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<<script>>document.getElementById("bookmark").style.display = "block"<</script>><</if>><span class="banner_h1">Love & Friendship</span> • <span class="banner_h1">Prologue</span> • [[Credits]] • <<link 'Settings'>><<script>>UI.settings()<</script>><</link>> • <<link 'Saves'>><<script>>UI.saves()<</script>><</link>> • <<link 'Restart'>><<script>>UI.restart()<</script>><</link>><div class="h1-chap"><<fadein 5s>>Chapter One: A Slight Inclination<</fadein>></div>
<span class="quote-chap"><<fadein 5s>>“It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”
<<set $chapter to "Ch. 1">>
― [[Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility|ch1.01]]<</fadein>></span>
<<timed 17s>><<goto "ch1.01">><</timed>>Usually, the second day of the season is left empty for people to rest after being up late the night before. But this year seemed to be different. The Darts extended a last-minute favor to another family–the Cambrys–to hold a small outdoor picnic in the late afternoon. A late lunch is not unheard of but to many it is an unorthodox choice.
But the matter does not hold your thoughts for long as they return to the events of last night and the conversation with your parents that followed.
After meeting up with your parents at the end of the night, you decided to confront them about the Dreadsomes…
<div class="choice">[[...right then, on the carriage ride home. You couldn't wait. You had to know, even if Mother looked ill.|ch1.02][$dutySelf += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[...in the morning, during breakfast. Mother was clearly upset and needed some time to gather her thoughts.|ch1.03][$dutyFam += 1]]</div>It took one look at your mother's troubled face for you to decide that you could not possibly wait. You needed answers now, while the matter was fresh.
You looked to your parents seated across from you in the carriage, a near-perfect mirror of the beginning of the ball. Fitting that you should be asking them now.
<<include "ch1.04">><<silently>>[[ch1.04]]<</silently>>It took one look at your mother's troubled face for you to decide to let the matter lie till the morning.
And so in the morning, only a few hours prior, you sat across from your parents, tepidly picking at your meal, waiting for the right moment to begin asking your questions.
<<include "ch1.04">><<silently>>[[ch1.04]]<</silently>>It doesn't take much to get your mother started,<<if $assertive gt $passive>>"$name, I underst–"
But you couldn't wait, you needed your questions answered, not excuses, "What was that in there? Who were those people?"\
<<else>>"$name, I understand you have questions about earlier."
You wait, letting her gather her thoughts.<</if>>
Your father clasped your mother's hand as she exhaled deeply, giving you a sheepish smile. It seemed neither had expected you to demand answers so soon.
But your mother found the words, steeling her face, "the Dreadsomes are indeed family, albeit, of unusual circumstances. Chadworth Dreadsome is truly my cousin, my only cousin at that. He was adopted by my Aunt after a series of unfortunate events."
"And why am I just now learning of him?"
She smiled humorlessly, "would you begrudge me if it were simply happenstance…but perhaps I would, too. In truth, I tried to forget about my cousin. Chadworth has never been a kind man, nor a popular one. He gave my aunt endless grief and my father, rest his soul, could not tolerate his disposition as well as my aunt did. When she died, my father made it clear that he would not support Chadworth, beyond my Aunt's last wishes. In response, my cousin cut off all contact with us."
Her knuckles were as white as the lace applique curled in between the folds of her fist. Your father rubbed a thumb across the back of her hand slowly, before continuing for her, "Starling, we hadn't heard a word of the Dreadsomes until only a few months ago, when his… legal representation reached out."
"Lucas, just give her the letter."
He squeezed your mother's hand again, before reaching into his jacket pocket and retrieving a slightly crumpled-looking letter. The wax seal seemed to be barely holding onto the parchment as if the letter had been haphazardly read and reread.
He handed it to you and your mother seemed to relax at the sight of it in your hands.
<div class="choice">[[You read the letter quickly.|ch1.05]]</div><div class="letter">To the representation of Mr. and Mrs. Lucas Merritt,
I hope this message finds you well. This is a friendly notice that my client, Mr. Chadworth Dreadsome will presenting evidence of the entitlement of the estate, known as the Foxhall Estate, the ancestral seat of the Dreadsome lineage. You shall receive a copy of said evidence and the court proceedings in short order.
My client wishes for me to include this particular wish of his. Mr. Chadworth Dreadsome wishes to speak with his cousin, Mrs. Henrietta Merritt, in person and attempt to resolve the contention amicably outside the court and the public sphere...</div>
From then-on the letter continues to describe legal minutiae but you've gleaned enough to understand the nature of it.
<div class="choice">[[You fold the letter closed and look to your parents once more.|ch1.06][$letter to true, $uncLetter1st to true]]</div><div class="ribbon"><i class="fas fa-envelope-open-text r-icon"></i>Letter added to Journal</div>
"He wants our home? Why is my uncle doing this? I thought that you own Foxhall outright, Mother. You told me, Grandfather abhorred the practice of entailment, that our home was ours."
Your mother inhales deeply, looking more comfortable with the topic. “When your grandfather passed, he willed Foxhall to me and my husband, whomever he would be. Your father and I have taken care of Foxhall ever since. Dreadsome, that rat–"
Taking another deep breath, your mother continued, “Chad, disgraced and estranged as he is, believes that he is owed Foxhall as the only "male heir" in our family line. He claims to have proof that Foxhall was entailed by our great-grandfather and then later, renewed by my father. Making him and any male offspring of his the rightful owners of the property and that when the estate was given to me and your father after your grandfather's death, as in accordance with his will, it was done unlawfully. It seems that whatever proof Chad has managed to scrounge up has standing, enough to spook our solicitors.”
A dry laugh leaves your father's lips, before he explains, “Indeed, entailed estates may not be willed to others by law. But if...your uncle, as you say, has legitimate proof that the entailment was renewed, then I’m afraid our claim and ownership is illegal.""
Your mother adds, "It’s true, Foxhall was entailed once long ago. But it was never renewed by my father. He wanted Foxhall to stay in my hands. Though there is some give with entailments. Considering that you are nearly twenty and five years and Dreadsome has only now come forward about this alleged entailment. The court, being what it is, might consider letting the matter rest, if you are married by the time the case is heard at the end of the Season. Of course, they would see it as giving the holdings to a responsible male heir but it would keep Foxhall in our hands."
“And what happens should I not marry?”
Your mother frowns but answers your question regardless, “Then should Dreadsome’s proof prove to be legitimate, the court is less likely to let us keep the estate.”
That has you frowning as well. It wasn’t as if the question of your future hadn’t come up before. Your parents had been very open on the topic of marriage. They made it clear, they wouldn't force you to do anything you didn't wish to and that included marriage. It was entirely your choice, something you were thankful for as that is not the case for other households. You were extra fortunate that should you chose to remain unmarried, your parents had prepared you to one day manage the estate and finances on your own. Of course, all of that preparation would be useless if the Dreadsomes manage to leverage the court to seize the estate from you.
This complicated things. Complicated them to the point of near absurdity.
But that was <<if hasVisited("ch1.02")>>last night<<else>>this morning<</if>>. You've had some time, brief as it is, to think on the matter.
How do you feel about all this? About this situation your family is caught in?
<div class="choice">[[Honestly, it is what it is. You can't change the past, you can only move forward.|ch1.07][$dNewsReact to 1, $dutyFam += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're terrified at the thought of losing your home--losing your stability.|ch1.07][$dNewsReact to 2]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[It's unacceptable! Your home is under-threat by an estranged relative and your parents waited to tell you about any of it! How could you be anything but angry!?!|ch1.07][$dNewsReact to 3]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You don't rightly know how to feel about this. It's all too sudden, too fresh for you to feel anything other than shocked.|ch1.07][$dNewsReact to 4]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You could care less about the estate and your parents thoughts on the matter. This situation reeks of opportunity, a chance to bend things to your benefit.|ch1.07][$dNewsReact to 5, $dutySelf += 1]]</div>You shake away those <<if $dNewsReact is 5>>intriguing<<else>>troubling<</if>> thoughts and bring your attention back to the matters at hand. The Cambrys gave no hard-fast start time for the picnic but it wouldn't do well to attend after the festivities concluded. It's time to get ready.
Considering how late you returned from the ball last night, you gave your maid the rest of the day off to catch up on sleep. If you didn't need another person to unlace you from your stays, she might not have needed to stay awake and wait for you. But thankfully, your mother helped you into your under-clothes this morning and you were skilled enough to do the rest.
Your room's curtains are drawn closed but the thin fabric lets in enough light for you to examine yourself in the looking glass. Rust dots some of the mirror's corners, interrupting your reflection but it works well enough.
You stand in front of the mirror in your chemise and stays, the most tedious part of dressing but no outfit is complete without them. The rest of your appearance remains what it was when you awoke.
Ever the narcissist, your eyes are drawn to themselves, absorbed in the richness of their hue.
You have...
<label><<radiobutton "$eyecolor" "black" checked>> Black Eyes</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$eyecolor" "dark brown">> Dark Brown Eyes</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$eyecolor" "brown">> Brown Eyes</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$eyecolor" "hazel">> Hazel Eyes</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$eyecolor" "gray">> Gray Eyes</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$eyecolor" "green">> Green Eyes</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$eyecolor" "blue">> Blue Eyes</label>
<div class="choice">[[Confirm|ch1.07.1]]</div>You have your father's eyes, <<nobr>><<switch $eyecolor>>
<<case "black">>an almost cool and piercing black, dark and swallowing like the night sky
<<case "dark brown">>a rich and warming dark brown, like running one's fingers along the trunks of old trees
<<case "brown">>a soft and charming brown, the kind of color that can warm up a room without a fire
<<case "hazel">>multifaceted and shifting, a greenish-brownish-redish-orangish hazel color that evades definition with each passing glance.
<<case "gray">>a piercing and reflective gray, the kind that attracted as much trouble as it repelled
<<case "green">>an open and voluminous green, expansive and all encompassing like the forests in your hometown
<<case "blue">>a quiet and frosted blue, alive like the trails of dew in the morning sun
<</switch>><</nobr>>.
After that remains the herculean task of taming your hair. Though you <<nobr>><<cycle "$hLengthideal" autoselect>>
<<option 'love your long locks<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "long">>
<<option 'wish your hair was shorter, to your shoulders actually<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "medium">>
<<option 'wish your hair was much shorter, to your chin<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "shorter">>
<<option 'wish your hair was more like men\'s hair, close to your scalp<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "short">>
<</cycle>><</nobr>>, it is traditional and the norm for women to keep their hair long and natural.
You take the boar bristle hairbrush from the dressing table. The ivory-inlaid handle is heavy in your hand and as you hold it, your stomach turns for a moment as you wonder how many hands have held it the exact same way. But the nausea passes and you continue brushing the knots from your hair.
You consider the texture and color of your hair as it passes through your fingers.
It's easy to say you have...
<label><<radiobutton "$hairtex" "curly" checked>> Curly...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$hairtex" "coily">> Coily...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$hairtex" "wavy">> Wavy...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$hairtex" "kinky">> Kinky...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$hairtex" "frizzy">> Frizzy...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$hairtex" "Straight">> Straight...</label>
and...
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "black" checked>> Jet Black Hair...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "dark brown">> Dark Brown Hair...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "brown">> Brown Hair...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "light brown">> Light Brown Hair...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "auburn">> Dark Auburn Hair...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "ginger">> Ginger Hair</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "reddish blonde">> Reddish Blonde Hair...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "blonde">> Golden Blonde Hair</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "ash">> Ash Blonde Hair...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$haircolor" "gray">> Gray Hair...</label>
<div class="choice">[[Confirm|ch1.07.2]]</div>People often mistake you for your mother as you both share the same $hairtex $haircolor hair. Though the comparison made you preen as a little girl, you aren't sure when it started to irk you. As if the similar appearance meant you were a softer, docile version of her.
It is usual for ladies of your time to powder their faces to hide things like freckles, scars, and sunspots. Considering the strength of the wind and the time powdering will take, you decide to forgo the whole thing. Though you do take inventory of your face...
You have...
<label><<checkbox "$freckles" false true checked>> Freckles...</label>
<label><<checkbox "$sunspots" false true>> Sunspots...</label>
<label><<checkbox "$vitiligo" false true>> Splotches of vitiligo...</label>
<label><<checkbox "$bmark1" false true>> A beauty mark near your upper lip...</label>
<label><<checkbox "$bmark2" false true>> A beauty mark your cheek...</label>
<label><<checkbox "$scar1" false true>> A thin, faded scar on your chin...</label>
<label><<checkbox "$scar2" false true>> A long, jagged scar across your brow...</label>
<div class="choice">[[Confirm|ch1.07.3]]</div>You have <<if $freckles and $sunspots and $vitiligo>>an assortment of freckles, sunspots, and splotches of vitiligo<<elseif $freckles and $sunspots>>an assortment of freckles and sunspots<<elseif $freckles and $vitiligo>>an assortment of freckles and splotches of vitiligo<<elseif $sunspots and $vitiligo>>some sunspots and splotches of vitiligo<<elseif $freckles>>an assortment of freckles<<elseif $sunspots>>patches of sunspots<<elseif $vitiligo>>splotches of vitiligo<<else>>clear $skin skin that glows in the morning sun<</if>><<if $bmark1 and $bmark2 and $scar1 and $scar2>>, as well as a couple of beauty marks, and scars along your chin and brow, marks of a life lived freely.<<elseif $bmark1 and $bmark2 and $scar1>>, as well as a couple of beauty marks, and a faint scar along your chin, a mark of a life lived freely.<<elseif $bmark1 and $bmark2 and $scar2>>, as well as a couple of beauty marks, and a raised scar along your brow, a mark of a life lived freely.<<elseif ($bmark1 and $scar1 and $scar2) or ($bmark2 and $scar1 and $scar2)>>, as well as a beauty mark, and scars along your chin and brow, marks of a life lived freely.<<elseif ($bmark1 and $scar1) or ($bmark2 and $scar1)>>, as well as a beauty mark, and a faint scar along your chin, a mark of a life lived freely.<<elseif ($bmark1 and $scar2) or ($bmark2 and $scar2)>>, as well as a beauty mark, and a raised scar along your brow, a mark of a life lived freely.<<elseif $scar1>>, as well as a faint scar along your chin, a mark of a life lived freely.<<elseif $scar2>>, as well as a raised scar along your brow, a mark of a life lived freely.<<else>>.<</if>>
Most of your time dressing gets eaten up by choosing what to wear, but your mother was more than happy to help you pick out a few suitable options for today's outdoor festivities and lay them out on your bed.
Your first option is an off-white cotton, muslin dress. While you'll be wearing a chemise and some more layers underneath, the dress is thinner than normal and thus, you'll feel the wind more severely. The dress is shaped rather simply, the cotton fabric draping across your body delicately with a few yellow and orange ribbon accents at the waist and shoulders. The neckline stands in the safe-zone between modest and suggestive. As for the sleeves, they are short sleeves with slits along the side, reminiscent of classical robes.
The second dress is similarly a cotton muslin dress but in the prettiest shade of pale blue you've ever seen. Unlike the first dress, this one has a sturdy linen lining to keep out the cold. The neckline leans more suggestive. However, a lace trim keeps it from exposing too much of your décolletage. There is no ribbon or beading but they would have distracted from the rich color of the fabric. The sleeves are shorter cap sleeves that puff out into little blue clouds, a blessing if the sun is strong this afternoon.
The final dress was your "sensible" choice, one your mother huffed at, but that made you want it pick even more. It's a light brown-almost beige linen dress, slightly more causal than the event might call for. But unlike the other two dresses, you wouldn't need a shawl to keep out the wind. The neckline is rather modest and the sleeves are a longer three-quarter length. A practical option but one that might leave you feeling a bit warm if the sun does make an extended appearance.
In addition to the dresses your mother helped you pick out, your father suggested that you might find the event more comfortable in trousers. He pulled out an old pair of his you like to wear around the house in the summertime, along with a simple white linen shirt and a dark brown coat-jacket of his that no longer fits. It would unorthodox and a few older attendees might crane their necks, but you would be comfortable and the wind wouldn't bother you.
You decide to wear...
<label><<radiobutton "$dress" 1 checked>> The thin off-white dress...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$dress" 2>> The pale blue dress...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$dress" 3>> The brown linen dress...</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$dress" 4>> The jacket and trousers...</label>
with...
<label><<checkbox "$hat" false true checked>> A nice, shady sunhat...</label>
<label><<checkbox "$shawl" false true>> A shawl, in case the wind picks up...</label>
and...
<label><<radiobutton "$shoes" 1 checked>> Fashionable heels to match your attire.</label>
<label><<radiobutton "$shoes" 2>> Comfortable boots to walk in.</label>
<div class="choice">[[Confirm|ch1.07.4]]</div><<if $dress is 4>><<set $pants to true>><</if>>\
With that decided, you make quick work of dressing, careful to avoid tangling your hair again.
<<if $dress is 4>>You straighten the front of your shirt, tugging it into the band of your trousers.\
<<else>>You straighten the front of your dress, giving skirt a small swish. The <<if $dress is 1>>pops of orange and yellow<<elseif $dress is 2>>glacial blue<<elseif $dress is 3>>demure brown<</if>> looks pretty in sunlight.<</if>>
You consider leaving your hair as it is, loose and down. <<if $hat>>Your sunhat should keep it from becoming to un-wieldy.<<else>>Unless the wind picks up, your hair shouldn't become too unwieldy.<</if>> But the thought of coming home and detangling your hair once again deters you.
A gentle reminder of the time from one of the townhouse's staff has you scrambling to twist your hair into a respectable bun.
<div class="choice">[[Time to go.|ch1.08]]</div><div class="h1">Later that Day at Circle Park, London</div>\
The venue for today's festivities was much closer to the townhouse than the assembly rooms had been. After stopping briefly to pick up Mrs. Grouse, your chaperon for today as both your parent's declined to attend, the carriage arrived at Circle Park quickly.
A popular choice for young socialites and children of the gentry, Circle Park is not, in fact, a circle but rather shaped like a skinny rectangle, purportedly to save on space in Town, the ever-expanding city.
Unlike the grounds of a private estate, the usual setting for similar events back in Easton, the park is a public space, maintained by government funds. As such the greenery is less manicured and pristine and is pruned practically. The pathways are lined with gravel and raked just often enough to not blend into the grass that grows as it wishes. The park is clean but wild and natural compared to the gardens and lawns that the people in attendance today must be accustomed to.
Having trod the riding and walking trails in Easton, you have no trouble navigating rough terrain. If the clean lines and even laid shrubbery of Circle Park could be called "rough".
You cross the gated threshold to the park, <<switch $shoes>><<case 1>>heels<<case 2>>boots<</switch>> crunching on the gravel. While one of the coachmen helps Mrs. Grouse down from the carriage, you survey the park's layout.
The park has several entrances, each situated near points of interest. The coach has dropped you off at the west entrance, the mid-point of the park in terms of elevation. To the south, following a gravel path down a steep but short distance, rests a rather large oblong pond, surrounded by foliage, old shady trees, groups of water foul, and even a small pier that juts into the center of the water.
You can see children playing on the shore, while other folks have clamored into swan-shaped boats and have rowed out into the pond. To the north, following another gravel path up a gentle slope with multiple resting points and shaded avenues, lies the tallest point of the park, a soft but tall hill, boasting a wonderful view of the pond to the south and of the city at large.
You have to squint ever so to spot them but there is a large gathering of people at the top of the hill. Shapes shift and float in the distance, you're unable to pick out anyone recognizable from here. But you are certain the must be the Cambry's picnic.
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.09]]</div>With Mrs. Grouse in tow, you manage the trek up the hill just fine.
As you get closer to the gathering, you spot small circles, most likely the same small circles of conversation that formed the night before. The top of the hill flattens out and continues at the same level for the rest of the park. An area of several hundred yards remains clear, though shaded, before fading into the park's bushes and trees. Blankets and cushions have been spread out across this open area, on which people gather and sit in groups. Staff with refreshments pass from blanket to blanket attending to the guests. You do not spot any of the Cambrys, nor any of their married daughters but it's certain they are here.
Mrs. Grouse snaps her sun-umbrella shut, dropping your arm, "what a lovely affair, almost worth getting winded for."
<<if $playful gt $serious>>"Almost, indeed Mrs. Grouse," you agree with a chuckle, swerving away from her swatting hand.
She rolls her eyes fondly, "you did take after your father, didn't you?" But before you can respond, she finds the strength to hasten her pace.<<else>>You frown and looked at your companion with concern, "truly? we can stop for a moment and you can catch your breath."
"I'm not yet so fragile as to need that, $name," she draws in a deep breath before finding the strength to carry on at a faster pace.<</if>>
She scans the groups with an envious kind of precision, her spectacles bouncing upward from the uplift of her cheeks. Her smile is the only warning you get before she abandons you entirely for a group of older women beckoning her over.
So much for a chaperon.
You walk further into the event, scanning blankets as well, hoping to stumble upon a friendly party. Thankfully, one of the staff notice your searching look and manage to point you in the direction of Elias Cambry, the Cambry's eldest son and a good friend.
As you near the groups gathered closer to the hill's edge, you encounter a familiar and welcome face.
A woman close to your own age strides in your direction, Rebecca Wycome–heiress to the Wycome fortune and a close friend who resides permanently in Town. She looks exactly as you remember dark brown skin glowing in the afternoon sun, the color brightened by the tangerine shade of her dress.
"Becs!"
You're swept into a hug before you can say another word. As Rebecca pulls away you're left with the lingering smell of cardamom and gardenias. She squeezes your forearm with a wide smile, "$name, oh am I glad to see you! Elias had promised you'd be here and I was quite disappointed to have missed you at the opening ball."
<<if $playful gt $serious>>You wave her off with a laugh<<else>>You give her a shoulder a reassuring squeeze<</if>>, "I understand, Becs. How is your sister feeling now?"
She shakes her head, "as well as she will let herself be. But enough of that, let's join the others. We've concocted a rather wicked game today."
Becs takes your hand and pulls you along, past the other blankets, more than a few guests unabashedly watching the pair of you. It's easy to forget, close as you are to the Miss Wycome, that much of society looks to her a pinnacle of respectability.
Another familiar sight greets you as you finally reach your destination. Sprawled out on the red and white checkered linen sheet is none other than the picnic's host, Elias Cambry. His sharp black eyes fly to Rebecca first, softening after a thorough examination.
It's been a year since you've seen him, but Elias' appearance hasn't changed much. He wears his short-cropped black hair in the same side-part and has the same brow lines from a lifetime of serious frowning. The pale blue shirt is new, Rebecca's influence no doubt. Your eye is drawn to the silver band around his left ring finger, a match for the one adorning Rebecca.
Their engagement happened while you were back home in Easton. But you have known for years of their mutual pining. It's miracle they confessed to one another at all, what with Becs politeness and Elias's...well, quiet disposition.
They //finally// plan to wed at the end of this season.
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.10]]</div>There are several others sat on the blanket beside him, a rather substantial sized group, a surprise considering Mr. Cambry's suspicious nature and preference for smaller parties. Though the grin blooming on Rebecca's face is telling.
She steps closer to the group and plants a chaste kiss on Elias's forehead in greeting. A faint sheen of pink colors his face from the points of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You manage to smother a smile of your own by the time, Elias has wrestled his face into its usual blank state.
"I've found Miss Merritt," Rebecca announces looking every bit oblivious to Elias' previous fluster.
He shakes his head at her but gives you a nod in greeting, "and how fortunate you did, we were afraid we would have to begin today's activity without her."
Janet, who you hadn't noticed among the group assembled, spoke up, wrinkling her nose at the idea, "you exaggerate Mr. Cambry. Indeed, Miss Merritt has chosen to arrive, perhaps almost rudely late but I'm sure her tardiness would exonerate anyone of us for suggesting the festivities continue without her...presence."
Elias ignores her and instead, gestures to the rest of the group, "Miss Merritt, please join us."
Becs settles into one of the open spaces beside Elias, "perhaps, my love, we should properly play host and introduce Miss Merritt to our new friends."
<<if ((not $metSam) and (not $metWarren))>><<set $group to 1>>Besides Rebecca and Elias, there are four people--some familiar, some new--sat in a circle on the picnic blanket. Elias sits at the furthest left with Rebecca at his side. Beside her was another old friend, one you met just last night, Benjamin Tarley. He gives you a wide smile, but you note the bags under his eyes and his tight grip on the fabric of the blanket--something is troubling him.
To his right is another old face--a surprisingly familiar face, Samantha Renolds.
Surprise seems to grip both of you, as the young woman stares silently at your entrance. It should strike you how different your friend looks after spending five years in Europe. But you can't help but notice all the things that have remained the same--the same light brown eyes, softer than you remember and yet, a sharpness in their edges that you don't recognize. She wears her hair exactly the same, gold waves wound into a tall bun. The longer you look, the more this old version of Samantha bleeds away into the actual woman in front of you. New hard lines, a mouth now pulled downward, fear--no, indifference clouding the warmth of her gaze. You don't know this person, not as well as you had.
To her right is an open seat, likely one intended for you, but before you can think of sitting, the person sitting in the next place over introduces themself.
"Warren Hind, though I suspect you've heard of me," the gentleman gives you a quick, but overt once over, before winking shamelessly.
As it so happens, you have heard of Lord Warren Hind, a range of things actually but none of them too "respectable". The gentleman leans back on the blanket as if daring you to inspect him. While you have no wish to oblige him, you do notice the calculated disarray of his dress--collar pressed but folded out instead of in, cuffs folded scandalously up to his elbow, and an absolute mess of rings strung on his warm brown fingers. You keep your face completely neutral but the green of his eyes brightens the longer you look.
The last member of the party is none other than Janet Tarley. Odd that both Tarley twins would be sat at the same blanket, they used to avoid one another like the plague-even before Janet, well...became Janet.
She huff quietly, before grimacing out a greeting.\
<<elseif ((not $metSam) and (not $metVivian))>><<set $group to 2>>Besides Rebecca and Elias, there are four people--some familiar, some new--sat in a circle on the picnic blanket. Elias sits at the furthest left with Rebecca at his side. Beside her was another old friend, one you met just last night, Benjamin Tarley. He gives you a wide smile, but you note the bags under his eyes and his tight grip on the fabric of the blanket--something is troubling him.
To his right is another old face--a surprisingly familiar face, Samantha Renolds.
Surprise seems to grip both of you, as the young woman stares silently at your entrance. It should strike you how different your friend looks after spending five years in Europe. But you can't help but notice all the things that have remained the same--the same light brown eyes, softer than you remember and yet, a sharpness in their edges that you don't recognize. She wears her hair exactly the same, gold waves wound into a tall bun. The longer you look, the more this old version of Samantha bleeds away into the actual woman in front of you. New hard lines, a mouth now pulled downward, fear--no, indifference clouding the warmth of her gaze. You don't know this person, not as well as you had.
To her right is an open seat, likely one intended for you, but before you can think of sitting, the person sitting in the next place over introduces themself.
"Vivian Fortescue, though I suppose the veil gave it away," and sure enough the lady speaking is cloaked into a long dark lace mourning veil.
Atop the veil is a band of jet-black roses, pristine in size and shape--artificial or made of clay, perhaps. The veil is unmistakable and you've heard more than a little about Ms. Vivian Fortescue. Though you can't make out the details of her face from this distance and through the semi-sheer fabric, you can tell she is teasing you somehow. But you continue taking in her appearance, noting the deep purple hue of her dress, a concession to the lighter nature of today's events. As you understand it, Ms. Fortescue has donned a mourning outfit for the past several years--a curiosity to some and outright disrespectful in the eyes of others.
The last member of the party is none other than Janet Tarley. Odd that both Tarley twins would be sat at the same blanket, they used to avoid one another like the plague-even before Janet, well...became Janet.
She huff quietly, before grimacing out a greeting.\
<<elseif ((not $metHugh) and (not $metWarren))>><<set $group to 3>>Besides Rebecca and Elias, there are four people--some familiar, some new--sat in a circle on the picnic blanket. Elias sits at the furthest left with Rebecca at his side. Beside her was another old friend, one you met just last night, Janet. She nods with a huff before turning to look off at the skyline.
To her right is a new face, a gentleman you've never seen before but from his appearance and with Elias' matter-of-fact introduction, you learn he is //the// Mr. Hugh Langley. He gives you a broad smile that wrinkles the corners of his gray-blue eyes and bends in greeting. The smile holds steady enough for you return it but the man shifts in his spot suddenly, careful to keep his right leg extended outward, instead of folded in like the others seated.
You wonder if he is in pain. But ultimately no one remarks on it and the moment passes.
To his right is an open seat, likely one intended for you, but before you can think of sitting, the person sitting in the next place over introduces themself.
"Warren Hind, though I suspect you've heard of me," the gentleman gives you a quick, but overt once over, before winking shamelessly.
As it so happens, you have heard of Lord Warren Hind, a range of things actually but none of them too "respectable". The gentleman leans back on the blanket as if daring you to inspect him. While you have no wish to oblige him, you do notice the calculated disarray of his dress--collar pressed but folded out instead of in, cuffs folded scandalously up to his elbow, and an absolute mess of rings strung on his warm brown fingers. You keep your face completely neutral but the green of his eyes brightens the longer you look.
The last person on the blanket, another familiar face, greets you warmly, "Miss Merritt."
Benjamin Tarley--though his smile is wide, the bags under his eyes and the strain in them suggest he is not as well as he is pretending to be. Having been friends for this long, you can tell when something is troubling him or rather--you resist the urge to peek at Janet--someone is troubling him.\
<<elseif ((not $metHugh) and (not $metVivian))>><<set $group to 4>>Besides Rebecca and Elias, there are four people--some familiar, some new--sat in a circle on the picnic blanket. Elias sits at the furthest left with Rebecca at his side. Beside her was another old friend, one you met just last night, Janet. She nods with a huff before turning to look off at the skyline.
To her right is a new face, a gentleman you've never seen before but from his appearance and with Elias' matter-of-fact introduction, you learn he is //the// Mr. Hugh Langley. He gives you a broad smile that wrinkles the corners of his gray-blue eyes and bends in greeting. The smile holds steady enough for you return it but the man shifts in his spot suddenly, careful to keep his right leg extended outward, instead of folded in like the others seated.
You wonder if he is in pain. But ultimately no one remarks on it and the moment passes.
To his right is an open seat, likely one intended for you, but before you can think of sitting, the person sitting in the next place over introduces themself.
"Vivian Fortescue, though I suppose the veil gave it away," and sure enough the lady speaking is cloaked into a long dark lace mourning veil.
Atop the veil is a band of jet-black roses, pristine in size and shape--artificial or made of clay, perhaps. The veil is unmistakable and you've heard more than a little about Ms. Vivian Fortescue. Though you can't make out the details of her face from this distance and through the semi-sheer fabric, you can tell she is teasing you somehow. But you continue taking in her appearance, noting the deep purple hue of her dress, a concession to the lighter nature of today's events. As you understand it, Ms. Fortescue has donned a mourning outfit for the past several years--a curiosity to some and outright disrespectful in the eyes of others.
The last person on the blanket, another familiar face, greets you warmly, "Miss Merritt."
Benjamin Tarley--though his smile is wide, the bags under his eyes and the strain in them suggest he is not as well as he is pretending to be. Having been friends for this long, you can tell when something is troubling him or rather--you resist the urge to peek at Janet--someone is troubling him.<</if>>
You take the only available seat in between <<switch $group>><<case 1>>Miss Renolds and Lord Hind<<case 2>>Miss Renolds and Ms. Fortescue<<case 3>>Mr. Langley and Lord Hind<<case 4>>Mr. Langley and Ms. Fortescue<</switch>>.
<<if ($group eq 1) or ($group eq 2)>><div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.11]]</div><<else>><div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.12]]</div><</if>>Samantha says nothing as you sit down, pointedly looking out towards the horizon. The sun shines down from overhead and you're struck by the sheer coincidence of it all.
You knew from Mrs. Grouse that the Renolds had returned to England but to be sat right beside your (former?) best friend is another thing.
Five years is a long time. A long time to spend without a dear friend, especially one that left so suddenly and one that failed to respond to your letters. You can count on one hand the number of letters you’ve received from Sam in response to what have been dozens on your end. After some time,you gave up on the endeavor, sending not much more than the new year glad tidings.
You’ve wavered from anger to despair over the years, but how do you feel now that Sam is at your side, literally if not metaphorically?
<div class="choice">[[No hard feelings here!|ch1.11a][$madatSam to 0, $sletter1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[I understand why she left, but it hurt.|ch1.11b][$madatSam to 1, $sletter1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Of course, I’m still upset. She. Left. Me.|ch1.11c][$madatSam to 2, $sletter1 to true]]</div>It took time and effort but ultimately you've made peace with Sam's absence. Though she never came out and told the particulars of her mother's condition, you are not so heartless to be ignorant to her predicament. The loss--the potential loss of a family member surely takes precedence in this situation.
Of course, the lack of letters hurt in the moment. But what kind of connection is severed by a few pieces of ignored parchment.
You continue to stare at Sam until she finally meets your eye. You hope she can see the forgiveness in your smile.
But whatever it is Miss Renolds sees seems to alarm her further as she shifts ever so slightly away from you.
<<include "ch1.12">>It's been a difficult few years. While, you aren't completely alright with the situation, you've come to a middle ground with your relationship with Sam. Though she never came out and told you the particulars of her mother's condition, you are not so heartless to punish your friend for something outside her control. The loss--the potential loss of a family member is a terrifying thought. But the loss of a friendship as dears as yours is--or perhaps was, is even more so.
The silent response to your letters and the non-answers present in the few letters she did send disappointed you. Not so much that you'd sever your connection, but you need to air your feelings before things could feel like normal.
You continue to stare at Sam until she finally meets your eye. You hope she can see the sadness and hope in your smile.
But whatever it is Miss Renolds sees seems to alarm her further as she shifts ever so slightly away from you.
<<include "ch1.12">>Difficult doesn't really sum up the way you've felt these past years. Anger. Sorrow. disappointment don't quite measure up either. You've been careful to keep your emotions from any of your other friends but the hollowness left in the wake of your...abandonment isn't easy to hide.
Though she never came out and told the particulars of her mother's condition, you are not so heartless as to understand why they left--why she left. But in the end that's what happened, isn't it?
She left you.
And worse of all, she ignored you--your letters, your small attempts to keep the line between you taut. Instead she left it sink into the ocean that separated you.
And to be honest, it's going to be hard to move past something like that.
You continue to stare at Sam until she finally meets your eye. You hope she can see the swirl of confusing emotions in your gaze.
And Miss Renolds must have as her guard goes up once more and she shifts ever so slightly away from you.
<<include "ch1.12">>"Right then," Rebecca claps her hands together in a manner more like Elias than herself, "Now that we're all here and settled, let's begin."
"Perhaps we should--" Elias begins, gesturing to the circle of raised brows.
"--Explain the rules, right. You are right, of course...hmm how to put it?" she continues without missing a beat.
"It's actually just a personality test." Elias explains with wry look on his face. At Becs rolled eyes, he continues to explain that the party will be asked a question--about ourselves and our beliefs--and after some discussion, we each answer and Miss Wycome, Becs, will mark them down.
Becs continues, "at the end, I will combine your individual answers and you receive a note about yourself."
<<switch $group>><<case 1 3>>"So...a personality test," Lord Hind adds with a wry smile of his own.<<case 2 4>>"So...a personality test," Ms. Fortescue adds with a wry smile of her own.<</switch>>
Miss Wycome sighs good-naturedly, "yes, I suppose so. Nonetheless, it's a fun exercise-"
"-and by that, she means she desperately wants to know her friends' results."
"Elias, please," Becs looks flustered but the smile on her lips signals otherwise.
Janet clears her throat, "perhaps we should begin, the sun shall not oblige us for too long."
True enough, the sun was no longer as high in the sky as when you have arrived.
Rebecca pulls out a stack of small cards and flips through them thoughtfully, preparing for the game or rather, test. The sudden lull gives you a moment to settle in place, shifting your legs into a more comfortable position.
<<switch $group>><<case 2 4>>You feel eyes on you and turn to face Vivian. She doesn't falter as you stare back, taking a closer look at this newcomer to your circle. Though she seems well accustomed to scrutiny, not showing an ounce of uncertainty under your gaze.
It should struck you as odd but the only coherent thought you form locked in this intense back and forth is the darkness in her eyes, a midnight black richer than the sheer fabric shielding them. Several emotions swim beneath the icy mask--interest, sorrow, amusement, perhaps even shame--they shift in new indecipherable shapes the longer you look. She smirks when you finally glance away. That's enough tempting fate for today.\
<<case 1 3>>You feel eyes on you and turn to face Warren. He doesn't falter as you stare back, taking a closer look at this newcomer to your circle. Though he seems well accustomed to scrutiny, not showing an ounce of uncertainly under your gaze.
