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Daisies

Jack Vessalius has terrible nerve. Terrible nerve, and terrible timing. His arrival coincides with a relapse in the Duke’s illness, and it’s so incredibly irksome that Oswald is tempted to call this meeting off.

Still. If anything, the heir is a man of schedule, as behind as he may be.

Green eyes and blond hair. Oswald has seen this man before. Polite, like all nobles. There is nothing unusual about him, but the very fact invites speculation—it was foolishness, even insolence for him to approach the Baskervilles.

"I have kept you waiting." It’s an observation, not an apology. The door closes behind him with a click.

"I am Oswald Baskerville. Lord Baskerville is currently indisposed, so I am here in his stead. You are here to ask for my sister’s hand, are you not?"

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Had Oswald been replaced by a cold and heavy air, the effect would have been the same. Were his fingertips not already so worried with the brass latch of the window, he might think it swung open and the outside no longer out but in. Jack seeks a more gainful employment for his hands and discovers none.

Am I so unwelcome?

Thread spun from the thinnest tact sews his lips closed before he may put the needle's eye out. One palm clutches uneasily at the sill, as if the mild tremors of Oswald's steps might send him hurtling to the floorboards.

Propriety demands he bow, and bend his knee he does.

"You speak true--" Even the fine weather cannot chase away the pallor sapping the lifepaint from the canvas of his cheek. It is painfully obvious that the fair nobleman is at a loss as to how address his social better. The words fall foreign and unbalanced from his tongue. "--my lord."

#finnland is like finland but with more booty #dodges obvious black butler joke #einblicked

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Ashikaga Flower Park Beautiful

Oh, if but the chaos of the streets could drown out the din within his head!

The young noble staggers off the main avenue running its cobblestone footprints up and down this bloodline of Sablier, splashing through a shallow, stagnant puddle and staining the fine leather of his boots. God knows what entities have lived and died between these narrow walls; something foul-smelling trickles from the roof and pools upon the ground. A gag, a sharp cough, a stumbling past -- Jack gives the odorous water a wide berth and continues forward.

Heavy scuffing gradually gives way to silence as the gentleman slips through the dodgy alley and emerges on to a quiet side street, one all but devoid of living beings. Rather eerie, really, how it shows to him all the signs of human life, of a sense of being (as they say) 'lived in' and comfortable.

With not a soul around, surely no one will pass by to scold him for perching on this front step? Or even pay him mind at all... Cheek to hand, the youth heaves a great sigh, his shoulders weighed with the gravest of defeats.

So... All this... It has been for naught...

#i'm no good at titles #so if we want one we can always add one later #here ya go!#slatedfordeath

Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...

If only an anxious glance could silence that bothersome clock out in the main foray; it keeps count so loudly that Jack swears it echoes in his chest. A tentative rub proves that the rhythm hammered out there finds its origin not in the timepiece's unrelenting march but from the frantic beating of his own heart. The young noble gives the door a petulant scowl before he flits over to the window, thinking that perhaps the view of the grounds might calm his nerves even in the slightest.

Did I not have an appointment this afternoon? I do not think this empty parlor a favorable omen... Am I to be doubly ill-received by Lord Baskerville?