a mother's touch

[emme-fitzgerald]

kingstonxgilmore‌:

Kingston’s heart was forever on display, a delicate placement of it against their sleeve. Any loss, any joy, was easy to tell even in the calm temperance that they possessed. All it took was a glimpse at honest brown eyes, the soft curve of lips, to tell that the memory of Andreas was one they both shared with a fondness that spoke to their dismay that it would only remain as a memory and nothing more with his absence. “His talent will be missed,” they spoke, a bittersweet smile, putting flattery on hold. “It feels as though it goes beyond us; it is the world’s loss, not only ours.” Tenderly, a hand reached out, landing on the edge of her shoulder. “I hope you have found some comfort, where no words can properly express.–How has Angelique found this time to be?”

She tried to pull herself together, their words and expression too bright, too painfully sincere that she felt as if she was looking at the sun, blinded. It was at odds with the darkness in her mind, her grief-stricken memories that were threatening to consume her. “He was.” Her unshakable belief in her son’s talent had nothing to do with a mother’s unconditional love. Andreas had sacrificed everything for his craft, hours spent penning his words on paper till his fingers grew numb and his vision blurred in exhaustion. “I-” She swallowed. “-thank you.” 

Their next words, though still offered with good intentions at heart - it was the last straw, finally robbing Emme of all of her hard-won composure. Her near-sob caught in her throat. 

“Angelique-” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

fizz-gerald‌:

Vaughn realised as soon as the words left his mouth that they were wrong, they weren’t what she wanted from him. Even if she seemed sweet – there were muses who used to let him sit in their laps, pretend to care for him, then beat him all the same, even if he obeyed. They were the worst, usually, but they were better if he did what they said. “No, I’ll come –” Already he was tensing a little, arm across his stomach to try and protect his internal organs. Most of what she said simply washed over him, lost somewhere in his pounding headache, yet – despite the pain, despite the anxiety, he wanted to hope. “I’m sorry, I’ll – I’ll be good, I promise.” Maybe he if was good, she wouldn’t hurt him. The hand on his arm hadn’t turned gripping yet, perhaps there was a fleeting chance that she’d be different, like the woman from that night. 

Emme thought she knew fear, but this child seemed to be consumed by it, his entire body tense as if waiting for a blow that would never come. Some part of her wondered if she was doing more harm than good by insisting he let her take care of him, but she knew she’d sleep restlessly for days on end if she chose to let him go now. “It’s always your choice, sweetheart.” Emme spoke gently, and yet she felt her words were useless, falling on deaf ears, but still they were ones that needed to be said. “Yes, I know you will be good.” The words fell awkwardly from her tongue, for once Emme stripped of her usual glib manner. “Here, you can just follow me to the restaurant.” She released his arm and took a step back, expression hesitant before she turned on her heel and walked on ahead, showing him that it was still his decision whether to follow her or not. 

[emme-fitzgerald]

tomasdevisser‌:

“Oh– thank you, I try.. the kitchen is a hard enough work place,” Tomas rubbed the back of his neck, glad to know in the smallest of ways, something maybe seem to be going right. At least Tomas could believe he’s doing something right for the shop. “An old family recipe huh.. maybe it just needs an equipment update if it’s old..” Tomas had already begun thinking through the little issues that might come up, “or if it comes out good sometimes then maybe it’s the environmental changes..? We’ll figure it out.”

Emme found, in a rare moment of guilt, that she truly did not wish to impose on Tomas. Yes, in her bid to forge connections in the art world, she’d been pretending to coincidentally bump into muses and artists alike, trying to keep her expression light and never reveal the cloying feeling of desperation that was buried deep in her chest. Another day passing could just mean another day of Angelique’s killer kidnapper getting farther and farther away from her grasp. While she did not think Tomas had anything to do with it, his recent success with his business has earned him a ticket into a lot of up and coming events, and she knew it wouldn’t hurt to establish a relationship at this point. She told herself it wasn’t because he reminded her of Edward, that perhaps she was just trying to chase the ghost of each of her children, find pieces of them in the people she met everyday. “I’m afraid I don’t have that much equipment at my own apartment.” Emme confessed. “I could possibly purchase some, but wouldn’t those cause a lot of money?” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

ryder-ashtonf‌:

Something was off, his gut simply told him that with the little telltale signs his blues caught. But Ashton managed a calm smile, “that’s okay, perhaps I should’ve called first.” Fate seemed like such an ugly word to throw around and devalue everything else that had been put into work, they would’ve ran into each other either way sooner or later. The initial nerves seem to dissipate within seconds, too quickly for someone in actual distress and too slowly for someone faking it. “Brunch sounds fine, I wouldn’t want to impose,” Ashton gestured for her to lead the way before clearing his throat to already get into business, “I was hoping to be able to ask more about your daughter, and more about the cold case from the police.”