It should struck you as odd but the only coherent thought you form locked in this intense back and forth is the mischief so clear and honest in his eyes, a deep wooded green, not too different from the foliage on display all around you. There's a wildness swirling near the bottom, but an unusual kind of hope as well, utterly vexing. You keep your face completely neutral but his eyes brighten the moment you break eye contact. That's enough tempting fate for today.<</switch>>
Becs finishes with her sorting and begins to read the first question, "In situations social or otherwise, do you find yourself leading the interaction or going along with the flow of conversation?"
Janet snorts loudly, "what kind of question is that?"
"That's what the game suggests we start with, a warm-up?" Rebecca answers thoughtfully.
"Isn't it rather obvious," Janet goes on to whine, gesturing at of us gathered. "There are those of with enough mettle to stand up for ourselves," she points at Elias, <<switch $group>><<case 1>><<case 2>>Ms. Fortescue<<case 3>>Mr. Langley<<case 4>>Mr. Langley, Ms. Fortescue<</switch>><<if $assertive gt $passive>>, myself of course...and I suppose Miss Merritt can be included, though only barely so<<else>> and myself, of course<</if>>."
Ben frowns from his spot but doesn't counter his sister's statement.
Janet continues, "and then, there are those that prefer to leave responsibility of leading to the rest." She doesn't bother pointing at anyone, but its clear who she is talking about. <<if $passive eq $assertive>>She opens her mouth once more, reconsiders, then speaks anyway, "of course, there will always be people like Miss Merritt who never take on stance and toe the line between assertion and passivity."<<elseif $passive gt $assertive>>Salt gathers on your tongue as she turns to immediately stare at you but you know better than to rise her petty behavior.<</if>>
"So we are to answer this question with what fits us best or rather what attribute is better suited to the time?" asks <<switch $group>><<case 1 3>>Lord Hind<<case 2 4>>Ms. Fortescue<</switch>>, looking rather intrigued by the game. <<if $passive gt $assertive>>You, on the other hand, are just grateful for the topic change as Janet finally looks away.<</if>>
"Well," Elias begins, "it is a game to determine the self. So, it only follows we each answer the question honestly and reflective of our true selves. Though it is fascinating to consider how each of these traits may serve or hinder our time in society."
<<switch $group>><<case 1>>"Fascinating, is not the word I'd use," Sam mumbles mostly to herself. Though Lord Hind seems to catch it and laughs in what you think might be agreement.<<case 2>>"Fascinating, is not the word I'd use," Sam mumbles mostly to herself. Though Ms. Fortescue seems to catch it and laughs in what you think might be agreement.<<case 3>>"Help or hinder, the consequences are often the same," Mr. Langley seems to expel in a whisper. Though Lord Hind seems to overhear it as well, nodding ever so slightly.<<case 4>>"Help or hinder, the consequences are often the same," Mr. Langley seems to expel in a whisper. Though Ms. Fortescue seems to overhear it as well, the corners of mouth turning downward for a moment.<</switch>>
There's a short awkward silence as everyone considers the question once more or perhaps the "interesting" answers Janet gave about each person. Becs seems to pick up on the tension and dispels the quiet, "then shall we answer?"
Each person in the circle takes turns answering, while Rebecca scrawls them down on her set of notes. For the most part, everyone answers exactly as Janet predicted, which serves to strengthen the smug look on her face. Ben hesitates on his turn and just as you think he is going to disagree, he reaffirms Janet's earlier comments.
Odd, but the group moves on.
Eventually, Rebecca turns to you, the last one to answer, <<if $passive eq $assertive>>"Despite Janet's claim of your neutrality, the game does ask for an answer. So, do you feel more //assertive// or //passive// in general?"<<else>>"and you, Miss Merritt, do you agree with Janet's estimation?"<</if>>
<<if $assertive gt $passive>><div class="choice">[[I agree with Janet, surprisingly. I am rather assertive. (Locks in Assertive personalty trait)|ch1.13][$ptrait1 to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, she has it all wrong. I'm actually rather passive, the fact I didn't say so is proof enough. (Locks in Passive personalty trait)|ch1.13][$ptrait1 to 2]]</div>\
<<elseif $passive gt $assertive>><div class="choice">[[While I agree with Janet, in that I'm a passive, I disagree that its a negative trait. (Locks in Passive personalty trait)|ch1.13][$ptrait1 to 2]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Actually, I'm more assertive than I've let on. Janet misinterpreting my actions and behavior is nothing new. (Locks in Assertive personalty trait)|ch1.13][$ptrait1 to 1]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[[I understand that passivity isn't a negative thing, but I assert myself more than people expect. (Locks in Assertive personalty trait)|ch1.13][$ptrait1 to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Assertiveness is a skill I can don when needed, but in truth, I prefer to let things happen as they may. (Locks in Passive personalty trait)|ch1.13][$ptrait1 to 2]]</div><</if>>"Of course!" Rebecca dutifully marks down your answer. There's more shuffling on her end, before she reads out the next question. She explains that the game also asks players to consider their personal values in addition to their personality traits. "Thus, it is much more than a personality test," Becs says, pointedly looking at Elias, who just smothers a laugh.
"To whom does your ultimate duty lie?" Becs begins, halting any further discussion, "to your family or to your self?"
Janet opens her mouth but to your surprise, <<switch $group>><<case 1 3>>Warren beats her to the punch, "family."<<case 2 4>>Vivian beats her to the punch, "myself."<</switch>> It's said with such finality and confidence, the blanket goes completely silent.
<<switch $group>><<case 1 3>>Unexpected considering the scandalous nature of the rumors surrounding the man. It's not polite to relate them in casual conversation but your mind is surely safe from such scrutiny. Lord Hind is known for his rakish tendencies, the severity of those tendencies tends to increase the longer he resides in one location. You know much of it must be false but every rumor holds a kernel of truth and what a kernel it must be.
You would expect a man with such a reputation to be ignorant of his family's needs but the sureness of his answers calls that into doubt.\
<<case 2 4>>Not wholly unexpected, Ms. Fortescue is known for her luck in matrimony, finding herself in one advantageous marriage after the other. Others would consider such a course to motivated by a desire to provide for one's family and connection. But outside of a few close to the lady, no one seems to know any other Fortescues--Fortescue being the lady's maiden name, which she adopted not soon after her last husband's death.
You are not surprised by Ms. Fortescue's answer, but perhaps by the conviction of it. Not many women in society are willing to openly admit their commitment to themselves, lest they be accused of undue selfishness.<</switch>>
The groups waits to see if <<switch $group>><<case 2 4>>Vivian<<case 1 3>>Warren<</switch>> will elaborate. <<switch $group>><<case 1 3>>He<<case 2 4>>She<</switch>> doesn't.
Eventually Elias invites the rest to answer, starting with <<switch $group>><<case 1 2>>Sam<<case 3 4>>Hugh<</switch>>.
<<switch $group>><<case 1 2>>"My duty is my family." She, similarly, doesn't explain beyond that. But you know your friend well enough that you had expected such a response. Miss Renolds will do almost anything for her family<<if $madatSam gt 0>>, even forsake a friendship<</if>>.\
<<case 3 4>>Hugh stops to consider the question before answering, "I feel there should be a reasonable balance between the two, but ultimately we must live with our choices and the consequences therein. If we do not put ourselves first, who will?"
You find yourself nodding along with the rest of the blanket. Regardless of your own opinion, the justification given was congruent with your impression of the gentleman.<</switch>>
Elias smiles at <<switch $group>><<case 1 2>>Miss Renolds<<case 3 4>>Mr. Langley<</switch>>, before looking to you. Whose needs and wants do you priorities? Where does your duty lie?
<div class="choice">[[...with myself. (Locks in Duty to Self Ideal)|ch1.14][$ideal1 to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[...with my family. (Locks in Duty to Family Ideal)|ch1.14][$ideal1 to 2]]</div>As you relate your answer to Rebecca, Ben watches you intently. He turns away before you can catch him outright and Janet speaks up, answering for herself and her brother resolutely.
Rebecca's next question is a simpler one, "would you or others describe yourself as mostly serious or playful?"
Janet takes this as a cue to begin prescribing traits once more, pointing at each member and pronouncing them as serious or playful.
She hesitates on you, before scoffing, "of course, Miss Merritt <<if $playful gt $serious>>can never take anything seriously<<elseif $serious gt $playful>>can never take a joke<<else>>reacts on a whim, sometimes playful, sometimes not<</if>>."
Surprisingly Ben comes to your defense, "<<if $playful gt $serious>>I actually admire her ability to laugh<<elseif $serious gt $playful>>I actually admire her fortitude in situations<<else>>I admire her ability to adapt to the situation's needs<</if>>."
Janet scoffs again but doesn't say anything more. You can't help but smile at Ben in thanks, which the young man reciprocates in kind. Even if you've lost Janet's friendship, at least one Tarley sibling remains in your corner.
The others answer quickly and succinctly, seeming eager to finish the game or what is more likely, given the sun's new overhead position in the sky, a desire to be in the shade.
You begin to feel warm in your choice of outfit. <<switch $dress>><<case 1 2>>Luckily you decided to wear something light and flowing, for this exact reason.<<case 3>>That linen dress may not have been the best decision, hopefully some time in the shade after the game will help.<<case 4>>The trousers made sitting on the ground /much/ easier, though the jacket is more a hinderance than a help. You shrug it off and drape it on the ground in front of you, the cotton of your undershirt breathing in the air.<</switch>> <<if $hat>>Wearing a hat was also another excellent decision. It provided just enough shade to keep you from squinting every time you looked towards the horizon.<</if>>
Instead of repeating the question, Becs prompts you with a smile.
<div class="choice">[['"I am rather playful, aren\'t I?"'' (Locks in Playful personality trait)|ch1.15][$ptrait2 to 2]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"Others would call me serious but I prefer the term, earnest."'' (Locks in Serious personality trait)|ch1.15][$ptrait2 to 1]]</div>Rebecca frowns at the next question. Her dark brows pinched together in a expression more befitting Elias than the cheery young woman. "I suppose we are meant to be slightly philosophical," she begins, looking less perturbed and more confused now, "which of these ideals must we hold dear: Truth, no matter how terrible, or Beauty, no matter how false her promises?"
Elias doesn't clap this time, but does rub his palms together, looking a little too excited for this question. Though philosophy was always one of his special interests. How Rebecca puts with his long meandering monologues will always stump you.
"Shall we consult with Descartes or Plato?" Elias tucks a fist under his chin, staring up at the cloudless sky in what could be called mock-wonder had you not known the man for years. This is likely the only warning you'll get before he launches into a one-sided debate, which is less amusing in the heat of the day.
<<switch $group>><<case 3 4>>Janet is quick to respond, "neither...please."
"I'm surprised at you, Miss Tarley," there's teasing lilt to the gentleman's voice as Hugh regards Janet with focus, "I believe you'd expressed an interest in all manners philosophical last night. Now would be an excellent opportunity to explore the topic further."
A dusting of pink pulses across Janet's face, the frequency increases at the mention of last night. The blush doesn't last long, "of course, Mr. Langley, I simply meant...we ought to express our opinions singularly rather than rely on wisdom from the past."
"You are quite right, Miss Tarley," Elias eases his pose, "it wouldn't be much of a personality test if we based our answers on the opinions of dead thinkers."
Becs scoffs but doesn't rise to the bait.
Elias gives Mr. Langley a friendly nod, "perhaps we can discuss this topic further another time."<<case 1 2>>"Descartes and Plato would find themselves agreeing on the topic despite their different definitions of truth," Sam leans forward, almost mirroring Elias's posture, a rare but familiar thoughtful expression on her face. Philosophy was also one of Sam's favorite subjects. Thankfully, she was content to muse alone or with willing partners unlike Elias. "Socrates, Plato's mentor, believed that what is true must also be what is beautiful--that the two concepts are linked by the nature of, well, nature..."
Janet rolls her eyes, "yes, yes--very fascinating but let's give our answers now." Her voice is tender as if quieting a child.
And that bothers you. Immensely.
Whatever you're current feelings about Miss Renolds, that was rude even for Janet. You just can't let it lie, <<if $ptrait2 eq 1>>"Yes, let's. All this intellectual talk must be confusing poor /dear/ Janet."<<else>>"You don't sound fascinated, Miss Tarley. But perhaps we ought to move on, for your sake."<</if>>
Janet clenches her jaw but says nothing.
Sam just looks at you, the brown of her eyes a bright gold in the sun, and holds your gaze, until you finally look away, almost breathless.<</switch>>
<<switch $group>><<case 1 3>>Warren looks rather disinterested by the topic and announces his answer with a shrug, "Beauty. Life's too quick to be lost in something so opaque as the truth. <<if $group eq 1>>Besides according to some of those dead thinkers, what's beautiful is often the truth.<</if>>"
<<switch $group>><<case 1 2>>"So you find yourself agreeing with Socrates," Sam nods with a small frown."A fairly common position to take, though it does defeat the purpose of the question."\
<<case 3 4>>Hugh frowns for a moment but seems to consider Lord Hind's perspective seriously, an odd look on the normally light-hearted gentleman.<</switch>>\
<<case 2 4>>Vivian looks around the blanket with a placid kind of interest, "Truth, no other option in these gilded cages we find ourselves in. More often than not beauty is a veneer of lies concealing those pieces of life we'd rather not exist."
<<switch $group>><<case 1 2>>Sam nods thoughtfully, before adding, "appearance can be deceiving but objective truth can be just as allusive."\
<<case 3 4>>Hugh frowns for a moment but seems to consider Ms. Fortescue's perspective seriously, an odd look on the normally light-hearted gentleman.<</switch>><</switch>>
Janet rolls her eyes, "yes, yes--very fascinating but let's give our answers now."
The remaining few give their answer. Its unclear how your opinion has now become routinely the last given but the rhythm seems too comfortable now to disrupt. You preempt any further repetition from Miss Wycome by answering.
<div class="choice">[[Beauty trumps Truth. (Locks in Beauty Ideal)|ch1.16][$ideal2 to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Truth triumphs over Beauty. (Locks in Truth Ideal)|ch1.16][$ideal2 to 2]]</div><<if $ideal2 eq 1>>"Beauty trumps truth--"<<else>>"Truth will always triumphs over beauty--"<</if>>
Janet doesn't bother waiting for your full answer before interrupting.
"Becs--Miss Wycome" Janet corrects herself, an urgency to her already fast pace of speaking, "I believe the other groups are quite near the end of their...games. Perhaps we might also make haste, I believe we've spent more than enough time soaking the sun."
"Patience, Miss Tarley," Elias reassures her, gesturing to the staff preparing refreshments in the shade, "there will be time enough to recover...from the sunlight."
Becs flushes as if he told a rather inappropriate joke, but no one else takes his meaning besides her. "If you're quite finished Elias, I have the last question."
She doesn't wait for his smirk or the placating pat on her shoulder, "how do you approach risk, if at all? Are you one to throw caution to the wind or confront problems after considering all your options?"
A sensible question, one you expected to hear earlier considering the nature of personalities. The rest of the group, also, seemed to have expected this as almost everyone begins to speak at once. Opinions and answers melting into one cacophonous outcry. You refrain from joining, if only out of routine. You're used to being the last one to answer.
"Quiet!"
The yell works as intended as every open mouth, speaking or not, clamps shut.
"...please," Janet adds as an afterthought, looking pleased that the blanket followed her command. "I propose, since this question is rather straightforward and some of us look ready to be done, that we answer succinctly and in quick succession."
"But what if we need to think of our answer," Ben interjects, looked more peeved than the rest of your companions.
"Then think quickly," she answers without missing a beat. Janet points at herself, finger lazily extended, "My name's Janet and I'm a improvisor. Now you're turn." She turns her finger towards her brother.
He manages to blurt out "planner", before Janet could look too bothered. The rest of the group followed her lead. Rebecca<<switch $group>><<case 1>>, Warren, and Sam<<case 2>> and Sam<<case 3>> and Warren<<case 4>><</switch>> revealed <<switch $group>><<case 1 2 3>>themselves as improvisors<<case 4>>herself as an improvisor<</switch>>, while Elias<<switch $group>><<case 1>>as a planner.<<case 2>> and Vivian as planners.<<case 3>> and Hugh as planners.<<case 4>>, Vivian, and Hugh as planners.<</switch>>
Finally, the finger points your way and Janet's expression hardens with annoyance, yes--but also actual anger, enough to make your throat dry.
"Miss Merritt?" Ben asks from her side.
You shake off the unease and answer the final question. Maybe it is time for this game to be over.
<div class="choice">[['"Planner."'' (Locks in Planning Ideal)|ch1.17][$ideal3 to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I improvise."' (Locks in Risk-taking Ideal)|ch1.17][$ideal3 to 2]]</div>Janet was right, a fact which should bug you but pettiness must take a backseat to being parched. Many of the other circles have risen from their blankets, small pieces of parchment clenched in one hand and small flutes of lemon water in the other. Your group looks to be one of the last to finish.
But none of you particularly care to push Rebecca to hurry her tallying. She seems amusingly entranced by the exercise, dutifully marking your cards. The suspense was rather welcome after the rather contentious rounds of questions. Who know a personality test could pack such a punch? And to extend something so singular as a test into a group activity...well, you had doubts but it was rather fun.
<<switch $group>><<case 1 2>>Sam won't meet your eye...<<if $madatSam eq 2>>which suits you just fine<<elseif $madatSam eq 1>> which stings but you've decided to be the bigger person<<else>>which is understandable all things given, you're more than happy to give her the space she needs<</if>>.\
<<case 3 4>>Mr. Langley turns your way and opens his mouth to speak, but Janet is quicker. With a look of reluctance, the gentleman turns the other way to face Miss Tarley.
Odd.
Then again, Janet was always possessive of whatever mark she'd set her mind to. It seems Mr. Langley is her aim. You have mixed feelings. And it seems so does Mr. Langley.<</switch>>
Becs doesn't look to be any closer to finishing her 'grading', but Elias calls over some of the staff. They bring over a small platter of drinks. Cold drinks with long lines of condensation dripping down the side, the sight makes your heart sing.
You take the offered flute with no reluctance. No time for polite ceremony when you're this parched. And it seems the rest of the group follows your lead without comment.
As you sip your drink, you catch <<switch $group>><<case 2 4>>Ms. Fortescue's eye.
"Interesting game, don't you think?" Vivian turns to face you completely, her black veil fluttering softly in the wind.
<<switch $ptrait1>><<case 1>>"Interesting is one word," your usual wit abandoning you.<<case 2>>You shrug limply, your usual confidence softened.<</switch>> There was something mollifying in the intensity of her gaze that quieted the thoughts in your head--a depth behind the curtain of black lace and sharp teeth, as if staring off a sheer cliff. You know, somehow, that if you stared too long, you might come to crave that feeling.
So, you look away quickly, turning ever so towards the approaching sunset. Instead of feeling slighted, Vivian laughs. Unexpectedly, her laugh is deep and lingering, stirring a different kind of cliff's edge within you.
Her laughs trails into a softer, almost companionable silence. One neither of you feels the need to break, even as conversations around you continue.
Until Vivian speaks again, this time her gaze peers off past the orange skyline, "I wonder, little lamb-" The moniker is out and attributed you with such finality, there's no room to protest.
"I wonder at your answer in the game."
"Oh?" you manage, turning to look again. The widow looks younger in the pale salmon light of the fading sun--not that she was too much older than you to begin with. From what you've heard, she can't be more than twenty and nine, barely eight years your senior.
The lighting shines through the material of her ever-present mourning veil, illuminating the features of her face with great clarity, almost as if she wasn't wearing it at all. You wonder how many people alive have seen Ms. Fortescue without her veil.
If not for the soft expression on her face, Vivian would appear every bit the boogeyman of the marriage market that others make her out to be.
You’ve heard most versions of her story. But the detail that is always retold is the unusual amount of men she’s married and their sudden, mysterious deaths. Most women are lucky enough to marry once, twice in the case of extreme tragedy. But to be a widow thrice over is unthinkable to greater society.
The people have their theories and you know enough of the world to be wary of speculation. But the fantastical lengths they go to put the blame on Ms. Fortescue, it’s quite enraging. And yet, you can not recall ever seeing her challenge those rumors. If you were put on the spot, you might admit that the lady seems to lean into people’s expectations, as her extensive mourning apparel and refusal to participate in general societal conventions for unmarried women attest.
A knowing smile breaks out on her face as she looks at you from the corner of her eye. It seems you were caught staring. But Vivian doesn't look put off by it, instead she continues her train of thought, "earlier you said <<switch $ideal2>><<case 1>>that which is beautiful is more important than the truth<<case 2>>that the truth is more important than beauty<</switch>>, did you mean it?"
"I did-I still do," and its true, there was no point in lying about something simple--er, simple in the grand scheme of things as Elias likes to say.
She hums, before tugging her knees up to her chest, shifting the light gray fabric of her gown. You spot a sliver of olive skin at her ankles, before it is swallowed up by her dress.
<<switch $ideal2>><<case 1>>"Can't say I agree with you, lamb. Beauty is..."<<case 2>>"I agree with you, lamb. Beauty is..."<</switch>> She gives you a small wink, "very deceptive. Her promises are almost always skin-deep, shallow in their return but so grand in their requests. You could spend a lifetime chasing it and find yourself no closer to actual truth--actual peace."
"And have you?"
A raised brow punctuating an amused smile, causing the lace to furl on one side, "Have I chased beauty or found peace?"
"Both, I suppose," the intrigue is infectious and you find yourself smiling as well.
She laughs again.
"I //suppose// I have tried my luck at both. If you were to ask others then I've had more than my fair share of beauty and peace." Her tone is bitter but you've enough tact to know it isn't directed at you. You know she speaks of her martial history, the happiness of marriage gained and lost three times, more than most can hope for.
If anyone is paying particular interest to your conversation, they are doing a good job of hiding it. Only one or two faces are pointed in your direction, they give but a cursory glance before moving on.
Vivian continues, though you suspect she would have even in the face of extreme scrutiny, her bitterness fading to something sombre, "It's how I fell in love with my husband, the first--though it's not so important as each one held a kind of beauty that drew me in. But he...he was all the things I was taught to yearn for; broad-shouldered, tall, bright kind eyes--entirely too handsome and with more wit than I was used to seeing in men. It was inevitable that I should fall and he with me. But his beauty wasn't what kept me loving him...it was his earnestness. He was honest, to a fault--albeit a most forgivable fault."
Though you pay attention to her words, the excited movement of the widow's hands capture your attention as you try to recall ever seeing her so animated. As Vivian speaks of her dead husband, there's a brightness to her eyes--a brightness that makes you wish it was always there.
"The value of truth was the greatest gift he ever gave me. One that I've tried and failed to spread to others." The brightness dims and a small frown graces her lips, "we enjoy the false promise of beauty and other such nonsense in the grand game of lies too much for that."
Her phrasing makes you laugh even in the face of a serious topic, "We? Surely, you don't include yourself in this 'grand game of lies'?"
She smiles at you. "I do. For I have partaken and will continue to partake if the truth is to be extracted from the lies," you open your mouth to ask but she continues without pause, "but you. You, little lamb, have plenty of choices. I do wonder where they will lead you."
Choices, indeed. You think of the Dreadsomes and your family's predicament. Should you choose to marry someone to save your legacy, it might very well be a marriage born of lies. Could you really do something like that if it meant securing your family's and your own comfort?
Instead of voicing those troubling thoughts, "You seem to have more faith in me than I do."
"I do."
The strength of her conviction startles you. You look up from your musing to find her eyes fixed on you, clearly aware of the nature of your thoughts, if not the exact details. You want to ask her why, but she beats you to it, "strange to be so sure in such thing, especially about someone I've just met. But lamb, it's the truth. Your choices are always your own, and as long as you own them--own the truth, they cannot cage you in."
Her voice is soft but the conversation has become to weigh heavy, too heavy for the causal event to contain. Words seem to leave you in that pressure as you simply nod in response. If nothing else, you know a little more about the widow now--more than what others could claim anyway.
But the air of intimacy is broken with the clearing of Rebecca's throat. It seems she is done with her sums.\
<<case 1 3>>Lord Hind's eye.
He turns to face you with a wide-toothed grin, a gesture to disarm but one that puts you on your guard anyway.
"Well, that was fun--more fun than //another// tea party--though I do believe they will be serving tea soon, can't escape it. Not that I expected anything less from Cambry-or Elias, I should say. He's always done things differently regardless of what is in vogue."
You hum in agreement.
"Oh, have I finally found someone else who despises tea? or do you mean the humor of the game? or--"
"The latter. It was...enjoyable."
He mimics your hum with an amused smirk. "There we go--takes a bit to get you talking, I see."
<<if $ptrait2 eq 1>>You start to open your mouth but...he is right. You just finished playing a personality game where you acknowledged your recalcitrance.
Warren's lips twist up into a grin as you remain silent, proving his point.<<else>>No, it doesn't. In fact, your answers in the game contradicted the very idea. You start to open your mouth--to set the record straight, of course. But reconsider after noting the oddly charming yet, smug expression on the young man's face.<</if>>
You turn your head in the other direction, forcibly ending he conversation, if it could be called that.
Lord Hind shrugs, though you barely catch the movement out the corner of your eye and for a while, you think he is content to leave you be. But he surprises you once more, "you're wary of me."
And that's all it takes to pique your interest, "pardon?"
"You're afraid of me."
It's not a question, though you answer it with one, "and what makes you think that?"
"It's plain to see, Miss Merritt."
He adds as you begin to frown, "considering all that people have to say about me, it's not unwise. I think I'd do the very same in your position."
"You would?"
"Is that truly surprising?"
The green of his eyes settles into a light yellow as he looks at you. Not a look that is threatening or inviting or even familiar but one of curiosity--of academic fascination, as if he were peering at an exhibit.
You can't tell if you should be worried or offended at the intensity of it.
A little of both, if the rumors he alluded to are to be believed. It's well known(and observed if one believes Ms. Grouse's extended network of gossip hounds) that Lord Hind is an unashamed rake. Irreverent and roguish at the best of time, drunk and an unrepenting flirt at all others. A man to avoided at all costs by any respectable societal member. And yet, here he was conversing with your circle as if he'd be a part of it all along. What are Elias and Rebecca thinking?
"--I suppose it's rude of me to put you on the spot like that. Comes with playing the part, I assume. My finer interpersonal skills have evaporated with my reputation," a mirthless smile plays at his lips as he finally looks away, "don't look so shocked, Miss Merritt. I've very much aware of the consequences of my actions--of my continued actions. So, I suppose this whole line of conversation is rather moot, isn't it?"
The shock as Warren put it remains fixed on your face. Though you're quite versed in conveying deeper meaning small talk, you weren't prepared to lay your cards as freely as he just did. Then again, this could very much be another part of the 'rake' routine. You have too much going on to entertain a risk like this.
"Then shall we speak on something else? Something we don't already know about one another," you offer. It's not quite the firm conversation ender you should have said, but after that you couldn't deny being a tiny bit curious, yourself.
That catches Warren by surprise, whose eyes widen and darken to match the green of shaded grass.
"Did you mean your answer during the game?" you continue, taking the reins in this exchange.
He is quick to suppress the extent of his emotion with another grin and upturned brow, "Which one?"
"Duty to your family?"
"Ah."
"Ah?"
The grin falls off his face, "I'll say this once and then we can go back to pretenses, how does that sound?"
"I--"
"Great," the smile returns but there's no humor behind his eyes, "my family has, is, and will always come first for me. There is no game, no role, no misery I will deny if it brings them comfort and safety. A trait we might have in common, hmm?"
<<if $ideal1 eq 2>>You don't<<else>>You do<</if>> but he leaves no room for a response.
"If you have any threatening metaphors or messages to convey now's not the time. I don't give a shit. Just tell whoever set you up to this, that I'm playing along like a good little boy and this good little boy is rather sick of the cloak and dagger."
His face, throughout the course of that little speech comes rather close to yours. Undirected anger rolls off the man in waves. You swallow involuntarily, your expression hard and frozen.
His eyes sharpen with understanding. Then with guilt. Then horror.
"You're not...I've misunderstood you, haven't I?" He pulls away and you release a shallow exhale. "I-I beg your pardon, Miss Merritt."
In one fluid move, Lord Hind rises from the ground and strides in the opposite direction of the picnic, ignoring the worried calls from the host.
Thankfully Warren's hasty exit distracts the rest of the group from noticing how close the two of you were just moments ago. You were safe from any reputation-ruining rumors today. Though, you can't help but wonder at his words. Threats couched in polite conversation; just who in their right mind was threatening a Lord, even one as irresponsible as Lord Hind?
While you can't deny the thrill of seeing the man behind the rake's smile, perhaps you were safer not knowing. Even if your friends have decided to keep his company, getting closer to Warren meant sacrificing your own societal standing. Something you do not have in great abundance.
But the air of contemplation and mystery is broken with the clearing of Rebecca's throat. It seems she is done with her sums.<</switch>>
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.18][$ch1 to true]]</div><div class="ribbon"><i class="fa fa-bookmark r-icon" aria-hidden="true"></i>[[A Lady's Journal]] Updated</div>
"I believe these results speak for themselves," Becs announces as she hands each of you a single folded piece of parchment.
Everyone pauses and takes a moment to examine their results.
It's a simple game and the results are largely a repetition of your answers to game or rather, test questions. Nothing too unexpected, you've come to understand yourself as a person fairly well.
The interesting bit in the "label" at the bottom, the type of person you were according to the game's reasoning. It seemed to take in account a combination of your personality traits and personal beliefs. Though you aren't sure how seriously to take something that is meant to be a party game.
Janet snorts loudly, before protesting her results to Rebecca. Meanwhile Ben and the others seem to take their results with quiet acceptance or nonchalant shrugs.
In a neat script, you recognize as Rebecca's, your own card reads: "<<ptype>><<switch $ptype>><<case 1>>Outspoken<<case 2>>Mischievous<<case 3>>Docile<<case 4>>Laid-back<<case 0>>ERROR<</switch>>"
<<switch $ptype>><<case 1>>"You are a person of action and integrity; bold and brave in face of adversity, even when the consequences are your own doing."\
<<case 2>>"You are a person of merry, wit, and folly--all tongue and cheek. Even if in the pursuit of amusement, you find yourself all alone."\
<<case 3>>"You are a person of patience and temperance, pliant and tranquil through the thickest of seas. Careful, you do not find yourself trapped in the eye of another's storm."\
<<case 4>>"You are a person of quiet whimsy and comfort, a spot of calm in an otherwise rowdy world. However, we all reach a breaking point, take heed yours doesn't break you."<</switch>>
You turn the card over in hands a moment, before pulling out your trusty journal. The card fits neatly in small pocket between the cover and the first page, safe for you to pursue later if you wish.
The chatter picks up once more as the staff ring the bell for lunch time.
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.19][$metSam to true, $metWarren to true, $metHugh to true, $metVivian to true]]</div><div class="ribbon"><i class="fa fa-bookmark r-icon" aria-hidden="true"></i>[[Relationships]] Updated</div>
With the conclusion of the game and subsequent, serving of lunch, your party parts way with one another. Elias and Rebecca, with the promise to visit you soon, leave together to attend to the other guests. While the others go off to find their own form of amusement, Janet doesn't forget to give you a sour look as she passes by.
You find yourself caring less about the strength of her dislike the more she seems determined to express it.
<<if $group is 1 or $group is 2>>Unlike the rest Samantha--or Miss Renolds, as she prefers to be addressed now, lingers around the blanket as you rise to your feet.
You turn to meet her eye and find her gaze fixed on the lake down the hill, where children play along its shore. If you were optimistic, you might even say she looked nostalgic, but her mouth remains fixed in a frown.
Before any words leave your mouth, Sam asks you to walk with her in a softer tone than you had been expecting.\
<<else>>As you stand from the now-empty blanket, you notice Samantha--or Miss Renolds, as she prefers to be addressed now, lingering around the blanket.
You had no idea she was attending this event. Elias and Becs were as much her friend as you were theirs. In fact, your friend group was much closer together before Sam left. That said, if Janet received an invitation, it only makes sense Sam would as well.
She doesn't look your way but doesn't move away either when you come to stand at her side. Her gaze is fixed on the lake down the hill, where children play along its shore. If you were optimistic, you might even say she looked nostalgic, but her mouth remains fixed in a frown.
"Miss Merritt," before you can greet her in turn, she speaks in a soft tone, "walk with me...please."<</if>>
You walk away from the main gathering, past the small tents where the staff had prepared refreshments, and the clusters of regular park goers who wandered up the hill paths. It's hard to say if anyone notices the pair of you leaving the clearing.
Sam doesn't seem to pay that any mind as she leads you into the small forest-like grove of trees, no older than either of you, that surrounded the hilltop clearing. The trees line an artificially created dirt path that no doubt meets up with the rest of the park trails.
You walk down this path for what felt like a long time. The ground remains flat the further you go, as bushes begin to fill the vacant gaps between the trees. Older trees begin to mix with the newer saplings, suggesting you've entered a less trafficked part of the park.
Sam finally comes to a stop.
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.20]]</div>You stop only a few steps back from her. Though the urge to stand at her side is strong, <<if $madatSam gt 0>>you're not sure if that's something you want anymore.<<else>>you're not sure she'd want that.<</if>>
The sunlight pours down through the thin cover of leaves, not enough to hide the sunset but enough to provide an escape from the earlier heat. You take in a breath, enjoying the new-found quiet. It was easy to drown out the noise at the picnic blanket. Here, you picked up on the twittering of birds, squirrels ferreting their way through the undergrowth--even, the rhythm of your own breaths.
They are steady and even, but depending on what Miss Renolds has to say that could change.
Samantha is looking anywhere but at you. Her cheeks aren't red, not that you can really tell from where you're standing.
When the silence continues, you examine her further. <<if $group is 1 or $group is 2>>She looks changed since you last saw her. But five years on the continent will do that to a person. Her usually pale skin has tanned, no doubt thanks to the sun’s constant presence on the continent. Her light brown eyes still hold that softness you remember from your youth, but there is sharpness at the edges. You see it in her expression, unfamiliar hard lines, a mouth pulled downward–not actively but at rest–eyes that crinkle in the corners, a hallmark of age arriving too soon. You feel it in the way she stands, angled slightly away from you.<<else>>She looks as well as she did the night before. An healthy glow to her features, you attribute to a regular diet of sunlight in Europe. Though a heavy expression distracted from that glow. Something was troubling her.<</if>>
"Miss--$name," it comes out her mouth rough and tattered like old, cracked leather.
"Samantha." You don't even hesitate. Her name passes between your lips with the ease of years of use.
She blanches but recovers quickly, turning to face you abruptly. Her fingers are locked together tightly, knuckles white as if forcing her way through the interaction, "I owe you an explanation."
<<if $madatSam gt 0>>Considering the complete dismissal of your letters, an explanation is certainly in order. You bite back a retort and cross your arms, "yes, it would be greatly appreciated."
Sam seems to pick up on your frustration, taking a half-step towards you before reconsidering. She huffs a short breath out, looking away and then back, the brown of her eyes dark like the surface of the sea at night. "Perhaps, I should apologize first. I know its--well, its been a difficult few years for all parties but I--"
She looks down, biting down on her lip. Whatever she wishes to say must have been weighing on her mind for awhile now. Good.
After another stilted moment, she makes full eye contact with you, her gaze steely even as her hands shake with nerves. "I missed you."
She missed you.
A part of you rejoices, but another resists the comfort--the ease of that...explanation. Whatever her intentions, its not quite what you need to hear after years of nothing.
"Miss Merr--$name, I...I have no idea how you must feel, after so long--and they way we parted, well...I don't know what seeing you again would feel like but I-I can not let us continue without explaining myself to you."
Perhaps its the quiver in her voice or the way her eyes have remained locked on yours but the hard shell around you breaks ever so and you can not help the concern that burbles up for someone you once called a best friend.
"I would like that." Her eyes widen, but you continue taking a step closer, "as sudden and lonely as the last five years have been, the loss of your person was missed more than the letters."
She blinks at you, before a red flush floods her face. The sudden inhale that follows has you worrying. Though Sam was always one to be embarrassed easily, this intense of a reaction seemed reserved for more romantic overtures.
Has she taken your words that way? More importantly, do you mean them in a romantic way?\
<<else>>You shake your head and smile, which looks sadder than you intended. While, it would be nice to hear why Sam decided to cut off contact with you, you aren't so petty as to demand one from her. All you've ever wanted was your friend back.
