Sophie blinks as she looks up from her book, a little surprised to find herself surrounded by all seven of her husband’s siblings.
They’ve been at Aubrey Hall for a week. They’re spending the holiday season there, kicking off with Benedict’s birthday in just a few days, which Sophie has maybe, possibly, been planning a little something behind his back for.
When they met, he was so sunny that she assumed he must have been born in the hotter months, but it surprised her to learn that he was born in late November, as the weather started to turn chilly.
No one else has asked about Benedict’s birthday, and to be honest, she’s been a little worried about that.
But just a little.
“What do you need my help with?” Sophie asks as she bookmarks her page and settles the book down on the sofa next to her.
“We did not forget,” Anthony says quickly. “We merely…forgot.”
“That is what I said!” Hyacinth snaps.
“Again,” Colin adds.
“Again?” Sophie asks, worriedly. “What do you mean again?”
“There are eight of us,” Daphne says sheepishly. “It can be terribly difficult to remember everyone.”
“And Benedict never makes a fuss about his birthday,” Francesca says fretfully.
“Even though he should,” Eloise grumbles.
“Oh,” Sophie says quietly. “Well…I have asked the kitchen staff to make his favorites for dinner on his birthday, and…and I have asked them to make a nice cake for him.”
She doesn’t mention that when they were in town, she’d had the modiste design something…appealing for her to wear in the privacy of their bedroom.
“You see?” Daphne snaps, whacking Anthony in the arm. “I told you Sophie would have plans already.”
“But that is not the whole day,” Anthony argues.
“Perhaps a…a birthday Pall Mall game?” Sophie offers. “I am certain he would enjoy that.”
“Ooh, she is good at this,” Colin comments.
Sophie stares at all of them. “Just how many times have you all forgotten his birthday?”
A wave of guilty looks fall upon their faces.
“Truly?” Sophie asks judgementally. “Good god, it is no wonder he started skipping family events before we met.”
“We do not mean to,” Gregory argues, still guilty. “It is only…just…he is Benedict.”
Anthony sighs heavily. “We rather…take him for granted sometimes.”
“I never did,” Eloise says.
“You also forgot his birthday this year,” Francesca reminds her.
“He has been away at My Cottage!” Eloise defends herself.
“Things have felt a little quieter with Benedict married to you,” Hyacinth admits. “And we love you, Sophie. We are so happy to have you in the family. But…we rather miss our brother.”
Sophie blows out a slow breath as she looks at them all. “Then let us make this a very good birthday for Benedict.”
[I'm in a game of Descent into Avernus and my character is from Elturel and the only thing that is keeping me from going into full nuclear meltdown with feelings about that whole situation is asking if every NPC we meet is Dammon. I am a delight to play dnd with. anyway, I had to let off some feelings that I don't think my character will ever say]
The Elfsong's ever-present nighttime singing is usually just background noise at this point, a pleasant underscore to conversation in one of the few Lower City taverns still standing, so it takes a while for Rolan to notice that the song is about Elturel. At which point, he chokes on his drink. Cal, bewildered, thumps him on the back, which doesn't actually help at all.
"That isn't helping," Lia points out, not intervening. Rolan smacks Cal's hand away, takes another swallow of wine to clear his throat, and glares at Lia.
"Neither did you," he croaks. "Gods. You're both useless."
"What was that about?" Cal asks. He stands up a little, trying to peer over the crowd. "Did you see someone we know?"
"Listen," Rolan says, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him back into his seat. "I know being quiet and attentive is beyond the two of you, but..."
They do listen. He sees them hear it, too, Cal looking confused and Lia going slightly pale.
"Don't know what they've gone and written a song about it for," Rolan mutters.
"Why not?" Cal says. "It's a dramatic story, I guess. And... I dunno. It deserves to be remembered like it was. It was a good place, before."
Rolan snorts, and Cal looks defensive. "What? Compared to how everybody's treated us since we left Elturel, I think we had it pretty damn good there. The Creed made us all equal."
"The Creed?" Rolan sneers. "The thing we were tricked into swearing to sell away our souls? I knew you were naïve, Cal, but really."
"Listen, I'm not talking about Kreeg or any of that!" Cal protests. "I'm just saying-- I'm saying it was a good place to grow up. We shouldn't forget that."
Rolan slams his cup onto the table, filled with an unaccountable fury. "We grew up in a golden lie! A perfect city on a hill with no night?" He sits back in his chair, rolling his eyes. "It's rather disgustingly on the nose as a metaphor, when you think about it. Of course none of it was real."
"Alright, look, we know it's bad when I'm playing peacemaker," Lia cuts in before Cal can reply. "Let's just drop it. Let's... let's go somewhere else."
"Where?" Rolan mutters. "This city's a ruin, too."
"Oookay, you've definitely had too much if we're getting gloomy Rolan back." Lia leans forward and plucks his cup away before he can stop her. Cal just sits silent, expression unusually sullen. He drags his thumb around the rim of his own mug, then abruptly stands.
With a stubborn glower, he says. "I'm not going to be ashamed of where we're from. It was good."
Rolan stands, too. "You should be. We all should be. We were stupid to trust them, to believe their lies. If you're so stupid as to miss it--"
Cal looks about to retort, then, as suddenly as he stood, he turns and storms away. Lia looks between them with exasperation, scrambling up to follow Cal. Rolan sinks back into his chair, reclaims his glass of wine.
"If you're stupid enough to miss it," he mutters again. "Then..."
