of throwing the ring in the coffin. Surely one of the men would take care of that minor detail, or at least make sure that the embalmer had not stolen the ring for himself. As she looked over all the details in the planner designed strictly for Leoben’s funeral with one hand, she rocked Daphne in her bassinet with the other. Thankfully, her daughter was asleep. For the first few days after Ben’s death, it had seemed as though Daphne would never sleep again. All the child did, for what felt like three days straight, was cry. She was inconsolable. No number of nappy changes, feedings, songs, or games, could quiet her, and there were many points where Lucinda considered smothering her. Thankfully, the nurse had taken her to a room at the far end of the manor for the majority of her marathon of tears, but there had been points when Lucinda could still hear her. Currently, it seemed as though Daphne’s body was recuperating from the non-stop crying and she had been sleeping far more than usual, which Lucinda did not mind in the slightest. Daphne was bearable when she was asleep, in fact, the child bordered on pleasant and precious. There were times when Lucinda would watch Daphne and she would do something, gurgle or smile, or even roll over, and at those little moments, she was quite glad she had a daughter. This was one of those times. It was the little noise that she had made that had caused Lucinda to look over from her planner. At that very moment, Daphne looked so happy, so serene, it made Lucy smile the first smile since before Ben’s death. It was brief, but it was a smile of appreciation. Watching Daphne sleep reminded her of the gift Ben had left her, ensuring that his goddaughter would have a future unlike that of her mother. Ben had protected Daphne, provided for her despite the fact that she was not his own child, that she was half Greengrass. He would be the reason she had a future at all, and sadly, Daphne would never truly understand the benevolence of the gesture. Though it saddened Lucinda to think that her daughter would never know her godfather, she made a solemn promise that she would make Ben as much a part of Daphne’s life as possible. She would tell her daughter stories, paint pictures in her mind, so that when the day came to access her gift, she would know (as best she could) the man who gave bestowed it upon her. The thought process of this promise was broken, however, by the entrance of another into Lucinda’s parlour. Truthfully, she would not have noticed the presence had it not coughed, pulling her out of her reverie of Daphne’s future. Looking up from her serene daughter, Lucinda’s eyes fell upon a most unwelcome sight: her husband. But not only was Stewart standing in the middle of the room, interrupting her funeral planning, but there was a trunk lying next to him. What was he doing with a trunk? An annoyed expression met his seemingly impatient one, and Lucinda raised her eyebrows, willing him to speak. “I will see you in a week.” Stewart said calmly, looking as though he expected something in return for his statement. “Where are you going?” Was Lucinda’s response, clearly not the kiss goodbye and well wishes that he had hoped for. “I told you, Russia. I will be gone for the week.” This was the first Lucinda had heard of the subject, or so she thought. He could have very well mentioned it when she was not listening to him, which was rather often, but now the news came as a shock nonetheless. “You’re going to travel while your sister is being held hostage somewhere?” “I am going to work. I can not save Hortense, I should not waste my time awaiting her return; that is my parents’ duty.” “You’re going to miss Leoben’s funeral.” Her tone was growing icier by the syllable. Stewart clearly did not care, giving an impatient roll of his eyes. “Pity.” “You will not be here to escort me?” “So it would seem.” “Stewart!” “Yes.” “This is Ben’s funeral.” “This is my job.” She was going to leave it. Allow him to get away with this argument, just let him leave the house and go to Russia, but then he added, “Besides. He was only your second cousin.” Her eyes flared with anger, piercing his like knives. “What do you mean by that?” Each consonant was it sharply, fueling her letters with anger. “Exactly what I said. He was your second cousin. That’s hardly family, Lucinda.” He was angering her on purpose, she knew it, and yet she allowed herself to be riled up anyway, “How dare you? He was closer to me than you could ever hope for, and more of a man than you could dream to be.” “Is that what you would like me to be, Lucinda? Just like Ben? Running recklessly into burning buildings? Abandoning you with our daughter for some greater cause? That’s what would make me a man?” “Don’t you dare belittle his death, Stewart.” Anger was flowing through her, but she was conscious of the volume of her voice; Daphne was, after all, asleep. “Or what, Lucinda? Will he return from the wreckage of the Daily Prophet to haunt me? Leave one of his burnt fingers on my pillow as a sign? He was stupid. They all are. Fighting for this so-called better world. Pretty soon they will all be dead, but the world will be exactly the same. Their sacrifice will have been for nothing, little as it was.” It must have been due to a combination of a lack of sleep, depression, and anger, or perhaps she truly loathed her husband with everything inside of her, but at that moment, Lucinda snapped in a way she had not snapped in months. Words could not express the anger, resentment, and hatred that ran through her veins at this very moment, so instead, she reached for the vase on her desk, and regardless of sleeping Daphne or the hydrangeas in the vase, Lucinda hurled the piece of china directly at Stewart. Most unfortunately, and likely expecting a reaction of this kind, Stewart moved to the side, avoiding the vase’s collision with his face, but allowing it to crash into his shoulder and collarbone instead. The combination of his curse and the breaking of the vase, woke Daphne, sending her into a tearful tantrum, and as Lucinda went to the bassinette to hold and hopefully mollify their daughter, Stewart inspected his wound. It seemed that despite the pain and perhaps a few scratches, there was nothing especially damaging about the throw, and so with a hand on his shoulder to protect the wound, he simply glared at his wife. “I will see you in a week.” “Fine.” Lucinda shot back, bouncing Daphne a bit as she watched her husband step into the fireplace, completely disgusted. “Kylope!” She yelled away from Daphne’s ears, although she doubted her daughter could hear anything over her own screams. The timid house elf appeared, pretending to be oblivious to the argument that had just occurred. “Clean this mess and find another vase for my desk.” With nothing more to be said, Lucinda kept Daphne in one arm, took her journal and funeral planner in the other and left the parlour room. She had far more important things to do than fume over her idiotic husband. Ben’s funeral would be this Wednesday and she would see to it that everything was perfect. |