v (vesta) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-03-20 17:43:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | hestia jones |
WHO: Hestia Jones and Natalie Tan Jones.
WHAT: More not great news.
WHEN: March 20th, 72 hours after this.
WHERE: Hestia's home in Tinworth.
She would never admit it, but Hestia had been counting down the 72 hours her mother had requested away from her. Requested. That made it sound all so civil. She could still remember the sting of her mother’s slap, and her fingers travelled over the skin of her cheek subconsciously. Hestia had been thrown against buildings, had slashing hexes tear through flesh and sinew, had broken more bones more times than just about anyone she knew, but nothing had hurt more than that slap. Anger began to bubble in Hestia’s chest and she tried to focus on calming herself, but it didn’t work. She wanted to kick the coffee table in front of her across the room and blast it into a million splinters, but a glance at Riceball curled up next to her on the couch kept her from going down a path of destruction. So she sat and stewed, not allowing herself to glance at the phone. It would be exactly 72 hours from their meeting in nine minutes, and she couldn’t torture herself by looking at her phone every 30 seconds, waiting for the achingly long time to be over. This was the longest she’d gone without speaking with her mother, and it hurt. How could her mother send her away after what had happened? How was it her fault? Suddenly, the anger disappeared, replaced by a kind of sadness that made it hard to breathe. It was her fault. If she hadn’t joined the Order, if she hadn’t antagonized Victoria fucking Mulciber and her battleax of a mother… Hemera would be alive. So would Chad. Evelyn Mulciber might’ve hated her mother and they might’ve had a business rivalry, but she didn’t think the Mulcibers would kill a member of their family over business. Or maybe they would. But it didn’t matter, because it was her fault. She’d had her eyes closed, head leaning back against her couch as she wallowed in her misery. She couldn’t take it anymore and jerked her head up, opening her eyes and wiping away the few tears that had leaked out. God, she hated crying. It was so weak. Hestia picked up her phone to check the time, her face falling even more — if that was possible, as she already felt and looked like the world’s most miserable human — when she saw that she was already five minutes past the 72 hour mark. She had thought her mother would call right away. She sighed and turned her phone over in her hands, trying to be strong enough not to be the first one to make contact. Her will crumbled and she unlocked her phone to make the call, but before she could her wards made a shrill noise, alerting her that someone was on her property. Hestia jolted out of her seat and snatched up her wand, striding over to the monitors put in place in her living room and studying the camera footage. The visitor had sunglasses on, but Hestia would know that woman anywhere — dressed in all black, her usually red pumps matching the rest of her clothing, and carrying herself as if she was the bloody queen of England. There was no mistaking it, it was her mother. Hestia’s heart fluttered and she rushed to the door, but waited for her mother to clear the wards before opening the door. “Hi,” she said, looking and sounding pathetic. Natalie took off her sunglasses, revealing that she was quite unmoved. She stepped inside without waiting for Hestia’s invitation, and stood in the middle of the living room. “Can I take your coat?” Hestia asked, voice creaking. “No, thank you,” Natalie replied, “I won’t be here long.” Hestia pursed her lips together, trying desperately not to cry. She just wanted her mum. “I want to apologise for laying hands on you,” Natalie informed her evenly. “That was incredibly inappropriate. An employer should never strike their employee.” Her face didn’t change, but Hestia knew there was a battle going on behind her icy facade. “Nor should a mother strike their daughter.” Hestia released her breath, not realising she’d been holding it. At least she wasn’t disowning her. “I am very disappointed in you.” Hestia remained silent as her mother spoke, trying and failing to mirror Natalie’s emotionless face. Her bottom lip trembled and she stopped herself from taking a step further. She just wanted a hug from her mom, and she wanted her father. He would soothe her. “Being in the Order was what endangered your sister.” Natalie paused for dramatic effect. “But it… wasn’t your fault,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching downwards while her voice softened. But she put her businesss face back on and pulled on the edge of her blazer. “That being said, I cannot be associated with a vigilante.” Hestia began to protest, but Natalie raised a hand to silence her. “This is business, Hestia.” Hestia sunk down into her couch, unable to catch her breath. Natalie’s facade broke and she watched her daughter from afar with concern, a hand moving up to cover her heart. She walked forward and put her other hand on her daughter’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll make up a reason.” She removed her hand and rearranged her expression, back to freezing cold. Hestia looked up, tears flowing freely this time, fear and regret evident in her face. “Make up a reason? For what?” Natalie clasped her hands in front of her, straightening her spine. “As of today, you are suspended from Tan Jones Investments. Indefinitely. The committee will discuss whether your leave is paid. You no longer represent Tan Jones and are discouraged from —” “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your employees!” Hestia rasped though tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault that Hemera is gone, but I’m your daughter,” she pleaded, reaching out for her mother’s hand. Natalie hesitated, but she took Hestia’s hand in her own and pulled her daughter to her feet. She couldn’t bring herself to hug her, but she couldn’t watch her child suffer so. She put both hands on Hestia’s shoulders, steadying her. Natalie Tan Jones, who never cried, felt a tear streak down her face. She released Hestia’s hand. “There are consequences for every action. Even yours.” She turned toward the door, face blank as Riceball rubbed against her legs, getting white fur on her stockings. She turned the knob and was about to step out, but stopped. She turned her head just enough to see Hestia. “I love you.” The door closed, leaving Hestia alone with only her pain and desperation. |