[Closed] Some Mother’s Son (Umberto)
Posted: Tue Feb 09, 2021 7:33 pm
Achtus 1, 2719 • Late Morning
941 G Lampwine Square, The Stacks
941 G Lampwine Square, The Stacks
.
It had been wise to flag a hansom rather than attempting to find this place on foot. For one thing, it would have been rather unbecoming for her to wander the streets of the Stacks, looking entirely out of place and while this wasn’t a shabby sort of area—unless much had changed since her time in Brunnhold—she might still have fallen afoul of some opportunist, especially given that she was unaccompanied and while plainly dressed by her standards, evidently monied.
Not that she was incapable of looking after herself. Aside from having magic at her disposal, Eliza had once taken fencing and dance, and while she was less active than she had been in her schooldays, she could still be rather quick on her feet and had maintained her flexibility. She could probably hit someone if she had to do so, but the notion repulsed her—it would be terribly unbecoming to resort to such things; she was no human after all.
It was exceptionally brisk out and while the sun shone, there was no warmth in it—a typical winter sun—and even the short distance from where the cab had left her to the door would no doubt leave her flushed. It might be somewhat pleasing in appearance, although if she had applied cosmetics to simulate such a thing, it would have been exceptionally gaudy; she was old enough to know better than to make such an error. Typically, she did use cosmetics to subtly accentuate her better features, but this morning, she had only used it to conceal the marks of the night’s unsettled sleep. The politician’s wife had chosen to take an airship here yesterday so that she could stay overnight in a hotel and be fresh for her visit with her son; things hadn’t worked out as she’d wished.
Eliza considered the house briefly, worrying at her lip for a moment as she questioned her course of action for perhaps the thousandth time. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t too late to change her mind, even at this late juncture. Having come this far did not mean that she was bound to continue. However, she had already overcome the hardest part by reaching this point and her concerns were comparatively minor now. Well, except the matter of Fionn, but he had always been an unpredictable element in her life, even when they had resided under the same roof and her energy would be better spent determining if she had done everything in her power to achieve her desired outcome.
For instance, she had pressed her daughter for the address, had noted it down and committed it to memory, checked and double checked it, yet here she stood making sure that this was indeed her intended destination. Unless Niamh had purposely misled her, which would be terribly out of character for the girl even in light of recent events, then she could safely assume that she was indeed where she was supposed to be. Perhaps the residence seemed a trifle excessive for a bachelor and inconsequential academic—as she’d been led to believe Umberto Bassington-Smythe was—but who was she to judge? So long as it was his abode and her elder son’s place of work then she couldn't care less.
The brunette examined the state of her dress discreetly, ensuring that the green skirt hadn’t developed any unsightly creases during her time in the cab. Eliza wished that she had a mirror to more accurately assess her appearance, but she simply had to trust that everything in her line of view was correct and that those things beyond it were in similar condition.
There was a boot scraper beside the door but she had no need of it given the current condition of her shoes. She made use of it in any case as it bought her a few more moments to delay the inevitable and also allowed her to grow used to the idea of utilising the door knocker. It was of formidable size, almost comically large in comparison to the door on which it sat, and it depicted the visage of some ugly, snarling creature, surely inhuman yet bearing more than a passing resemblance to a person. She—Eliza had the impression that ‘she’ was appropriate for the face though she couldn’t determine why—had an unruly mane of hair, the strands depicted with undulous motion, which gave the unsettling impression that it was alive.
It was well-made—oh undoubtedly exceptional craftsmanship!—but it was also quite ghastly and the notion of touching the ring which protruded from its mouth was repellent.
There was a moment’s hesitation as she raised a gloved hand to the portal, the woman considering knocking on the wood instead of using the knocker before she sighed, grasping the ring and rapping firmly, although she angled her face away as she did so. Once she released the metal, she focused on a point on the wood and ensured that her countenance and field portrayed calm neutrality, her hands folded neatly together. It was a display quite at odds with her true state of mind considering that her heart felt ready to spring out of her chest without heeding the obstacles in its path, her lungs threatened to swell and deflate on the spasmodic fashion of hyperventilation and perspiration seemed to prickle her palms.
She had already thought carefully about what she would say to her son, having had a chance to prepare this time rather than abruptly finding herself face-to-face with him at home as she had a few weeks prior. It had taken a great deal of courage to bring her to this point, but she had a chance to resolve matters that had remained dormant for years and which had come crashing to the surface the moment that she’d seen Fionn in their Vienda home. It felt like a bizarre and cruel dream, and while it had certainly tormented her, it did indeed seem to be reality. Thus, she had endeavoured to come in order to set things to rights and today perhaps she could put her conscience to rest at last.
However, it wasn’t Fionn who came to the door as she had anticipated, but a galdor. She had a few moments to be puzzled as the Living mona in her field caprised the Clairvoyant particles of another in near proximity and then it was just beyond the door, revealed to belong to a dark-haired man who certainly wasn’t her son.
Her brows rose minutely and her hazel eyes expanded before she replaced her surprise and encroaching dismay with a polite smile. She hadn’t expected to have a galdor greet her, especially not one like this, although perhaps she should have anticipated that the man would be something of an oddity. After all, when she has asked her daughter about the academic for whom the blond worked, Niamh had appeared to struggle with some sense of propriety before almost guiltily admitting ‘eccentric’ was a suitable term, probably the only one to describe him.
“Good morning, sir,” she began politely, pressing a palm slantwise on her breast as she sketched a shallow bow. “My apologies for arriving unannounced, but I am seeking the residence of a Mister Bassington-Smythe and was led to believe that this was it. Are you the gentleman in question?”