You open your mouth to say as much but she beats you to it, "Perhaps, I should apologize first. I know its--well, its been a difficult few years for all parties but I--"
"No," she interrupts you, putting up a single bare hand, surprising both of you. But Sam steel herself and continues with more momentum, "$name, please let me explain."
She looks down, biting down on her lip. Whatever she wishes to say must have been weighting on her mind for awhile now. you can not help but feel partially responsible for that anxiety, but remain silent.
After another stilted moment, she makes full eye contact with you, her gaze steely even as her hands shake with nerves. "I missed you."
She missed you!
You can not help the soft sigh that leaves your lips. She missed you. The relief is familiar and comforting, your limps relaxing as if for the first time. Despite the silence, the longing was mutual--she missed you just as much as you did her.
Sam opens her mouth, but you didn't need to hear any more. A smile breaks out on your face as you step closer, "I missed you, too. Very much, in fact."
She blinks at you, before a red flush floods her face. The sudden inhale that follows has you worrying. Though Sam was always one to be embarrassed easily, this intense of a reaction seemed reserved for more romantic overtures.
Has she taken your words that way? More importantly, do you mean them in a romantic way?<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Yes, actually, you did mean it that way. ♡|ch1.20.1][$sFlirt to 1, $bold to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You did--er, do. But your own forwardness surprises you. ♡|ch1.20.2][$sFlirt to 1, $shy to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[What?! No, of course not. And yet, your heart races at the idea. ♡|ch1.20.3][$sFlirt to 1, $deny to 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, you've only ever loved Samantha as a friend and can not see that feeling changing.|ch1.20.4]]</div><<if $madatSam gt 0>>Despite your anger<<else>>Feeling bold<</if>>, you hold your ground, a small smirk punctuating your sentiment.
Sam's flush deepens as the silence goes on, your words and their <i>implication</i> hangs in the air. Eventually she seems to get her face back in order, letting out a small, "oh."
<<include 'ch1.21'>><<if $madatSam gt 0>>Despite your anger<<else>>Feeling bold<</if>>, you hold your ground, a smattering of red dusting your own cheeks.
Sam's flush deepens as the silence goes on, your words and their <i>implication</i> hangs in the air. Eventually she seems to get her face back in order, letting out a small, "oh."
<<include 'ch1.21'>>"--As a friend!" A tacky, and perhaps too loud protestation. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, even as you school your features into a practiced, unaffected manner.
It's enough to fool Sam, whose flush deepens as she covers her face with her hands, hiding the frown that emerges at your explanation. Eventually she seems to get her face back in order, letting out a small, "oh."
<<include 'ch1.21'>>Your own cheeks heat up at the notion as you scramble to reassure Sam, "in the most amicable and friendliest of manners, of course. I missed your friendship and companionship above all else."
You take a step back, giving her a neutral smile for extra measure. It seems to work as the color finally leaves her face. She exhales shortly before mirroring your smile, "of course, Miss Merritt, I would have it no other way."
<<include 'ch1.21'>>This close to sunset, the air has started to get colder, a slight gale manifesting before either of you notice it. <<if $dress eq 1 or $dress eq 2>>You regret your choice of dress for a moment as the wind kicks up your skirt<<if $shawl>>, thankfully your shawl keeps your shoulders and chest protected<</if>>. Miss Renolds is in the same boat, her hands rubbing her shoulders, her earlier courage fading with the breeze.<<else>>Your clothing, thick and warm, keeps most of the cold at bay. Though Miss Renolds is less prepared, her hands rubbing her shoulder, her earlier courage fading with the breeze.<</if>>
You both let out a breath at the same time, the tone reminiscent of the day you first met.
It was a cool summer afternoon. Just after tea-time, in fact, when an unfamiliar carriage pulled up to your Easton home and a girl roughly your own age emerged, hiding behind her mother's dress.
<<if $ptrait eq 1>>You were too headstrong as a girl, scaring off most other children your age.<<elseif $ptrait eq 2>>You were too quiet as a girl, cold enough to send other kids scattering.<</if>> And without siblings or close cousins, your childhood was rather lonely. Until Samantha.
You'd later learn the whole thing was organized by your mothers in desperation, both worried their daughters would never learn to make friends. But somehow that detail doesn't bother you, especially not after years of cherished companionship.
The day your mothers dragged you both into the estate's receiving room, you bore matching expressions, an downturn of the mouth, brows pinched together.
Reluctance on her part, boredom on yours. It wasn't the first time your mother had coerced you into a play date with some monstrous child or another.
But that one mutual sigh was all it took for you. One miserable sigh, one curious look. You saw yourself reflected in the gold of her eyes and it stole a laugh from your lungs, one she matched.
You smile at the memory as a matching one breaks out on Sam's face as well. You seemed to, finally, be on the same page. <<if $madatSam gt 0>>Or at least in the same chapter.<</if>>
Eventually the silence starts to weigh on you or perhaps on you both as Sam looks away again, retreating almost. You can't have that.
"May I ask some questions?"
Her eyes are back on you, curious.
"The questions, I suppose, could have been answered if someone had responded to my letters," you tease with a short tug of your lips, earlier anger fading somewhat.
Sam stammers for a moment, before forcing herself to relax, giving you a small smile, "I believe that would be a good idea, what would you like to know?"
You take a moment to consider your questions but its an easy task to choose your first to ask.
<div class="choice">[['"Why did you leave, really?"'|ch1.22]]</div>She nods as if expecting nothing else. <<if $group is 3 or $group is 4>>Considering you did ask once before, its unsurprising.<</if>>
"Mother's health."
"I gathered as much. Did her condition worsen?" She turns away from you, huffing out a sigh.
Sam answers keeping her back to you, "Yes. It was frightening just how suddenly Mother's condition deteriorated. None of the doctors we consulted, in town or the countryside, could help her. It was determined--er, I suppose Father determined that warmer weather on the continent might alleviate her symptoms."
With another heavy sigh, she turns back to face you, wetness blinked back into the corners of her eyes. "If nothing else, then at least she would get her wish of traveling before...well, it was something she greatly desired."
Part of you, an admittedly childish but no less significant part of you chaffed at the simplicity of that explanation. It wasn't exactly common knowledge how ill Mrs. Renolds was at the time but you were...you were closer than that. Why didn't she tell you the truth? Why did she lie that day?
She wrings her hands in the wake of your silence, "I can still read your expressions, Miss Merritt. Even after all this time, you...your face remains expressive. You are wondering why I kept the truth from you. I-I have wondered myself."
"Did he ask you to?"
Her eyes widen in surprise but there's only ever been one "he" between you. "I-I, well, I suppose it would be simple to say that my father ordered my silence but he didn't. Not in those words-not in a way I could properly explain. I suppose I was scared to see mother that way and I began to take on her responsibilities--her manners, even at that age. After the plan was set, it just made sense to me that the truth need safe-guarding."
"Even from me," you challenge, something bitter in your mouth.
Sam nods sadly, "yes, Miss Merritt, even from you."
Neither of you speak for a moment as sunlight scatters into oblongs of gold and orange along the grass path. The bitterness lingers in your mouth but the regret etched into the panes of Sam's face hold your tongue.
"I would apologize," and just like that the silence breaks and you swallow the feeling whole as Sam continues, rubbing the sides of her arms, "but I'm not sure its a hurt either of us can fix like this. Maybe-maybe with time I can..."
She doesn't finish, but instead gestures for another question.
The next comes just as easily as the first and you don't bother hiding your worry over her reply.
<div class="choice">[['"Why didn\'t you answer my letters?"'|ch1.23]]</div>"Did they ever even reach you after that first year or have you grown irresponsible while I wasn't looking?" A harsh rebuke that falls out your mouth before you have a chance to fully vet it. <<if $madatSam lt 1>>Though you have decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, it seems the past still stings. It's even hard to feel torn up as Sam's shoulders drop.<<else>>Perhaps it shows the extent of your anger. But you don't feel torn up about it, even as Sam's shoulders drop.<</if>>
She manages to recover quickly, shaking her head, "I received them all. It was...it was a great comfort, the only piece of home I had while in Europe."
<<if $madatSam lt 1>>You wince but can't help but prod, "then why did you stop replying?"<<else>>You almost snort, "then why did you stop replying?"<</if>>
Something in your old friend's face seems to break and the serious front, ever present even here in private, gives way as her brown eyes, burning--furious, meet yours. "I did. So?"
Her eyes narrow as she ventures a step closer to you, her anger enough to completely silence yours, "even so? Which sin seems worse to you? Leaving or the silence? Because if its the latter then I have just as much cause to be mad at you, Miss Merritt. For //I// have the excuse of a dying mother, what caused you to forget me? What stopped your correspondence? Spite? I had always assumed you to be above that."
She steps even closer, so close you might count the flecks of gold in those achingly familiar irises.
"I missed you, every day. I thought of you every day, wondered if you ate or had a restful sleep or if--if you were thinking of me. I replied when I could but-" the fight fades from her face as Sam pulls away from you with a heavy exhale, "mother got worse before she ever got better and by the time I had enough time to put quill to parchment, you had...you stopped sending them. I figured you were sick of waiting for me by then."
As if under a spell, the sounds of the park, which had been strangely absent up until now, return to a normal volume, drowning out the thumping of your own heart.
It was...strange to see Sam animated like that. You scrouge your memories but can't seem to find another instance of her ever being angry with you much less displaying an outburst like that. It stayed any reply you might have formed.
"I'm sor--" Sam starts and stops in a much softer tone, giving you a rueful look. At least you weren't the only one surprised by that. She clears her throat before moving on, "let's just...what else would you like you know?"
You would like to properly address the issue of the letters but that will have to wait for today. Instead, you ask the other burning question since Sam's return and it stings much more than the last.
<div class="choice">[["Why have you been avoiding me?"'|ch1.24]]</div>"Isn't it obvious?" Sam says glibly with a smirk you don't recognize.
You frown in return, "no, not to me."
"I left you...abandoned you after promising not to. I thought--knew that you wouldn't want anything to do with me. Not after that and the letters..." Her voices hitches as her gaze flits across anything that wasn't you.
You don't interrupt--don't push. Trying to prompt Sam wouldn't get either of you very far. Besides you had asked. So the least you could do for an old friend is to listen.
Eventually, she finishes, "I suppose I was being cowardly. <<if $ptype eq 3 or $ptype eq 4>>Despite what others might say, you were always the braver of us two.<<else>>You were always the braver one.<</if>> I couldn't think of a way to explain myself, especially not in front of all those people and...well, I thought keeping my distance was for the best. That you wouldn't want to be around me anymore--that you moved on while I was gone."
<<if $madatSam gt 0>>You should contradict her. Tell her that no, in fact, you hadn't moved on from the closest friend you've ever had and that no--no matter how angry you'd been to see her leave, you had hoped to see again every day after that. You wanted to tell her how lonely the past five years were, how much lonelier and longer they seemed to drag without the brief comfort of her letters. But all that gathered in the folds of your throat was anger, bitterness, and salt.
It's strange. You'd been eagerly waiting to confront her. Countless times you've scripted this conversation in your head but it had never occurred to you that Sam would have felt as torn up about leaving as you did. Perhaps it speaks to your own inflated sense of self but you truly hadn't sat with it. Hearing her out was not satisfying or relieving, instead your stomach turned a bit, //guilt// barely bitten back.
<div class="choice">[[Your anger pales in comparison to that guilt, and you realize you're ready to forgive your friend and move forward.|ch1.24a]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[But it's not enough. Not enough to move past on, you realize with another sharp pang to the gut. You're not ready to let this go. You might never be.|ch1.24b]]</div>\
<<else>>Sam says nothing as you process her words. It's strange. You'd been eagerly waiting to speak to her--to, in truth, confront her. Countless times you've scripted this conversation in your head but it had never occurred to you that Sam would have felt as torn up about leaving as you did. Perhaps it speaks to your own inflated sense of self but you truly hadn't sat with it. Hearing her out was not satisfying or relieving, instead your stomach turned a bit, //guilt// barely bitten back.
You should contradict her. Tell her that no, in fact, you hadn't moved on from the closest friend you've ever had and that no--no matter how sad you'd been to see her leave, you had hoped to see again every day after that. You wanted to tell how lonely the past five years were, how much lonelier and longer they seemed to drag without the brief comfort of her letters. It gathers in the folds of your throat waiting for a vulnerable moment to break free.
And so you do.
"You're not a coward."
"I--" her voice cracks on the syllable.
But you speak over her, guilt flaring a bit but it was your turn to explain, "//you// are not a coward, Sam. And I was wrong--wrong to have been so uncaring, so thoughtless about--"
"Me leaving you," she finished looking as guilty as you felt a moment ago.
"--you." You reach out and place a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze, "true, I was hurt when you left England--hurt that you didn't tell me the whole truth and even more so when you stopped responding to my letters. But I should have had more faith in you, in--" //us//, the word tastes strangely sweet on your tongue but, "--our friendship" is the word that leaves your mouth.
"I should have believed in the strength of it, instead of doubting you. I should have been more patient and--"
While you were pouring your heart out, Sam's entire posture shifted. Her eyes, which up until now, were pretty much singularly pointed to the floor, were pinned to your face, perhaps even wet at the corners. Her shoulders had straightened, bringing her to her full height as she continued to gape at you, open-mouthed and...hungry? No, that can't be right.
Once you spot the change in her, it's hard to finish your sentence. So, you don', helplessly shrugging your shoulders, hoping she understood you now.
"Does this mean..." Sam takes a sudden, but sure step forward so that you're facing each other--close enough you can make out gold flecks in her brown eye. She twists a pieces of ribbon that adorns her waist, one of your favorite tells. Her nerves always made her tactile.
"Does this mean you forgive me?" Her voices breaks again, tugging at your guilt some more. She really did miss you, didn't she?
You take ahold of the hand that fidget at her waist, waiting until her eyes meet yours again, because you wanted leave no doubt about your answer.
"There's nothing to forgive." You add even softer at her smile, "nothing at all."
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.25]]</div><</if>>It's ridiculous really, how easy of a choice it is. To just forgive her. Even just thinking it is enough to lighten the pressure that sent your shoulders scrunching together. Your heart beat faster at the thought of things returning to some semblance of normal. To have Sam back as fixture of your life.
As you look at her in return, you see your tension mirrored back to you. The same scrunched shoulder, fiddling hands, but what causes your breath to catch is the naked hope in your friend's eyes. And you realize, with a hint of irony, that she was hurting without you as well.
It makes the next words come out of your mouth unplanned, but surprising in their honesty, "You're not a coward."
"I--" her voice cracks on the syllable.
But you speak over her, guilt flaring a bit but it was your turn to explain, "//you// are not a coward, Sam. And I was wrong--wrong to have been so uncaring, so thoughtless about--"
"Me leaving you," she finished looking as guilty as you felt a moment ago.
"--you." You reach out and place a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze, "true, I was hurt when you left England--hurt that you didn't tell me the whole truth and even more so when you stopped responding to my letters. But I should have had more faith in you, in--" //us//, the word tastes strangely sweet on your tongue but, "--our friendship" is the word that leaves your mouth.
"I should have believed in the strength of it, instead of doubting you. I should have been more patient and--"
While you were pouring your heart out, Sam's entire posture shifted. Her eyes, which up until now, were pretty much singularly pointed to the floor, were pinned to your face, perhaps even wet at the corners. Her shoulders had straightened, bringing her to her full height as she continued to gape at you, open-mouthed and...hungry? No, that can't be right.
Once you spot the change in her, it's hard to finish your sentence. So, you don't, helplessly shrugging your shoulders, hoping she understood you now.
"Does this mean..." Sam takes a sudden, but sure step forward so that you're facing each other--close enough you can make out gold flecks in her brown eyes. She twists a pieces of ribbon that adorns her waist, one of your favorite tells. Her nerves always made her tactile.
"Does this mean you forgive me?" Her voices breaks again, tugging at your guilt some more. She really did miss you, didn't she?
You take ahold of the hand that fidget at her waist, waiting until her eyes meet yours again, because you wanted leave no doubt about your answer.
<<if $group is 3 or $group is 4>>"Of course, how could I not?" you give a toothy smile, "who else will come to my rescue should I trip over the floor again?"<<else>>"Of course, I would have it no other way." You don't bother hiding your sentiment behind words.<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.25]]</div><<set $relSam to "estranged">><<set $samAff to 0>>It's not enough. The strength of that statement settles any lingering doubt.
You take a step forward, "Sam--" Her name settles oddly on your tongue but the next words flow through your lips with ease. "The last few years have been incredibly long--incredibly lonely. But no matter how hard, I managed. I managed even when your letters stopped coming, when you forgot about me. I suppose I did the mature thing and learned to be without you."
You exhale as her fists begin to clench at her side. But she doesn't interrupt.
"It is...it is good to see you--to hear your family is well and whole. But I can not pretend to be fine just so we can return to our old ways. I can not lie to you or myself, not about something as important as our friendship. It would be impossible to be as we were." //It's impossible to be your friend now.// Regardless of your anger, you can't force the words out your mouth.
It seems they aren't necessary as Sam inhales sharply, blinking back what must be tears, before turning away from you.
You take a step away from her in turn. She was always particular about weeping, couldn't bear the thought of someone watching her cry. And you were certainly in no position of offering her comfort after directly bring them about.
When she does finally turn back your way, the tears are gone and her face is rigid like plaster, betraying none of the vulnerability from a few minutes ago. Your gut bottoms out at her disinterested expression as you cross your arms trying to bask in your anger instead.
The emotion tastes like sand in your mouth, "perhaps in time, we can--"
"--oh no, you're right, Miss Merritt." Sam stops you with a hand, "it was foolish of me to bring it up. Let us continue our walk and talk of other more pleasant topics."
Her detached air should bother you more. It should feed into the anger but it doesn't. You deflate as she begins walking again, not even regarding you.
Sam was slow to anger, even as a child. But this hurt more than a bout of screaming could, this cold dismissal.
<div class="choice">[[Next|ch1.26]]</div>There's one last question you have for her, "so where does this leave us?"
"I-I don't know. I suppose that's up to you, Miss Merritt."
<<if $madatSam gt 0>>a nervous hesitation<<else>>a steady hopeful note<</if>> in her voice as she continues, "all I want--all I've ever wanted was your friendship. I've missed you dearly for all my faults. I want to be in your life once again, if you'll have me."
You think back to the <<if $group is 3 or $group is 4>>ballroom<<else>>the game<</if>>, how coldly she seemed to regard you in the company of others, but now in the shade of the trees...it was as if you were speaking to entirely different person.
<div class="choice">[[...a dear friend, returned at last.|ch1.25a][$relSam to "friend", $samAff to 10]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[...Someone closer than a friend. <3|ch1.25b][$relSam to "crush", $samAff to 15]]</div>It wasn't a terribly difficult decision. You give your old friend a hopeful smile, "I'll have you no other way, Sam. All is forgiven, let us enjoy this season as we always ought to."
She gives you an open, bright smile looking every bit like the girl from your childhood and you let her hand drop gently from your grasp.
The pair of you settle into an easy quiet, reflecting on how easy(or perhaps effortless is the correct term) it is to slip back into your friendship.
<<include "ch1.26">>Your smile fades into something more cautious as the feeling in your chest twists into something new as you look at your friend. Perhaps it wasn't a new emotion, more than a newly renewed one. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as Sam tilted her head in concern at your silence.
You should really say something but the words feel heavy and stick to top of your mouth, your gums itching with nervous energy. It was apparent to you, then. You had feelings for your best friend. You felt something for Sam.
"$name..." She pulls her hand out of your grasp to reach for your shoulder. But you take a swift step back, an apologetic frown on your face as you rein in your emotions.
You shake your head and then reclaim her hand to squeeze in reassurance, "I'll have you no other way, Sam."
Though your heart leaps at those words, Sam lets out a small sigh of relief, "And I'll have you no other way as well, $name."
"All is forgiven, let us enjoy this season as we always ought to," it takes a considerable effort to appear calm as you gesture to the path ahead, "shall we?"
<<include "ch1.26">><<if $relSam is "estranged">>You trail after her, trying to catch up, but Sam walks fast enough to keep you one step behind. <</if>>As you walk on, the trail becomes less emptier than you before. In the a distance, a pair of figures stand huddled close together as if in the midst of an intimate conversation.
The taller of the two figures looks familiar as you get closer. His copper-toned locks peek out from beneath a muted green top-hat. A pale freckled hand comes up to adjust its angle on his head. Benjamin Tarley.
Another gentleman stands beside him, saying nothing as he pushes up a thin pair of wire-frame glasses on the bridge of his nose, frowning deeply at Ben. You have never seen this man before, certainly not at any function or at the Tarley home. He looks nothing like your friend, so you are reluctant to conclude that the two are related.
Sam slows her stride and gives you a questioning look, no doubt puzzling over the same thing you are.
You consider asking Sam to turn back the way you came, but you are within hearing distance of the arguing couple and briefly the stranger meets your eyes. It would be rude now to simply turn away without addressing one another.
Sam does the honor of coming to a stop a few paces away from Ben and his conversation partner, "Mr. Tarley, we thought we left you behind at the picnic."
Immediately the pair's raised voices evaporate. The stranger's frown deepens but he doesn't acknowledge either of you with a greeting. He simply narrows his eyes at Ben, before striding away in the direction of one of the park's exits.
He passes in between you and Sam, close enough that he knocks in both your and Sam's shoulders with gruff noise. Rudeness aside, you manage to get a closer look at this not-so-gentleman. He is roughly Sam's height, younger than you expected upon noticing his spectacles and dressed too causally to be a member of Elias' picnic gathering. His brown skin glistens in the late afternoon sun--the pair must have walked for awhile in the heat.
<<if $relSam is "crush">>Sam ignores the stranger's exit and goes over to put a hand on Ben's shoulder, "are you alright?"
You stiffen at the gesture. Sam smiles sadly at your mutual friend and you feel a stab of shame but still something about her touching him bothers you.<<else>>Sam gives the parting stranger a quick searching look, before coming to Ben's side, placing a hand on his shoulder, "are you alright?"<</if>>
"I am--" his throat catches but he shakes his head with a smile that wobbles at the edges, "I am perfectly fine, Miss Renolds."
"Miss Merritt," he gives you a wry nod in greeting, managing to wrestle his expression into a faint imitation of the one he wore at the picnic earlier. "I apologize for...anything you heard. It was-was just a disagreement of sorts. Nothing worth troubling over."
From the way Sam's hand tightens on his shoulder, she doesn't believe him either.
In a rare display of assertiveness, Mr. Tarley gently pries Sam's hand off his shoulder and offers his arms to you both, "Let's return to the party, the others must be worrying after us."
Sam looks your way, a deep set frown on her lips. You both nod and take the man's arm at the same time, putting the prior scene to the back of your mind to be prodded and questioned later. The three of you walk back towards the picnic blankets as the sunset reaches its terminus and your shadows dance across the grass, elastic and foreboding.
<div class="choice">[[Next|end]]</div><div class="h1-chap"><<fadein 5s>>Prologue:The Opening of the Season<</fadein>></div>
<span class="quote-chap"><<fadein 5s>>"You must be the best judge of your own happiness."
― [[Jane Austen, Persuasion|prolog1]]<</fadein>></span>
<<timed 15s>><<goto [[prolog1]]>><</timed>>Like any other annual season in town, the high-traffic, high-expense social period opened with, you guessed it, an opening ball.
And like any other moderately respectful--but more importantly, moderately rich family, the Merritts–your family–would be in attendance.
The Assembly Rooms' entrance hall is packed tight. Families from all over England have come to town for the season. Noblefolk, respected figures, other members of the gentry, and their attendants filled the decently sized room. Every inch of space was taken on the settees that lined the hall, while others leaned against the large marble pillars that supported the building's signature glass ceiling.
It just enough to make you uncomfortable standing in line to enter the actual ballroom of the assembly rooms.
Why is it called the assembly rooms anyway? More often than not everyone just gathered in one large room, rather than in smaller segmented ones. Though the search engine optimization(SEO) of "the assembly building" is not as appealing as "the assembly rooms." We all must make sacrifices for good branding.
You trudge alongside your parents, as guests lined up to greet the hosts of the ball before entering, doing your best to not pick at a loose bit of lace at your waist. The dress was new, delicate ivory with cream lace as an accent. Tradition, not an allergy to color, guided your outfit choice. Everyone wore white to the opening ball, some nonsense about bringing good vibes and having a fresh start. It seemed a waste to you.
On the topic of being wasteful, this year’s opening ball is hosted by the Darts, an older couple with no children and more than enough money and time to spend on it. Although they have been perfectly civil to you, your parents rarely visit with them. As you make your way to the front, you notice your mother holding back a small frown, while your father coughed into a handkerchief.
Your parents exchange a look you can't rightly decipher before your mother turns her attention to you and calls your name.
What name does she call?
<<message 'See a List of Suggestions'>>*[[Dorothea|prolog1.5][$name to "Dorothea"]]
*[[Elizabeth|prolog1.5][$name to "Elizabeth"]]
*[[Isabeau|prolog1.5][$name to "Isabeau"]]
*[[Agnes|prolog1.5][$name to "Agnes"]]
*[[Ruth|prolog1.5][$name to "Ruth"]]
*[[Marjorie|prolog1.5][$name to "Marjorie"]]<</message>>
<<textbox "$name" "">> \
<<button "Confirm">>
<<set $name to $name.trim()>> /*trims the whitespace, always do first */
<<set $name to $name.toUpperFirst()>> /*capitalizes first letter, just in case */
<<if $name is "">>
<<replace "#textbox-error">>Please enter Miss Merritt's first name.<</replace>>
<<elseif /[^A-Z]/i.test($name)>>
<<replace "#textbox-error">>That looks a little off, maybe a different moniker?<</replace>>
<<elseif $name is "Samantha">>
<<replace"#textbox-error">>Unfortunately that name is taken, try another?<</replace>>
<<elseif $name is "Sam">>
<<replace"#textbox-error">>Unfortunately that name is taken, try another?<</replace>>
<<elseif $name is "Vivian">>
<<replace"#textbox-error">>Unfortunately that name is taken, try another?<</replace>>
<<elseif $name is "Janet">>
<<replace"#textbox-error">>Unfortunately that name is taken, try another?<</replace>>
<<elseif $name is "Jane">>
<<replace"#textbox-error">>Unfortunately that name is taken, try another?<</replace>>
<<else>>
<<replace "#textbox-error">><</replace>>
<<goto "prolog1.5">>
<</if>>
<</button>>
<span id="textbox-error"></span>"$name, are you listening?" Your mother chides standing in-front of you in the line, snapping her hand-fan closed with an excessive flourish. Her eyebrows are, surprisingly, in place. Though when your father speaks, they knit together in their usual fashion.
"Oh leave her be, Henrietta. It’s been almost a year since both of you have come to town. Let the poor girl have her wistful sight-seeing."
Your father tugs her closer to his side, leaving almost no room on the seat. Scandalous, had they not be married for over twenty-three years and only in the presence of their daughter. "You were in her position not so long ago."
She turns to him with narrowed eyes. "Not so long ago–"
"Oh yes, my love, for all the passage of time you still look as beautiful and terrifying as that first night I met you." He gives your mother a quick squeeze, eyes crinkling into a smile.
"Lucas, please, can we not have one serious moment tonight?"
"I do not jest, my love."
"I see you smirking at me, villain. This is not a time to tease. This season is very important for us–for $name. In fact–" She begins to turn back to you, but your father baits her once more with another rather colorful barb. Your mother, being your mother, responds in kind. Slowly enough, they continue their banter without ever returning to what she wanted to tell you.
Curious but there will be time enough for that later.
You sway in place, trying to affix your attention while waiting in line. Your parents continue to quietly mock-bicker with one another, earning an ignored eye-roll from you.
Instead of mindless people-watching as the couple in front of you takes their time in greeting the hosts, you reach into the pockets of your dress(I know, a radical concept, but hold onto your modern suspension of disbelief!) and to feel the soft leather binding of your journal.
The pocket was a gift from your mother, a mandate for all of your dresses, a set of secret pockets, for storing those precious things that ought not to be in a lady’s reticule. The journal was from your father, who wrote more often than he prayed.
The couple in front of you seems to be in no hurry, so you pull the precious notebook out and flip it's pages until landing on a familiar spot.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog2]]</div><div class="ribbon"><i class="fas fa-bookmark r-icon"></i>Journal Unlocked</div>
Though you've used other journals for every purpose under the sun, this particular friend kept all of your notes and accounts of social events, acquaintances, and correspondence. You tug gently on the dark blue ribbon that served as a bookmark, trusting it to always take you to the necessary pages.
By the time you've stowed it, the line picks up speed and you found yourself at the front. The doors to the main assembly room or ballroom are held open by rather grim-looking statues of a flute player and weeping maiden. Past the doors and their strange stone guardians, you see the room is as packed as the entry hall but with patches of empty space to allow movement between circles of guests, as well as a larger area clear off for dancing.
Of course, before you can enter the party, it is only polite you meet and greet tonight's gracious hosts, the Darts.
Mrs. Dart comes forward to greet you first. Her graying hair pinned up high on her head, bobbing around with the sudden motion.
"Henrietta! My word, I am pleased to see you in town at last." Her gloved hands take hold of your mother’s, the grip rather tight for their "friendship." Your parents like to joke, in private, that Mrs. Dart could play the part of a mouse very well. Standing next to your mother, Mrs. Dart does indeed look the part, her head craning up to meet your mother’s eyes. After an unusually awkward nod from your mother, she turns to your father with a smile.
But it is Mr. Dart who speaks, stepping forward beside his wife, putting a hand on her shoulder with a grin. "How good of you to come, Lucas. It’s been quite some time since our last hunting foray. I hope you were not put off by our game. The grounds back in Easton have been freshly stocked."
"I–yes, of course–" Your father begins to reply before Mrs. Dart cuts him off with a wave.
She reaches out and takes a hold of your <<cycle "$skin" autoselect>><<option 'tan<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "tan">><<option 'olive<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "olive">><<option 'dark brown<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "dark brown">><<option 'pale<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "pale">><<option 'tawny<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "tawny">><<option 'brown<i class="fas fa-sync-alt"></i>' "brown">><</cycle>> hands, squeezing them fondly, "And, of course, our little $name, though she is not so little anymore is she." She drops one of your hands to lean over whisper in mock-conspiracy, though she speaks loud enough for everyone around you to hear. "Enjoy yourself tonight, dear. For the season truly is the domain of the young and free."
<<nobr>><div class="choice">[['“Thank you, Mrs. Dart. I’ll keep that in mind.”'|prolog2.5][$appearance to true, $passive =+ 1, $words =+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You say nothing, leaning away from her instinctively.|prolog2.5][$appearance to true, $passive =+ 1, $action =+ 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You bend into a sloppy curtsey.|prolog2.5][$appearance to true, $assertive =+ 1, $action =+ 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Ah, yes, the season truly does belong to the young, the free, and the closely watched.”'|prolog2.5][$appearance to true, $assertive =+ 1, $words =+ 1]]</div><</nobr>><div class="ribbon"><i class="fas fa-bookmark r-icon"></i><div class="space">[[A Lady's Journal]]</div> Page Unlocked</div> $skin
Whatever you planned to say or do, your mother beats you to it. "Thank you, Clarice. I am sure $name will heed your words. But I am afraid we are keeping your other guests. We shall speak again soon."
Your father bends at the waist, while you and your mother dip into practiced curtsies. You notice how quick and mechanical your parents seem to move, shuffling you along as the Darts repeat the same welcome pleasantries they’ve just given to the next in line. Mrs. Dart’s smile falls for just an instant as you step away.
The main assembly room, while one of the largest gathering spaces in town, is full of people. Guests fill up almost every available space. Though the middle of the ballroom is kept free of groups, furniture, and food. With a band of musicians at one side of the room, couples line up along the empty space and dance to lively tunes. The music is recognizable and quite pleasing. You feel the itch to go dance yourself but it would be quite scandalous to take to the floor without a partner and without even speaking to another soul.
<<nobr>><div class="choice">[[You have an extraordinarily easy time peering over the crowd. You are usually the tallest in any given room but not always.|prolog3][$height to "very tall"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[While not easy, you can still see over most of the bodies in the room without much straining. The heels help, but you are considered to be tall even without them.|prolog3][$height to "tall"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Leaning on your tip-toe, you manage to look over the throngs of people in the room. You are no more taller nor shorter than most of your peers.|prolog3][$height to "average"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's rather a lost cause, trying to leverage your "stature" or lack thereof to see much of anything in the ballroom. You've faced many a "fun-size" joke in your time on this earth.|prolog3][$height to "short"]]</div><</nobr>><<if $height eq "short">>You make do and look around as best you can,<<else>>You look around the room,<</if>> noting the refreshment tables lining the walls, should anyone need water. You, also, notice a few sets of open double doors that, judging by the brief but blessed cool breeze they let in, lead to balconies, should you need somewhere quiet and safe to escape to.
Your mother spots someone in the crowd and nearly loses herself in excitement. She takes a hold of your hand and leads you towards one corner of the room, leaving your father behind. You catch him giving you a quick wave before disappearing into the crowd of coats and feather headpieces.
Henrietta moves past the crowd of perfect strangers and vague acquaintances with nothing but sheer will and a disarming smile. Finally, you come to stop in front of a familiar face.
"Mrs. Grouse, how glad am I to see you here!" Your mother begins, dropping your hand to unfurl her fan as the path closes behind you, and space becomes scarce once more.
Mrs. Grouse. You are very well acquainted with Mrs. Grouse. She is the type of woman to peer at you upon your first meeting, her small circular spectacles slipping down the length of her bird-beak of a nose, as she examined the contents of your soul.
Her intimate knowledge of others and the inner workings of the town bordered on the occult. Though as you grew older, you understood her secret power to be the ability to brunt-force gossip and secrets from her conversation partners. Most put up with her pushy nature in order to catch bits and pieces of what she’d extracted from others. Which could be said of your mother, but you know that their friendship goes a little deeper than mutual information exchanges.
Mrs. Grouse looks to be in good health and greater spirits as she turns away from a group of older women mid-laugh to regard your mother. Her spectacles slouch down her nose but she does not bother to fix them. “Ah, Henrietta! There you are my girl. It is poor manners to keep an old lady waiting.”
Your mother begins fanning herself, giving Mrs. Grouse a bit of a sheepish look. “We had meant to arrive earlier but Lucas– “
“No doubt you got lost in his pretty eyes and silver-toned words.”
Mrs. Grouse waves away the issue as you think you spot some pink on your mother’s cheeks. “Never mind all that nonsense, you’re here and with your pretty little thing, too.”
What is with this “little” business? You are one and twenty now with over five seasons behind you. There’s practically nothing “little” about you.
“Though, there’s practically nothing //little// about you. Is there, girl?”
She turns to face you, pushing up her glasses with one wrinkled finger. The corners of her mouth curl in a way you can only describe as wicked. “All grown up, a veritable young lady. Tell me have you been keeping up with your skills?”
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog3.1]]</div>You manage to successfully suppress a groan. If you had a pound for every time you have had to answer that question, all of Easton would be yours, even its over-valued marble-facades and tiny-shrubbery-lined estates.
But in truth, you had prepared for the dreaded “skills” question. It’s one of those universal truths that everyone seems to be so preoccupied with, that every young lady must labor over the improvement of her skill set.
It is a truth universally acknowledged… oh no, you just cannot do it. Not even in your inner thoughts can you let such a falsehood continue. Perhaps with more sarcasm?
It Is A TRuth uNIveRsALly aCKnOwLeDGe–oh, yes! Much better–that a truly accomplished young lady possesses fine needlework, talented musical acumen, remarkable attention to detail in drawing, a strong command of riding, and, your mother’s favorite, a mind cultivated by diverse reading.
It’s by no means an exhaustive or complete list of criteria. Who decides it? Even those that insist upon following it have no clue. If only the matter were as simple as taking a poll among the young ladies themselves, what they might wish to cultivate in themselves. But the times… always the times getting in the way of want and need.
So, which of your skills have you been keeping up with?
<<nobr>><div class="choice">[['“Drawing.”'|prolog3.2][$draw to 30]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Music.”'|prolog3.2][$music to 30]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Needlework.”'|prolog3.2][$sew to 30]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Reading.”'|prolog3.2][$read to 30]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Riding.”'|prolog3.2][$ride to 30]]</div><</nobr>><<if $draw is 30>>You’ve always had a knack for drawing. Since childhood, you’ve been obsessed with capturing the world around you. Perhaps in another life, you’d have pursued this innate passion for art into something more specialized like painting or sculpting. However, you’ve spent the breadth of your years as a lady using your talent with the pen to sketch the likenesses of those around you. You have several of your mother tending to her garden and your father on his faithful Arabian steed, Casper.
