evelynhalliwell.
Evelyn didn’t understand the concept of doorbells, let alone, one of knocking on doors, so when she arrived in a place, she just showed up, and expected to be greeted like the Queen of England. Of course, she’d done the same as she rolled up to the Hirsch estate in her Maserati Levante, right up to the front, popping out in a ridiculous purple and green outfit, heels clacking on the brick.
She tries the front door — but like any home in the sprawling hills of Ventura, it was locked. So Evelyn teeters over to the back, trying every single door she could in her vicinity, until she found a sliding glass door that is unlocked, and lets herself in with a huff.
“He-llo!” She calls out, but all she gets back is the echo of her own voice from the very large entrance hall — and in classic Evelyn fashion, she stomps into the first room she sees, finding two of the Hirsch children sitting in the spacious living area. “Oh, finally — seriously, do you not have a doorman?” She asks, incredulous, playing up her shock for the cameras. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart? We’re late for brunch already, even more so than the acceptable time frame for being fashionably late.”
Evelyn. Of course it’s fucking Evelyn.
It isn’t a conscious action, but he huffs under his breath, as is customary when he’s met with his girlfriend’s (and he loves the taste of the word against his lips, hopes to reveal it sometime soon) mother. Ava’s warned him about the blonde more times than either of them care to admit, and over the past couple of months, he’s managed to keep Evelyn at bay. It’s easier for him to get lost among the crowd during his mother’s parties and other such social calls, but when Evelyn confronts him in the Hirsch household, in the middle of taping no less, he’s hit with several problems all at once.
So, first: damage control. He hopes the mitigate the situation, such as it is, with some semblance of courtesy. “Doorman? No, we Hirsches believe in the art of knocking,” he attempts a bit of a smile, hoping it lands as a witty quip rather than an insult. He turns off his phone — Candy Crush can wait, not when there’s a much larger problem to confront — before walking towards her, “she’s still sleeping. Late night last night. It’s just me today, unfortunately.”