James Weatherby XIV (night_rhythm) wrote in st_margarets, @ 2016-02-03 11:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: james weatherby, location: pegasus dorm |
Thread: Flashback
WHO: James Weatherby XIV
WHEN: January 29th, before the speeches, backdated
WHERE: James' room, Pegasus
NPCs: James Weatherby XIII, Dr. Kenneth Styles
James saw Victoria out after their final rehearsal on his speech, promising that they'd meet at the auditorium just before the assembly for one last spot check. She was going to go get ready and he would do the same. His suit was laid out, pressed and clean, matching down to the details of the Weatherby family crest engraved into his heirloom ivory cufflinks.
James picked up the red tie, weaving the silk in and out of his fingers. Red was his color for the elections as well as a representation of his past. James watched the tie slide through his fingers like blood.
His phone rang.
Glancing up, James set the tie down and walked over to answer.
"Father, to what do I owe-"
"The speeches are today, aren't they?" Mr. Weatherby interrupted impatiently.
"Yes sir. I'm actually in the middle of-"
"Don't mess this up, James. Every Weatherby before you has held office in their boarding school. You've got a legacy to uphold and I'll be damned if my son loses to some Egyptian hippie child or spawn of a politician from a backwater desert resort town."
James bristled defensively. "Paxton's father has been instrumental in policies that-"
"Don't interrupt. I've hired a professional campaign manager-"
"Victoria is my campaign manager. I don't need-"
"What did I just say, James?"
Biting his tongue, James gave the wall a death glare. "Sorry, sir."
"You're going to say the speech the professional has written for you. It's foolproof. Even you can't fuck it up."
"Yes sir."
"With any luck, this might even help people forget your embarrassing behavior at St. Albans."
"...Yes sir."
"Good. My assistant will email you the speech. Make sure you have Victoria with you for any pictures after you're elected."
"Of course, father."
The call ended.
James lowered the phone and looked at the face of it, watching the screen go from his father's name to his normal background. He stood there for a long moment, even when the ping of a new email came from his father's assistant. Rather than opening the email, James went to his contacts and called his sire, putting the phone back to his ear.
The ringing tone went off three times and then went to voicemail.
Angrily, James ended the call without leaving a message and looked around the room. His gaze settled on the suit and then, resolutely, he called his sire again. It went again to voicemail.
This time James left a message, pushing his fingers into his hair. "Dr. Styles, I need to talk to you. Please. I... need your guidance. My father, he..." James swallowed, reluctant to say more in a message. He ended it with a rushed: "Please call me at your earliest convenience."
Dropping the phone to his desk, James palmed at his face. His sire had been absent from his life for months now, not counting the brief phone message on the anniversary of his death day. Dr. Styles had refused to see him over winter break when James had traveled all the way to London to knock on his office door. He was being left out in the cold, thrown to the sharks, and it was up to him to sink or swim.
James' phone buzzed with a message and he grabbed it, hopeful.
It was a text message from Dr. Styles: Do whatever it takes to keep him happy. Not much longer.
Cold anger burned in his gut before an empty calm came over him.
James put on the suit. He buttoned the collar all the way up. He tightened the red tie around his neck.