“I’ve been sketching more seriously.”
<<elseif $music is 30>>You’ve always felt attuned to music. Since childhood, you’ve been obsessed with sounds that surround you. Perhaps in another life, you’d have pursued this innate passion for music into more something professional like opera or conducting or even more shocking, composing. However, you’ve spent the breadth of your years as a lady using your talent to play the piano-forte. Your parents are fond of your playing, encouraging you to play for guests.
“I’ve been playing the piano-forte more seriously.”
<<elseif $sew is 30>>You’ve always felt attuned to woven crafts. Since childhood, you’ve been enamored with fabric and thread, unable to resist running your hands along the dresses of women who visited your mother. Perhaps in another life, you’d have pursued this innate passion for needlework into something more professional like dress-making or weaving. However, you’ve spent the breadth of your years as a lady using your talent to embroider smaller, delicate pieces like cushions or your mother’s reticle.
“I’ve been practicing my needlework more than usual.”
<<elseif $read is 30>>You’ve always felt attuned to the written word. Since childhood, you’ve been enraptured with stories, begging your father to tell another and another tale before bed. Perhaps in another life, you’d pursue this innate passion for storytelling into something more professional like writing your own books or teaching literature in a university. However, you’ve spent the breadth of your years as a lady using your knowledge to liven conversations in social gatherings, impressing those around you with your almost worldly sense of time and place.
“I’ve been reading, more than I ought some might say.”
<<else>>You’ve always preferred the outdoors, the air sweeping across your back, sweat on your brow. Your father gifted you a young foal on your tenth birthday, which you promptly named Apollo and never left his side. Perhaps in another life, you pursue your passion for riding and horsemanship for something professional. However, you’ve spent the breadth of your years as a lady using your aptitude as a rider to impress acquaintances during outdoor events and participate, in so much as women can participate, in hunting events.
“I’ve been riding more often as of late.”<</if>>
Mrs. Grouse’s grin widens as she nods in acknowledgment. “Very good. Although Henrietta claims your improvement to be multifaceted?”
What your mother claims is often, but not always, true. And you have indeed been pushed to put your efforts into improving more than one aspect of yourself. But have you actually followed through on that?
<<nobr>><<if $draw is 30>><div class="choice">[['“Drawing has been my singular focus...”'|prolog3.3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\'ve taken a interest in music.”'|prolog3.3][$music += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Needlework has taken some of my time.”'|prolog3.3][$sew += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I can\'t seem to stop reading.”'|prolog3.3][$read += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\'ve been riding more.”'|prolog3.3][$ride += 10]]</div>\
<<elseif $music is 30>><div class="choice">[['“I\'ve found drawing to be relaxing.”'|prolog3.3][$draw += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Music has been my singular focus...”'|prolog3.3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Needlework has taken some of my time.”'|prolog3.3][$sew += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I can\'t seem to stop reading.”'|prolog3.3][$read += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\'ve been riding more.”'|prolog3.3][$ride += 10]]</div>\
<<elseif $sew is 30>><div class="choice">[['“I\'ve found drawing to be relaxing.”'|prolog3.3][$draw += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\'ve taken a interest in music.”'|prolog3.3][$music += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Needlework has been my singular focus...”'|prolog3.3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I can\'t seem to stop reading.”'|prolog3.3][$read += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\'ve been riding more.”'|prolog3.3][$ride += 10]]</div>\
<<elseif $read is 30>><div class="choice">[['“I\'ve found drawing to be relaxing.”'|prolog3.3][$draw += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\'ve taken a interest in music.”'|prolog3.3][$music += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Needlework has taken some of my time.”'|prolog3.3][$sew += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Reading has been my singular focus...”'|prolog3.3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\'ve been riding more.”'|prolog3.3][$ride += 10]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[['“I\'ve found drawing to be relaxing.”'|prolog3.3][$draw += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I\ve taken a interest in music.”'|prolog3.3][$music += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Needlework has taken some of my time.”'|prolog3.3][$sew += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“I can\'t seem to stop reading.”'|prolog3.3][$read += 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['“Riding has been my singular focus...”'|prolog3.3]]</div><</if>><</nobr>><<set $skills to true>><div class="ribbon"><i class="fa fa-bookmark r-icon" aria-hidden="true"></i><div class="space">[[Skills & Accomplishments]]</div> Page Unlocked</div>
You begin to explain. But Mrs. Grouse waves away your words with an impatient nod. It seems whatever amusement she found from putting you on the spot in front of your mother has faded and more //interesting// matters have come to her attention.
She turns to your mother, who’s gaze had been only focused on you as Mrs. Grouse all but interrogated you on your time management. But now her shoulders were squarely turned in Mrs. Grouse’s direction. Your mother leans in as if even that uncomfortable distance might let some choice bit of gossip slip away.
“Oh Henrietta, I have heard the most interesting news from Mrs. Ashford. You know–the one who married so quickly after Michaelmas–"
You know from bearing witness to Mrs. Grouse gossip sessions that knowing Mrs. Ashford is unimportant and, most likely, unrelated to whatever bit of news Mrs. Grouse squeezed out of the woman. But still, it's a matter of ritual with these women. Your mother loved to know things, important, irrelevant, doesn't matter so long as she knows.
Your mother pretends to be lost for just an instant, testing to see if Mrs. Grouse might reveal something new about this “Mrs. Ashford”, that the elderly woman hadn’t already shared.
But Mrs. Grouse just smiles silently. The sheen of her gray eyes puts you off-kilter as you wait for your mother to carry on. Finally, she does and you let out a small breath, “–the one with loose-lipped governess? Oh yes, I do remember her.”
“Well–and I think you will be most excited to hear this as it concerns a family so closely settled to yours–"
“Who?” You can not help but ask. Though some part of you knows //who// Mrs. Grouse speaks of. The Renolds.
Mrs. Grouse looks at you. “Why, the Renolds, of course. Mrs. Ashford came to town rather late than the rest of Easton society. But this allowed her to see the Renolds’ return from the continent. In fact–" She leans in closer to your mother. You take a step closer to the pair, yourself. “–She visited them just before she departed for town. You wouldn't believe it, Henrietta. I almost do not and I’ve spoken to Mrs. Ashford myself.”
“Believe what?”
Mrs. Grouse smiles at your interjection. “Well...It seems that Mrs. Renolds has returned in the greatest of spirits and in the best of health.”
She continues but you find that you can not listen further. It’s been over five years since you have last spoken to the Renolds–since you’ve seen Samantha. Growing up practically next door to one another, Sam-Samantha was the closest friend you’ve ever had. Things came to a sudden close when Mrs. Renolds’s health began to decline in the middle of your first season at 16. She needed special treatment, treatment only available abroad. Saying goodbye was not easy. But it was a silent kind of understanding between the two of you. A promise to let go painlessly, a promise to weather the time and distance, because a friendship born from infancy can surely endure this. To think after so long being apart, you might see your best friend again. You wonder if that promise shall be kept if it really will be as simple and easy as before. Or if the time and distance had eaten away at the vestiges of your friendship.
Finally, you return your attention to the conversation at hand to find Mrs. Grouse mid-sentence. “–and it seems the family is to participate in this year’s season, even the Renold’s child, Sam–”
Your mother looks rather bored and at the mention of the season brightens up enough to interrupt Mrs. Grouse. “Yes, yes, the Renolds, old news, sure enough. Let’s speak of something new to the Season. I have the most delicious bit of //information// for you, concerning a soon-to-be //new// neighbor of ours.”
<<nobr>><div class="choice">[['"That\'s a little rude, Mother."'|prolog3.4][$serious to 1, $repstat to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You giggle. Just a little.|prolog3.4][$playful to 1, $repstat to true]]</div><</nobr>><div class="ribbon"><i class="fa fa-bookmark r-icon" aria-hidden="true"></i><div class="space">[[Reputation & Rumors]]</div> Page unlocked</div>
<<if $serious is 1>>"Mrs. Grouse was in the middle of recounting her story. I believe we ought to let her finish." There's not an ounce of humor on your face.\
<<else>>You can't help it. You giggle. Just a little bit, at first. But you lose control for a moment and cough them away like the smooth socialite you are.<</if>>
Your mother just ignores you with an eye roll.
While Mrs. Grouse...Well, this has Mrs. Grouse nearly stunned. You say stunned because her entire face slackens and her eyes grow wide behind her frames. An expression you’ve never seen, and judging by your mother’s smirk, an expression she’s only rarely seen. You say nearly because just as quickly as the surprise becomes apparent, Mrs. Grouse fixes her expression back to one of wry amusement.
“Oh, do you now. Let’s hear it then.”
Your mother schools her smirk back into a thin-lipped smile. “You remember Mr. Phillips in the village– “
“–Of course, freshest cuts of meat in all of Easton–” Mrs. Grouse is quick to catch on.
“Well, Mr. Phillips received a large order from Lady Clovet–”
“–But all her children are–”
“–oh yes, but this meal was meant for a newcomer to Easton society.” Your mother begins to fan herself faster, giving you a long look as if to ensure you are paying attention. “A gentleman–a single man of large fortune–fifteen thousand a year–has taken up residence in the old Clovet home. Lady Clovet sold it to this enterprising young man, not but a fortnight ago.”
“Lady Clovet? You are certain?”
“Most certain–This young man is said to be very //amicable// and quick-witted. Though, if Mr. Phillips is to be believed, we will have the chance to measure him first hand.”
Mrs. Grouse purses her lips, before looking at you.
<<if $passive gt $assertive>>You pretend to be fascinated with the beaded embroidery on your mother’s fan, watching the black and green blend together in the motion.
Mrs. Grouse sighs and turns back to your mother. “And do tell us, Henrietta, this gentleman’s name.”\
<<else>>You take the hint. “Oh, do tell us, mother. What is this gentleman’s name?”<</if>>
“He is a Mr. Langley. Hugh Langley.” She lowers her fan, puffing out her chest like canary preening itself. She enjoys stealing the gossip spotlight from Mrs. Grouse. “Well, there you are. You can not possibly say my news is not more exciting, Liza.”
Mrs. Grouse, Liza being her first name though you’ve only heard your mother use it, rolls her eyes, reaching over to close your mother’s fan. “Yes, yes, Henrietta, quite a show. But I was hoping to hear of a certain dread–”
She stops mid-sentence, turning to give you a meaningful look. What meaning she means to convey, you have not a clue.
But it seems your mother knows exactly what Mrs. Grouse means, angling herself so as to lock you out of their little huddle. Mrs. Grouse smiles sadly at you, before turning and walking further into the corner the three of you had settled in.
Before you can even ask, your mother shakes her head.
“$name, be a dear and bring us refreshments.”
And there it is, your dismissal. The unsaid “take your time” hangs in the air, until your mother joins Mrs. Grouse a ways away, speaking in hushed tones. Even if you wanted, you couldn’t make out a word.
<div class="choice">[[Into the fray with you, then.|prolog3.5]]</div><div class="h1">The Assembly Rooms</div>
You stand more or less alone in the crowd, indifferent as usual. For a moment, you entertain the hope of running into a lady of your acquaintance, a foolish hope considering the number of people gathered tonight, considering that even if one of your “town” friends, made in seasons prior, was here tonight, it would take a herculean amount of luck to find them in a room this large, this filled.
Instead, you weigh your options. Dancing is still most certainly off-limits. You’ve only spoken to Mrs. Grouse and no one has approached you with the offer of a dance.
You look to the nearest refreshments table, neat rows of crystalline cups, and small platters of bread and cheese. A few small circles of guests mingle about the table as others come up alone and peck upon the offerings. You know from past seasons that if one wishes to “happen” upon a new acquaintance or chance to meet a stranger, the refreshments are the perfect place. Of course, your mother’s vague excuse to shut you out of her conversation bears no repeating. You might kill two birds with one stone and give her something to smile about.
Somehow through the din of the crowd, you manage to pick up a few dissonant notes coming from the piano-forte. Though the instrument is often the main feature in more private affairs like dinners or afternoon luncheons, tonight it had been pushed off to one side, a lace cover draped over it like an afterthought. You turn to find a few younger-looking girls, perched upon the seat, the cover haphazardly thrown back, and the girls, very likely experiencing their first season in town, fiddling with the keys. The band continues to play and the guests ignore the girls. You wonder why none of the staff has come to usher them away before they create a scene. Though at a gathering like this, it's ungracious to expect the staff to handle every little mishap, especially one as innocent and non-immediate as this.
You are reminded of your own debut season. You and Sam had done more or less the same thing these girls were doing, ignoring the crowd, and the curious looks from your adults. Sam had a knack for playing. You spent many afternoons listening to Sam at the instrument, pale long fingers gracefully dancing across the ivory. This little memory brings you back to Mrs. Grouse’s comment. Could Sam really be here tonight? You are unsure if you’re ready for a potential reunion. Though a part of you knows that you will run into one another whether each of you is ready or not.
Still, the night is young and you’ve yet to make up your mind. Where shall you go?
<<nobr>><div class="choice">[[Go to the Refreshments table|prolog4a]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go near the Piano-forte|prolog4b]]</div><</nobr>><div class="h1">The Assembly Rooms</div>
Alone. Again. In the Assembly rooms. What a grand start to the season.
It’s hard seeing <<if $metSam>>Sam<<else>>Jane<</if>> head towards the dance floor with a partner, while you are left standing alone on the sidelines.
Dancing seemed such a contradiction to you. A public act with private practice. One could speak intimately with their partner, all while tens of eyes are set upon them. Then there was the physicality of the act, hands–usually gloved, of course–set upon hands, feet following and leading, the heat and heft of breath as you stand within mere inches of your partner. It seemed such a dangerous loophole, to allow such a breach of personal space at public events.
It made sense, then, why there were so many formalities associated with the procurement of a dance partner. //Usually//, the gentleman asked the lady for the honor of dancing with her. If the gentleman was rather brash and asked a lady whom he had little to no acquaintance, he //and the lady// would be judged rather harshly. If the lady spurned tradition and asked the gentleman instead, both would be judged less harshly, but still judged. Very rarely have you seen ladies dance with other ladies, only at very particular functions when gentlemen are scarce. And never have you personally seen a gentleman ask another to dance with him. Such a strange place to draw distinctions, it seemed to you.
There were some allowances, of course, made with respect to one’s reputation and social standing. A gentleman, who is accustomed to infamy and the rumor mill, for instance, wouldn’t think twice about dancing with a stranger. And stranger still, a lady, highly respected, could get away with asking a partner to dance.
It is a gamble, considering you are no more loved than hated in society. But if you were feeling bold, you might brave the dance floor alone and snag yourself a partner just before it begins.
As you muse, a gaggle of giggling girls rushes by, almost jostling you in the process. Their movement creates a momentary draft, giving relief to the few beads of sweat gathering at the back of your neck. Not that it was a particularly hot spring night, but you were surrounded by throngs of people, enough to mask the vastness of the Assembly rooms. It was bound to create a heated environment. And unlike your mother, you had neglected to bring a hand fan that might have helped the situation.
The girls give no second glance as they chase one another past group after group. Instead, they leave the room altogether through one of the many side double-doors to the balcony, left open in the hopes of letting out the Assembly rooms’ heat.
Another avenue to consider. While you may not be participating in this dance, you might avail yourself to fresh air on the balcony. Less noise, no more offensive smells, or need to politely smile. You might even let your posture relax a little.
Besides, the Assembly rooms are known for boasting some of the best views of the city. No doubt the balcony would give you them in bounds. After running into <<if $metSam>>Sam for the time in years,<<else>>Jane after all this time,<</if>> you could use a moment to just reflect.
<<nobr>><div class="choice">[[Head out on the Balcony|prolog5.1][$metVivian to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stride onto the Dance floor alone|prolog6][$metWarren to true]]</div><</nobr>><div class="h1">The Refreshments Table</div>
You walk over to the refreshments. The crowd is mercifully less thick here than it had been near the corner your mother and Mrs. Grouse had settled in. A few groups shuffle out of your way with pleasant smiles, no one you recognize but the gesture is kindly meant. You slowly feel your confidence building, awkwardness from being out of society fading as you reply with polite smiles of your own.
It's not the fanciest fare, no bites of seafood or olives. But the small cubes of cheese and, what had to have been, fresh bread are good enough to sate any reasonable tongue.
You hover over the drinks, reaching for one decently full glass of water before someone to your side speaks up.
“Oh, I would avoid that one. Lord Elton was a little careless with his sneezes earlier. In fact, I’d avoid this entire section of the table.”
A dark brown hand nudges your own over to the right, to another set of neatly arranged glasses.
<div class="choice">[[Grateful, you take a glass as directed.|prolog4.1a][$passive =+ 2,$glass to true,$q1 to true, $metHugh to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You shrug and take a glass from the right.|prolog4.1a][$passive =+ 1, $glass to true, $q2 to true, $metHugh to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You ignore the hand and take a glass from the left.|prolog4.1a][$assertive =+ 2, $glass to true, $q3 to true, $metHugh to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You pull your hand back entirely.|prolog4.1a][$assertive =+ 1, $q4 to true, $metHugh to true]]</div><<if $q1>>Of course, you take a glass from the right. Lord Elton is notorious for disrespecting the sanctity of food at gatherings and you don't want to fall victim to his carelessness. Not that anyone would ever correct the //good// lord, for he outranks most of those in attendance tonight. The impertinence of telling an old man to cover his mouth when he sneezes would make you the talk of the town for weeks.
You, most gratefully, take a less suspect-looking glass of water, looking almost pale yellow in the patchy candlelight.\
<<elseif $q2>>Of course, you take a glass from the right. Lord Elton is notorious for disrespecting the sanctity of food at gatherings and you don't want to fall victim to his carelessness. Not that anyone would ever correct the //good// lord for he outranks most of those in attendance tonight. The impertinence of telling an old man to cover his mouth when he sneezes would be the talk of the town for weeks.
You shrug, mostly to yourself, and take a less suspect-looking glass of water, looking more yellow in the patchy candlelight.\
<<elseif $q3>>You ignore the stranger’s warning and take the glass you had originally planned to. Not that you don’t believe that Lord Elton sneezed over this particular section of refreshments. In fact, Lord Elton is notorious for disrespecting the sanctity of food at gatherings. Not that anyone would ever correct the //good// lord for he outranks most of those in attendance tonight. The impertinence of telling an old man to cover his mouth when he sneezes would be the talk of the town for weeks.
But that’s stupid. So is taking a potentially sneezed-in glass but you're already committed to the cup. Not taking a glass you’ve already touched is just as bad as sneezing in it… Not to mention, a stranger is directing you. Well, you’ve had enough of people telling you what to do tonight, this one isn’t even known to you.\
<<elseif $q4>>You pull your hand back at the sudden contact.
No doubt this stranger is telling the truth. Lord Elton is notorious for disrespecting the sanctity of food at gatherings and you don’t want to fall victim to his carelessness. Not that anyone would ever correct the //good// lord for he outranks most of those in attendance tonight. The impertinence of telling an old man to cover his mouth when he sneezes would be the talk of the town for weeks.<</if>>
The stranger at your side laughs, something akin to fingers running across velvet, heady but delicate.
You are 99% sure that neither of you is acquainted with the other, even in passing. Scandalous had you two met and spoken in any other context. But seeing as the meeting began with something so innocent and well-known as a Lord’s piss-poor manners, no one could reasonably object with you carrying on.
The stranger, a man in his–and this is you being generous–early thirties, picks up a glass of white wine from the “safe” section, giving you a–what you assume must be–genuine smile. It’s hard to be taken in by the earnest and open nature of his face, amplified by his clear blue-gray eyes, less like the ocean and more akin to the usual cloudy English sky. His facial hair, unusual but not quite unfashionable, obscures much of the lower half of his face, long strips of curly black hair follows his jawline before disappearing at his clean-shaven chin, draping up just over his top lip. You remember your father wearing his own beard in a similar way a few years ago, strange to see it on someone closer to your own age.
The gentleman dips his head in greeting. “Mr. Hugh Langley, at your service.”
You give a similar half-greeting<<if $glass>> , careful to not spill your drink<</if>>. “Miss $name Merritt.”
Mr. Langley smiles. “Merritt–as in a relation of Lucas Merritt?”
<<if $glass>>You take a quick sip of your drink before answering, letting the cool refreshment overtake you.<<else>>You take a quick breath before answering, letting that beat of silence settle<</if>>, “Yes, he is my father. Do you know him, sir?”
“Not too well, I’m afraid. Although, I believe we do share a business partner…” He trails off, realizes where the conversation was going–veering off //pleasantries// right into matters of substance, matters of actual interest–and we can’t have that. Oh no, no business in front of ladies, their feeble minds can’t take the weight.
Mr. Langley seems to be wrestling with this as his silence sinks into the moment. You realize you could say something to take control of the situation or reassure the poor man he’s not fried your little female brain.
<div class="choice">[[You can't help yourself and point out, “you and most others here, I’d imagine. Father loves to mix business and pleasure.”|prolog4.1a-mix][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false, $q4 to false]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Take a drink and wait out the awkwardness, surely Mr. Langley can find a way out on his own.|prolog4.1a-wait][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false, $q4 to false]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You take pity on the man and change the subject, “I believe we are to be neighbors?”|prolog4.1a-change][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false, $q4 to false]]</div>Mr. Langley blinks at you before letting out a laugh. His shoulders ease a little as he gives the large assembly room a once over. “I suppose the opening ball is the best occasion for ferreting out new business ventures or…”
He turns to you and smiles widely, “new social ones.”
“New social ventures?”
He nods.
<<include "prolog4.2a">><<silently>>[[prolog4.2a]]<</silently>><<if $glass>>You take a leisurely sip from your glass, content to wait out the patch of awkward silence.
It doesn’t last too long as Mr. Langley recovers quickly, “I believe you are from Easton, yes?”
You nod politely.\
<<else>>You grab a drink from the un-sneezed-on section, taking a leisurely sip, content to wait out the patch of awkward silence.
It doesn’t last too long as Mr. Langley recovers quickly, “I believe you are from Easton, yes?”
You nod politely.<</if>>
<<include "prolog4.2a">><<silently>>[[prolog4.2a]]<</silently>>You change the subject, taking pity on the poor man. “I believe we are to be neighbors?”
Mr. Langley recovers quickly, throwing you a grateful smile.
<<include "prolog4.2a">><<silently>>[[prolog4.2a]]<</silently>>“I purchased a home for myself in Easton not but a fortnight ago.”
You almost nod in confirmation, remembering Mrs. Grouse’s conversation earlier. Though Mr. Langley doesn’t pause to comment, you see a glimmer of understanding in his eyes as if he were distinctly aware of how intimately strangers seemed to know his business.
“Lady Clovet has been kind enough to part with her home, though she seems so forlorn to quit it.” He continues, tapping his cane once against the tiled floor. You didn’t notice it earlier but the motion draws your attention. His gloved hand obscures much of the handle, though you think you spy intricately-carved gold. The rest of the cane looks finely constructed, perfectly fashionable but the way Mr. Langley seems to lean forward on it, makes you wonder if it is truly for fashion alone.
“In truth, I’m a little nervous to move to the country. Growing up in town has made me a creature of fancy. I’m unsure how the change of pace will affect me.”
Now, you do nod. The country and town have their distinctions as well as their merits. Though you’ve spent more time in town as of late, you’ve grown up in Easton away from too much bustle.
Mr. Langley gives you a wry smile. “Though I see you have some experience in the matter as an Easton native. Tell me do you have a preference, my lady?”
<div class="choice">[['"Town, of course."'|prolog4.3a][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I love the countryside."'|prolog4.3a][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"It\’s hard to pick a favorite."'|prolog4.3a][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I\'m more excited by foreign shores."'|prolog4.3a][$q4 to true]]</div><<if $q1>>It may seem cliche, but you can’t help having good taste. It is the town that decides the latest fashion trends, the best way to entertain, the tantalizing choice of talk. Not to mention, the seat of power is in London. All the most influential people reside here and those that do not flock to town to spend the season in the most diverting, compelling company.
You tell Mr. Langley as much.
“Fair enough,” he concedes. Though the way his smile furls at your enthusiasm suggests his opinion differs.\
<<elseif $q2>>It may be considered an unusual preference for someone like yourself. But it’s true, you prefer the quiet of Easton. Town has several advantages, the social frequency being the most cited. But there really is no place like home. The fenced parks and humid air of London could never match the brisk country lanes and ever-rolling green hills. Most complain of the quiet but that’s always felt unfair to you. The country has its own charm, its own set of social gatherings. While the amount could never compare to that of town, the heart of those events more than makes up for it.
You tell Mr. Langley as much.
“Truly?” He looks quite surprised. “I had assumed you’d be in agreement with your peers. The youths quite enjoy the bustle of town above all else.”\
<<elseif $q3>>The question seemed unfair to you. Most of life has been split between your home in the countryside and the season’s activities in town. You’ve learned to find the good in both places, diversion when the countryside became too still, calm when the town’s bustle became too much. It seems rather shortsighted to choose one over the other considering how often you’ll be asked to quit either. Instead of being stuck in one attitude, you prefer to adapt to your surroundings.
You tell Mr. Langley as much.
“Fair enough,” he concedes. Though the way his smile furls at your enthusiasm suggests his opinion differs.\
<<elseif $q4>>You wrinkle your nose at the question. It wasn’t as if you didn’t enjoy your time in town or the country but both had become too familiar. You crave something new, something you’ve never seen before. Is it really so radical a thought to want to travel beyond English shores? You’ve run the town-to-country-repeat circuit so many times now. Just one year abroad somewhere, seeing what the world outside of England has to offer, that’s what you’d prefer.
You tell Mr. Langley as much.
“Fair enough,” he concedes. Though the way his smile furls at your enthusiasm suggests his opinion differs.<</if>>
The conversation lulls as<<if $glass>> you take a sip from your glass and<</if>> Mr. Langley takes a bite-sized piece of bread from the refreshments table. It’s a comfortable companionable silence that allows the sounds of the rest of the assembly room to filter back into your consciousness.
Throughout your conversation, the band had been being a jovial tune, a fair accompaniment to the lines of giddy and enthused dancers that stepped in time to the beat. The reed-player steps off the melody to allow the strings their moment in the light, giving the song’s tail and slow, lazy fall to the end. Not long before the next group of dancers would take the current one’s spots. Now would be the time to ask someone to dance, if that was something you wanted.
A lady asking a gentleman to dance–unorthodox perhaps–isn’t totally unheard of. It’s seen less like a declaration of particular interest and more like a gesture of friendship or general fondness. One might see a young lady ask a family friend or a brother-in-law to dance at social events.
Mr. Langley has been entirely amicable and pleasant with you, just as your mother claimed he’d be. From what you gather, he, most likely, wouldn’t rebuff an offer to dance from you. Not that you’d expect such unworthy behavior, it’s rather rude to refuse a benign request such as this.
Before you can even consider shooting your shot, someone calls out.
“Mr. Langley, how wonderful…”
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog4.4a]]</div>Both of you turn to face the speaker.
And of course, it is someone you’d wished to avoid this evening.
Janet Tarley advances to you and Mr. Langley, twirling a new-looking reticule in one hand, the other bunched into the layers of her skirt, lifting them ever-so off the ground as if the freshly polished imported white oak had a vendetta against her.
“–How wonderful it is to have stumbled upon you and just in time for I believe you do owe me a dance, Mr. Langley.” Jane stands closer to Mr. Langley than you would think a stranger might. But then again, it seems Jane is, or fancies herself, acquainted with the gentleman. You catch her winking at the end of her declaration, which curiously prompts a brief uncomfortable smile from the man.
“That is–is quite right, Miss. Fortunately, we still have some time before we must take our places.” He switches his cane from his left to right, giving you a quick glimpse of the handle, polished gold in the shape of a bear's head.
Mr. Langley looks from Jane to you, looking rather flustered for a man so at ease before. He takes one step in your direction. “Miss Tarley, are you acquainted with Miss Merritt?”
“Oh, of course, how could I neglect to notice, //my dear friend//. $name Merritt, how lovely to see you again.” You doubt it from the way her gaze slides off you in an instant to fixate back on Mr. Langley.
You know Jane Tarley. You know her very well. In fact, you are well-acquainted with all the Tarley children. Your hometown of Easton is considered a small countryside village, small enough that only a few of upper society families reside there. While it’s slightly larger sister village of Weston, where the Tarleys live, is home to more than one and twenty such families. It’s not a big distinction as both villages are nothing compared to the size and import of London but Jane has never been one for humility.
The Tarley name is new, as their father made his wealth in the trade, as seems to be a new trend among families. You never paid much attention to the difference between the "landed" wealthy and the "trade" wealthy. Both dined, dressed, and behaved much in the same way, why bother keeping track?
“I had no idea the both of you were acquainted?”
You can’t be sure who Jane is asking as she sticks her chin out, the motion jilting a stray red curl from her elaborate bun, even with the numerous pearl pins. She doesn’t bother to fix it.
<div class="choice">[[Greet Jane.|prolog4.5a][$assertive =+ 2, $greetJane to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Let Mr. Langley greet her first.|prolog4.5a][$passive =+ 2, $greetJane to false]]</div><<if $greetJane>>“Janet Tarley,” <<if $words gt $action>>You dip into a curtsey, though not without comment. “How lucky am I? To run into a good friend, while making a new one.”
You stand up straight and fix Jane with a seemingly innocent look. “Though society has its fair share of strangers and snakes, doesn’t it, Miss //Tarley//?”<<else>>You nod in greeting, instead of the usual curtsey. Jane has always struggled with honest displays of indifference. She’d prefer we all play into her web of words. Well, let her make of that what she will.<</if>>\
<<else>>“Miss Tarley.”
Mr. Langley dips into a polite bow, though it comes across a bit more rigid and forced than it was with you.
Jane looks satisfied, extremely so. The reason behind this expression, you can’t even begin to puzzle. It deepens when the young woman turns to face you, her smile splitting open a fraction further.
<<if $words gt $action>>You replicate Mr. Langley’s greeting, though not without comment. “How lucky am I? To run into a good friend, while making a new one.”
You stand up straight and fix Jane with a seemingly innocent look. “Though society has its fair share of strangers and snakes, doesn’t it, Miss //Tarley//?”<<else>>You nod in greeting. Jane has always struggled with honest displays of indifference. She’d prefer we all play into her web of words. Well, let her make of that what she will. <</if>><</if>>
During your second season–the first without Sam at your side–Jane came into your life as a curious debutante, then as a well-meaning acquaintance, then even as a trusted confidante. But last year that all changed. She grew cold and mean, isolated herself, making her company as elusive as Sam’s letters from the continent. You couldn’t account for the change in your relationship. For some time, you dreaded that there was some fault on your end, a misunderstood joke, or a poor-timed request.
But nothing truly egregious ever emerged. The only event you could reliably connect was her older sister’s marriage to a French diplomat. But that had nothing to do with you or your friendship with Miss Tarley. It was as if someone had blown out a light, leaving you stumbling in dark, once again stumbling after a friend who left you. Perhaps the problem was you.
Jane’s face falls into one of disinterest, though you notice her hazel eyes narrow ever so slightly before looking back to Mr. Langley. She clears her throat and brings her hands up into a clap.
“It is //so// fortunate I found you, //dear// Mr. Langley.” She gives you another shit-eating grin, before continuing. “Fortunate for I was growing ever so tired of conversing with–” She looks directly at you. “–old acquaintances.”
“And believe me,” She turns back to the gentleman, “I’ve found our conversations to be so //diverting//.”
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog4.6a][$rom to true]]</div><div class="ribbon"><i class="fa fa-bookmark" aria-hidden="true"></i> <div class="space">[[Relationships]]</div> Page Unlocked.</div>
Her saccharin manner almost makes you wretch. There’s nothing wrong with making one’s inclination known but to thrust it upon someone unwilling, as Mr. Langley's apparent discomfort suggests, is rather distasteful.
You wonder how your mother would react to such an open and brash display of favor. Especially when she is known for her careful wording and subtle displays of affection, you and your father included. Society’s opinion, of course, shifts over time. Perhaps the poise and tact of your mother’s time in society has fallen out of popularity and one might be secure in their reputation acting as Miss Tarley seems to be.
On the topic of reputation, you had mused over the possibility of asking Mr. Langley to dance. Although it’s clear Jane has already obligated his participation in the next one. If you were able, would you ask the gentleman to dance the next with you?
<div class="choice">[[Yes|prolog4.7a][$opendanceHugh to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No|prolog4.7a]]</div><<if $opendanceHugh>>It’s a nice thought and would have been an excellent way to get to know the gentleman. A dance provides the perfect cover of movement and music to allow for amusement and matters too deep for casual talk.
It’d also be a boost to your reputation, to be seen dancing with the stranger whose name is on most people’s lips. Although, you might have caught some ire for dancing with someone you’ve not properly met. The risk might still benefit you as beyond her skills, a lady’s reputation can be her greatest asset.
But it’s not to be as Miss Tarley looks to the dancers finishing their final loop. The leading couple reaches their original position at the head of the lines. Almost time for the next group to gather.\
<<else>>It’s a nice thought. And while a dance provides the perfect cover of movement and music to allow for amusement and matters too deep for casual talk, it is for those very same reasons you wish to avoid dancing with a gentleman you barely know.
It might have garnered you some attention, to be dancing with the stranger whose name is on most people's lips. And yet, you might have caught some ire for dancing with someone you’ve not properly met. Beyond her skills, a lady’s reputation can be her greatest asset.
Regardless, it’s not to be as Miss Tarley looks to the dancers finishing their final loop. The leading couple reaches their original position at the head of the lines. Almost time for the next group to gather.<</if>>
Mr. Langley clears his throat looking between you and Jane. “I believe it's almost time to dance. I’d be happy to stand with you, Miss Tarley. Although I loathe to leave Miss Merritt here by her lonesome. Is your brother spoken for this dance? I believe he’d make an excellent partner for the lady.”
Jane’s grin at his acceptance fades at the mention of her brother. She makes a non-committed noise, waving a hand about. “Benjamin, I am afraid has already asked a lady to dance this round. I’m afraid Miss Merritt will have to make do, certainly a lady of her...experience can stand to sit a dance or two out.”
She practically sneers in your direction but Mr. Langley’s presence seems to check her expression relatively in check.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog4.8a]]</div>Poor Benjamin. Benjamin Tarley was not so much forgetful as a character trait as much as he could easily be forgotten when his twin was in the room. So forgotten, you're ashamed to admit you didn’t notice that the ginger-haired giant had been standing behind his sister this entire time, stepping fully into the circle as if cued.
Out of the twins, you always liked Ben more. Docile and swift, he had a knack for appearing out of nowhere, letting silence do much of the heavy work in social situations. Though is there any other kind during the season? Perhaps a tangent for another time…
“Miss Merritt.” To your surprise, Ben smiles at you before bowing, which always managed to highlight his height further<<if $height is "tall" or $height is "very tall">>, a problem you ran into yourself, though Ben managed to tower over even you<</if>>. Not that you expected hostility, you were never sure if your fondness of the other Tarley twin was returned. It seems the coldness that had infected his sister had spared him.
As he stands up once more, you notice how wet his eyes look, like he’d been about to cry. The emerging or perhaps lingering–you can’t quite discern in the candlelight–tears make the blue of his right eye pop, in contrast to the mismatching hazel of his left. A quirk you’ve been told is rare but not unusual for the Tarleys as their mother and older sister have the same condition. Only Janet seems to be left out in this regard.
And if you know Janet at all, she hates to be left out.
“Ben!” She almost looks as surprised as you were to see her brother here. A raised brow from Mr. Langley has her speaking softer, “I thought you’d be taking your place with… Miss Renolds.”
Your surprise deepens at the revelation. Samantha is here! Mrs. Grouse was right on that count at least. But how do the Tarleys know her? To your knowledge, neither family was acquainted with the other.
He blinks until whatever you spotted in his eyes was gone, giving his sister a sheepish smile. “Of course, I was on my way to meet her. I saw you speaking with Mr. Langley and Miss Merritt and wanted to say hello.”
Before Jane can admonish him, the band ends the song as the dancers take their bows and the crowd claps in turn.
“Yes, well you can say your ‘hellos’ after the dance–” she all but pushes the young man away. “Now go please and attend to Miss Renolds, the poor thing must be waiting for you.”