Perhaps he will tell me that Mr Bassington-Smythe is actually his neighbour, and people are forever calling at the incorrect door, she thought hopefully as she did her best not to examine him as one might peer at an insect under magnified glass.
Not that she was incapable of looking after herself. Aside from having magic at her disposal, Eliza had once taken fencing and dance, and while she was less active than she had been in her schooldays, she could still be rather quick on her feet and had maintained her flexibility. She could probably hit someone if she had to do so, but the notion repulsed her—it would be terribly unbecoming to resort to such things; she was no human after all.
It was exceptionally brisk out and while the sun shone, there was no warmth in it—a typical winter sun—and even the short distance from where the cab had left her to the door would no doubt leave her flushed. It might be somewhat pleasing in appearance, although if she had applied cosmetics to simulate such a thing, it would have been exceptionally gaudy; she was old enough to know better than to make such an error. Typically, she did use cosmetics to subtly accentuate her better features, but this morning, she had only used it to conceal the marks of the night’s unsettled sleep. The politician’s wife had chosen to take an airship here yesterday so that she could stay overnight in a hotel and be fresh for her visit with her son; things hadn’t worked out as she’d wished.
Eliza considered the house briefly, worrying at her lip for a moment as she questioned her course of action for perhaps the thousandth time. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t too late to change her mind, even at this late juncture. Having come this far did not mean that she was bound to continue. However, she had already overcome the hardest part by reaching this point and her concerns were comparatively minor now. Well, except the matter of Fionn, but he had always been an unpredictable element in her life, even when they had resided under the same roof and her energy would be better spent determining if she had done everything in her power to achieve her desired outcome.
For instance, she had pressed her daughter for the address, had noted it down and committed it to memory, checked and double checked it, yet here she stood making sure that this was indeed her intended destination. Unless Niamh had purposely misled her, which would be terribly out of character for the girl even in light of recent events, then she could safely assume that she was indeed where she was supposed to be. Perhaps the residence seemed a trifle excessive for a bachelor and inconsequential academic—as she’d been led to believe Umberto Bassington-Smythe was—but who was she to judge? So long as it was his abode and her elder son’s place of work then she couldn't care less.
The brunette examined the state of her dress discreetly, ensuring that the green skirt hadn’t developed any unsightly creases during her time in the cab. Eliza wished that she had a mirror to more accurately assess her appearance, but she simply had to trust that everything in her line of view was correct and that those things beyond it were in similar condition.
There was a boot scraper beside the door but she had no need of it given the current condition of her shoes. She made use of it in any case as it bought her a few more moments to delay the inevitable and also allowed her to grow used to the idea of utilising the door knocker. It was of formidable size, almost comically large in comparison to the door on which it sat, and it depicted the visage of some ugly, snarling creature, surely inhuman yet bearing more than a passing resemblance to a person. She—Eliza had the impression that ‘she’ was appropriate for the face though she couldn’t determine why—had an unruly mane of hair, the strands depicted with undulous motion, which gave the unsettling impression that it was alive.
It was well-made—oh undoubtedly exceptional craftsmanship!—but it was also quite ghastly and the notion of touching the ring which protruded from its mouth was repellent.
There was a moment’s hesitation as she raised a gloved hand to the portal, the woman considering knocking on the wood instead of using the knocker before she sighed, grasping the ring and rapping firmly, although she angled her face away as she did so. Once she released the metal, she focused on a point on the wood and ensured that her countenance and field portrayed calm neutrality, her hands folded neatly together. It was a display quite at odds with her true state of mind considering that her heart felt ready to spring out of her chest without heeding the obstacles in its path, her lungs threatened to swell and deflate on the spasmodic fashion of hyperventilation and perspiration seemed to prickle her palms.
She had already thought carefully about what she would say to her son, having had a chance to prepare this time rather than abruptly finding herself face-to-face with him at home as she had a few weeks prior. It had taken a great deal of courage to bring her to this point, but she had a chance to resolve matters that had remained dormant for years and which had come crashing to the surface the moment that she’d seen Fionn in their Vienda home. It felt like a bizarre and cruel dream, and while it had certainly tormented her, it did indeed seem to be reality. Thus, she had endeavoured to come in order to set things to rights and today perhaps she could put her conscience to rest at last.
However, it wasn’t Fionn who came to the door as she had anticipated, but a galdor. She had a few moments to be puzzled as the Living mona in her field caprised the Clairvoyant particles of another in near proximity and then it was just beyond the door, revealed to belong to a dark-haired man who certainly wasn’t her son.
Her brows rose minutely and her hazel eyes expanded before she replaced her surprise and encroaching dismay with a polite smile. She hadn’t expected to have a galdor greet her, especially not one like this, although perhaps she should have anticipated that the man would be something of an oddity. After all, when she has asked her daughter about the academic for whom the blond worked, Niamh had appeared to struggle with some sense of propriety before almost guiltily admitting ‘eccentric’ was a suitable term, probably the only one to describe him.
“Good morning, sir,” she began politely, pressing a palm slantwise on her breast as she sketched a shallow bow. “My apologies for arriving unannounced, but I am seeking the residence of a Mister Bassington-Smythe and was led to believe that this was it. Are you the gentleman in question?”
Perhaps he will tell me that Mr Bassington-Smythe is actually his neighbour, and people are forever calling at the incorrect door, she thought hopefully as she did her best not to examine him as one might peer at an insect under magnified glass.