#mutual misunderstanding

[ursulaflintblack]

Ursula could feel the grip of Phineas‘s fingers around her forearm, it was not exactly painful but still firm. Having been stopped in her motion so swiftly, took her off-guard and she shot her husband a look of surprise and indignation at the same time, her eyes wide.

It was almost ironical that his grip was in fact the first time he had actually touched her since his arrival yesterday. Of course their first physical contact in months wasn’t one of affectionate but of rather rude nature in order to get her attention. After a few seconds which felt like hours, Phineas awkwardly let go of her arm again, trying his best to avoid her now questioning gaze. She waited for him to snap at her, to put her in her place that she had to mind her tone while speaking to him.

Ursula certainly hadn’t expected the words coming out of his mouth now.

Apparently, he had indeed spoken to Belvina. At least, he had done that! And it even seemed as if he hadn’t been autorative and scolding for once. Though Ursula was sure that his definition of their daughter being ‘well‘ was… debatable. She would still have to check on the four-year old for damage control. She didn’t trust her husband on that one.

And then he was telling her not to be too critical about herself? Him, who demanded perfection in every aspect of life? Having impossible high standards and expectations of his family?

Merlin, is that a twisted way of him reaffirming me I am actually doing great as a wife and mother? she thought.

Now Ursula was sceptical. On top of that, he had admitted he had been in a contrary mood as of late and was ‘aggrieved‘ that she had been distressed. Where did that come from?

Leastways, he finally had managed to voice it that this shameful rumor of him having a mistress wasn’t true.

Hearing all of this from him after their heated argument earlier and their constant verbally wounding each other, never mind the fact she had played dirtily and had been snooping around in his study, was, in fact, a huge thing for her husband.

Had it been her opening up about her deepest feelings minutes ago? Had he finally come to his senses and discovered there was surprisingly another way of talking to his wife and children instead of being rude and disdainful? Or had it been the fact he had already enjoyed a glass of brandy for breakfast (honestly?) and was now helping himself to ANOTHER right in front of her eyes?

Ursula was at logic‘s end. Once again, her husband of 14 years made no sense to her at all. For a moment, it was her turn being at a loss for words.

She ignored his muttering and him basically inhaling the brandy and took a deep breath.

What he had just said to her was a step in her direction. Not an apology, but it had been hard for him anyways. Ursula knew that.

Although she was still very cross with him for his behaviour towards herself and the children and the fact, he still hadn’t told her WHY he had been in a contrary mood, she decided it was probably better to leave it at that for now. She had to be grateful somehow for he had cooled down and addressed her in a normal tone again. It wouldn’t do any good for them to be at each other‘s throats the whole day, especially not in the evening in front of their guests. So perhaps now was the time to try to act like civilised people of their noble standing again. As always, she made the first step:

“Well, if you say so, Phineas, I shall believe it to be true. I -“ she paused. “ I apologise for my overstepping and hope you will forgive me having perused your private correspondence. You see, your so called contrary mood hasn’t gone unnoticed by me and I have hoped, that being your wife, you would have told me the reason. But since you are refusing to do that, which frankly, makes me worry even more, I‘m not going to press it any further for now. I suppose you haven’t found the right moment or words yet and will tell me eventually.“

Like you always do. Later, when you had a couple more of those drinks and you are staring at the canopy of our bed in your post-coital haze, Ursula thought to herself, not without a hint of satisfaction.

“I- try my best to respect your decision. If you will excuse me now, I have to give the orders for our dinner and have to ensure the children are well-prepared for what’s is expected of them tonight. I‘m going to take them to the park, a walk and some fresh air before luncheon will do them good. I shall see you later then.“ She bid her tongue to not add: “And remember to drink some water in between all that alcohol!“

Without waiting for an answer, she left the drawing room, leaving her husband to his spirit. In truth, him drinking that much concerned her gravely. She had always hated it when she could smell the alcohol on him and had to taste it on his lips. She knew most gentlemen of his standing were enjoying the occasional drink or two. Occasional. Yet another cause for conflict.

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Ursula headed downstairs for the kitchen, focusing now on her responsibilities as the lady of the house. The house elves bowed and muttered respectful greetings upon their mistress’s appearance. Ursula made sure she was the center of attention before making the orders, her voice cold and resolute:

“We are entertaining tonight. The Burke family will dine with us. They will arrive at approximately 7pm. Champagne will be served for their reception in the salon on the ground floor. Dinner will be served at 7.30 pm sharp. There will be 5 courses. You will find the menu specifics on here!“ She pulled out the notes she had written down earlier out of her dress pocket. “There will be a different wine for each course, pumpkin juice for the children, who are going to be present as well. Have extra sets ready if the 3 Burke children will accompany their parents. I wish for the table being decorated in green and silver, silk napkins, candles and a subtle flower arrangement in the middle. Bring out the dishes with the family crest and of course the silver. I expect the table to be set at 5 pm for me to inspect and make the necessary corrections before I go up to get changed. Everything has to be in perfect order. Have I made myself clear?“

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When Ursula had finally made her way up to the children’s rooms, she first picked up Cygnus who was sitting in his cot playing happily with his wooden fantastic beasts while being supervised by Dinky. Carrying him on her hip she checked on Arcturus. The boy was still very silent, concentrating on some of the mathematic exercises his tutor had given him the other day. He was a good boy, really. A shame that his father failed to acknowledge his eagerness to learn and to please his parents. Ursula was relieved to see Belvina in a much better mood. The little girl told her very proudly and with excitement that ‘Daddy‘ had promised her to teach her how to keep her yet uncontrolled magic under control if she behaved better than at breakfast. Ursula raised an eye brow at what was clearly nothing more than wishful thinking on the girl‘s part. She let her have her illusion. But her husband had to have done something right given Belvina‘s joyful state. Again, the man she called husband, was a riddle to her.