Benjamin throws another sheepish smile at the pair of you before following his sister’s orders.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog4.9a]]</div>A pair of couples emerge from the chattering group beside you and run off to take their places in the lineup. It would be still another five to ten minutes before the dance //actually// begins, to give any last-minute dancers their chance and to allow the poor players a moment to rest their limbs.
“Mr. Langley–”
Speaking of a moment of rest.
“Mr. Langley, I believe now might be the time to follow other’s example.” She leans towards the man, gesturing to the gathering pairs.
“Of course, Miss Tarley.” In one fluid motion, Mr. Langley pushes down on his cane and it shortens to the length of an average quill, which he just as promptly stows in his dress coat pocket.
You can’t help but be astonished by the feat. Never have you seen such a device.
As you make eye contact, he gives you a wink. “It’s an original design, a contraption from…a dear friend.”
Miss Tarley, on the other hand, reiterates the situation’s //apparent// urgency.
Mr. Langley clears his throat and gives you a polite smile. “Thank you for the company, Miss Merritt. Perhaps we’ll have the chance to continue later.”
Before you can properly reply, however, Jane takes a hold of his arm and all but pulls him away from you. The pair more or less depart but not without one last look from Jane. She turns to give you a parting smile, a mixture of mischief, that you recognize, and malice, that you can not. It makes you wonder if perhaps some parts of that curious bird you befriended remain.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog5]]</div><div class="h1">At the Piano-forte</div>
You ignore your instincts and walk closer to the piano-forte. The girls are still at the helm, giggling as one continues to mash the keys and the other encourages her on. You smile at their antics, happy to relieve that small memory once more.
It was quite a few years ago at a soiree not too different from this. Couples all neat in their dancing rows, both your respective parents locked in one conversation or another, it was utter tedium. Sam was ready to suffer the night in silence, but you had other ideas. The piano-forte was pushed to one side with no one there to mind it. It was nothing for the pair of you to lift the cover and play a tune.
Of course, Mrs. Grouse was more than happy to chide you after the fact. But that stolen moment made the suffering from every night that followed a little more tolerable. That’s how it always was with you two, mischief–innocent mischief–but mischief all the same.
A staff member exits out of a nearby service hall and notices the girls on the instrument. Reasonably alarmed, that piano-forte must be expensive, the older-looking woman urges the girls off the platform and fixes the cover.
The scene is enough to pull you out of your reverie but not soon enough. For you’d been slowly inching closer and closer to the raised platform the piano-forte was perched on and hadn’t realized how close you’d actually gotten. Before you can redirect yourself or lift your foot, you trip on the step, unable to do much more than hold your breath and brace for the ground.
Lucky for you, someone is kind enough to reach out and grab your shoulders, steadying you enough that your feet remember how to function.
<div class="choice">[[Let yourself be steadied, leaning into the contact.|prolog4.1b][$passive += 1, $metSam to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Break away from the contact and right your stance on your own.|prolog4.1b][$assertive += 1, $q1 to true, $metSam to true]]</div><<if $q1>>You step out of the hands trying to hold you up and straighten your stance on your own. Not that you don’t appreciate the help, a bad spill is the last thing you want during the opening ball. But you’ve preferred to handle your problems on your own, rather than relying on help from others. It’s always been a…touchy subject.
Not one to be rude, however, you turn and thank your savior but the words die in your mouth.\
<<else>>You instinctively lean into the help. A bad spill is the last thing you want during the opening ball. Not that you couldn’t have caught yourself on your own but the assistance is greatly appreciated. It’s just always been this way with you. You don’t mind letting others in when you need help.
“Thank–” the words die in your mouth as you finally look at your savior.<</if>>
“Samantha–” Her name is out your lips before you can stop it. Improper by most standards, saying one’s given name in public, especially if that someone is not family, but surely allowances can be made. You and Sam have been together since the beginning, surely that counts for something.
“Miss Merritt,” comes her reply, spoken softly but steadily.
Or perhaps not.
You are at a loss of what to say, still in shock of seeing Sam after so long. Though she has only been gone for the past five years, you note a marked difference in appearance. Her usually pale skin has tanned a tiny bit, no doubt thanks to the sun’s constant presence on the continent. Her light brown eyes still hold that softness you remember from your youth, but there is sharpness at the edges. You see it in her expression, unfamiliar hard lines, a mouth pulled downward–not actively but at rest–eyes that crinkle in the corners, a hallmark of age arriving too soon. You feel it in the way she stands, angled slightly away from you, hands still on your shoulders, fingers, not strictly tight but not gentle either–almost unrecognizable, as if a stranger had stolen her skin and worn it here to mock you.
The moment of shocked silence passes as Sam clears her throat and drops her arms, taking a step back. You let out your breath and straighten the front of your dress. Out the corner of your eye, you notice her fiddling with her hair, the long, effortlessly-swept golden curls back into her bun. The motion is gone before you can truly mark it.
Someone must speak. <<if $passive gt $assertive>>And though you usually hate to be that someone, you may as well.<<else>>It may as well be you.<</if>>
“Thank you–”
She is quick to wave away your thanks, something like a smile on her face.
You feel the impulse to laugh. How many times have you had this exact dialogue? More you can bother to remember anyway. More than you might care to remember.
Five years is a long time. A long time to spend without a dear friend, especially one that left so suddenly and one that failed to respond to your letters. You can count on one hand the number of letters you’ve received from Sam in response to what have been dozens on your end. After some time, even you gave up on the endeavor, sending not much more than the new year glad tidings.
You’ve wavered from anger to despair over the years, but how do you feel now that Sam is standing in front of you?
<div class="choice">[[No hard feelings here!|prolog4.2b][$madatSam to 0, $letter to true, $sletter1 to true, $q1 to false]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[I understand why she left, but it hurt me deeply.|prolog4.2b][$madatSam to 1, $letter to true, $sletter1 to true, $q1 to false]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Of course, I’m still upset. She. Left. Me.|prolog4.2b][$madatSam to 2, $letter to true, $sletter1 to true, $q1 to false]]</div><div class="ribbon"><i class="fa fa-bookmark" aria-hidden="true"></i> <div class="space">[[Letters]]</div> Page Unlocked.</div>
Sam’s latest letter arrived only a few weeks before the beginning of the season. It surprised you, for your last letter to her was sent months ago. It’s contents were…vague–vaguer than her usual ones. It was enough to concern you but how you felt about the whole venture was another thing.
<<if $madatSam is 1>>You understand her situation wholeheartedly–you do!–but not a single reply to five years worth of letters, it’s just unreasonable. Granted Sam had her mother to look after, it couldn’t have been easy to watch her health deteriorate in an unfamiliar setting. You are–or maybe it’s were–her best friend, surely you could find a moment to pen a response or even to send “sorry $name, I’m a little busy watching my mum die, chat later!”\
<<elseif $madatSam is 2>>Still, you have no qualms about being mad at her. Five years. F-i-v-e years have gone by and not a single “hey, you up?” or “sorry bestest friend, I am a fuckwad, hope you are doing well, not that I bothered to read any of your 37 previous letters”.
It’s infuriating and you want to scowl at her, but instead, school your expression into a neutral line.\
<<else>>You understand her situation completely. While you may have been inconsolable after her departure five years ago, you have learned to make peace with her family’s decision. It truly was for the best. Sam’s mother needed to get better and maybe...the two of you needed time to grow up– not grow out of one another, but grow up without hanging off each other’s shoulders.
The radio-silence or rather postal silence was harder to justify and while you can’t claim to have been okay with all of it. It’s easily forgiven. This is Sam after all. Of course, she didn’t have time for letters, her mother was dying for fuck’s sake.<</if>>
Sam clears her throat. “How is your family, Miss Merritt?”
The impulse to correct her–to ask her to use your given name is rather strong and you can’t help yourself. “$name, Sam. I believe we’re passed the “Miss, Miss” stage.”
“I’d–um, well–I’d rather we address one another as is polite...Miss Merritt.”
You want to <<if $assertive gt $passive>>roll your eyes<<else>>sigh<</if>>, but instead you concede. “My parents are doing well.”
“And yours?”
Sam’s face constricts, but only for a second as if she was expecting this. Her features smooth over quickly as she shrugs a bit ruefully. “As well as ever, Miss Merritt.”
From the way her gaze moves from your face to the piano behind you and then back to you, it’s clear Sam would rather avoid this topic.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Thank you.”
She looks at you silently, expectantly. It seems that even after five years of separation, the burden of conversation still falls upon your shoulders.
<div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>“How was the continent?" <<if $q3>>Another<<else>>An<</if>> innocent question<<if $madatSam gt 0>>, even if a part of you burns for a proper explanation to her silence.<<else>>, even if a part of you is curious about what she got up to so far from society.<</if>> Though, from the way her face falls, you venture to guess this is not one she was looking to answer.
Sam pulls at her elbow-high gloves, the white fabric immaculate and pressed. “It was...nice, different from England. But I–well, it was a pleasant time.”
“...That’s good.” It’s the only thing you can think to respond with.
“Yes.”
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog4.3b">><<silently>>[[prolog4.3b]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>><div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q4>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div><</if>>You clear your throat, wishing you had managed to snag a glass of water from the refreshments. “Sam–Miss Renolds,” you correct quick enough that Sam almost smiles, “how are you?”
This time she does smile. It’s soft, growing from the corners, adding a glow to her face that had nothing to do with the hundreds of candles burning around the hall.
“Better now.” Her smile dims a bit as they open and then close her mouth as if to say more. “And you?”
<<if $madatSam is 0>>“Better.”
The glow returns but burns out just as quickly, making you wonder if you saw it at all. “I’m pleased to hear it, Miss Merritt.”\
<<elseif $madatSam is 1>>“I’ve been better.”
Her smile fades away. “I’m sorry to hear that.”\
<<else>>“Lonely.”
Her smile drops suddenly and Sam pulls at her gloves<<if $q1>> again<</if>>.
“$name–” It’s an abrupt change from before, emotion tugging at her voice like it was struggling to come out and something strong held it back. But it’s gone just as quickly. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure the season will divert you.”<</if>>
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog4.3b">><<silently>>[[prolog4.3b]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div\
<<elseif $q1 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1>><div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q4>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div><</if>>“Do you plan to spend the entire season in Town?” <<if $q1>>Another<<else>>An<</if>> innocent question. You remember how much her father disliked spending time in Town, even if surrounded by friends and for the general betterment of the family. It was a sentiment you were glad your parents didn’t share. The casualness of the country was appealing but you couldn’t stand being without company for //too// long.
Sam looked confused for a moment as if she hadn’t heard the question. “Um, yes...I believe so...it will be up to my father, I’m afraid.”
<<if $words gt $action>>“Your father is precisely why I’m afraid. The first season back home and he’ll drag you all back before it’s even underway.”<<else>>“I see.”<</if>>
Sam says nothing, so you continue. “Perhaps, he might be persuaded to allow you and your mother to stay in his stead.”
“Perhaps.” You want to ask more but from the way Sam shakes her head, you hold your tongue. Maybe later.
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>><<include "prolog4.3b">>
<<silently>>[[prolog4.3b]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q2>><div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q4>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you still play the piano-forte?”'|prolog4.2b-piano][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div><</if>>You reach out and rest a hand on the piano-forte, pulling up the delicate cover, revealing the burnt umber wood grain, the very same instrument from your youth.
The memory still within grasp, burns the question back into your mouth. But while you find the tongue to ask with, Sam beats you to it. “Do you still play?”
Hand still splayed on the wood, you whip back around to look at Sam, an almost guilty look on her face as if she knew exactly what you were thinking of.
“I ought to be asking you that. As I recall, you, Miss Renolds, were always the one people requested.”
Sam laughs quietly, “Ah but I never performed without my faithful playing partner.”
“Maybe so, I was always kind enough to take the blame when your governess caught us goofing off instead of practicing.”
Sam laughs again and you cannot help but follow with a giggle of your own. The moment feels like a tiny victory, a crack in the passage of time, a sliver of hope, maybe being apart hasn't washed away everything.
But it passes.
And you’re left to replace the lace on the piano-forte and turn back to your conversation partner. Her expression has returned to one of politeness as if they weren’t just laughing with an old friend but rather entertaining a fickle guest.
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog4.3b">><<silently>>[[prolog4.3b]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q2>><div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1>><div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[['“How was the continent?”'|prolog4.2b-continent][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“How are you Sam–Miss Renolds?”'|prolog4.2b-how-r-u][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“Do you plan to stay in town for the entire season?”'|prolog4.2b-plans][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog4.3b]]</div><</if>>Throughout your conversation, the band had been playing a jovial tune, a fair accompaniment to the lines of giddy dancers that stepped in time to the beat. The reed-player steps off the melody to allow the strings their moment in the light, giving the song’s tail and slow, lazy fall to the end. Not long before the next group of dancers would take the current one’s spots.
Sam turns to look over her shoulder at the figures in motion. Her fist clench and unclench as the winds take over and the drummers let the beat die out. The song would be finishing soon. Now would be the time to ask someone to dance, if that was something you wanted.
Two women dancing together wasn’t uncommon or was it considered improper. In fact, it was seen as friendly and kind to dance with an acquaintance of great esteem or a longtime friend, especially at an event where male dancer partners are scarce. Why deprive ladies the joys of dancing because of something as silly as that?
The opening ball, however, is not one of those events. Tonight there seemed to be partners of all kinds in proportionate numbers. Not that you should let it stop you if that’s what you want. No one would judge you for asking Samantha to dance, though it might get a few curious tongues wagging. Being unorthodox can often win you as many points with society as being polite and docile might. But you are reminded of your mother’s words, “unorthodoxy and scandal are only a few hours into a night apart.”
Still, the night has only begun and Sam is standing right in front of you. Do you ask her to dance?
<div class="choice">[[Ask Sam to dance|prolog4.4b][$opendanceSam to true,$rom to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Let the moment pass|prolog4.4b][$rom to true]]</div><div class="ribbon"><i class="fa fa-bookmark" aria-hidden="true"></i> <div class="space">[[Relationships]]</div> Page Unlocked.</div>
<<if $opendanceSam>>Unorthodox, it is! It’s been five years since you’ve last danced with Sam<<if $madatSam gt 0>>, even if you are a bit miffed at her<</if>>. Who would blame you for making up for lost time?
If Sam noticed your deliberation, she didn’t remark on it. She just continued to look at you, not expectantly this time as if to anticipate your cues, but rather in observation as if she was measuring you this time. Perhaps to see if the past five years had altered you.
"Sam–I–"
The moment is not meant to be, for just as you plucked the courage to ask, Jane Tarley announces herself with a tongue pop.\
<<else>>You let the moment pass. <<if $madatSam gt 0>>One dance couldn’t make up for five years of missed opportunities.<<else>>It’s too soon. The opening ball is all about first impressions. It’s too soon to be rocking the boat, even with someone close as Sam.<</if>>
If Sam noticed your deliberation, she didn’t remark on it. She just continued to look at you, not expectantly this time as if to anticipate your cues, but rather in observation as if she was measuring you this time. Perhaps to see if the past five years had altered you.
“Miss Merritt–” Your teeth grind together, hearing your family name in her voice, like waking up in a position you didn’t fall asleep in, familiar enough but uncanny. You should be used to it by now...now that she has made distance a permanent fixture of your relationship.
Before Sam can finish whatever it was she wanted to say, Jane Tarley announces herself with a tongue pop.<</if>>
“Samantha Renolds, my oh my.”
Sam blanches before taking a step back, widening your circle as the lady in question rounded on the pair of you.
Jane advances, twirling a new-looking reticule in one hand, the other bunched into the layers of her skirt, lifting them ever-so off the ground as if the freshly polished imported white oak had a personal vendetta against her.
“–and $name Merritt, how lovely to see you again.” You doubt it from the way her gaze slides off you in an instant to fixate back on Sam.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog4.5b]]</div>You know Jane Tarley. You know her very well. In fact, you are well-acquainted with all the Tarley children. Your hometown of Easton is considered a small countryside village, small enough that only a few of upper society families reside there. While it’s slightly larger sister village of Weston, where the Tarleys live, is home to more than one and twenty such families. It’s not really a big distinction as both villages are nothing compared to the size and import of London but Jane has never been one for humility.
The Tarley name is new, as their father made his wealth in the trade, as seems to be a new trend among families. You never paid much attention to the difference between the "landed" wealthy and the "trade" wealthy. Both dined, dressed, and behaved much in the same way, why bother keeping track?
Jane sticks her chin out, the motion jilts a stray ginger curl from her elaborate bun, even with the numerous pearl pins. She doesn’t bother to fix it. Perhaps the move was on purpose as she grins at Sam, shooting you a smug look when your <<if $madatSam gt 0>>companion<<else>>friend<</if>> pales even further.
You almost frown in concern. Jane and Sam, to your knowledge, are not acquainted. For she debuted the year after Sam left England.
<div class="choice">[[Greet Jane|prolog4.6b][$assertive += 2, $greetJane to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Let Sam greet Jane first|prolog4.6b][$passive += 2]]</div><<if $greetJane>>“Janet Tarley,” <<if $words gt $action>>You dip into your own society approved curtsey, though not without comment. “How lucky am I? To run into not one, but two good friends.”
You stand up straight and fix Jane with a seemingly innocent look. “Though society has its fair share of strangers and snakes, doesn’t it, Miss //Tarley//?”<<else>>You nod in greeting, instead of the usual curtsey. Jane has always struggled with honest displays of indifference. She’d prefer we all play into her web of words. Well, let her make of that what she will.<</if>><<else>>“Miss Tarley.”
Sam dips into a polite curtsey, a layer of formality she’d neglected with you.
Jane looks satisfied, extremely so. The reason behind this expression, you can’t even begin to puzzle. It deepens when the young woman turns to face you, her smile splitting open a fraction further.
<<if $words gt $action>>You replicate Sam’s curtsey, though not without comment. “How lucky am I? To run into not one, but two good friends.”
You stand up straight and fix Jane with a seemingly innocent look. “Though society has its fair share of strangers and snakes, doesn’t it, Miss //Tarley//?”<<else>>You nod in greeting. Jane has always struggled with honest displays of indifference. She’d prefer we all play into her web of words. Well, let her make of that what she will.<</if>><</if>>
After <<if $madatSam gt 0>> Sam abandoned you<<else>>Sam's departure<</if>>, Jane came into your life as a curious debutante, then as a well-meaning acquaintance, then even as a trusted confidante. But last year that all changed. She grew cold and mean, isolated herself, making her company as elusive as Sam’s letters. You couldn’t account for the change in your relationship. For some time, you dreaded that there was some fault on your end, a misunderstood joke, or a poor-timed request.
But nothing truly egregious ever emerged. The only event you could reliably connect was her older sister’s marriage to a French diplomat. But that had nothing to do with you or your friendship with Miss Tarley. It was as if someone had blown out a light, leaving you stumbling in dark, once again stumbling after a friend who left you. Perhaps the problem was you.
Jane’s face falls into one of disinterest, though you notice her hazel eyes narrow ever so slightly before looking back to Sam. She clears her throat and brings her hands up into a clap.
“It is //so// fortunate I found you, //dear// Samantha.” She gives you another shit-eating grin, before continuing. “Fortunate for this ever-so forgetful brother of mine.”
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog4.7b]]</div>Benjamin Tarley was not so much forgetful as a character trait as much as he could easily be forgotten when his twin was in the room. So forgotten, you're ashamed to admit you didn’t notice that the ginger-haired giant had been standing behind his sister this entire time, stepping fully into the circle as if cued.
Out of the twins, you always liked Ben more. Docile and swift, he had a knack for appearing out of nowhere, letting silence do much of the heavy work in social situations. Though is there any other kind during the season? Perhaps a tangent for another time…
“Miss Merritt.” To your surprise, Ben smiles at you before bowing, which always managed to highlight his height further<<if $height is "tall" or $height is "very tall">>, a problem you ran into yourself, though Ben managed to tower over even you<</if>>. Not that you expected hostility, you were never sure if your fondness of the other Tarley twin was returned. It seems the coldness that had infected his sister had spared him.
As he stands up once more, you notice how wet his eyes look, like he’d been about to cry. The emerging or perhaps lingering–you can’t quite discern in the candlelight–tears make the blue of his right eye pop, in contrast to the mismatching hazel of his left. A quirk you’ve been told is rare but not unusual for the Tarleys. Their mother and older sister have the same condition. Only Janet seems to be left out in this regard.
And if you know Janet at all, she hates to be left out.
“We’re all well-acquainted, Benjamin.” Jane nearly rolls her eyes, pulling at her brother’s lapel. “The next song will be beginning soon and I believe you’ve promised, //lovely// Miss Renolds, this dance, haven’t you?”
He blinks until whatever you spotted in his eyes was gone, turning to give Sam an equally familiar greeting. “Miss Renolds, we should take our places.”
“Oh–of course, I–um–” Sam, perhaps out of options or out of habit, looks at you. Her bottom lip twitching as she struggles to speak. In the past, you might have <<if $words gt $action>>said<<else>>done<</if>> something to give her time to put herself back together.
Do you help her now?
<div class="choice">[[Yes|prolog4.8b][$helpSam to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No|prolog4.8b]]</div><<if $helpSam>><<if $words gt $action>>"You’d think they’d draw the last few measures out more, give people the chance to gather." A duller observation than you’re known for, but it’s enough to give Sam a moment to catch her breath.
“It is the opening ball, $name.” Jane all but rolls her eyes, unrecognizable from the girl you befriended all those years ago.<<else>>You pretend to trip on the hem of your dress, arms reaching out to grab the edge of the piano. Not your most elegant move, but it's enough to give Sam a moment to catch her breath.
Ben almost reaches out to steady you but one glour look from Jane has him retracting it quickly.
"Wouldn't be an opening ball without someone tripping over their own feet, would it?" Jane all but rolls her eyes, unrecognizable from the girl you befriended all those years ago.<</if>>
Ben is quick to interject, offering an arm to Sam. “Shall we?”
She nods once but doesn’t take his arm. Instead, Sam takes a step closer to you, moving as if to take a hold of your hand, catching herself not soon enough to go unnoticed.
“It’s–” Her voice comes out almost choked before she clears it. “It’s very good to see you, Miss Merritt.”
“$name.” You insist.
And to your surprise, she relents, “$name.”<<else>>Jane claps again drawing attention to herself once more. You want to be irritated but instead, you find yourself feeling gratitude, seeing the emotion reciprocated by Sam as she used the time to take a breath.
“Let’s go Mr. Tarley.”<</if>>
Sam takes Ben’s extended arm. Standing side by side, Sam’s head aligns with Ben’s shoulder. You had known she was taller than most women in your acquaintance but her stature made Ben look as averagely tall as any other gentleman.
They look like quite the match. A thought that makes you frown and return to your earlier question. How were Tarleys and Renolds acquainted?
As the pair leave for the middle of the room, your question remains unanswered.
You almost manage to retreat from those thoughts unperturbed but Janet pops her tongue, bringing you back to the present. In any other context, the move might make sense but here it just got on your nerves.
“I would //love// nothing more than to stay here and catch up, dear Miss Merritt. But I’m afraid I already pledged this dance to someone…”
She lets the sentence hang in the air as if daring you to ask.
<<if $words gt $action>>So you do.
She grins. “Mr. Hugh Langley.”<<else>>So you don’t.
She sighs. “Mr. Hugh Langley.”<</if>>
“I do believe he is a recent addition to Easton society. Though I dare say he won’t be spending much of his time there.”
Before you ask or decide if you want to ask, the red-head bobs her farewell, rushing off in a flurry of movement. This you do recognize. Perhaps some parts of that curious bird you befriended remain.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog5]]</div><hr>
The opening ball is well into the full swing of things. Groups are mingling, the dances are getting weirder, the refreshment tables are starting to look picked clean. It won’t be long until the night is over. Though you imagine the Darts are pleased that nothing has gone terribly wrong.
Nothing has, hasn’t it?
<<if $metSam>>You met an old friend after years apart being separated with little to no letters exchanged <<if $madatSam gt 0>>though that's not your fault, //someone// could have responded more or at least not ignored the numerous letters you sent. But no matter, you can not change the past. You can only move forward.<<else>>though that's no one's fault, really. From what little you gathered in your conversation, life on the continent must have been difficult for Miss Renolds. Just as or perhaps more so than your life has been without her here in England. But no matter, you can not change the past. You can only move forward.<</if>><<else>>You met a new gentleman, a polite one at that. It is not usual for a conversation with a stranger to go as smoothly as it did. Well, until Miss Tarley decided to cut in. In the past, you wouldn't have minded that. In fact, her interruption might have been preordained, a lifeline for you drowning in conversation. But not today. Today, her entrance felt like an attack. Like she wanted to hurt you. And that fact cuts more than her indifference.<</if>>
You return to more or less the same corner you’d left your mother and Mrs. Grouse. Though it could have been the one on the other side of the ballroom.
They really should have better markers for these things. Making the room symmetrical, right down the potted plants that litter the corners, was a mistake.
Luck, it seems, is on your side as Mrs. Grouse wanders out from between two large groups of people, clutching your mother’s fan tightly.
Her slightly-more-white-than-gray hair has been taken out of its usual bun and messily plaited to one side. Not shocking, the night is long and having your hair twisted up into an intricate style is tiring. Seeing her comfortable braid gives you the urge to do the same but then people might talk of your "unkempt behavior in public."
We can't have that.
No, really, we can't. It'll be most irritating to be prim and proper in public until the whispers die.
<<if $assertive gt $passive>>"Mrs. Grouse!" You have to shout for the elderly woman to notice you amid the cream sea of guests. You wave your hands for good measure as she makes her way over to you with a cryptic smile.<<else>>You consider shouting to get her attention but before you can make up your mind, she spots you amid the cream sea of guests. She gestures for you to make your way over to her. And you do, trying to work out the nature of her cryptic smile.<</if>>
"There you are, $name," her smile spreads wider, giving your appearance a once over. You can't imagine what she's managed to divine from that alone but whatever it is, it's enough to amuse her. Good for her.
"I've been looking for you these last twenty minutes. It seems you went off on a little adventure."
<<if $playful gt $serious>>"Perhaps, I did. But there's only so much you can do at a function like this." You shrug rather wryly, but the old woman looks less than convinced.\
<<else>>"I simply enjoyed the festivities, nothing fantastical, Mrs. Grouse." But the old woman looks less than convinced.<</if>>
"Tell me about it, child. I see the brightness in those eyes. I know the tepid music or watered-down wine didn't put it there. Something happened–no, you met someone didn't, you?"
@@.button;
<<if $metSam>>"I may have...ran into Miss Samantha Renolds."
Something dangerous swims in the gray of her eyes. The fan unfurls and the soft bursts of air waft over to you, carrying with them a hint of cinnamon and gardenia. You steel yourself as Mrs. Grouse rears back, a flood of questions barely held back as the gray brightens to silver.
"I was right." No room for question, there. And it's true. Her sources were correct, insofar as the Renolds have returned. Whether their other claims are also true remains to be seen.
"Well?"
You blink. "Well, what?"
"Don't be so obtuse girl! How did your reunion go?"
Reunion. That's the right word…Isn't it? <<if $madatSam gt 0>>You've been bitter about your sudden parting all those years ago and seeing Sam again…..
<div class="choice">[[It's done little to temper your anger.|prolog.inter-1.1a]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[It's softened your anger.|prolog.inter-1.2a]]</div><<else>>You've always been understanding about your sudden parting all those years ago and seeing Sam again…
<div class="choice">[[It's done little to change that. She's your best friend.|prolog.inter-1.3a]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[It's ignited bitterness you thought buried.|prolog.inter-1.4a]]</div><</if>><<else>>"I may have...run into Mr. Hugh Langley."
Something dangerous swims in the gray of her eyes. The fan unfurls and the soft bursts of air waft over to you, carrying with them a hint of cinnamon and gardenia. You steel yourself as Mrs. Grouse rears back, a flood of questions barely held back as the gray brightens to silver.
"//Henri// was right." Mrs. Grouse's strange nickname for your mother aside, there is no room for question. And it's true. Your mother's sources were correct, insofar as Mr. Langley is an addition to Easton society. Whether their other claims are also true remains to be seen.
"Well?"
You blink. "Well, what?"
"Don't be so obtuse girl! Tell me about the gentlemen. What is he like?"
<div class="choice">[['"He was kind and honest."'|prolog.inter-1.1b]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"He is handsome, incredibly so."|prolog.inter-1.2b]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I didn\'t form an opinion."'|prolog.inter-1.3b]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"He seemed...decent, a bit boring–but decent."'|prolog.inter-1.4b]]</div><</if>>Seeing Samantha again has done little to temper your anger. <<if $madatSam is 1>>Though you tried to understand her perspective, it's hard to ignore the ache in your chest.<<set $madatSam to 2>><<else>>You've felt wronged from the start and though you know how little control Sam has over her situation, it's hard to ignore the ache in your chest.<</if>>
Of course, you mention none of this to Mrs. Grouse. But your expression must have given your feelings away as her eyes widen.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>>Seeing Samantha again has softened your anger. <<if $madatSam is 1>>You tried to understand her perspective in the past but your anger was sharpened by the inexperience of youth. The ache remains but after your meeting today, you want to move past it all.<<set $madatSam to 0>><<else>>Your anger has burned bright all these years. But after your meeting today, the ache has dulled. You can't deny the desire to try and move past it all.<<set $madatSam to 1>><</if>>
Of course, you mention none of this to Mrs. Grouse. But your expression must have given your feelings away as her eyes widen.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>>Seeing Samantha again has done little to change your mind. You've always understood how little choice Sam had in the decision to move. And while the lack of communication hurt you, you understood. She's your best friend and little that will ever change that.
Of course, you mention none of this to Mrs. Grouse. But your expression must have given your feelings away as her eyes widen.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>><<set $madatSam to 1>>Seeing Samantha again has ignited bitterness you thought long dead and gone. When the Renolds left England, you were understanding. Sam has little say in the matter. And while the lack of communication hurt you, you understood. But after that meeting today, she may as well have been a perfect stranger. The ache has been reawakened and the strength of it surprises you.
Of course, you mention none of this to Mrs. Grouse. But your expression must have given your feelings away as her eyes widen.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>>In truth, your conversation with Mr. Langley was rather short. Not enough time to form a concrete impression of the gentleman. Though it wasn't hard to spot his lack of pretense. He seemed to really be attuned to your needs, even though you had just met. It was a pleasant surprise.
"He was kind, honest, actually."
Though you keep your expression perfectly neutral, Mrs. Grouse's eyes widen with a flash of understanding.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>>In truth, your conversation with Mr. Langley was rather short. Not enough time to form a concrete impression of the gentleman. Throughout your limited interaction, you were struck by his appearance. The rumors surrounding Mr. Langley seemed largely exaggerated but he was indeed a handsome man.
"He's handsome, incredibly so."
Though you keep your expression perfectly neutral, Mrs. Grouse's eyes widen with a flash of understanding.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>>In truth, your conversation with Mr. Langley was rather short. Not enough time to form a concrete impression of the gentleman. And that's more or less where you left your thoughts. Your limited interaction didn't leave much to go on, besides that all the rumors were exaggerated nonsense. But you knew that from the start.
"I didn't form an opinion."
Though you keep your expression perfectly neutral, Mrs. Grouse's eyes widen with a flash of understanding.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>>In truth, your conversation with Mr. Langley was rather short. Not enough time to form a concrete impression of the gentleman. From your limited interaction, he seemed to be a decent-sort, a bit blander than all the excited whispers made him out to be. Though that's hardly the poor man's fault. Maybe he'll find a way to surprise you.
"He seemed...decent, a little bit boring–but decent."
Though you keep your expression perfectly neutral, Mrs. Grouse's eyes widen with a flash of understanding.
<<include "prolog.inter-2">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-2]]<</silently>>"I see," is her only response.
Bait. Your mother uses similar tactics at home to get others, but mostly you, to spill extra details without prompting. You bite your tongue, turning to examine the gold filigree running up the assembly room walls. Yep, still gold, still pretty.
Mrs. Grouse snaps the fan closed with a sigh. Before wilting completely, she springs back to life, puffing out her chest, as if caught by inspiration.
<<if hasVisited("prolog.viv.exit")>>"I saw you. On the balcony in the company of a certain widow."<<elseif hasVisited("prolog.warren.exit")>>"I saw you. Conversing with a certain disreputable gentleman near the dance floor."<<elseif $metVivian>>"I saw you. Slinking off to the balcony. Tip-toeing down the garden stairs. With Ms. Vivian Fortescue."<<else>> "I saw you. On the dance floor. With Lord Warren Hind."<</if>>
The implication is perfectly clear in her tone. She knows it wasn't an accident. It was a choice you made. And you know that of all of society's players, Mrs. Grouse knows every single rumor, whisper, and lie spread about <<if $metWarren>>Lord Hind.<<else>>Ms. Fortescue.<</if>>
You turn back to look at her, your expression perfectly neutral.
<<if $playful gt $serious>> "That...could have been me."<<else>>"And if that was me?"<</if>>
She snorts loudly, reaching over to poke your shoulder. "Don't play coy with me, little miss. I was young once too. I know the allure of scandal and the consequences of succumbing to its call."
You blink but she continues, eager to get this lecture through with.
"Scandal is terrible, true. But bearable should the one you suffer for or with be worth it." Her gray eyes glimmer with something somber and far-off. "You're young. I understand the pressure you're under. The games we play in pretty ballrooms are idiotic and stupid, but chasing a night of fun and falling in love with ruin are two very different things."
"Do you understand me, $name?"
<<if $words gt $action>>You hesitate but eventually give her a "yes."<<else>> You hesitate but eventually nod.<</if>> But the words stick and you can't help the follow-up question.
"And how will I know? How can I know who is worth the ruin?"
Mrs. Grouse smiles at you. It's strange...a soft, small thing that wrinkles her cheeks, making her look older and kinder than you've seen before. She gestures forward with her–your mother's– fan and takes a hold of your arm as you walk on.
"You just do. You just know and once you do," she tugs on your arm, so that facing her, "be brave enough to pursue it. Believe me, it'll save //you// and the world some heartbreak."
She continues to stare at you as you walk, waiting for confirmation, perhaps. As soon as you give to her, there is a pronounced change in demeanor. The hold on your arm goes soft and her posture relaxes to that of nonchalance as if you hadn't just received the world's strangest talk from Mrs. Grouse of all people.
She leads you away from that corner and over past circles of guests, presumably towards another similar looking corner. This one seemed closer to the main entrance/exit of the hall.
As you walk, you try and process what she meant. Honestly, when she brought up <<if $metVivian>>Ms. Fortescue<<else>>Lord Hind<</if>>, you were certain she would slip some more of her usual gossip, remind you of the likely, tall tales following <<if $metWarren>> him<<else>>her<</if>> around. You wonder if she were at a similar crossroads to you. At the precipice of her youth, forced with making a decision that would chart the course of the rest of her life. Then again, that's every woman's lot in life. You spend your youth training to play the marriage market and then you play. You "get attached." You marry. Simple as that.
"Wait. Where are we going?"
Mrs. Grouse pats your forearm. "Don't be so skittish. I already told you. I am returning you to your mother. You've had plenty of free time tonight. It's time you attended to your elders, pretty little thing."
<<if $passive gt $assertive>>You nod, scanning up ahead for your parents among the crowd.<<else>>You want to argue that you've nothing but attentive to your elders this entire evening but instead you scan the crowd for your parents.<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog7]]</div><div class="h1">The Balcony</div>
You step out onto the balcony, heat swept away by a soft gale that bounces across the rather large, but nearly empty platform.
On the carriage ride to the Assembly Rooms, you noted the size and expanse of the balcony, how it wrapped around much of the building, and seemed far larger than it needed to be. Unsurprisingly, it remained as large as you’ve envisioned from the ground. Much of it was enclosed by a sturdy-looking stone railing, except for a few stairs leading down into a small garden but those exits had been blocked off by thick rope. Not that it would keep any determined individual from venturing into the secluded foliage below.
An old, but sound looking wooden pergola covered most of the balcony, leaving it half shrouded in shadow and half doused in the mild light of the moon. Vines, similar to the kind invading the lower garden, have wrapped themselves up and around the joists of the pergola. Small light-yellow flowers bloom under the moonlight, while some of their fallen petals litter the marble floor you walk on. Under the more shaded part of the pergola sit benches made of the same material as the railing. A few intrepid souls, couples you venture to guess, gather in the dark of the benches. Mischief or pleasure, you venture to guess further.
But all this passes quickly and instead, you fixate on the famous view, striding out to the edge of the railing. It’s later in the evening and yet, there are dozens, maybe of hundreds of candles burning, in the streets, in people’s homes–a stark contrast to the village near your home, where most are in bed by this time or have the decency to burn only one light or two.
