Drez's Home
A liar! Such a horrible despicable liar. Sending her off to research backlash when he knew that he was some displaced soul that had displaced another one. Acting as if he didn't know why the mona around him had scattered, acting as if he didn't know what had happened to him and why there were gaps in his memory. Playing her for a fool when she had tried to be his friend and for what?
And even after that Hexxos acolyte explained what he was and extracted a promise from her lips about not causing him harm, she had tried to be his friend. It had been a small thing, just stepping into the midst of a bunch of conservative erseholes when they wanted Anatole's opinion on a matter that the real Anatole would have been vocal about. Of course she'd been eavesdropping, wasn't that an important part of politics? And while she didn't want to protect him exactly, she couldn't stand by while he made himself very suspicious and conspicuous indeed. So she'd inserted herself into the group, forced her presence upon them as she thought up a quick excuse to speak to one of them, remembering key facts so that she could subtly emasculate him while asking him a question. Of course the rest had scattered, none keen to fall foul of the stone faced bitch from Hox, unnatural, everyone knew that.
"Anatole" had tried to thank her later and she'd brushed him off, her demeanour towards him so cold, it was surprising that he'd walked away without frostbite. So of course he knew that something was amiss. If he'd had any wisdom in that thick skull of his then he'd have left her well enough alone but he wanted to see her so he'd get his wish. If he wanted to know what had changed and why her attitude had altered then he was going to find out. Oh he was going to have it explained in great detail.
There was an atmosphere of nervous apprehension in the air, hanging heavy even though none of the servants that surrounded her had monic fields to weigh down with their emotions. They breathed it, it oozed out of their very pores as they waited for the man to arrive and all hell to break loose. Luca had gone to hide somewhere, Jerome was in conference with Cora in one corner of the parlour, occasionally one or other trying to convince her to go upstairs for a quick bath before her guest arrived, and Rosmilda was sitting in an armchair making a show of embroidering with her trembling fingers as more tears threatened to course down her already blotchy face.
They were all frightened. They'd seen their mistress drink before. They'd seen how her moods could swing wildly when she was drunk but mainly they'd seen her miserable. Oh they'd seen her manic, riding a high that no one else could understand, seen her gain strength from a bottle that had helped to fortify her but they hadn't seen this before. The diplomat giggled to herself and muttered, a slur to words that were always strange and nonsensical, even if they were Common although she also used the mountain tongue of Deftung. She would smile and ask for something and her servants now knew better than to refuse.
Rosmilda had tried to refuse her more alcohol when she arose a house earlier with the night's inebriation still clinging to her system; the passive had become far more cooperative after the mona smacked her against the wall a few times. Oh, the particles had grown irate and departed altogether but what was Physical Conversation to the Hoxian? There were other ways to get people to do what you wanted that could leave just as many marks on their body - or none at all.
All of them were just waiting for the hammer to fall, certain that it must because that temper was just beneath the mask of manic joviality and none of the servants wanted to fall foul of it, not even the two who were hired rather than owned. Drezda didn't appear to be in her right mind, unlikely to make a distinction between who had real rights and who didn't.
When the bell chimed, everything became still as the household held its breath. The ticking of the clock on the mantel and the spit and crackle of the fire in the grate were the only sounds as the bell echoed through the house.
Tap.
Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Ding.
The sound of Drezda's manicured nail tapping her tumbler of whiskey, the last strike hitting the rim in such a way as to send a new chimed note striking through the room.
"Is someone getting the door?" she asked sweetly, head turning slowly, a smile stretching her lips in an unfriendly fashion. Cora swallowed, exchanging a quick look with her lover who squeezed her hand swiftly before she left his side and went out into the hall.
No one seemed to breathe as the door was opened, the human's greetings soft, too soft for her to overhear although she could hear a quick urgency in her voice. She couldn't hear the warning.
"Good morning, sir. I know that my mistress said that she could entertain you today but she... isn't well. You'd be better coming back another time. I'm sorry for the inconvenience but it'd be better if-"
The tumbler shattered on one side of the mantel, some of its remaining contents sloshing sideways into the flames which flickered wildly, briefly changing colour in the alcohol's presence as the tongues shot higher for a few moments. Rosmilda gave a terrified yelp, flinching back and stabbing herself with the needle that she'd been holding so unsteadily; fresh tears started to dribble down her cheeks. Jerome watched sombrely from the corner, a mahogany statue, solid and immobile.
"Oh Cora? Is that the Incumbent? Do show him in," Drezda trilled, listening to the shuffling steps in the hall, the mumbled apologies from the housekeeper.
"Go away, everyone. Shoo! My dear friend is here!" she cooed as they came into the room, rising unsteadily to her feet, swaying as she bent to pluck the near empty bottle of whiskey from the table. She brought it to her lips, gripping the neck as she upended it and swigged straight from the bottle. She hiccuped.
"I said go! she snarled at Cora, the joviality briefly displaced by a furious contortion of features. The human was the last to depart, leaving her alone in the room with the raen. "How good to see you, friend. Did you want a drink? Sure a new bottle can be fetched. You like a tipple, don't you, Anatole?" she questioned, the smile back now as she began to giggle a little manically.
"Oh but... you aren't him, are you? Well... the Lady's Grace to you, not-Anatole!" she flopped back into her chair and smacked her chin with the top of the bottle.