Ursula primed Arcturus and Belvina for the upcoming dinner and despite the unusual circumstance they were to be included tonight, she expected the very best behaviour and pristine manners. She gave the prospect of the 3 Burke children being there as well. The children listened to her with awe and a certain excitement. It was going to be a special evening for them.

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The walk to the park gave Arcturus and Belvina room for running around and playing. A wise strategy of an experienced mother in order to allow them to get rid of their excess energy. Cygnus was brabbling in the pram, enjoying the fresh air and sensory input as well.

When the four of them returned home and the door of their ancestral home swung open, Ursula was surprised to see Phineas standing in the hallway, apparently on his way out, for Scrope was handing his master his dragon leather gloves and a black hat. Phineas looked their way upon their arrival, a slight frown on his face but with an otherwise unreadable expression.

“You are not having luncheon with us, dear?“ she asked, her tone forcefully casual. Of course he had to take the opportunity to escape more time with his family.

@phineasnigellusblack

[veravillanueva]

AP Drawing Concentration #3: Mutual Misunderstanding

When we first came to America, my mother didn't speak English very well.  One day, she was alone with my sister (who was a toddler at the time) when my sister started running a high fever.  My mother immediately called doctor, and panicked, because despite doing her best to explain the situation in her broken speech, the nurse on the other end couldn't understand a thing she said.

[ironwallswillneverfall]

Me thinks the mun doth protest too much. You're obviously the duck overlord. Prompt: Erik takes of his helmet sometimes to check on Charles and one time Charles isn't there. (whether or not he's actually gone is up to you.)

It is not as clean a break as one would think it would be.

One might perhaps think that shooting a man in the back (he insists on thinking of it as deflecting someone else's shot into his back, either way there was a bullet and Erik put it there) would be the sort of thing that would entirely end a relationship.

One would be wrong.

Erik doesn't let go that easily; neither does Charles.  They are both extraordinarily stubborn men, a quality which will, they both privately think, be their downfalls or perhaps their only saving grace--or perhaps both.

That said, Erik doesn't exactly plan for it.

Weeks, it's been--maybe two months--when he takes off the helmet.  Not for the first time, not by a long shot, but the first time that anything has come of its removal.  Because he takes it off and it's hours later, when he lies awake in his bed, hundreds of miles away from Westchester, he hears a voice.

It's faint, at first, unfocused and slightly disbelieving, and Erik nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the familiar voice say his name in a tone that can only be described as shock, tinged with something that is almost desperate pleasure.

"Charles?" he says, and then he's up and across the room and jamming on the helmet before he can even stop to think why--how--Charles would be in his head.  It's a reflex action, born of a paranoia that has been heavily ingrained now by proximity to Emma Frost.  (And by the new and slightly frightening idea that he and Charles are probably, by the other's standards, no longer allies.  Charles has no reason to be nice with his powers.)

'The Brotherhood', as it will eventually be called, moves.  But he can't keep the helmet on forever, and just as he's relaxed again from the shock of that night, months later, Charles finds him again.  It's the same thing, only this time after Erik hears his name, he hears, <>  He says 'privacy' with the same English inflection in his head that he uses out loud.

Erik half wants to apologise.  Erik half wants to get angry.  Erik is half unsure what he wants and half thinks he should put the helmet back on just to simplify things.  Erik is also half wondering how he can possibly be five halves all at once when he asks, "How are you doing that?"

He answers his own question.  Cerebro.  Beast must have fixed it.

<>

Of course it isn't, he's a mutant, he lights up under Cerebro, but Erik doesn't much care.  They exchange a few stiffly polite words and Charles mentions the projected approximate time of his next session, a week from the current time, which Erik marks under 'times during which to wear the helmet', and the two of them sign off.

He remembers to wear it, but makes the conscious decision to take it off, if only for a minute, to find Charles waiting.  Their 'discussion' is brief, a quick <> and Fine, and you're fine? and <> and they're done.

Repeat pattern.

Erik especially knows that he should stop, because it lets Charles know where they are, but then again, he can hardly go to the government, can he?  He continues to take off the helmet for a purpose once every week--sometimes he misses a week, busy, but then at least their short conversations are lengthened then the next week for the admission of an explanation.

Repeat pattern.

Perhaps a year into this 'arrangement', Erik has missed three weeks in a row and when he slips the helmet off on the designated day of the fourth week, there is nothing there.  He doesn't hear a voice or feel any alerting buzzing in his head--there is, very simply, absolutely nothing.

Perhaps he, like Erik, has simply missed an appointment.  He's probably fine.  After all, he's not been doing anything dangerous, has he?  Has he?

He worries anyhow, but hides it from everyone, because they don't know, anyhow, and he's supposed to be their 'stoic leader', or something else ridiculous along those lines.  And when their day arrives in the fifth week, Erik tips the helmet up off his head again and hears...

Nothing.  Again.

It is at this point that he begins to worry in earnest--do some 'research', which entails stealthy surveillance--

And he learns that Charles is absolutely fine.  Alive.  Well.  In fact, as far as he can tell, he is still using Cerebro.  Not even the day has changed.  Which leaves him only with the question of why Charles has not kept their--he cannot help but think the word, though there is no significance, he assures himself, behind it--date.

Charles is alive.  Charles is well.

Perhaps Charles simply doesn't care anymore.