You lean against the railing, chill bleeding through the thin fabric of your gloves.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog5.2][$q1 to false,$q2 to false,$q3 to false,$q4 to false]]</div>“Are we lost, little lamb?”
The question catches you off guard as you react instantaneously, ripping your gaze off the glowing streets to the woman appearing quite suddenly at your side.
Most of her is obscured by a thin, black lace veil, the kind worn by widows on the eve of their husband’s death. It deepens the shadows of her face, making her cheeks sharper, black eyes even darker as they look down on you. Her gaze seemed to cleave the somberness of before, leaving only the cold of the night air as it swirls around you, fluttering her veil in the process. In fact, the lady before you wears a full dress of black, a stark contrast to the sea of white and cream back in the main hall.
She takes a step closer, leaning on the railing right beside you, something like a smile playing on her–you unhelpfully note–full lips.
“Are you not afraid your minders will come calling or worse yet, something with sharp teeth might find you first?”
You must be making a face because she begins to laugh.
<<if $active gt $passive>>“No?”<<else>>“...no?<</if>>
She laughs harder and you feel the need to clarify.
<div class="choice">[['“I’m afraid, my minders are off duty for the night.”'|prolog5.2-joke][$playful =+ 2]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“'I’ll have you know, I can handle myself.”'|prolog5.2-serious][$serious =+2]]</div>“I’m afraid,” You take a step, opening your posture as you speak, “my minders are off-duty for the night.”
It came out a little more suggestive than you planned. But something about the woman in black brought it out of you.
Her laugh petters out into a grin. One you are quick to match. “How fortunate for me, little lamb.”
<<include "prolog5.3">><<silently>>[[prolog5.3]]<</silently>>“I’ll have you know,” You take a step, squaring your shoulders as you speak, “I can handle myself.”
It came out a little more suggestive than you planned. But something about the woman in black brought it out of you.
Her laugh petters out into a grin. One that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention. “My, how brave of you, little lamb.”
<<include "prolog5.3">><<silently>>[[prolog5.3]]<</silently>>Something swirls in the darkness of her eyes, a vulnerability that vanishes just as soon as you are able to name it.
The woman in black continues to smile at you, before dipping into a soft curtsey. “Vivian Fortescue. You hadn’t asked but I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
Your body dips into a similar curtsy on its own, your mind, however, is hung up on her name. Vivian Fortescue. And suddenly, her appearance, her demeanor clicks into place. Ms. Fortescue, society’s most infamous widow–serial widow.
Her smile widens into a grin as she watches your gears grinding away.
“Something got your tongue, little lamb? I believe it's your turn to return the favor.”
“$name Merritt.” You practically bleat it out on command. And Vivian laughs once more. But there is no malice, rather something like fondness in its pleasant tone. It puts you at ease rather forcefully. A wonderfully confusing response to a woman you just met.
“Pretty and obedient. You’re quite the package, little lamb.”
It should irritate you that she is continuing to use that moniker instead of your proper name. And from her expression, Ms. Fortescue knows this as well.
Do you call her out on it?
<div class="choice">[[Yes|prolog5.4][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No|prolog5.4]]</div><<if $q1>>“$name.”
“Hmm, what was that, lamb?”
“My name is $name Merritt.” You try again with more strength, keeping your gaze fully on hers.
Something simmers in her eyes once more, gone just as quick as before. “I hadn’t forgotten...Miss Merritt.”
You almost grin in victory. But she adds. “You must admit little lamb has a lovely ring to it. I think it suits you.”
Vivian turns to face the view of the city stretched before you. But you feel her eyes sweep across your face, watching, waiting for your reaction.
You swallow a response and instead turn the conversation back onto her.\
<<else>>Vivian turns to face the view of the city stretched before you. But you feel her eyes sweep across your face, watching, waiting for your reaction.
You ignore the obvious bait and instead turn the conversation back onto Ms. Fortescue.<</if>>
“And what of you, are you trying to //escape your minders//?”
She remains facing forward but you can easily see her smile widen from the side.
The wind kicks up again, swirling both of your skirts. You seem to struggle with it more than Ms. Fortescue, who seems to be pondering your casual question rather deeply.
Her smile falls into something more neutral as the wind mellows out. “I suppose so.”
The wind had shifted her veil, revealing long black tresses. The moonlight cast a blue hue, making the strands appear as smooth and delicate as the black muslin of her dress. If not for the soft expression on her face, Vivian would appear every bit the marriage market boogeyman that others make her out to be.
You’ve heard most versions of her story. But the detail that is always retold is the unusual amount of men she’s married and their sudden, mysterious deaths. Most women are lucky enough to marry once, twice in the case of extreme tragedy. But to be a widow thrice over, unthinkable to greater society.
The people have their theories and you know enough of the world to be wary of speculation. But the fantastical lengths they go to point the blame on Ms. Fortescue, it’s quite enraging. And yet, you can not recall ever seeing her challenge those rumors. If you were put on the spot, you might admit that the lady seems to lean into people’s expectations, as her extensive mourning apparel and refusal to participate in general society conventions for unmarried women attest.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog5.5][$q1 to false]]</div>Loud cheers and applause trickle out from the assembly rooms, shattering the quiet that had overtaken the woman beside you. She sighs, almost tiredly, before adjusting her veil so that her hair is hidden away from you once more.
Vivian looks around the balcony, eyes landing on the garden below and the stairs leading down to it, the rope blocking it off no more a courtesy than an “excuse me” after a fart.
She turns to you with a renewed smirk. “Shall we go on a little adventure, lamb? I’m sure you’ve seen enough of the assembly rooms. Let’s venture to //greener// pastures together.”
Before you can even contemplate a response, she takes off in the direction of the stairs, ignoring a few curious glances from people lounging beneath the pergola.
<<if $passive gt $assertive>>Tepidly, you follow her.<<else>>You follow her with a quick shrug.<</if>>
The rope is neatly tied to both of the stairway posts. It would be pretty simple to undo the knots–
–Vivian wastes no time and simply steps over the obstacle, easy enough for the tall woman. The motion allows you to notice how shapely her legs are as she gracefully clears over the rope. She doesn’t bother to fix her skirt, instead simply waits for you to cross.
<<include "prolog5.6">>You take a step back and Vivian’s smile falls along with her hand.
“Back to your minders, then.” The widow doesn’t hesitate in turning her back to you and begins climbing down the stairs alone. You almost catch her parting, “Enjoy the ball, Lamb.”
It’s not long before Vivian vanishes into the thick foliage of the garden below and suddenly the balcony feels colder and darker than it did before.
You hurry back into the assembly rooms, giving the moon-shaded pergola one last look, its yellow buds beginning to slowly snap shut.
<<include "prolog.inter-1">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-1]]<</silently>>“Well, little lamb, are you coming?”
<<if $height is "tall" or "very tall">>Even though you could clear the rope<<if $height is "very tall">> easily<</if>>, Vivian stretches an even olive-toned hand out towards you. A serious offer, not a twinge of jest on her face.<<else>>You try not to react when Vivian stretches an even olive-toned hand out towards you. A serious offer, not a twinge of jest on her face. <<if $height is "short">> And, by all measures, you could use a little assistance.<<else>>Though, you could probably cross the rope without it, the offer to help was still...nice.<</if>><</if>>
You look from Vivian’s hand to the dimly-lit garden below. A brief interlude on the balcony is one thing but to venture so far from prying eyes–to enter such a secluded, intimate location with someone so well-known as Miss Fortescue. You’d be courting scandal to accept.
Do you return to the Assembly Rooms?
<div class="choice">[[Yes|prolog.viv.exit]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No|prolog5.6b][$vivAff += 5]]</div>You nod, watching Vivian’s smile grow wider in response. Screw it, honestly. Let them think what they want in there, that garden is worth investigating, not to mention what secrets you could learn from the woman in front of you.
Speaking of Vivian, her hand is still open, waiting, should you need it. Something in the ease of her countenance assures you that should you decide to jump over the rope without her assistance, the woman wouldn’t be slighted in the least. Her offer to help isn’t borne of custom or expectation or any other insidious motive besides genuine concern. It’s… surprising but somehow comforting, more comforting than you’re used to feeling at these kinds of events.
<<if $height is not "short">>Though, you could probably do without it.<<else>>Though, you’ll probably need to use it.<</if>> Do you take Vivian’s hand?
<div class="choice">[[Yes|prolog.viv.hand]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No|prolog.viv.no-hand]]</div>Her hand is warm, yes. Soft, too. The strength of her grip grounds you as her other hand comes to rest on your other arm. It’s a quick hop over the barrier but you land mere inches away from Ms. Fortescue, feeling her breath ghost across your cheeks.
“Shall we, lamb?”
Only after clearing your throat and stepping away do you realize she is not wearing gloves.
<<include "prolog5.7">><<silently>>[[prolog5.7]]<</silently>>You shake your head and Vivian steps back to give you room. The post looks sturdy enough and it is as you lean your weight and manage to hop over that pesky rope with no injury.
“Nicely done, lamb.” And yet again, you are surprised to see not a hint of jest in her expression. It seems she isn’t teasing you. For now.
“Shall we?” She gestures onward.
<<include "prolog5.7">><<silently>>[[prolog5.7]]<</silently>>You follow Vivian down the length of the stairs, the noise of the rooms above fading away with each step. You descend quickly, soon enough landing at the entrance to a rather unkempt garden.
The soil is unmarked by footprints, you two might be the first people to visit the garden in weeks. And yet the lawn has been weeded and manicured. Indeed, from far away, it looks managed enough for appearance’s sake but on the ground now, you notice that the rose bushes are in need of pruning and rather wild-looking. Vines and moss have invaded parts of the gazebo in the center of the garden, giving its already chipped paint an unkempt aesthetic.
Your heels clack on the disarray of stone steps inlaid with the soil as you and Vivian walk further into the garden. Tall, untrimmed hedges slowly begin to encircle you, until it takes a good deal of standing on your tip-toes to spot the balcony you were just on. The steps fade away into soft clods of grass as you near the gazebo.
Vivian is silent. None of the sounds from the Assembly follow you into this deserted place. You hear your own thoughts clearly for the first time tonight. Your lungs sit lighter in your chest without the hundreds of peering eyes and wagging tongues. You feel… safe here. Just you, and Vivian, alone in this forgotten garden.
A nightingale cries out in the dark and the mood is altered.
Vivian looks about the garden, not as if for the first time, but as if visiting an old friend’s home, spying for things that might have changed. There’s almost melancholy in her inspection, her shoulders seeming to droop the longer she looks.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog5.8]]</div>Vivian walks into the gazebo, running a hand along the rotting railing. Only when comes to a stop in the middle of the structure does she look at you. Her eyes...are wet. Or at least they shine under the moonlight. Her veil keeps you from being sure.
“My first season, I came across this place.”
You lean against one of the gazebo pillars.
“The rooms, above, were too noisy. Well, I suppose they still are but I was young, then, unable to handle it all. But down here, it was–is serene.”
Moss from the pillar seeps into your white skirt, leaving a vague butterfly-shaped stain–well, it does also kind of look like a moth, but really aren’t they both the same shape. You pat the wet, winged-insect stain, smearing the edges, gray into the fragile muslin.
If Vivian notices your struggle, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she plucks a low-hanging vine, draping the inner frame of the covering. It springs back to shape the moment she lets go.
“How is it that society always takes more than it gives? If only it was as simple as being the spider weaving the web or the fly unlucky enough to be caught by it?”
<div class="choice">[[Take her extended metaphor further.|prolog5.8-metaphor]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"Spiders?!?!?!"'|prolog5.8-spiders]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Shrug and hope it's enough.|prolog5.8-shrug]]</div>“Or the web itself,” you add, dropping your skirt. There is no helping that stain, now.
Instead, you take Vivian’s metaphor further, taking a mindless step forward. “We’re more likely to just be vessels in another’s games, a means to end, knots in a weave to catch frailer prey. Gossip. Scandal. Propriety. All means by which we control and restrict one another, twisting and turning to play to our own advantage.”
Vivian’s mouth turns downward but there’s a new kind of warmth in her eyes as she looks at you. Respect. "Aptly put."
She flicks a patch of moss and greenery off the railing before perching onto it, legs swinging lazily. “But I think we came down here to get away from that...so ask away, little lamb.”
<<include "prolog5.8.1">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.1]]<</silently>>“S-spiders?!?” It takes a good bit of self-control to not scramble away into Vivian’s arms. Your skirt falls out of your hands, as you peer around for any webs, stain all but forgotten. Though part of you knows she spoke in metaphor, spiders are still...a bit scary.
You look up and back down to Vivian, willing the sight of webs blanketing the ceiling out of your mind. Topic change!
Vivian covers her mouth quickly, a soft exhale of a smothered laugh. Instead, Vivian clears her throat and flicks a patch of moss and greenery off the railing before perching onto it, legs swinging lazily. “Enough about spiders, there will be time enough… ask me, something–anything you like.”
<<include "prolog5.8.1">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.1]]<</silently>>You shrug sympathetically, dropping your skirt. There is no helping that stain, now.
Society is as...society does. There’s always manipulation and betrayal and malicious intent abound. You’ve been lucky enough to avoid the worst of it in your brief five seasons. But you’ve spent enough time around Mrs. Grouse, Janet, and others, to know how the game is played. Lines are drawn up and rules are set so as to keep certain kinds of people in exclusion or worse yet perpetual ridicule. It disgusts you. And yet, what can you truly do about it?
You see your musings reflected in Vivian’s somber expression. Well, now that the mood is truly dour, time for a topic change!
Vivian flicks a patch of moss and greenery off the railing before perching onto it, legs swinging lazily. “I see those wheels turning...ask away, little lamb.”
<<include "prolog5.8.1">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.1]]<</silently>>Well, if she’s going to offer like that, how can you refuse?
<div class="choice">[[You take a step into the center of the gazebo, looking at Vivian pointedly, "So, come here often?" ♡|prolog.viv.flirt][$vflirt += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You lean against the railing of the gazebo, giving Vivian a friendly smile, "You seem comfortable here?"|prolog.viv.friend]]</div>"I do." She stops her swinging and gives you her full attention. "Why? Plan on following me around little lamb?"
Well…do you?
You might. You really, //really// might.
Vivian says nothing as your heart beats ever so faster.
You venture a step closer to her…The tension is too much and you twirl into a half-circle at the last minute, turning to face the rest of the garden, instead. Just nonchalantly taking inventory of the kinds of plants on offer.
Oh look, white lilies, your mother loves those.
You expect her to tease you or sigh but instead, fabric rustles and floorboards creak as Vivian comes to stand beside you.
She plants her hands on the railing, ungloved, perfectly manicured fingernails digging into the thin layer of soft, green moss.
“I fell in love with the first man to follow me into this place. He loved me in return. We married. He died. And the garden still stands...”
You bite your lip, stifling a gasp. The urge to ask which one is almost unbearable but somehow you know that this might be the first time anyone else has heard this story.
“The garden still stands…” The next words are so quiet, you almost don’t catch them. “Alone, alone with a heart of stone.”
<div class="choice">[[Put a hand over hers, even the slightest bit of comfort will help.|prolog.viv.comfort][$vivAff += 2]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Give her some space to breathe, too much--too close can overwhelm.|prolog.viv.silence]]</div>“I suppose I am.” She gives the wooden structure a gentle pat. “This garden has kept me from poking my eyes out at these miserable affairs. But I think you can relate, little lamb.”
“What?”
She hums. “I saw you on the balcony. Watching the rest of London like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
You shrug noncommittally. Sure, you’d left the main hall for the fresh air of the balcony but the atmosphere of the event was not so extreme as to leave you suffocating. Some part of social events, you find rather enjoyable. In truth, your experience with the highs and lows of society have been middling to fair. Nothing concrete has happened to make you outright hate or love the game, despite how aware of its trappings you are.
<<include "prolog5.8.2">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.2]]<</silently>>It’s so simple. So much simpler to rest your fingers over hers.
The warmth seeps through your glove<<if hasVisited("prolog.viv.hand")>>, somehow brighter than it had been earlier<</if>>.
You don’t look at her face. Not even as she brings her other hand over yours. Not even as she gives it a squeeze. Not even as she gently pries your gloved hand off and lays it on a clean patch of railing, leaving the barest hint of green along your knuckles.
That little streak of green. So stark. So proud. Against the cream of the lace.
Eventually, you’re able to speak again and you watch Vivian’s fingers relax, long brown grooves in the moss in their wake.
<<include "prolog5.8.2">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.2]]<</silently>>The silence isn’t oppressive or tense as it was before, even as you shift a hair or so away from Vivian. The space seems to be enough and you match your breaths with her, even and clear.
The somber silence stretches on.
Yet Vivian doesn’t break it. Neither do you. It's quite the standoff. The pair of you and the garden.
Eventually, it feels right to speak and you watch Vivian’s fingers relax, long brown grooves in the moss in their wake.
<<include "prolog5.8.2">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.2]]<</silently>><<if $active gt $passive>>“Might I be so bold as to ask you another question?”<<else>>Vivian hums again, attention wavering as her eyes track the wind moving through the greenery of the garden. “any more //burning// questions?”<</if>>
Several. Too many, perhaps. But with society most whispered of widow...the veritable boogey(wo)man of the marriage market… how could one not be curious?
Something dark simmering in her vision hints that she is well aware of that notion. Perhaps some tact would be wise.
<div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>She laughs. For an almost uncomfortable amount of time.
Eventually, she stops and the focus on her gaze forces you to meet eyes. Not darkness. Not anger. But amusement.
"You're a brave one, little lamb. <<if $passive gt $active>>Though I shouldn't be so surprised, even the meekest being knows how to use her teeth."<<else>>Though I shouldn't be so surprised, you never pretended to be anything else."<</if>>
You let a small sigh, she took your joke as a joke. It was a bit of risk you just took, poking fun at something that must follow her everywhere she treads. And yet, you couldn't think of a better or perhaps, safer way of broaching the subject.
Vivian seems to relax, exhaling through her nose, ruffling the netting of her veil.
Though she has let you off easy, it's not hard to realize how artfully she stepped out of the question, offering not even the vaguest of non-answers. You could broach the topic again before the silence steals the last of your confidence. But there's no telling how volatile the wrong approach could be. The atmosphere of the garden has grown rather delicate.
<div class="choice">[[You push for more, gentler this time, "I don't pretend to know anything but I do wonder if you are lonely."|prolog.viv.push]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You push for more, an honest but rough attempt, "Rumor is just that, rumor. But I can't help but wonder if there is more to this story. "|prolog.viv.push][$opps to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You drop the subject and let the silence play out a little longer.|prolog.viv.drop]]</div><<if $opps>>You push for more, an honest but rough attempt, "Rumor is just that, rumor. But I can't help but wonder if there is more to this story."<<else>>You push for more, gentler this time, "I don't pretend to know anything but I do wonder if you are lonely."<</if>>
If the garden felt delicate before, it was even more so now. You feel the mood teether and tip right down into precarious territory.
Vivian turns her gaze away but you feel focused on like a small creature might traversing an open lane at night.
Finally she speaks and you marvel at the restraint in her voice, "I have always wondered how it is we become raptured by the suffering of others. I've lost three–three very dear people to me and all anyone wants to talk about is the circumstances of their passing."
They died. They're dead. It's a fact and I'm tired of being prodded and provoked over the slightest thing. I mourn the dead because they're gone and I am still here. Simple as that. Any other burning questions."
<<if $opps>>"I hadn't meant to–" But you had. You pried into the ghosts of a woman you've just met<<if $vFlirt gt 0>>–a woman you found intriguing.<<else>>–a woman who was nothing but kind to you.<</if>>
An apology was in order but it seems Vivian isn't having it, cutting your half-baked sorry off, "enough of that, please."
Vivian puts a cold hand to the back of her neck. You watch her close her eyes, come to a decision and open them, "Let's move on, shall we?"
"I really am–"
"I know, lamb. Let's just move on, any other questions for me?"\
<<else>> "Oh, I really did not–I apologize I did not mean to reopen old wounds or cause you any pain," But you did mean to pry, no matter how politely. You pried into the ghosts of a woman you've just met<<if $vFlirt gt 0>>–a woman you found intriguing.<<else>>–a woman who was nothing but kind to you.<</if>>
Vivian puts a cold hand to the back of her neck. You watch her close her eyes, come to a decision and open them, "Let's move on, shall we?"
"Vivian–Ms. Fortescue, I really did not mean to cause you distress. It was unkind of me to pry into something like that. It was untoward and I sincerely apologize."
She finally turns back to look at you and while her expression is muddled through the fabric of her veil, you think you spot a small smile on her lips.
"I understand, lamb. Let's move onto something more pleasant, any other questions for me?"<</if>>
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog5.8.3">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.3]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q4>><div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>><div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q4>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div\
<<else>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div/>\
<div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div><</if>><<set $vivAff += 2>>Instead of trickling silence, Vivian speaks, "how old are you?"
"What?"
"You heard me, lamb. I asked for your age, nothing nefarious."
Your mother would argue that one's age is a nefarious thing, indeed. But you don't see the harm in revealing it, "I am one and twenty now."
Vivian nods, perking up, "I was married at that age."
In lieu of a better response, you just nod as well.
She looks away from you and to the garden, where a small nightingale sits, perched perched on a nearby young-looking willow sapling. "And I suppose your parents are biting at the heels for a similar outcome for you."
"Well, no– "
She doesn't seem to hear you, continuing with her speech, growing more tense with each word, "And they suppose you'll fetch them a handsome, rich son-in-law and then like magic they'll be playing with their grandchildren in a few years in said-rich-but-otherwise-useless son-in-law's enormous estate."
All the while, you are expected to quietly and without complaint drop all those pesky dreams and desires. A girl who yearns for more than those above deem her worth is fallen to the sin of ambition but one who seeks independence has fallen to the sin of free thought. The bird must remain in her cage while the wings are chipped. All that flapping, such a bloody mess."
The nightingale cries once puncturing the silence following. It cries one last time before springing off its perch and flying off into the night.
You watch it go thinking over Vivian's words. Bitterness is not a new emotion, others have expressed it often enough around you. You wonder if any part of you has become bitter over the years. It's not hard to recognize the luck of your situation, being born into a wealthy, respectful family, to parents who cultivate your interests, respect your boundaries, and love you unconditionally. None of those things are assured in life and were you in any other situation, there's no telling where you would be now.
Vivian exhales deeply, putting a cold hand to the back of her neck. You watch her close her eyes, come to a decision and open them, "Let's move on, shall we?"
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog5.8.3">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.3]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q4>><div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>><div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q4>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div\
<<else>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div/>\
<div class="choice">[['“You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?”'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div><</if>>“Voracious? Is that really the word they use?” She huffs. “I suppose it’s apt enough.”
“And?” You push.
“And what else?” She huffs but it's light. “I send money to second or third-born sons to squander while they waste gallons of paint and carve permanent mistakes of marble.”
“That’s…” You want to say harsh but it’s not that off the mark. Artist isn’t really a profession for those that aren’t “men” or “of rich stock”. Sure some of them can claim to have integrity or vision but most are just failing upwards while wasting other rich people’s money.
Vivian huffs again, more and more amusement the longer you take to find the word.
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog5.8.3">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.3]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['"You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q4>><div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3 and $q4>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1>><div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true, $qcount += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[["You’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q4>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div><</if>>“Your dress is–
“Inappropriate, dour, unfortunate.” She supplies, tone close to biting but it's pointed inward and that is confusing enough to stall you. “Next you’ll be telling me the roses on my veil need changing.”
You hadn’t noticed the roses. So black and wilted, you’d taken them to be just another part of the intricate lace.
“I was going to say… //pretty//.” You finally get out, frowning. “The color suits you.”
<<if $vivAff gt 10>>“Now //that// I have heard, little lamb.”
Before you can backtrack, she smiles at you, small but a smile all the same. “Thank you for it.”\
<<else>>“You’re not the first to say so. But thank you.”
The quiet creeps back and you wonder if you said something wrong.<</if>>
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog5.8.3">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.3]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q2>><div class="choice">[['"You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q4>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q4>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q4>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"You\’ve seen more of what society has on offer, any advice?"'|prolog5.8.2-any-advice][$q4 to true]]</div><</if>>“You’ve seen more of what society has on offer.” You turn to give her your full attention. “Any advice?”
She hums thoughtfully, fiddling with a loose thread in her veil.
<<if $vivAff gt 10>>“Scores of advice, little lamb.” Her eyes meet yours and the darkness stops your breath. “But you don’t need it. You’re smarter than I was...you’ll be fine. Better even.”\
<<else>>“Scores of advice, little lamb.” Her eyes meet yours and the darkness stops your breath. “But you only need to know this. Their game will swallow you whole. They’ll feast until there’s nothing but stone. If you’re smart and I suspect you might be, you’ll abandon them the first chance you get.”<</if>>
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3 and $q4>>
<<include "prolog5.8.3">><<silently>>[[prolog5.8.3]]<</silently>>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q2>><div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1 and $q3>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2 and $q3>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q1>><div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<<else>><div class="choice">[[A terrible, terrible joke but you can't help but ask, "so...three husbands dead, going for a world record?"|prolog5.8.2-3-dead-husbands][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"I\’ve heard you’re a voracious patron of the arts."'|prolog5.8.2-patron-of-the-arts][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Compliment her on her dress.|prolog5.8.2-com-her-dress][$q3 to true]]</div><</if>>“Now I get to ask you a question?”
One question to your three. Only fair.
<<if $vflirt gt 0>>Vivian steps away from your side, lazily strolling till she stands at the threshold of the gazebo, moonlight silver on her silhouette.<<else>>She finally leaps off her perch and stretches her long limbs, lazily strolling till she stands at the threshold of the gazebo, moonlight silver on her silhouette.<</if>>
“Tell me, <<if $vivAff gt 10>>$name<<else>>Miss Merritt<</if>>, do you believe in love? true love?”
You almost don’t answer //to your own name.// How had you become so accustomed to the moniker in so short of a period?
Either way, the widow doesn’t turn to face you. Her black dress’s train trailing behind her as she steps and steps forward.
Once she reaches the entryway to the stairs–the only route back to the opening ball–does Vivian turn and give you a look. Too far away for you to discern the emotion swimming in her gaze. But it seems she is content to wait for your answer.
Do you believe in true love?
<div class="choice">[['"Yes."'|prolog.viv.tl.yes]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"Yes, but–"'' |prolog.viv.tl.yes-but]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"No, but–"'' |prolog.viv.tl.no-but]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"Of course not."'|prolog.viv.tl.no]]</div>“Yes.”
And perhaps that’s all that needs to be said about it.
<<include "prolog5.9">><<silently>>[[prolog5.9]]<</silently>>“Yes,” you smile, but it falls quickly. “But it’s not in the cards for me.”
<<include "prolog5.9">><<silently>>[[prolog5.9]]<</silently>>“No,” you huff humorlessly, “But it’s a good story.”
<<include "prolog5.9">><<silently>>[[prolog5.9]]<</silently>>“No.”
And perhaps that’s all that needs to be said about it.
<<include "prolog5.9">><<silently>>[[prolog5.9]]<</silently>>“I see.” The emotion is gone in an instant.
Her veil bellows for a moment and you get a brief glimpse of her bare face, slick with tears. But her voice is hard like the stone of the balcony above.
“Take care of your heart, little lamb. The wolves live inside the castle walls.” With that, Vivian curtseys and vanishes up the stairs out of view.
You follow suit not long after. The quiet of the garden sinister now that you stand alone.
<<include "prolog.inter-1">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-1]]<</silently>><div class="h1">The Assembly Rooms</div>
Truly, you wish to venture into the dance line without the guarantee of a partner? What a fearless creature you are!
There are a good number of guests blocking you from the dance floor in the middle of the room. But in keeping with the boldness of your decision, you press forward, sliding past a fair number of ladies and gentlemen. A few of them give you looks, from puzzled to outright annoyed. But you don’t have time to personally address a stranger's grievances. The band could begin playing at any moment.
With how large the main hall of the assembly rooms is, it's a wonder that the designated dance floor is only ten yards or so. Granted that’s much more space than the dining hall of Easton’s only inn can accommodate, you are a little underwhelmed. It's not that the space itself has shrunk but the number of couples dancing at once seemed to have grown over the seasons. And still, you are beginning this season without a dance partner. Not the most auspicious of omens.
Moonlight streams or perhaps would have streamed in from the glass doors that line the sides of the hall, had not throngs of guests gathered at those entrances. Alas, you’ll have to make do with the numerous, gold and silver-lined chandeliers that hang from the hall’s ceiling. It must have been a nightmare for the staff to hand-light each candle in said chandeliers.
The soft, warm glow is enough for you to make your way through the crowd. Lighting is one thing, but the smell– well, let’s just leave at that, shall we? It’s not hard to imagine what a large room full of people mingling, and moving together, might smell like.
The musicians play a few quiet bars, a lull in the larger piece, to give the remaining participants time to arrange themselves.
Over on the far side of the group, you see <<if $metSam>>Mr. Tarley–Ben and Sam facing one another with apathy and trepidation, respectively. Though it is too far away to be entirely sure if Sam is shaking because of her nerves or simply swaying to the music.<<else>>Janet and Mr. Langley facing one another with excitement or trepidation, respectively. Though it is too far away to be entirely sure if Mr. Langley is shaking because of his nerves or simply swaying to the music.<</if>> No partner for you on that end, that’s for certain.
You continue, trying not to look like you’ve walked up here without asking for a partner. Surely someone else is brave enough to have done the same.
<<include "prolog6.1">><<if $height is "short">>It’s not easy...ok, it’s kind of impossible to see over the groups of people gathered at the edge of the dance floor. <<elseif $height is "very tall">>It’s pretty easy for you to over the groups of people gathered at the edge of the dance floor.<<else>>It’s not easy, nor is it too hard for you to lean up on your toes and look around the groups of people gathered at the edge of the dance floor.<</if>> Most are here to watch the dance, chatter about the pairings, maybe even catch a bit of the conversation taking place on the dance floor, itself. You can’t really blame them. What else is there to do? Talk, dance, or talk about those dancing. Maybe one day someone will come up with a better way to waste evenings in crowds but this is how society likes it done.
As you try to subtly twirl around and scout yourself a decent-enough last-minute partner, someone manages to bump into you, knocking their shoulder in yours, nearly sending you sprawling onto the floor.
<<if $active gt $passive>>After you catch yourself from the almost-fall, you turn to give this rude individual a piece of your mind, forcefully if need be. <<if $metSam>>Unthinkable, this is the second time tonight, you’ve almost fallen! Perhaps you need to work on your balance? Clumsiness is a trait, very few people can pull off with grace.<<else>>To think you could have fallen and made this already uncomfortable situation, unbearable. How might society have spun that to their favor and your detriment? Not the most fun thought.<</if>>
You lash out blindly and catch the very shoulder that nearly knocked you to the ground.\
<<else>>You almost don’t catch yourself from the altercation. But your feet are quicker than your mind and you manage to right yourself before any harm is done. <<if $metSam>>Unthinkable, this is the second time tonight, you’ve almost fallen! Perhaps you need to work on your balance? Clumsiness is a trait, very few people can pull off with grace.<<else>>To think you could have fallen and made this already uncomfortable situation, unbearable. How might society have spun that to their favor and your detriment? Not the most fun thought.<</if>>
You reach out blindly for support your body doesn’t need, catching the very shoulder that nearly knocked you to the ground.<</if>>
"Pardon–" The stranger begins, a slight lilt to his already pleasant-sounding voice. Though green eyes, vast and piercing, consume you. The stranger seems familiar with this reaction and a proud grin splits his face, the rest of features fading into view as you pull yourself out of his strangely hypnotic eyes. "–me."
His eyes travel across your face, down to your feet, back up, across your outstretched arm, to the $skin hand still gripping his shoulder. His grin slowly, somehow, widens into a mischievous smirk. Somewhere bells are ringing–danger, //danger//. But the kind that, you know from experience, are worth ignoring.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog6.2][$q1 to false,$q2 to false,$q3 to false,$q4 to false]]</div>Hot. Cold. Then hot, all over again. You pull your hand back lest it gets burned.
But the stranger is unperturbed, still staring at the spot your hand just was, rolling his shoulder as if he, too, had felt the heat. His gaze wander over to linger on the growing line of dancers, then back to you. The bells grow still as you watch the pieces come together in his eyes. Does he know why you are standing here alone?
He apologizes once more, looking less contrite than his “sorry” implies. He brings a warm, brown hand up to his forehead, giving it a theatrical smack. “<<if $name is "Kate" or $name is "Kat">>Jane,<<else>>Kate,<</if>> darling, how could have I been so blind?”
What?
He ignores your slack-jaw and continues, “You must think me a brute. First, I stumble into you like a regrettable oaf and then I nearly forget your name. Please accept my sincere apologies, darling.”
The stranger bends into a deep bow and while his tone is dramatic, to say the least. You can whiff the faintest hint of sincerity in his words. He really didn’t mean to injure your person.
<<if $active gt $passive>>And lucky he is that he didn’t. Or this conversation wouldn’t be so… friendly.<<else>>And how lucky you both are that neither of you came to injury. This conversation wouldn’t be so friendly.<</if>>
The stranger’s eyes flicker between you and the dancers, again. More bells ring. They’re rather loud, aren’t they? Getting harder to ignore. But perhaps you ought to listen to them.
How do you wish to respond to this absolute stranger assuming a fake acquaintance with you under a fake name, all the while looking at you like //that//?
<div class="choice">[[Be sensible and assert the truth of the matter.|prolog6.2-serious][$serious += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Fuck the bells. Fuck Sensibility. Go with it.|prolog6.2-playful][$playful += 1, $warplay to true]]</div>You cross your arms. “My name is– “
“–<<if $name is "Kate" or $name is "Kat">>Jane,<<else>>Kate,<</if>> darling.” The stranger asserts once more, daring to take a step closer to you. He seems intent on using a false name to refer to you.
<<include "prolog6.3">><<silently>>[[prolog6.3]]<</silently>>“Of course, I forgive you, //Freddie.//” You dip into a shallow greeting, the kind one might give a well-known friend.
The stranger or “Freddie”, as you so cleverly dubbed him, looks pleased as he steps closer. An almost irritating amount of pleased to see you playing along...
<<include "prolog6.3">><<silently>>[[prolog6.3]]<</silently>>The hair on the back of your neck tingles, but not like the hot-and-cold of before. It's a somatic reaction, a defense instinct, a distant awareness of the new pairs of eyeballs and ears trained in your direction. Society is watching.
He doesn’t say them but the words come to you louder than the bells. //Let’s give them a show?//
<<if $warplay>>"Freddie"<<else>>The stranger<</if>> leans over. Dangerously close to your face. You see flecks of brown swimming in the unending expanse of his eyes. But he comes only close enough to whisper.
The eyes and ears send their resentment psychically, burning up on your nerves. Society hates to be left out.
But <<if $warplay>>"Freddie"<<else>>the stranger<</if>> isn’t having it.
“You know, there’s a saying about chance meetings.” The flecks of brown deepen as he speaks and you find yourself leaning forward to catch the words as they leave his rather asymmetrical mouth. One end seems to be forever tugged to the side, a resting shit-eating smile. Tragic.
“But I’d rather not waste time talking,” He looks from you to the dance floor for the third time, asking a question you’d be dying to receive only moments ago. <<if $warplay>>”Freddie”<<else>>the stranger<</if>> pulls away, leaving the ghost of his breath on your cheek. Another furtive glance at the dance floor, before he finally extends his hand, and //his hand//, an invitation to dance if you ever saw one, “would you?”
You chance a look at the rapidly growing line of dancers, a line you had intended to join. Then you look back at the hand before you, trailing up the length of the gentlemen’s pale mint jacket, over his scandalously undone cravat, lingering for just a moment over his stark white canines twisting the line of his smirk, coming to meet his eyes and several things come together at once. You’ve never met this man in your life. But you know him. You know of him very //well//.
Lord Warren Hind has just invited you to dance with him. //The rake//, himself, has just asked you to dance, after presuming a rather intimate acquaintance with you. The bells have rung so hard, they’re fallen out of their casting and gone silent.
Do you take his hand?
<div class="choice">[[No. You wanted to dance, but not with someone like him.|prolog.war.exit]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Yes. A dance partner is a dance partner.|prolog6.4][$opendanceWarren to true]]</div><<if $warplay>>You don’t know the full story and frankly, finding out might be more dangerous than not knowing. Besides, just this bit of interaction has been fun enough, certainly more entertaining than that last interaction with Janet.<<else>>You don’t know the full story, and frankly, you don’t want to. This….behavior is enough to put you off, regardless of the numerous rumors and scandals that seem to follow the man.<</if>>
Warren meets your eyes and stares for a long moment, asking and answering his own question several times over. Eventually, he retracts his hand.