Some part of her was glad he didn’t hold back, straightforward and sincere, unlike she who used words like weapons. And though she tried not to, she caught glimpses of her son, Andreas in him, the memories of each of her children vivid in her mind, for no passage of time could dull the bittersweet ache she felt whenever she called either one of them to the forefront of her thoughts. 

“Au contraire, I’m the one imposing on you after all, since I hired you for your services.” Emme spoke in a light tone, smile small but genuine. “Alright, brunch it is then. I’ll tell you-” The painfully little “-all that I know.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

claudiamrshall‌:

she nodded at the explanation. she was never the most delicate about the information she came into, stumbling blindly after all these years, and still hurting. she could see the expression, even without it, loss was painful. it never got easier, to lose half your soul as it were. to be back as a singular person. it is the only leeway that emme has gained from her. “record keeping—” she thought about it. she hardly knew a thing about the woman in front of her, but she knew the struggle to fill time that was presented to muses.

“it’s a secretary position, if you want it.” she said finally. she figured ant could use the hand, why not. another staff member had only eluded her because she didn’t take the time to search. “i just, why?” it was overkill for finding a purse, that much was clear. but the position was already offered, she wasn’t going to take it back. “are you bored?”

Her true reason of course, she could not say. That she was trying to find clues, anything that could lead to the whereabouts of her daughter. And that kind of information only came with connections, perhaps even allies, but she didn’t dare to hope - not now. A deeper reason also came to mind, that she did not want to fully explore at that moment. Losing Angelique - how could you express in words the overwhelming grief of losing yet another child - was Emme just cursed to outlive them all? Though she appeared outwardly calm and collected, in her darker moments, she felt adrift in this world, and sometimes she wondered what would happen if she just let the tide take her. This search for the truth was just so she could find justice for her daughter, never admitting to herself that perhaps her desire for connections was just because she was terribly, achingly lonely. “A woman has to work to sustain herself, of course.” She injected as much cheer as she could into her voice. “And though my medium is the written word, I can think of nothing better than to work around the kind of art that inspires.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

damionkillgrave‌:

Damion’s blood chilled under her touch, catching him. The back of his head was facing her, his eyes on the other hand had slipped upwards, wetting his lips to stifle the imminent ‘mother fucker’ that bled on his tongue. He turned back to her, smile painted on his face with a touch of a laugh at her comment, making his head tilt sharply as if it was a tick. “Frightened? Of you? Fat chance. No...” the voice trailed off, lips still parted from where the breath kept drawing out as he looked at her. Jesus Christ. How did this keep happening? Getting roped into shit he didn’t want to do? Eyes glossed over her face once more. She could be worse company, though. “…What’s one drink? I could go for a Manhattan, if you’re buying.–You here for long?”

Emme’s smile turned coy, tilting up at the corners. She wondered what it said about her that she felt somewhat pleased, knowing that despite his own towering height and his physical ability to overpower her, some part of him was still wary of her, perhaps even frightened. It had all to do, she suspected, with her determination not to be a target, a shrinking flower, not again. “That’s good to hear then.” She concluded cheerfully, beaming up at him with her regular sunny disposition. “One drink, or even two, would be wonderful.” Emme reached out a hand in invite, waiting for him to proffer up a gentlemanly elbow in escort. "I’ve actually lived here most of my life-” And though she did not strike others as the typical New Yorker, the soul of the city lived in her. “-with my daughter, actually, though she most recently...moved away.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

sainttallulah‌:

they lessened their grip on the bag, a moment later letting it go altogether. “you don’t carry it,” tallulah challenged. “when someone’s really vulnerable they carry it with them. the weight of the world, or of their world, rather.” their tone was informative, sure of their own judgement as they often were. though the antics of one con artist weren’t really their problem, tallulah was worried about this woman’s potential victims. they’d made it their business to care for those who’d been swindled, cheated out of life or love. could they just walk away and let this woman hurt another? “so can we just cut the shit? what’s your play here?”