“I believe I owe you another apology, Miss. Forgive me for I seemed to have trespassed. Truly sorry.”
The lord dips his head in apology and strides away from you, back into the thicket of the ballroom crowd. You watch his brown curls bounce as he disappears out of view and after a long exhale, wonder if you made the right choice.
Regardless, the band begins to play a jaunty tune and you realize you’re standing dangerously close to the line of dancers. Alone. Again.
You’re starting to sense a theme...no matter, back to the crowd you go.
<<include "prolog.inter-1">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-1]]<</silently>><<if $warplay>>You take his hand...despite the ringing of the bells. How could you not? //The// Warren Hind has offered to dance with you under the absolute wildest of first meetings and you’re supposed to just walk away from that?<<else>>You take his hand...despite the ringing of the bells. You just have to see this interaction through to the end, even knowing what kind of man has just asked you to dance.<</if>>
Though your hands are properly gloved, Lord Hind’s hands are not. Warmth seeps through the fabric as he curls his fingers around yours. A thumb slowly sweeps across your knuckles as you take a step closer to the gentleman.
It’s hard not to look at him, mark the angles of his face, sharp cheekbones that give way to a round button nose, at odds with the rest of him. Though something in your gut tells you that all things with Lord Hind are couched in contradiction.
The band members finish their last-minute tuning and you both realize at the same moment how little time remains to join the dance.
Warren leads you out of the edge of the greater crowd and into the line of dancing couples. You take your place at the end. Far, far away from <<if $metSam>>Sam and Ben<<else>>Jane and Mr. Langley<</if>>, you note.
You stand in the ladies' line and Warren goes to the one across from you with the rest of the gentlemen. It’s not always the case that the lines are separated by gender and that gentlemen are asked to lead. In more intimate, casual gatherings, the rules are less… enforced, let’s say. But at the opening ball, no one is looking to break convention so blatantly.
In any case, dances aren’t always set up so, either. Rigid, geometric, drawn. Sometimes, a dance can be softer, slower, but not at this kind of gathering.
Warren flashes you a quick smile as you both turn to look up the line to the leading couple.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog6.5]]</div>You look up the long line of dancers, maybe 15 or so other couples, <<if $height is "short">>straining to peer past white skirt after cream coat.<<else>>peering past white skirt after cream coat.<</if>> Unsurprisingly, the Darts are at the head of the line, gleefully conversing with the couples beside them, blissfully ignorant of the conductor desperately trying to get their attention before the band can begin playing.
You face forward, sick of watching them dawdle, only to find Warren’s eyes already on you.
He breaks out into a smile. Not a smirk, but a proper, friendly smile. Perhaps there’s a hint of mischief in there but you’re fairly sure that’s just how his face works.
His mouth opens but the first notes of the dance blare out, drowning out the words leaving his lips.
The drums do most of the heavy lifting setting the fast, jaunty tempo for the dance to follow. The leading pair, the couple at the head of the dancing lines, gets to decide the song, the steps, the rhythm for others to follow. Depending on that, a dance could take as long as an hour. A faster routine like this most likely will be on the longer side, though the actual steps are deceptively simple.
To begin with, the Darts, take a step towards one another, leading with their bodies angled, a signal to the rest of the dancers. The couple beside the Darts remain in place but bow to one another. While the couple after them does take a step forward to meet in the middle of the two lines. And on the pattern goes.
Luck of the draw, you and Warren need to remain in place. The Lord bends into a bow but it's sloppy this time as he keeps his eyes on you.
Your view is obstructed by the couples in the aisle spinning and shuffling down, forcing you and Warren to move up in the lineup.
An admittedly confusing dance. But that’s one of the strengths of being a marriage market veteran, you know your damn dances.
And it seems your partner is no stranger to dancing either as he flawlessly avoids running into the confused couple headed the wrong way. He gives you a wink as all the “dancing” couples settle into their new spots.
The beat continues steady but the melody from the flutist changes ever so to indicate the “standing” couples must alternate and assume the “dancing” position.
Warren steps forward first. You join him in the center, not so close as to be scandalous but enough that you could speak to one another.
“Lord Hind–”
<<if $warplay>>“Ah, and here I thought I was //‘Freddie’//.”<<else>> “Ah, I had wondered when the pretense would drop.”<</if>> He looks past you for a second, eyes glazing at the crowd watching.
You hold out your hands for him to take, waiting. He blinks back the gaze and returns to you with a renewed smile.
His grip on your hands is light, lighter even as he twirls you in place. “Well, it was nice to be a stranger for a little while. But surely you’ll give me the pleasure of your name or shall you be <<if $warplay>><<if $name is "Kate" or $name is "Kat">>Jane<<else>>Kate<</if>><<else>>a mystery<</if>> for the rest of the night.”
Your dress furls outward like a blossoming lily. The white flashes quickly as you finish the spin, coming back to look up at the rake.
Oh yes, did you forget? The devastating reputation of the man who is dancing with you. Did you forget the number of young ladies that found themselves entangled with Lord Hind, hopes and expectations high? Only to find themselves with a wasted season and deluge of hushed whispers. The Lord nowhere to be found.
With all that in mind, the next words that leave your mouth are, of course….
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog6.6]]</div>...are, of course, drowned out by the music. Time to shuffle down the line!
He moves his feet forward, and you follow. The motion and music are enough to silence you. For now.
Thick, dark lashes frame his signature green eyes. They seem to flutter and preen as if their owner knows exactly which of his features has caught your interest. Naturally, you move your gaze down, the moment–for, yes, it’s only //a// moment–lasting longer than it ought to. But of course, south of the man’s eyes are his lips, bent into a knowing smirk, cupid’s bow accentuated by the motion. His top lip is a shader darker than the bottom, you unhelpfully note.
“$name Merritt.”
You know he heard you because Warren smiles again, letting the smirk fall.
"Warren, if that's alright."
The couples take their sweet time prancing, giving you plenty of time to speak over their heads. Not easy, but manageable, even with the music and chattering of people on all sides.
<<if $serious gt $playful>><<if $words gt $action>>"I'll stick to Lord Hind." You smile awkwardly, "It's only proper."<<else>>"Lord Hind will do." You nod.<</if>><<set $warren to "Lord Hind">>
Warren doesn't look disappointed but his smile dims a bit.\
<<else>><<if $words gt $action>>"I suppose it can't hurt, though I would have the pleasure returned."<<else>>"Warren, it is then." You nod but a smile peeks through.<</if>><<set $warren to "Warren">>
His smile widens, the white of his teeth blinding in the candlelight.<</if>>
Another musical cue as the couples alternate.
You and $warren step forward again. You clasp hands. He spins you and on and on the pair of you go.
"Since we got the important stuff out of the way–" You'd like to point out that names are the least important thing you should be talking about, but Warren continues as you step down to your new spots.
"Might I inquire more about your lovely self?"
<div class="choice">[[Lovely...there's nothing lovely about you. But he may ask.|prolog6.6.1][$warAff += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[If he absolutely must...|prolog6.6.2]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[As long as you may return the favor.|prolog6.6.3][$warAff += 2]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, but really what else is there to do?...you did agree to dance.|prolog6.6.4][$warAff += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Of course, you're rather curious about the Lord.|prolog6.6.5][$warAff += 2]]</div>Lovely...there's nothing lovely about you.
You tell Warren as much and the man has the audacity to simply laugh.
"Nothing lovely, she says–" He manages to croak, amused to no end it seems. Though you can't find it in yourself to call it rude...it may even be a compliment.
Even as he twirls you once more, the villain laughs, eventually petering out into something like a cough.
"Are you done, sir? I believe you had questions for me."
<<include "prolog6.7">><<silently>>[[prolog6.7]]<</silently>>You sigh. Internally, of course.
"If you must."
The Lord laughs, somehow, inappropriately and you feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.
"If you must, she says–" He manages to croak. Rude. Alright, maybe not that rude but it's the principle of the thing.
The villain continues to laugh, even as he twirls you one more time. The sound eventually petters out into something like a cough.
"Are you done, sir? I believe you had questions for me."
<<include "prolog6.7">><<silently>>[[prolog6.7]]<</silently>>As long as you may return the favor.
You tell Warren as much. He's rather quiet, simply smiling as he twirls you once more.
"I think you may come to regret that decision, my lady."
<<if $words>>"Perhaps," You look up at him, tilting your head as you go, "but I'd rather make up my own mind about you."
You throw his own words back at him for good measure, "If that's alright with you."<<else>>You look up at him closely then nod once. "If I do, $warren. You'll be the first to know."
You give his hand a strong squeeze for good measure.<</if>>
For a moment, amid the smiling spinning strangers, Lord Hind is lost. No smirk, no laugh, just a blank face….no, not blank–confused by you? Surely not.
"I believe you had questions for me?"
<<include "prolog6.7">><<silently>>[[prolog6.7]]<</silently>>No, but really what else is there to do?….you did agree to dance.
You tell Warren as much and he smiles, strained at the edges.
"I apologize again, my lady. I hadn't wished to–" He seems to pick his next words carefully, "–entrap you. <<if $active>>Indeed–"
"$warren, I just said that I agreed to dance with you. There's no need for that."<<else>>Indeed, I should be more considerate of the situation."
"$warren, it's quite alright. I did agree to dance with you."<</if>>
Warren's shoulders relax at your words and the strain from his smile seems to ease off.
"I believe you had questions for me?"
<<include "prolog6.7">><<silently>>[[prolog6.7]]<</silently>>Of course, you're rather curious about the Lord. Who wouldn't be in your situation?
You tell Warren as much and he simply smiles at you.
"I'd hate to leave curiosity unanswered." His smile twists as he speaks and the green of his eyes grow cold. "Need I remind you of that famous idiom, Miss Merritt?"
Curiosity killed the cat. It's corpse spun to pieces on the dance floor. But that's not where the phrase ends.
"No, but perhaps I can remind you that satisfaction brought it back."
Brown flecks return as he wrests his expression into something warmer. "Ah, but what can satisfy a cat, cannot satisfy a lovely lady, can it?"
Before you can think of a response, he continues.
<<include "prolog6.7">><<silently>>[[prolog6.7]]<</silently>>"Questions, of course, how could I forget?" He shakes his head, running a quick hand through his now disheveled curls obstructing his view.
You let go of each other's hands and stand in line once more. Though you could have sworn the band began playing only a few minutes ago, the pair of you are already halfway down the dancers' line, marking the midpoint. It won't be too much longer now.
The musical cue blares once more and the couples to your side repeat the very motions you and Warren have just finished. Your chest rises and falls in shorter intervals. While a stray drop of sweat trails down Warren's cheek, his freckles gleaming.
Perhaps you have been dancing for half an hour.
Warren seems to be realizing this as well, using the same hand that fixed his hair to wipe the sweat from his brow. His questions, all but forgotten.
You might be able to wheedle an answer(or three) out of Lord Warren Hind….
<div class="choice">[['"Is it true what they say about you?"'|prolog6.7-rumors-true-?][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"So, what does a guy like you do for fun?"'|prolog6.7-got-hobbies][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You compliment his coat.|prolog6.7-com-his-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You'd rather not ask him anything.|prolog6.8][$q4 to true]]</div>Some tact may be required for this one, you cannot help yourself.
"Is it true what they say about you?"
"And what do //they// say?" His reply is quick, rehearsed even.
<<if $action gt $words>>You raise a brow. Surely he knows of his reputation.<<else>>"Surely you're aware of what they say about you?"<</if>>
"//They// say quite a bit. I'm afraid you'll have to be specific." Warren gives you a look you can't quite read. Too heavy for amusement and too light for anger.
It is well-known that Lord Hind is fond of making bets with aristocrats and common men alike. Often for money or strange favors that no one knows if he ever actually calls for, but even the slightest prize can tempt the Lord into making a deal. It's all second-hand, of course, but many claim that his rakish behavior is connected to these "secret" bets made with other young men.
"Many claim you are fond of making bets?" Should be subtle enough.
He blinks, then springs into a laugh. "Only ones I'm sure of winning, darling."
It doesn't escape your notice how he evaded the actual question. "Then they're all true?"
Warren clicks his tongue, the burst of brightness from the laugh fading into a shrug. "Can't believe everything you hear nowadays. Surely I'm not the first to teach you that?"
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3>><<include "prolog6.8">><<elseif $q2>>What else do you want to ask?
<div class="choice">[[You compliment his coat.|prolog6.7-com-his-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>>What else do you want to ask?
<div class="choice">[['"So, what does a guy like you do for fun?"'|prolog6.7-got-hobbies][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div>\
<<else>>What else do you want to ask?
<div class="choice">[['"So, what does a guy like you do for fun?"'|prolog6.7-got-hobbies][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You compliment his coat.|prolog6.7-com-his-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div><</if>>"So, what does a guy like you do for fun?" <<if $playful gt $serious>>You add with a smirk.<<else>>You deadpan.<</if>> "Besides asking complete strangers to dance with him."
"I'm partial to a game of cards."
<<if hasVisited("prolog6.7-rumors-true-?")>>"So you are a gambler."
"Oh darling, there's a big difference between a bet and a gamble. Lucky for you, I've never lost to either." He winks at you, but there's an edge to his words as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you. But it's gone as he speaks again. "Besides, what do you think men do at events like these?"<<else>>"You gamble?" It shouldn't but surprise does invade your voice.
"Nothing as serious as what you're imagining." Warren huffs a quick laugh. "What do you think men do at events like these?"<</if>>
He starts to roll his eyes but stops himself halfway as if remembering where exactly you are having this conversation.
"While everyone else mingles and suffers through stale conversation, they get to gather behind closed doors and gamble pounds over pity games of whist."
"You say //they// like that doesn't include you."
"I am here with you. Aren't I, darling?"
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3>><<include "prolog6.8">><<elseif $q1>>How are you meant to respond to that…well, you could always ask the man something else.
<div class="choice">[[You compliment his coat.|prolog6.7-com-his-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div>\
<<elseif $q3>>How are you meant to respond to that…well, you could always ask the man something else.
<div class="choice">[['"Is it true what they say about you?"'|prolog6.7-rumors-true-?][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div>\
<<else>>How are you meant to respond to that…well, you could always ask the man something else.
<div class="choice">[['"Is it true what they say about you?"'|prolog6.7-rumors-true-?][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You compliment his coat.|prolog6.7-com-his-dress][$q3 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div><</if>>Though you noticed it when he bumped into you, only now do you admire Warren's pale mint-green coat, the delicate color stark against the backdrop of cream-coated gentlemen to his either side. It took a certain kind of person to break the opening ball dress code without actually breaking it.
"Your coat is–"
"Inappropriate? Breaking decorum?" Warren almost looks bored as throws out suggestions.
"No. Though I do believe some might describe it as such." You can't help but smile at the thought. Your own dress fits in. It's strange how much that bothers you now. Breaking convention isn't something that interested you before, no matter how ridiculous you found it. "I was going to say, your coat suits you."
His expression is lazy but his eyes are bright. "I think so too."
<<if $q1 and $q2 and $q3>><<include "prolog6.8">><<elseif $q1>>You clear your throat and think of another question.
<div class="choice">[['"So, what does a guy like you do for fun?"'|prolog6.7-got-hobbies][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div>\
<<elseif $q2>>You clear your throat and think of another question.
<div class="choice">[['"Is it true what they say about you?"'|prolog6.7-rumors-true-?][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div>\
<<else>>You clear your throat and think of another question.
<div class="choice">[['"Is it true what they say about you?"'|prolog6.7-rumors-true-?][$q1 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"So, what does a guy like you do for fun?"'|prolog6.7-got-hobbies][$q2 to true]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[You're done asking questions.|prolog6.8][$q1 to false, $q2 to false, $q3 to false]]</div><</if>><<if $q4>>You'd rather not ask him any questions. True, $warren hadn't done anything overtly untoward. But you're starting to doubt as you dance. And that doubt creeps and crawls, feeding on every little glance, every little change in the shape of his smile. It weighs heavy in your gut, too heavy to ignore.
Warren begins to speak. But you cut him off with a shake of your head.
He smothers a frown. You don't speak to one another for the rest of the dance.
<<include "prolog6.8.1">><<else>>The couples alternate and you find yourself once again intertwining hands. Normally, this is the awkward point in dances. You've reached the end of reasonable conversation topics, more or less, and are too out of breath to be enjoying the motion of the dance. And yet, there's none of that.
Warren has kept his focus on you, curiosity patiently burning with every spin and step.
But you have one last question for him.
<div class="choice">[[You have to wonder, "Why did you ask me to dance?"|prolog.warren.friend]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[With more intention than is needed, "Is this a normal thing? Or am I special?" ♡|prolog.warren.flirt][$wFlirt += 1]]</div><</if>>"Why did you ask me to dance?"
The green gleams closer to gold as he leans over to quickly whisper to you.
"A pretty young lady standing alone near the dance floor, what kind of gentleman would I be to leave you like that when I could be of service. So, to answer your question<<if $warrenAff gt 10>>, darling, I asked you to dance because you wanted to dance...and I wanted to dance with you.<<else>>, I asked you to dance because you wanted to dance...and you looked like you needed it.<</if>>
<<include "prolog6.8.1">><<silently>>[[prolog6.8.1]]<</silently>>"So, is this a normal thing for you? Or am I a special case?"
The green gleams closer to gold but the rake seems to flounder, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. Surprising, considering the man's reputation. You don't think it was a particularly hard question.
You take the lead in the dance for a moment as Warren puts his wits back in order, a masking smirk taking over the surprise.
"I'll be honest, darling. I saw a pretty young lady standing alone near the dance floor and thought, I could be of service." His touch is light as he spins you, taking back over as the lead. "But would you…"
"Would I what?"
The smirk dims as he shakes his head, framing curls falling to obstruct your view of his expression. "Something tells me I'll only get one answer out of you tonight and I'd rather ask something important."
<<include "prolog6.8.1">><<silently>>[[prolog6.8.1]]<</silently>>Soon enough the dance is at an end. The second half seemed to be slower as most of the dancers were out of breath. Softer, ambling notes allow the couples to lower their pulse as they settle back into their original spots, having traveled up and down the length of the dance floor.
Strangely, you didn't notice <<if $metHugh>>Mr. Langley or Janet<<else>>Sam or Mr. Tarley<</if>> among the dancers. Though the Darts were hard to miss. You're sure your parents will enjoy hearing about that.
After the band finishes playing, the dancers erupt into applause. You join in to be polite. It was a decent dance. No one tripped onto you or managed to step on your toes.
Warren takes the opportunity to step closer to you, even as the others give him curious looks, perhaps only now noticing his participation.
"Thank you, Miss Merritt." He makes to clasp your hand but clenches his fist back at his side instead. "I know I've gotten much more than I deserve this evening, but if you'll allow me this one fancy."
He continues without stopping as if certain you'd deny his request.
"Please tell me honestly, do you believe even the worst of us deserve second chances?"
Philosophy. You just spent an hour dancing with this man and he wants to know your position on a moral question as a parting gesture… somehow it makes sense.
You want to explain yourself, ask for more context. But there's no space–no time as the couples begin to file off the dance floor. And something earnest, yet fragile in his gaze keeps you from leaving altogether.
<div class="choice">[['"Yes."'|prolog.warren.chance.yes]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"It depends on the circumstance."'|prolog.warren.chance.depends]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[['"Of course not."'|prolog.warren.chance.no]]</div>"Yes," your voice is even and steady. "Everyone deserves another chance. Even the worst of us–especially, the worst of us."
<<include "prolog6.9">><<silently>>[[prolog6.9]]<</silently>>"It depends," your voice is even and steady. "It depends on the circumstances. What they've done to deserve that second chance…"
<<include "prolog6.9">><<silently>>[[prolog6.9]]<</silently>>"Of course not," your voice is even and steady, not an ounce of hesitation in your reply.
<<include "prolog6.9">><<silently>>[[prolog6.9]]<</silently>>Warren stares as if seeing you for the first time.
"I see," he bends into a deep bow.
"I've kept you for long enough, Miss Merritt. Enjoy the night."
The lord dips his head one last time, striding away from you, back into the thicket of the ballroom crowd. You watch his brown curls bounce as he disappears out of view and after a long exhale, wonder if you made the right choice dancing with him.
<<include "prolog.inter-1">><<silently>>[[prolog.inter-1]]<</silently>>"Oh thank the lord–" It hurries out your mother's mouth as she breaks away from her circle and takes hold of your other arm. The expression makes you pause, your mother wasn't the most religious woman. But her belief peaked through in moments of stress, something had her shaken.
"$name, I sent you away for a single drink, not for the rest of the evening," She doesn't wait for you to respond, turning to Mrs. Grouse, instead. "And you were supposed to bring her right back, not dilly-dally."
<<if $playful gt $serious>>You smother a laugh<<else>>You raise a brow<</if>> but Mrs. Grouse simply shrugs, letting go of you to continue walking into the conversation, your mother emerged from.
"Never mind it–$name," your mother gives your appearance a once-over, in a way one might scan a document that needs authenticating. It makes your palms itch. But she finishes her inspection soon enough. "I'll explain it all later. Just… just do what you think is best, alright?"
You open your mouth but she takes that as confirmation, dropping her hold on your arm. She straightens her dress, the action foreign on her, and schools her expression into something cold, the action more familiar.
She returns to that circle with no further word to you.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog7.1][$q1 to false,$q2 to false,$q3 to false,$q4 to false,$q5 to false]]</div>Rather anti-climatic, given the actual scene before you. You walk forward and take the open spot in between your father and Mrs. Grouse in this little circle of conversation.
Your father stands to your left with your mother to his left. To your right is Mrs. Grouse and to her right are two men you've never seen before. Never in parties or dinners or even massive socials like tonight. The six of you huddle in a strange U-shape facing out to watch others in the assembly room.
Your father is engaged in conversation with the shorter of the strangers, but he manages to give a small smile at your entrance.
You turn your attention to the gentlemen, noting their resemblance. Brothers or perhaps a father and son. They are dressed like everyone else in finely made, yet simply adorned white linen coats. The shorter of the pair, the one speaking to your father, looks to be of similar age to your mother. Of what little hair remains on his head, it's gray and limp, combed off to one side as if to conceal the apparent balding that has begun on his crown. Harsh lines, one born from excessive frowning rather than age, litter his face making him seem overbearing and morse than his soft, dull manner of speaking suggests.
The taller stranger, however, looks to be in much better shape. Instead of being lean and pale, his skin has a healthy glow, his figure filled out in all the conventionally attractive ways. His face remains free of wrinkles, not even the faintest hint of laughter lines. Though he doesn't have the same twisted frown of his companion, rather a neutral, thin-lipped smile. Disinterest.
His eyes meet yours and the stranger grins, in a way that might have been inviting–friendly even, were it not for the way his eyes wander up and down, cold and calculating.
<<if $active gt $passive>>You raise a brow, which only causes his grin to grow. It bothers you but the conversation becomes more animated, taking with it the intensity of the stranger's inspection and your mild ire–for now.<<else>>You can not stop the flush on your face, which only causes his grin to grow. Thankfully, the conversation becomes more animated, taking with it the intensity of the stranger's inspection.<</if>>
The shorter stranger gestures at your father with his chin, "And I assume you left the den untouched. As I recall it, my–our grandfather's trophies hang on the south-facing wall. Quite the spectacle in the summer. The sun hits them just so, refracting beautifully in their glass eyes. Makes the dead feel almost warm, almost alive." As he speaks, the stranger tugs at his gloves, pulling the material uncomfortably taut and releasing it to punctuate his sentences.
Lucas clears his throat, giving your mother a side glance, "Actually it is Henri's study now. Much easier that way, closer to the library and the parlor… as for the corpses–"
The stranger corrects, "–the trophies."
"...yes, well– "
"–you moved them."
"Well, they were rather–"
"–garish," your mother finishes for him. She had been watching the older-looking stranger carefully.
"And they frightened my girl," she added, "we donated them to a local taxidermist. They were very happy to receive them. I believe they're still in that shop's display in Easton should you wish to peruse or purchase."
One of the stranger's eyes twitches, the only outward indication that anything has upset him. You don't understand the significance of dead animals on walls but there was something odd that caught your ear. "Our grandfather." Our.
Just who is this man?
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog7.2]]</div>The taller stranger takes advantage of the quiet following your mother's statement to ask, "and who is this?" He smiles your way with more warmth this time but your guard is already up.
Henrietta turns her glare his way and to his credit, he remains upright and resolute.
Your father places a hand gently on your mother's shoulder, clearing his throat and stepping further in the circle, as if to shield her, "perhaps we can revisit this topic of discussion."
He turns to you next, nudging you to his side, "Gentleman, this is my daughter, $name Merritt. Starling, these men are relations of your mother's"
"Distant," Mrs. Grouse helpfully adds, "distant relations, of course."
The older man, who had been so absorbed in a staring match with your mother, bows to you. "Chadworth Dreadsome, and this," he tugs on the sleeve of the younger man beside him, "this is my son, Chadley Dreadsome."
Dreadsome Jr. steps forward, carding a hand through front of his ginger waves, before bending to bow in greeting. As he rises, he gives you what is meant to be a discrete wink but you are very certain, Mrs. Grouse noticed.
You give the pair a curtsey.
It's well and good to have their names but the question remains, "and you, two, are?"
"Chadworth is my cousin." Your mother supplies, looking a bit calmer now.
It's a bit of mental gymnastics but like most young people you've been thoroughly schooled in the nature of relations and the names given to them. Although that education hasn't stopped even the most egregious of intimated connected entanglements. First cousin once removed is what Dreadsome Sr. is to you, his son being your second cousin. Second cousin. Close enough for you, but others in society would heralded that thought as progressive drivel. Allowances are usually made for first cousins. Second–well, it's as if you weren't related at all.
Disgusting, but there's no need to jump from meeting to marriage. Perhaps he will have the decency to treat you like family, but something tells you that's far from the case.
Dreadsome the Sr. shakes his head, "yes, pleasantries all around–might we return to our earlier discussion."
The younger springs into action at that, reaching out to offer you his hand, "It seems our parents have business, Miss Merritt. Shall we be good children and do them the favor of a rapid exit? A turn about the room sounds pleasant, does it not?"
<div class="choice">[[Yes|prolog7.2a][$jrOpinion += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No|prolog7.2b]]</div>Perhaps there's something ulterior underlying his invitation, but the chance to escape what is rapidly turning into an awkward situation is too good to pass up.
You begin to nod your head, but Mrs. Grouse intervenes, "I believe that is an excellent idea. It will give you both the chance to get to know one another away from us grizzled oldies. $name, don't you agree?"
"Sure," it was going to leave your mouth before Mrs. Grouse spoke, so you let it. Why she felt the need to interject and more or less "push" you to acquiesce to the gentlemen's request eludes you but there's no time or space to question her.
<<include "prolog7.3">><<silently>>[[prolog7.3]]<</silently>>There's definitely something ulterior underlying his invitation and you know better than to put yourself in a vulnerable situation. Though you are giving up a decent shot at escaping what is rapidly turning into an awkward conversation.
You begin to shake your head, but Mrs. Grouse intervenes, "I believe that is an excellent idea. It will give you both the chance to get to know one another away from us grizzled oldies. $name, don't you agree?"
The "no" you had prepared lingers on your tongue but to reject the gentleman now would be unconscionably rude. Mrs. Grouse has put you in a bit of bind, appalling behavior, even from her.
<<include "prolog7.3">><<silently>>[[prolog7.3]]<</silently>>"Excellent!"
He takes a hold of your forearm, not so firm as to be rough but you couldn't out of his grip without making a scene. The younger Dreadsome leads you away from the circle, pulling you towards the edge of the room, where other groups are slowly ambling about, making a full rotation of the large assembly room.
As you leave, you notice your father frowning and your mom looking sick.
Mrs. Grouse gives you an encouraging nudge but it's all blurred with cream satin and silk.
His grip on you loosens and his gait slows to match your own.
<div class="choice">[[Pull your arm out of his grip.|prolog7.3a][$jrOpinion += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Move his hand gently off your arm.|prolog7.3a][$jrOpinion += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Stiffen but remain in his hold.|prolog7.3b]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Do nothing but glare until he gets it.|prolog7.3b]]</div>He gives you an odd look but lets you escape his grip, even taking a small step back to give you some space as you walk. A welcome surprise but not enough to disarm you. There is something afoot and depending on how you interact with your new family member, you might divulge the truth of the matter.
<<include "prolog7.4">><<silently>>[[prolog7.4]]<</silently>>He finally notices your discomfort and drops your arm, taking a small step back to give some space as you walk. A welcome surprise but not enough to disarm you. There is something afoot and depending on how you interact with your new family member, you might divulge the truth of the matter.
<<include "prolog7.4">><<silently>>[[prolog7.4]]<</silently>>You take a moment to examine your new cousin closer. He dressed similarly to the rest of men attending, a classic off-white jacket, tailored to flatter, with a different off-white shade of shirt underneath. Like his father and in-line with tradition, he wears a set of expensive-looking black gloves, the only piece of dark clothing on his person, drawing one's gaze from afar.
This close, you notice the peculiar shade of his eyes, a polished gray, like the metal barrel of a pistol, clear enough to spot a reflection of yourself peering. Though it's not really the color itself that strikes you but rather its and the dreadsome's relation to your mother.
Dreadsome was indeed your mother's maiden name but your mother and most of her relatives are known for their dark brown eyes. It's odd that both father and son seem to be missing that key family feature.
Your examination does not go unnoticed as one end of Dreadsome Jr's mouth curls up.
"Mr. Dreadsome– "
"Please, Miss Merritt, surely we are beyond such formality as surnames. We're family after all. Call me Chadley–Chad or Jr. if it so pleases," your companion is quick to interrupt. "Mr. Dreadsome is my father, rather confusing for you to refer to both of us in the same manner."
He…actually has a good point. Deciding on an alternative moniker would certainly make your inner monologue more comprehensible. Chadley, calling him by his full christian name feels too charged for a casual conversation, so you opt for the shorter, Chad.
With that settled, you could offer the same courtesy to him. Giving the first name card to a stranger would be slightly risque but to a family member, it's par for the course. Will you ask Chad if he wishes to use your first name?
<div class="choice">[[Yes|prolog7.4a][$jrOpinion += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No|prolog7.4b]]</div>"As you wish, Chad." He smiles at that, less teeth than before but with the same force. It grows wider as you add, "call me $name as well. We are family after all."
"Of course, Miss–ah, $name."
<<include "prolog7.5">><<silently>>[[prolog7.5]]<</silently>>"As you wish, Chad."
<<include "prolog7.5">><<silently>>[[prolog7.5]]<</silently>>He smiles at that, less teeth than before but with the same force, and to your dismay adds, "Splendid, $name."
You round the corner, passing a nearly picked-clean refreshment table. The night is winding down, guests lazily ambling their way towards the exit, even as they continue their long circular conversations. The late night shuffle. It will take another half hour or so before people //actually// exit the building. But things are coming to close one way or another.
Jr. seems content with you leading the conversation and politely observes the crowd alongside you.
So, you ease into it, "that was one odd conversation to walk into."
He laughs and in a manner like his father, tugs at the lace applique on his sleeve, "oh, indeed. I surely thought I'd perish there listening to them discuss furniture and decor picked out by the dead."
"Furniture? I am certain, your father–
"–Your uncle," he corrects.
You can't let an inaccuracy like that stand. "Well, actually Mr. Dreadsome is my first cousin once-removed, if we are going to tread weeds on this."
"Of course, you're right on that account. I merely meant you can count on my father as you would a dear uncle."
"And you as a brother," you throw out. But your companion simply shrugs, giving you another oddly toothy smile.
Before you bring the conversation back to what your parents were discussing, Jr speaks, "enough of this old business. Let us speak of lighter topics. First meetings ought to be about people, not squabbles."
It seems you'll have to wait to squeeze anymore out of him. Lighter topics, a blatant fishing line but you can feign interest to get him talking or ignore the man until he spills something truly interesting.
<div class="choice">[[With a distinctly disinterested tone, "very well, how have you found the assembly tonight?"|prolog7.5a]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Showing extra attention at his words, "how right you are, why not tell me more about yourself, sir?" |prolog7.5b]]</div>"Very well, how have you found the assembly tonight?" It's not hard for you to keep your attention elsewhere, the ballroom is full of distracting sights and sounds. Of course, you need to make enough eye contact with the man to be polite but disinterest is easy enough to signal.
If Jr. notices your effort to appear detached, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he lets silence settle over the pair of you as you walk, tilting his head quizzically as if considering your rather blank question deeply. If either of were speaking frankly or playing this conversation straight, the action might feel like a slight.
Finally he says, "It's fared as well as any opening season ball. The usual suspects, //mild conversation//, familiar faces, trite musical arrangements, formality after formality… "
Chad trails off, becoming silent again.
It suits you just fine but doesn't last for long, "meeting you, $name, now that is certainly the highlight of the evening."
Is he…flirting with you? No, surely not. But his gaze remains trained on you and it takes a considerable amount of will to keep up your unaffected attitude.
Perhaps, if you are feeling charitable, he doesn't mean the statement in the way men like him usually mean it. Though it is strange to so //strongly//(and strangely, to be honest) express interest in someone you mean to interact with platonically.
Instead of gracing that with a response you can't trust to be free of rude discouragement, you opt to let silence settle and strangle the conversation, instead. Maybe that will get him to reveal something more.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog7.6]]</div><<include "maxSkill">>"How right you are, why not tell me more about yourself, sir?" It's not hard for you to focus on your current conversation partner. Even if the curiosity isn't genuine, you've navigated plenty of similar situations to fake interest until you have what you need.
Jr. perks up and stands a bit straighter at your request. You catch a hint of surprise in his eyes that flickers away soon after. He must have been expecting a more lukewarm reception. Good. You'll have more leverage if he can't anticipate your reaction.
"And what, my dear lady, would you like to know?"
You put a finger to your lips, "perhaps we can start with how you occupy your time? I'm fond of <<if $maxSkill is "dr">>drawing<<elseif $maxSkill is "mu">>playing music<<elseif $maxSkill is "se">>needlepoint<<elseif $maxSkill is "re">>reading<<else>>riding<</if>>, for instance."
"Hmm, I suppose I'm amenable to a spot of cards. Though town is always full of new, interesting diversions."
A non-answer but it's exactly what you needed, "I see. Do you and your parents reside here in London?"
"Just me and father for the time being, yes," his eyes narrow but they're trained on the crowd and his jaw clenches at the next words, "mother is– has… well, it's been just me and father for some time now."
"Oh." You go for apologetic, rather than pitiful.
"Yes." He seems to understand that much, at least.
<div class="choice">[[Next|prolog7.6]]</div>You round another corner, another empty table. You'll be approaching the assembly room's exit soon enough.
<<if $metSam>>A flash of gold catches your eye. Sam–and Janet are sitting beside one another on the chairs lining the other side of the room. The latter speaks animatedly to the former, who looks–well, Sam has always mastered a neutral expression, but you know her tells. The slight quiver in her lip, the droop of her eyelids, the need to fix imaginary stray curls, something has her all turned around.<<else>>A familiar ping of metal on stone catches your ear. Hugh–and Janet are walking as well. Although they are several yards behind you and walking too slowly for you to be able to run into the couple. The latter speaks animatedly to the former, who looks–well, rather detached from the whole affair. Hugh appears to nod at the appropriate time to appease Janet who continues without checking in with her partner. A rather one-sided conversation.<</if>>
"$name–ah, there you are. I thought you checked out on me."
You blink a few time and snap your gaze back to the gentleman walking at your side, "Chadley, I'm sorry I was–"
His hand hovers over your shoulder but doesn't actually come to rest there. He pulls back as soon as you return to the conversation, looking strangely concerned, "ah, don't trouble yourself. It's rather late, I take no offense."
You had noted the lateness but had not felt its effects until this moment. The floor seemed to have greater sway with your body and the urge to slouch even stronger. But you push past it. There's still work to be done.
So, you ask once more about your parents' business, "about the–"
"Tell me–" comes out Jr's mouth at the same time.
So, you try again, signaling with your hands that you mean to speak, but Jr. opens his mouth again. You tumble your words in unison but it's cacophonous and twisted.
When it happens a third time, you know it's on purpose. Looks like Jr. knows the game and is very apt at playing it, too.
He uses the silence of the revelation to punt a last minute question your way.
"Indulge me, Miss Merritt." He stops right in front of the open doors leading outside, looking out at the rows and rows of carriage awaiting their passenger's departure. One of them is yours and from the looks of things, your family must already be inside it, waiting on you. Chad seems to realize this as well. He takes a hold of your arm again and in the suddenness of the motion pulls you close, "What do you plan to accomplish this season? A clever, young thing like you must have grand designs."
His movement and question catch you off-kilter and before you can properly react, eyes are already trained your way.
While this behavior should infuriate you, the question he poses isn't a bad one. It's something you have been considering for a while now. And though its taken you some time, you've reached a decision.
What do you hope to accomplish this season?
<div class="choice">[[Fall in love, romantic or otherwise.|prolog.motive.love]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Have fun, plain and simple.|prolog.motive.frivolity]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Survive without embarrassing myself.|prolog.motive.survive]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Elevate my position in society, one way or another.|prolog.motive.ambition]]</div>\
<div class="choice"><<link "Use your //considerable assets// and dabble in infamy.""prolog.motive.scandal">><</link>></div>So that is to be your aim this season? The pursuit of true love?
<div class="choice">[[Yes.|prolog.motive.confirm][$motive to "love"]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, let me try again.|prolog.motive.retry]]</div>So that is to be your aim this season? The pursuit of frivolity in all it's numerous forms, banal or otherwise?
<div class="choice">[[Yes.|prolog.motive.confirm][$motive to "frivolity"]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, let me try again.|prolog.motive.retry]]</div>So that is to be your aim this season? Just surviving another social session in town?
<div class="choice">[[Yes.|prolog.motive.confirm][$motive to "survive"]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, let me try again.|prolog.motive.retry]]</div>So that is to be your aim this season? The pursuit of advantageous connections, connections that may lead to a promising match?
<div class="choice">[[Yes.|prolog.motive.confirm][$motive to "ambition"]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, let me try again.|prolog.motive.retry]]</div>So that is to be your aim this season? The pursuit of scandal with varying degrees of reckless abandon?
<div class="choice">[[Yes.|prolog.motive.confirm][$motive to "scandal"]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[No, let me try again.|prolog.motive.retry]]</div>What do you hope to accomplish this season?
<div class="choice">[[Fall in love, romantic or otherwise.|prolog.motive.love]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Have fun, plain and simple.|prolog.motive.frivolity]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Survive without embarrassing myself.|prolog.motive.survive]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[Elevate my position in society, one way or another.|prolog.motive.ambition]]</div>\
<div class="choice"><<link "Use your //considerable assets// and dabble in infamy.""prolog.motive.scandal">><</link>></div><<if $motive is "love">>One can not blame you. After all, true love is packaged and sold to every young lady as //the// one true pursuit in her life. Of course, you know the difference between idealized notions and the healthy kind of love. You see everyday in the soft moments exchanged by your parents. You've seen the power of affection and respect between equals in a relationship and you are determined to settle for nothing less than that.
Perhaps a grand design to place on a series of social events, but one can not fault you for knowing what you want and setting out to find it.\
<<elseif $motive is "survive">>One can not blame you. The expectation and ritual of these events can be stressful and exhausting. To spend the entire time watching your words and measuring your actions, it's unrealistic to expect everyone to adapt and flourish in that kind of environment. You are tired. Truly tired of trying to impress and entertain with every breath. You are ready to settle for making it through to the other side of the season without any significant scandal.
Perhaps a conciliatory approach to these events, but one can not fault you for wanting to be done with masks and poisonous fangs.\
<<elseif $motive is "frivolity">>One can not blame you. Collars like the ones we willing wear for events such as these are made to chafe and damn it, you have just about had it. How long do they expect you to stay on a perfectly straight, narrow line? Men can flit off whenever they choose but all your outlets are resigned to what's quiet or worse, what's pretty to look at. Well, you just about had it with being quiet and pretty. Enough. It's time you had some fun.
Perhaps a blasé approach to events that might decide the rest of your life, but one can not fault you for finding release after so long deprived of it.\
<<elseif $motive is "ambition">>One can not blame you. Climbing that ever-stretching, ever-clawing social ladder is what these events are meant for. Of course, ideals like decency and decorum are plastered on as the reasoning for these performative events but you know better. You know what is actually going on here. Everyone acts in accordance to a predetermined, skewed set of ideals and protocol but none of it means anything. Its market like any other where socialites hustle like fish-mongers to compete for the coveted best catch of the season.
Perhaps a cynical outlook but one can not fault you for recognizing the game's rules and playing to win.\
<<elseif $motive is "scandal">>One can not blame you. Or perhaps, one can. It is easy to understand the rigidity that keeps young women from being true to themselves, but much harder to understand those that give up comfort for the occasional thrill of the crude and abhorred. Chasing dangers, ignoring the reasonable voice in your head, courting scandal, those are the things you dream of– the things that sing to your strangled little heart. And by god, are you ready to fall to the temptation.
Perhaps a risky move but one can not fault you(maybe a little!) for going after that which truly makes you happy.<</if>>
Well with that settled, there's still the matter of your current predicament. Jr. is still holding onto you, waiting for a response. While a good chunk of people around you, groups of gossipers and passing walkers, are keenly paying attention.
The cleanest reaction would be to throw him an answer and be done with it. But this the second time he has felt free enough to touch you without your consent or forewarning and while it's not technically frowned upon by the rest of society, personal autonomy is something a true gentleman respects. You could repay his behavior with a firm, shove of your own. But that might not be the best course of action with a growing audience.
How do you respond to your cousin's //innocent// request?
<div class="choice">[[With the truth.|prolog7.7a][$jrOpinion += 1]]</div>\
<div class="choice">[[With a non-answer.|prolog7.7b]]</div>\
<div class="choice"><<link "With a //nice, friendly// push." "prolog7.7c">><<set $jrOpinion -= 1>><</link>></div>"Curious, indeed. I hope those plans might soon include spending more time together." The last half of the sentence is whispered out with an intensity that is more than unwarranted. You bury the repulsive reflex, even as his eyes widen with mirth at your discomfort. "Tonight has been illuminating."
"For us, both. I believe."
"For us, both," he agrees, finally stepping away. Dreadsome the younger bows and places a, thankfully, chaste kiss to your knuckle. The cold of his lips seeps through the thin material of your glove.
You can not pull your hand away soon enough but the man just smiles as if you'd given him encouragement and walks away into the thinning crowd.
And with that...distressing turn of events, the opening ball is over. This season is shaping up to an intriguing one. Let's hope you make it to the other side unscathed.
<div class="choice">[[Next Chapter|ch1.0 start]]</div>The corners of his mouth turn downward but he is quick to mask the frown, "well, whatever they may be, I hope those plans might soon include spending more time together."
The last half of the sentence is whispered out with an intensity that is more than unwarranted. You bury the repulsive reflex, even as his eyes widen with mirth at your discomfort. "Tonight has been illuminating."
"For us, both. I believe."
"For us, both," he agrees, finally stepping away. Dreadsome the younger bows and places a, thankfully, chaste kiss to your knuckle. The cold of his lips seeps through the thin material of your glove.
You can not pull your hand away soon enough but the man just smiles as if you'd given him encouragement and walks away into the thinning crowd.
And with that...distressing turn of events, the opening ball is over. This season is shaping up to an intriguing one. Let's hope you make it to the other side unscathed.
<div class="choice">[[Next Chapter|ch1.0 start]]</div>You twist enough in his hold shove against his shoulder, but he is faster and manages to slide out of the way, dropping his hold on you.
"Apologies, fair cousin. Seems I have mis-stepped, though I understand your meaning." He straightens the lapel of his jacket but otherwise does not appear too distressed by your almost use of force. In fact, he seems almost relieved. But that can not be right.
Jr. looks up at you and smiles in his usual, uneasy fashion, "whatever your plans for the season, Miss Merritt, I do hope they will come to include me in time. Tonight has been illuminating."
"For us, both. I believe."
"For us, both," he agrees. Dreadsome the younger bows and places a, thankfully, chaste kiss to your knuckle. The cold of his lips seeps through the thin material of your glove.
You can not pull your hand away soon enough but the man just smiles as if you'd given him encouragement and walks away into the thinning crowd.
And with that...distressing turn of events, the opening ball is over. This season is shaping up to an intriguing one. Let's hope you make it to the other side unscathed.
<div class="choice">[[Next Chapter|ch1.0 start]]</div>testing vars:
<<link 'use default mc'>><<set $skin to "brown">><<set $height to "average">><<set $name to "Dorothea">><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'unlock jps'>><<set $journal to true>>
<<set $appearance to true>>
<<set $skills to true>>
<<set $rom to true>>
<<set $letter to true>>
<<set $repstat to true>><</link>>
personality:
<<link 'pass dom'>><<set $passive to 10>><<set $assertive to 0>><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'assert dom'>><<set $passive to 0>><<set $assertive to 10>><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'play dom'>><<set $playful to 10>><<set $serious to 0>><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'serious dom'>><<set $playful to 10>><<set $serious to 0>><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'met sam'>><<set $metSam to true>><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'met hugh'>><<set $metHugh to true>><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'met warren'>><<set $metWarren to true>><<update>><</link>>
<<link 'met vivian'>><<set $metVivian to true>><<update>><</link>>
Current values:
<<liveblock>>
Name: $name
Skincolor: $skin
Height: $height
Pass: $passive
Ass: $assertive
Play: $playful
Seri: $serious
Met Sam: $metSam
Met Hugh: $metHugh
Met Viv: $metVivian
Met Warr: $metWarren<</liveblock>>
Skip to:
[[first ro selection][prolog3.5]]
[[second ro selection][prolog5]]
[[ch1.0 start]]
more testing:
<<link "draw plus">><<set $draw += 10>><</link>>
<<link "draw minus">><<set $draw -= 10>><</link>>
<<link "music plus">><<set $music += 10>><</link>>
<<link "music minus">><<set $music -= 10>><</link>>
<div class="choice"><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></div>This journal is the property of:
<span class="h1-jp">Lady $name Merritt</span>
<<if $ch1>>A young woman with <<if $skin is "olive">>an<<else>>a<</if>> <i>$skin</i> complexion, <i>$hairtex</i> <i>$haircolor</i> hair just like her mother, the respected Henrietta Merritt and <i>$eyecolor</i> eyes just like her honorable father, Lucas Merritt.
<span class="h1-jp">A Lady's Disposition</span>
<<switch $ptype>><<case 1>>@@.accent;Outspoken@@
"You are a person of action and integrity; bold and brave in face of adversity, even when the consequences are your own doing."\
<<case 2>>@@.accent;Mischievous@@
"You are a person of merry, wit, and folly--all tongue and cheek. Even if in the pursuit of amusement, you find yourself all alone."\
<<case 3>>@@.accent;Docile@@
"You are a person of patience and temperance, pliant and tranquil through the thickest of seas. Careful, you do not find yourself trapped in the eye of another's storm."\
<<case 4>>@@.accent;Laid-back@@
"You are a person of quiet whimsy and comfort, a spot of calm in an otherwise rowdy world. However, we all reach a breaking point, take heed yours doesn't break you."<</switch>>
<<if $ideal3 eq 1>>Peers and associate testify to Miss Merritt's ability to meticulously plan her endeavour, though just as many remark on her inability to take spontaneous moments in stride.\
<<else>>Peers and associate testify to Miss Merritt's ability to adapt and take many things in stride. However, Her spontaneity does lead her to make hasty, risky decisions.<</if>>
While difficult to completely devote oneself to a single cause, Miss Merritt remains steadfast in her duty to <<if $ideal1 eq 1>>herself<<else>>her family<</if>>, an admirable sentiment but for how long will it remain untested and unproven?
Society maintains that Philosophy is out of a woman's purview, however every educated person is entitled to their own personal beliefs. Miss Merritt believes in <<if $ideal2 eq 2>>supremacy of objective truth<<else>>the subjective inclusivity of beauty<</if>>.\
<<else>>A young woman with <<if $skin is "olive">>an<<else>>a<</if>> <i>$skin</i> complexion, about to begin another session in Town.
<<if $assertive gt $passive>>In social situations, Miss Merritt often takes an @@.accent;active@@ role. She'd much rather control what she can in the limited sphere of a young lady's life.\
<<elseif $passive gt $assertive>>In social situations, Miss Merritt often takes a @@.accent;passive@@ role. She'd much rather leave the heavy-lifting to someone-else, for there is very little a young lady can truly control in her life.\
<<else>>In social situations, Miss Merritt finds herself alternating from an assertive position and a more passive role. She finds that there is very little a young lady has say over in her own life, the little moments of choice should be negotiated carefully.<</if>>
<<if $words gt $action>>Miss Merritt makes good use of her @@.accent;wit@@, sharpened by two bicker-prone parents. She is never without a clever comment or biting quip.\
<<elseif $action gt $words>>Miss Merritt is a lady of @@.accent;action@@, unwilling to hide behind the fragility of words. A stark contrast from her wit-wielding parents, she is never without the nerve to do what needs to be done and leave the talking for the rest of society.\
<<else>>Miss Merritt has those gifts which many find in short supply among the current stock of young ladies, a quick tongue and even quicker body. She can be counted on for situations that require both action and wit. Though in her struggle to balance the two, she may find herself burning the candle at both ends.<</if>>
<<if $serious gt $playful>>As for temperament, arguably the most important feature of one's disposition, $name takes most matters @@.accent;seriously@@. Not that the young lady is too grave; In fact, she is known to crack a smile or two. But it must be said that she leaves little room in her life for play, innocent or otherwise.\
<<elseif $playful gt $serious>>As for temperament, arguably the most important feature of one's disposition, $name approaches most matters @@.accent;playfully@@. A quality to admire for how sorely others seem to lack it, but it should be noted that not all things can be fixed with laughter. Jokes can cover their fair share of pain or danger.\
<<else>>As for temperament, Miss Merritt finds herself at a familiar crossroads, whether to take the road of laughter or gravity. Who is to say which leads to a richer wood or happier end? In any case, Miss Merritt might find herself forced to choose.<</if>><</if>>
<div class="choice"><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></div><div class="row"><div class="leftcolumn"><span class="h1-jp">A Lady's Skills</span>
<<nobr>><<if $draw eq 50>><<set $dlabel to "Renowned">>
<<elseif $draw gte 40>><<set $dlabel to "Expert">>
<<elseif $draw gte 30>><<set $dlabel to "Proficient">>
<<elseif $draw gte 20>><<set $dlabel to "Decent">>
<<elseif $draw lt 20>><<set $dlabel to "Needs Work">><</if>>
<<if $music eq 50>><<set $mlabel to "Renowned">>
<<elseif $music gte 40>><<set $mlabel to "Expert">>
<<elseif $music gte 30>><<set $mlabel to "Proficient">>
<<elseif $music gte 20>><<set $mlabel to "Decent">>
<<elseif $music lt 20>><<set $mlabel to "Needs Work">><</if>>
<<if $sew eq 50>><<set $slabel to "Renowned">>
<<elseif $sew gte 40>><<set $slabel to "Expert">>
<<elseif $sew gte 30>><<set $slabel to "Proficient">>
<<elseif $sew gte 20>><<set $slabel to "Decent">>
<<elseif $sew lt 20>><<set $slabel to "Needs Work">><</if>>
<<if $read eq 50>><<set $relabel to "Renowned">>
<<elseif $read gte 40>><<set $relabel to "Expert">>
<<elseif $read gte 30>><<set $relabel to "Proficient">>
<<elseif $read gte 20>><<set $relabel to "Decent">>
<<elseif $read lt 20>><<set $relabel to "Needs Work">><</if>>
<<if $ride eq 50>><<set $rilabel to "Renowned">>
<<elseif $ride gte 40>><<set $rilabel to "Expert">>
<<elseif $ride gte 30>><<set $rilabel to "Proficient">>
<<elseif $ride gte 20>><<set $rilabel to "Decent">>
<<elseif $ride lt 20>><<set $rilabel to "Needs Work">><</if>><</nobr>>
<b>Drawing:</b> $dlabel
<<showmeter 'draw' `$draw/$maxDraw`>>
<b>Music:</b> $mlabel
<<showmeter 'music' `$music/$maxMusic`>>
<b>Needlework:</b> $slabel
<<showmeter 'sew' `$sew/$maxSew`>>
<b>Reading:</b> $relabel
<<showmeter 'read' `$read/$maxRead`>>
<b>Riding:</b> $rilabel
<<showmeter 'ride' `$ride/$maxRide`>>
<hr>
<i>Skills</i> can be raised by making certain choices throughout Miss Merritt's romantic adventure or by focusing on certain activities during Miss Merritt's time alone, such as going horse-back riding to raise Riding.</div><div class="rightcolumn"><span class="h1-jp">A Lady's Accomplishments</span>
Alongside the betterment of skills, Miss Merritt can pursue reputation-garnering //Accomplishments//, such as playing the piano-forte for a large crowd, or winning a race with your faithful steed. Those accomplishments shall appear here for Miss Merritt to examine and admire.
Accomplishments are not without their difficulties, Miss Merritt ought to consider her time and effort wisely and only pursue those accomplishment she can reasonably achieve. Or she may find herself the subject of subtle ridicule.
Alongside the betterment of skills, Miss Merritt can pursue reputation-garnering //Accomplishments//, such as playing the piano-forte for a large crowd, or winning a race with your faithful steed. Those accomplishments shall appear here for Miss Merritt to examine and admire.
</div>
</div>
<div class="choice"><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></div><span class="h1-jp">A Lady's Attachments</span>
<<if $metSam>>Samantha Renolds ~ <<linkappend "Your Childhood Bestfriend">>: Will your friendship deepen into something new?<</linkappend>>
A native of Easton, your hometown, and a close friend since childhood, Sam Renolds has been away to the continent for the past five years. Much has changed in that time... there is distance even when you occupy the same space. <<if $madatSam gt 0>>Even if that weren't the case, you aren't ready to call her a friend again.<<else>>You wish it wasn't so but perhaps there is time enough in the season to change that.<</if>>\
<<else>><<linkappend "The Childhood Friend">>: Will your friendship deepen into something new?<</linkappend>><</if>>
<<if $metHugh>>Hugh Langley ~ <<linkappend "The Red Herring">>: Or rather, a Dandy in distress!<</linkappend>>
A newcomer to Easton society and the gentry as a whole, Mr. Hugh Langley is a proper gentleman and a target for many. You've only just "met" Mr. Langley and found him to be a pleasant, friendly man. Running into him further in the season wouldn't be unwelcome, though you know nothing more than what others say about the man.\
<<else>><<linkappend "A Truth Universally Acknowledged">>: Perhaps yours to realize?<</linkappend>><</if>>
<<if $metVivian>>Vivian Fortescue ~ <<linkappend "A Lady with a Heart of Stone">>: and nerves of steel!<</linkappend>>
A veteran of society, Ms. Vivian Fortescue is known for the mystery and tragedy of the death of her spouses. It is easy to spot her mourning veil and dark-colored clothes in a crowd but few ever look past that. <<if $exitViv>>It seems you now number among them, managing to escape any major interaction with so stigmatized woman. Perhaps you'll change your mind?<<else>>You are of a different mind as your enlightening conversation in the garden would attest. Very few, to your knowledge, have been that close for that long with widow in some time. Perhaps you'll be seeing more of her?<</if>>
<<else>><<linkappend "The Black-hearted Widow">>: Will you be the one to untangle her web?<</linkappend>><</if>>
<<if $metWarren>>Warren Hind ~ <<linkappend "The Roguish Lord">>:Does a good man lurk underneath?<</linkappend>>
A lord in nothing but name, shrouded in scandal, Lord Warren Hind is known two things, the sudden acquisition of his title as a former second son and the number of broken hearts left in his wake. Of all the people you could have run into tonight, he was most unexpected. <<if $exitWar>>And run you did at the first available moment, you swiftly exited a potentially tarnishing interaction with Lord Hind. Perhaps you'll change your mind?<<else>>But not entirely unwelcome as your very public and surprisingly pleasant dance with said scandal-ridden lord would attest. Perhaps you'll be seeing more of him?<</if>>
<<else>><<linkappend "The Rake">>: Will your reputation and your heart escape unscathed?<</linkappend>><</if>>
----
Miss Merritt will have several opportunities to <i>form bonds</i> with the people around her. Depending on the choices she makes, those bonds may deepen to intimate friendship or even that of-`*gasp*`-lovers. Pay attention to how Miss Merritt interacts with others and what attributes of her person she chooses to develop. Some members of her circle will approve of who Miss Merritt is becoming. Others will not. That, too, might have consequences.
<div class="choice"><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></div><div class="row"><div class="leftcolumn"><span class="h1-jp">A Lady's Reputation</span>
/*rep is like whether peeps know you, but infamy and popularity pts determine why they know you, and if they like you*/
<<if $rep eq 50>>Some might argue you are in the best position, where there are just as many in society who know you as there are that remain ignorant of your existence. It affords just enough freedom to do as you please but unless one wishes the wrong kind of attention, it may be wise to stay within the realm of reason.<</if>>
----
<i>Societal Standing</i> is how the Regency gentry view Miss Merritt. Keep in mind that your standing as a lady may affect your family name's and vice versa. We may not like it but the society has its place in our lives and our choices. This is also where, depending on her choices, Miss Merritt's accomplishments as a lady will be noted and acknowledged.
</div><div class="rightcolumn"><span class="h1-jp">Whispered Rumors</span>
*<<if $metSam>>Mrs. Grouse was right. The Renolds have returned to England. What remains to be seen, is how well Mrs. Renolds actually is.<<else>>Mrs. Grouse claims the Renolds have returned England and, more notably, Mrs. Renolds looks to be in the best of health.<</if>>
*<<if $metHugh>>Mr. Langley is just as your mother described, perhaps more kind than you had supposed. Though a chance meeting rarely gives you the full picture.<<else>>Your mother spoke of a new neighbor, a Mr. Langley, said to have deep eyes and deeper pockets. You wonder if either is really true.<</if>>
----
During the season, Miss Merritt has the chance to learn rumors about strangers, those in her circle, and even ones concerning herself. Those rumors shall appear here for Miss Merritt to examine and employ.
She may wish to be careful with garnering rumors about her own person, lest her standing be tarnished beyond repair.
That said, //infamy// may cost one dearly but it can afford one the freedom to pursue what she truly desires. Of course, ideal //popularity// can reward the same, should Miss Merritt play by society's rules. Miss Merritt's reputation and her family's legacy could depend on her conduct this season.
</div>
</div>
<div class="choice"><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></div>/*also might not use but for mapping out things like inheritance and season and civilities and such*/<span class="h1-jp">Letters & Correspondence</span>
/*NOTE: eventually turn into a dialog with tabs to display content on same page*/
<i class="fa fa-envelope" aria-hidden="true"></i> Family Correspondence <i class="fa fa-envelope-open" aria-hidden="true"></i>
<<if $metJr>>From the Dreadsomes:<<else>>???<</if>>
<<if $uncLetter1st>>[[Entailment Legal Case Letter]]<</if>>
<i class="fa fa-envelope" aria-hidden="true"></i> Friend & Acquaintance Correspondence <i class="fa fa-envelope-open" aria-hidden="true"></i>
<<if $metSam>>From Samantha Renolds:
[[Sam's Last Letter Abroad]]\
<<else>>From ???<</if>>
<<if $metHugh>>From Hugh Langley:\
<<else>>From ???<</if>>
<<if $metWarren>>From Lord Warren Hind:\
<<else>>From ???<</if>>
<<if $metVivian>>From Vivian Fortescue:\
<<else>>From ???<</if>>
<div class="choice"><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></div><div class="letter">
Dear Miss Merritt,
We are all well. I thank you for inquiring. I hope to hear you and yours fare the same.It's rather warm in the south, an early spring for us, my father thinks. I'm afraid I have nothing of great interest or consequence to relate. Mother's care remains my focus.
==I am glad== ==I am== ==I think of==
Thank you for keeping ==me== us in your thoughts. You are too kind to be writing to me still.
Sincerely,
Miss Samantha Renolds</div>
<div class="choice"><<return "Back">></div><div class="letter">To the representation of Mr. and Mrs. Lucas Merritt,
I hope this message finds you well. This is a friendly announcement that my client, Mr. Chadworth Dreadsome will presenting evidence of the entitlement of the estate, known as the Foxhall Estate, the ancestral seat of the Dreadsome lineage. You shall receive a copy of said evidence and the court proceedings in short order.
My client wishes for me to include this particular wish of his. Mr. Chadworth Dreadsome wishes to speak with his cousin, Mrs. Henrietta Merritt, in person and attempt to resolve the contention amicably outside the court and the public's notice...
...continue this matter will further correspondence. Please respond to our client's inquiry posthaste.
Regards,
Shaylor, Shark, & Sons Esq.</div>
<div class="choice"><<return "Back">></div><div class="h1-start">Love & Friendship</div>\
<div class="h2-start">A Regency Romantic-Comedy</div>
<div class="start-btn"><<if (Save.autosave.has())>><<button "Resume">>
<<run Save.autosave.load()>>
<</button>>\
<<button "New Game" 'start 2'>><</button>>\
<<button "Load Game">><<script>>UI.saves()<</script>><</button>>\
<<else>><<button "New Game" 'start 2'>><</button>>\
<</if>><<button "About">><<popup 'Credits' 'About'>><</button>>\
<<button "Settings">><<script>>UI.settings()<</script>><</button>></div><div class="h1">Before Playing, Please Note...</div>
Love and Friendship(LaF) is rated for players, <b>16 years or older</b>, with suggestive themes, alcohol use, and (occasional) explicit language. This rating may change with future updates.
<<link 'See Additional Content Warnings'>>\
<<popup 'CW' 'Content Warnings'>>
<</link>>
Love and Friendship(LaF) is a work of fiction. Names, events, locations, and characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, historical or otherwise, is purely coincidental.
Please read at your own discretion.
<div class="start-btn"><<button "Configure Settings" 'start 3'>><</button>></div><<script>>UI.settings()<</script>>\
<div class="h1">Before Playing, Please Note...</div>
<<link 'Settings'>><<script>>UI.settings()<</script>><</link>> can be adjusted at anytime in the game's main menu.
Autosaves are enabled and periodic. Manual Saves can be downloaded and uploaded using the "Save to Disk" and "Load to Disk" function. Twine saves using your browser's cookies. Be sure to enable cookies in your browser's settings and note that <b>clearing your browser's cache will permanently delete your saves.</b> Saves from an earlier versions of LaF may cause bugs. If you encounter such bugs, it is recommended you start a new game.
It is recommended you play LaF in fullscreen, which can be enabled by pressing F11 or Cmd-Ctrl-F.
While LaF runs on mobile devices, it is best played on a computer or tablet, in order to avoid immersion-breaking bugs. Any technical issues can be reported by filling out <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeu2ekLKRSNq2JJGJ1LLQQW2dCoOw73YhZYZVMqfd7RxYnsqg/viewform?usp=sf_link">this form</a> or at the game's <a href="https://salty-stories.tumblr.com">development blog</a>. These links can be found on the <i>credits</i> page of the main menu, available at any point in the game. Be sure to note the game's version(also listed on the credits page) and the browser and platform the game is being played on.
<div class="start-btn"><<button "Start Your Regency Romance" 'prologue open'>><</button>></div>*Depictions of Sexism
*Mentions of Financial Abuse
*Mentions of Death
*Mentions of Incest - A extended family member makes unwanted physical advances towards the protagonist but it is not sexual in nature. The protagonist will have the chance to process and respond to the behavior. The behavior is treated as negative by both the protagonist and the other characters.<span class="h3-menu">Love and Friendship</span>(v.2.2.6) is written and built using <a href="http://twinery.org/">Twine</a>(Sugarcube), an open-source tool for telling interactive, nonlinear stories.
Love and Friendship(LaF) is a work of fiction. Names, events, locations, and characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, historical or otherwise, is purely coincidental.
<a href="https://salty-stories.tumblr.com">Follow LaF's development Here</a>
Any bugs, typos, or technical errors can be reported at <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeu2ekLKRSNq2JJGJ1LLQQW2dCoOw73YhZYZVMqfd7RxYnsqg/viewform?usp=sf_link">this form</a> or to the development blog.
<hr>
<div class="h3-menu">Credit and Thanks go to the following:</div>
*<a href="https://twinelab.net/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2/#/">Chapel</a>(Marcos)
*<a href="https://github.com/cyrusfirheir/cycy-wrote-custom-macros/tree/master/live-update">Cycy</a>(Marco)
*<a href-="http://www.motoslave.net/tweego/">TME - Tweego</a>
*<a href="https://gcbaccaris.itch.io/grimoire-one">Grim Baccaris - Twine Grimoire 1 & 2</a>(Resource)
*<a href="https://fonts.google.com/">Google Fonts</a>(Assets)
*<a href="https://fontawesome.com/">FontAwesome</a>(Assets)
*<a href="https://unsplash.com/">Unsplash</a>(Assets) - <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/szca_6WTeuo">Simon Marsult</a>, <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/8muUTAmcWU4">Jez Timms</a>, & <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/40f1gfxbwdA">Nicolas Gras</a>
Special thanks to Ames, Cer, Freya, Oscar, and Roast for their help with coding and support during development<3 !
<<button'Close'>><<dialogclose>><</button>>@@.h1;End of Current Draft@@
@@.landing;
Hello!
You've reached the end of the game's current content. I would advise not saving on this page as your save will be deleted in the next update!
<<return "Click here to return to previous page!">>
I hope you've enjoyed the story so far and would love to hear your thoughts! If you ran into any bugs or issues, you can let me know by submitting <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeu2ekLKRSNq2JJGJ1LLQQW2dCoOw73YhZYZVMqfd7RxYnsqg/viewform?usp=sf_link">this form!</a> And if you want to keep up with the game's development, <a href="https://salty-stories.tumblr.com">follow me here</a> for weekly updates, sneak peaks, and general dorking out:)
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@@.letter;Thank you for playing!@@
<div class="choice"><<link "Restart">><<script>>UI.restart()<</script>><</link>></div><<widget "ptype">>
<<if (($ptrait1 eq 1) and ($ptrait2 eq 1))>>
<<set $ptype to 1>>
<<elseif (($ptrait1 eq 1) and ($ptrait2 eq 2))>>
<<set $ptype to 2>>
<<elseif (($ptrait1 eq 2) and ($ptrait2 eq 1))>>
<<set $ptype to 3>>
<<elseif (($ptrait1 eq 2) and ($ptrait2 eq 2))>>
<<set $ptype to 4>>
<<else>>
<<set $ptype to 0>>
<</if>>
<</widget>><<if $draw gt $music and $draw gt $sew and $draw gt $read and $draw gt $ride>>
<<set $maxSkill to "dr">>
<<elseif $music gt $draw and $music gt $sew and $music gt $read and $music gt $ride>>
<<set $maxSkill to "mu">>
<<elseif $sew gt $draw and $sew gt $music and $sew gt $read and $sew gt $ride>>
<<set $maxSkill to "se">>
<<elseif $read gt $draw and $read gt $music and $read gt $sew and $read gt $ride>>
<<set $maxSkill to "re">>
<<elseif $ride gt $draw and $ride gt $music and $ride gt $sew and $ride gt $read>>
<<set $maxSkill to "ri">>
<<else>><<set $maxSkill to "ERROR">><</if>><!--Where all the variables will be initialized:-->
<<set $chapter to "Prologue">> /* for labeling saves and header! */
<!-- Personality Vars -->
<<set $words to 0>>
<<set $action to 0>>
/** above will get cut/grandfathered out, as choices are already separated by that**/
<<set $passive to 0>>
<<set $assertive to 0>>
/* above and below will stay and take greater role in FT is a more important distinction*/
<<set $serious to 0>>
<<set $playful to 0>>
/* New personality vars */
<<set $ptrait1 to 0>> /* assert = 1; pass = 2 */
<<set $ptrait2 to 0>> /* serious = 1; play = 2 */
<<set $ptype to 0>> /* outspoken = 1,etc. */
/* New Ideals */
<<set $ideal1 to 0>> /* to self = 1 duty to fam = 2 */
<<set $ideal2 to 0>> /* beauty = 1 truth = 2 */
<<set $ideal3 to 0>> /* plan = 1 improv = 2 */
<<set $dutyFam to 0>> /*used to track ideal prior to test*/
<<set $dutySelf to 0>>
<<set $dNewsReact to 0>> /*reaction to dreadsome letter */
<!-- Appearance Vars -->
<<set $name to "secret">>
<<set $skin to "">>
<<set $height to "">>
<<set $eyecolor to "">>
<<set $hLengthideal to "">>
<<set $hairtex to "">>
<<set $haircolor to "">>
<<set $freckles to false>>
<<set $sunspots to false>>
<<set $vitiligo to false>>
<<set $bmark1 to false>>
<<set $bmark2 to false>>
<<set $scar1 to false>>
<<set $scar2 to false>>
<<set $dress to 0>>
<<set $pants to false>>
<<set $hat to false>>
<<set $shawl to false>>
<<set $shoes to 0>>
<!-- RO-related Vars -->
/*breakdown of vars!
met: did you meet them in prolog/gets updated after picnic
Affection: used for relationships page(a visual bar of current relabel-stranger to close friend etc.)
Affection will be turned into a widget, given how estranged works with sam
Opinion: do they agree with your choices and thoughts(not really implemented)
Flirt pts: self explanatory - used to set and lock romance/platonic routes
Relabel: used on relationships page for explaining current status*/
<<set $samAff to 5>>
<<set $metSam to false>>
<<set $relSam to "">>
<<set $warAff to 5>>
<<set $metWarren to false>>
<<set $relWarren to "">>
<<set $wFlirt to 0>>
<<set $vivAff to 5>>
<<set $metVivian to false>>
<<set $vFlirt to 0>>
<<set $relVivian to "">>
<<set $hughAff to 5>>
<<set $metHugh to false>>
<<set $relHugh to "">>
<<set $jrOpinion to 0>>
/*change to jrOpinion*/
<!-- Skill vars -->
<<set $draw to 10>>
<<set $maxDraw to 50>>
<<set $dlabel to "">>
<<set $music to 10>>
<<set $maxMusic to 50>>
<<set $mlabel to "">>
<<set $sew to 10>>
<<set $maxSew to 50>>
<<set $slabel to "">>
<<set $read to 10>>
<<set $maxRead to 50>>
<<set $relabel to "">>
<<set $ride to 10>>
<<set $maxRide to 50>>
<<set $rilabel to "">>
<<set $maxSkill to "">>
<!-- Reputation vars -->
<<set $rep to 50>>
<<set $infamy to 0>>
<<set $popularity to 0>>
<!-- menu vars -->
<<set $journal to false>>
<<set $appearance to false>>
<<set $skills to false>>
<<set $rom to false>>
<<set $letter to false>>
<<set $repstat to false>>
<<set $ch1 to false>>
<<set $uncLetter1st to false>>
/* prologue vars */
<<set $madatSam to 0>>
<<set $opendanceSam to false>>
<<set $helpSam to false>>
<<set $glass to false>>
<<set $opendanceHugh to false>>
<<set $greetJane to false>>
<<set $exitViv to false>>
<<set $exitWar to false>>
<<set $opps to false>>
<<set $warplay to false>>
<<set $motive to "">>
<<set $q1 to false>> /* question vars used throughout */
<<set $q2 to false>>
<<set $q3 to false>>
<<set $q4 to false>>
<<set $q5 to false>>
<<set $qcount to 0>>
/*<<colors '#e1b94a''#e1b94a''#F3E3BA'>>
'#563F10'>> gold
<<colors '#4E92F9''#4E92F9''#C5DDFC'>>
'#031D44'>> blue*/
<!-- skill bars -->
<<newmeter 'draw' 1>>
<<colors '#4E92F9''#4E92F9''#C5DDFC'>>
<<sizing 95% 0.9em>>
<<label '$draw''#031D44'>>
<</newmeter>>
<<newmeter 'music' 1>>
<<colors '#e1b94a''#e1b94a''#F3E3BA'>>
<<sizing 95% 0.9em>>
<<label '$music''#563F10'>>
<</newmeter>>
<<newmeter 'sew' 1>>
<<colors '#4E92F9''#4E92F9''#C5DDFC'>>
<<sizing 95% 0.9em>>
<<label '$sew''#031D44'>>
<</newmeter>>
<<newmeter 'read' 1>>
<<colors '#e1b94a''#e1b94a''#F3E3BA'>>
<<sizing 95% 0.9em>>
<<label '$read''#563F10'>>
<</newmeter>>
<<newmeter 'ride' 1>>
<<colors '#4E92F9''#4E92F9''#C5DDFC'>>
<<sizing 95% 0.9em>>
<<label '$ride''#031D44'>>
<</newmeter>>