Emme felt a rare spark of irritation, her lips pressing into a thin line for a few heartbeats, before she rustled up all the grace she could muster and forced on a perfect, even smile. “Be careful with casting aspersions when you do not fully know the truth of a person’s life and past.” She felt a slight tick in her cheek. “It may not have occurred to you, but many who carry a weight in their hearts have also mastered how to hide it.” Her eyes flashed, brightly, painfully, for a second. “I have no play-” A lie, one that fell easily. Yet her purposes wasn’t so devious as they thought - she was only trying to forge connections, in a desperate bid to find a single clue that could tell her about her daughter’s disappearance. “-I simply dropped my purse, an accident on my part. I apologized for having inconvenienced you by picking it up.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

julianxxsantiago‌:

All of her efforts to calm him, even if they weren’t as blatant as a keeper of a zoo trying to tame their animals, were looked upon with the undesired effect. Julian was the oil to a world underwater, never mixing, a volatile substance that just needed to be lit on fire to burst.

“Kindness? What kindness is this?” he asked, eyes gesturing to the bag with a flicker of movement that rippled through the entire face before striking her own sights again. “What do you owe me? For not stealing? Nothing.” In a different stroke, she had a similar relentlessness, just expressed in softer tones. To Julian, it still made the eyes tighten before shrugging sharply. “I don’t know you,” he answered back. “Who are you?”

He was bristling, on guard, and Emme felt her chest a ache a little at his response. There were those that protected themselves by putting on a facade, offering smiles that didn’t reach their eyes and speaking in sweetly even tones when only anger and disquiet filled their heart. Then there were those who protected themselves by lashing out, making no secret of their defensiveness, prickly barbed wire to their others’ innocuous picket fence. 

Julian reminded her, a bit, of her Nicholas - brash and headstrong - with a temper that often got away from him and a mouth to match. And yet, he was her child that loved as fiercely, as devotedly. Perhaps it was too much to think about, given the length of their interaction, but Emme was always more perceptive than she seemed. “I think that it speaks more to your character, that you did not act simply for thanks or gratitude.” Emme shrugged lightly. “Of course you don’t know me, I haven’t introduced myself.” She injected some levity into her words. “Emmeline Fitzgerald. You can call me Emme. I like to fancy myself a writer. And you are?” She spoke, as if she didn’t know his name. 

[emme-fitzgerald]

kingstonxgilmore‌:

There was an inkling of who this one silhouette was in a crowd of shadows, but when Emmeline had turned, Kingston’s memories flooded forward. Recognition lit up their eyes when the profile of a woman turned into the face of a mother’s pride towards her son’s talents. The fleeting warmth of nostalgia brought with it the aftertaste of melancholia, even with a kind smile given back to her.

“I hardly find that’s needed when I’m paid enough in your image.” Her purse was gently released to her, guiding the strap across her fingertips as they continued on. “I was stricken when I heard,” they spoke, a murmur of condolence with an open heart. “He was one of the few I had thought to look for when I came here.”

Rarely, did people catch her off guard - she was always one ready with a glib word, a coy reply, answers perfectly thought out and delivered. But when faced with such gut-wrenching honesty, for Emme was certain there was no falsehood to their words, she could not help the warmth that suffused her smile, a gentle, heartbreaking expression she rarely wore nowadays, in fear of people taking advantage. “Andreas would have been glad to know you thought of him.” Her brave, selfless boy. He’d always been so quiet, so mature and level-headed, that in comparison to his flighty, exuberant twin, he was the first one forgotten, left out. “He was always a deep admirer of your work, he’d wax poetic about it for nights on end.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

claudiamrshall‌:

“makes for a morning headache.” she wasn’t in the mood. there was something about cheerfulness after this long, how it meant there was either a lack of experience or something fake lurking beneath the surface. taking the time to figure out the truth wasn’t something that ever ranked very high on her to do list. unfortunately, spaced out across eternity, that meant that some mornings were about helping people find their purses. “your time? what do you suggest?” the question is genuinely despite its intonation, she couldn’t actually imagine what emme was thinking she could help with. but what did she know, she couldn’t even remember a last name with any certainty. maybe there was something more interesting. “i thought you had a partner. no where to go?”

She knew what people thought of her - a sunny, sometimes vapid, 50s-inspired housewife, the kind that brought unsolicited home-made sweets and freshly squeezed lemonade to greet a new neighbor, just cause. Emme had no objection to it, truly, carefully cultivating some aspects of that image in fact, because she found people tended to look less closely if they underestimated a person. That, and because at heart, she was still her sweet-natured, generous self from all those decades ago, just honed to a sharper edge, one she kept hidden - only to be drawn when they least expected it. 

“Well, perhaps I could assist at record-keeping at the Lyceum?” She’d always been good at paperwork after all, refining the skill when she double-checked the books for her Madame, in a way to pay off some of her debt. “I’m afraid my sweet artist Henrietta has passed away-” Her expression softened, for a heartbeat, her chest squeezing painfully in memory of the elderly woman who took her and Angelique in, as if they were her own. “-and though I’m not averse to the idea, I’m not actively seeking a partner right now.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

miguelxcardosa‌:

She had spun around, words of praise on her tongue, but perhaps it was because she wasn’t given the chance to absorb Miguel’s face staring back at her. Corners of his lips were curved upward, parted from the way his teeth were clenched around her license before his free hand snatched it out. “Pay me! Yes, yes!” he beamed as he gave back the unzipped bag, belongings inside a ravaged mess, keeping her identification card and pockets holding more. “This is mine! Look at your angel face! Beauty! I love it,” he went on before kissing the corner of it, feeling the dip of where his incisor had crunched down on it. “It is in my heart. Forever! What is this Fitzgerald? Where is the Cardosa?”

Her first instinct was to rear back, snarl, how dare he even try to touch her, eyes flashing and teeth bared, a dark anger coiling up inside of her. Yet no flicker of such emotions showed on her face, Emme’s expression perfectly, undeniably pleasant. Dangerously so.

“Well, of course, I must pay you in return.” Emme’s tone remained even, her smile polite, even as her fingers clutched at her purse which felt decidedly lighter than it did earlier. Yet any accusations might only chase him away. “And I thank you kindly for the compliment.” Her throat practically burned from the words she was uttering, but she managed to keep her manner light, a touch charming. “My name is Emme Fitzgerald, as that identification card you’re...holding suggests. I take it you’re...Cardosa?”

[emme-fitzgerald]

tomasdevisser‌:

“We take turns.. It can get really tiring for someone,” it’s how they operated, in the kitchen, everything has order, a hierarchy that every kitchen adheres to, just a lil strange for him to be at the head of it. He hardly prides himself as the owner, as if he had any higher privilege than his crew. He was like each and every one of them, lighting up at the chance to discuss about sweets, “oh- yes, absolutely! Bring it over any time, I’d love to taste it,” any opportunity to learn more about how others bake, and what tastes work for them, Tomas was more than happy to lend his taste buds, “I’ll- try not to be harsh..”

“Then you’ve set up an admirable system.” Emme counters easily, knowing his type, unable to take a compliment, the kind to deny all the praise you’re giving them till they’re blue in the face. It was sweet. Her Nicholas had been cut from the same cloth. “That’s absolutely grand of you, thank you very much. It’s an old family recipe, actually-” This “family”, being the head chef of their little English estate, but that would be too difficult to explain during a first encounter. “-and often times it comes out marvelously, but other times I’m afraid only my dog is the only one who can stomach it.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

fizz-gerald‌:

Vaughn blinked in surprise; was he looking at an angel? Backlit by watery sunlight, the woman’s blonde hair almost seemed to glow, almost seemed to be a halo. Perhaps she was just a hallucination – but her touch was real, warm and comforting. He couldn’t help leaning in to it, eyes closing for a moment to just savour the feeling. Only when the touch moved from cheek to wrist did he start, it was firm, the kind of force that meant punishment was sure to come. Still, if he was good – he staggered to his feet, trying to hold himself upright and look submissive at the same time.

Her command took him by surprise, a soft oh escaping his lips; flinching as she dusted him down was instinctual, but Vaughn found himself hoping, perhaps this time will be different. Then again, perhaps it was just a mistake – “No, you don’t – you don’t have to –” just the thought of all that food made him want to cry, but it wasn’t his place to take advantage of the offer. For all he knew, she could be working for Marlowe, luring him back. “Please don’t hurt me.” It just slipped out, more of a whimper than a proper sentence.

Emme felt her heart stop, a sudden crack in her peerless facade, and while he did not resemble any of her children at all, each of them came to mind instantly and only through will alone did she manage a trembling smile. “Oh, honey I didn’t mean to frighten you with my forwardness.” She spoke gently, her hand still resting on his arm, but the touch feather-light so not to frighten him. “If you do not wish to come to my apartment - and goodness me, I’d be the first to tell you not to accept such offers from strangers - perhaps you’d be willing to accompany me for lunch at a nearby restaurant? I know a nice little place down the street. You’re under no obligation to indulge me though, of course.” Emme hesitated, not wanting to push too much lest she chase him away, but somehow knowing if she wasn’t insistent as well, he’d still refuse her in the end.

“Please, give me this. I cannot in good conscience allow you to leave my presence without getting you at least a bite to eat.” And place some meat on those poor bones of yours, she didn’t say the words out loud, but she hoped her eyes conveyed all the concern she carried in her small frame. 

[emme-fitzgerald]

ryder-ashtonf‌:

This whole thing felt out of place today, but if anything it was a small note tacked to the back of his mind for a review later, face not showing a hint of disbelief to her words with only a smile back to allay whatever fears she had. “Something has to be making you nervous, just let me know if I can do anything help.” He blinked at her as if she forgotten about their meeting that morning, “oh- I was, actually about to head your way, to discuss the case?”

“Of course, heavens how could that have slipped my mind!” Grace came as second nature to her, Emme forcing her fluttery heart to still, her hands to rest, poised, on the handle of her purse. She wondered if he bought the act, knowing that unlike most, Ashton had a keen sense that could easily see through whatever ruse she tried to cook up. It was one of the reasons why she sought him out in the first place, after all. “I guess it must have been fate that we ran into each other here.” She tilted her head, smiling invitingly, all trace of her earlier distress gone. She just hoped Ashton would choose to look past it. “We could still head over to my apartment, if you’d like, or we could talk over brunch? I know a quaint, private little place nearby.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

damionkillgrave‌:

Her eyes grew sharper, and he looked back at it with pursed lips, chin tilted up as if she was holding a knife to his throat for that fleeting second. In exchange, he offered back a smile, tugged only by muscles and the means to be compliant. “Uh huh,” he replied as his eyes flickered to her grin. Ah, shit. Psychopaths always had a nice face. Time to go. “That sounds peachy keen, jelly bean, but you seem like a nice dame. I couldn’t do that. It’s some knight’s code, you wouldn’t get it. You can’t just go around picking up strangers like that. Do you know switchblades exist? Wild. Raincheck?”

Emme tilted her head slightly, her perfectly coifed hair catching the light at just the right angle. She had been taught - back to when she still had a nursemaid clucking her tongue at her as she hauled her out of bed in the morning to help her get dressed - that valuing one’s appearance was not an act of arrogance, but one of cleverness. Perfectly kept brows, a red lip, and a perfectly tailored outfit - these were the tools she was given, the weapons she’d trained with. Never mind the small switchblade she secreted away in the pocket of her purse. “Oh, must you leave so quickly?” Emme reached out to lightly rest her hand against his wrist, blue eyes wide. “I must have mistakenly interpreted your expression, for no one could possibly be frightened of as you put it, a ‘nice dame’ like me.” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

claudiamrshall‌:

“that’s really okay.” she pulled her arms across her chest as soon as the bag was returned to the owner. any attention turned towards her was always just enough to pull her away from a given scenario. to search for the truth in the frame. perhaps it was just time wearing on a good nature. she didn’t know emme well, but it wasn’t hard to pick out the muses from the mortals after a couple hundred years of run ins. she never did “it’s just a bag. we’d survive if you’d lost it.” which isn’t polite, but minus a fake id and some cash she wondered what was really at stake. “you just got lucky, right?”

Of course Emme knew about Claudia Marshall, a prolific muse who now managed the Lyceum. She was probably centuries older than Emme’s own odd almost 200 years. She wondered at the changes time wrought in her, how could she still stand under the the weight of immortality that already in Emme’s shorter lifespan seemed like impossible burden to bear. Emme almost laughed out loud at the sudden turn of her thoughts - how drab and melancholy for such a beautiful New York morning. 

“Yes, I’m certain I’d survive without it, but that doesn’t discount how appreciative I am that it has been returned to me.” Emme told her matter-of-factly, eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled. “And I believe it would be remiss on my part not to offer you anything in exchange, but if you’re so adamantly against material compensation, perhaps an offer of my time or assistance would be more favorably looked upon?” 

[emme-fitzgerald]

ryder-ashtonf‌:

Ashton was actually on his way to meet Emme to discuss the ongoing case work he had with her - a missing muse, it seems like the number count was rising as of late and that brought his attention forward, even though it seemed odd for a muse to have seemed out his help. 

 She seemed flustered, almost passing by him without noticing already dropping her purse, “Ms. Fitzgerald,” lightly tapping her shoulder handing her the purse back, “you’re in a fluster today, what happened?”

“Ashton, dear.” Emme tapped him lightly on the chest, eyes filled with gratitude as she took back her purse from his outstretched hand. She attempted to smoothen her hair - even though not an inch of it was remotely out of place - feeling herself flush slightly at being caught in the middle of an act. Not exactly a ringing endorsement when you’re trying to seek the help from the person in question. “Don’t mind me, just plain old nerves acting up again.” Emme tried for a winsome smile but seemed to just fall short of convincing.

“Tell me-” She tries to regroup. “-where were you headed out on this fine morning? You too seemed like you had a destination in mind.”