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Stephen
Mar 14, 2017 16:19:26 GMT -5
Post by Philip Garwin on Mar 14, 2017 16:19:26 GMT -5
Stephen is barely seventeen when he leaves, a few months out of school and already so bored with the path set out in front of him that he can't imagine doing this for the rest of his life. Julien is playing house with Tirion, the pair of them so deeply in love that it's almost sickening. His oldest brother has always had his head screwed on right but Tirion announcing her pregnancy last month has destroyed any sense or pride that Julien might have ever possessed. Stephen watches with open amusement as Julien agonises over the engagement ring he keeps in the left inside pocket of his suit jacket but doesn't stick around to watch the outcome. Tirion will say yes, he knows - if Julien ever musters the courage to actually ask. Julien never gets the chance but Stephen is long gone by then, off to drink and party his way around as much of the world as he can manage.
This isn't going to be his life, he insists to himself fiercely, he isn't going to stay in France for the rest of his life and fall in step with the other murderers and businessmen that Avis employs. He wants something more. If he's going to die in his cousin's service then he wants to damn well live first.
Despite all of his determination to escape the confines of the French borders, he remains close and starts off in Monaco, if only for the chance to catch up with his mother. He and his brothers never got to spend enough time with her in their childhood, Stephen thinks wistfully. The cold wa between their parents had remained civil but only because they kept their distance. He crosses paths with Tristan often during those two weeks, his brother embarking on his own campaign of debauchery. It's just as well their mother taught them how to share, Stephen acknowledges, because they might have different approaches but they apparently share the same taste.
***
He drifts around once he leaves Monaco, traipsing through Europe aimlessly until he reaches Switzerland and finds a reason to stick around. She's strikingly beautiful even in the flashing strobe lights and after he moves closer he can admire the cutting flash of her dark eyes when someone's hand gets a bit too daring. There's a defiant pride in her, her aura practically screaming that she's untouchable despite her profession.
Where Tristan would dive right in with the blazing fire of his charm, Stephen hangs back and watches for a night or two. She doesn't like the men who think they have a right to her, he learns; she's here because she has to be, she has spirit and an indomitable pride which impresses even him, and she is as bored with the prospect of her future as he was. He stays in Switzerland for six weeks, getting to know her and letting her know him in return when she finally deigns to acknowledge him, and then they leave for Malta.
***
Ana leaves a note for her brother's wife before she escapes. They don't get along well but she doesn't want to think of them mourning her without reason. It's stupid and reckless but she's fifteen years old and, for once, she wants to do something exciting. She wants to see the world, wants adventure and romance and to actually live for once. She wants an escape and Stephen is offering that with no strings attached. She's too wise to have her head turned by this rich, handsome teenage boy but if he's willing to bring her along on his trip without even demanding sex in return then she's hardly going to turn that down. Wherever she ends up can hardly be worse than what she's leaving.
The first few months pass in a haze of beautiful sights, rich food, and good booze. Ana is drunk on it all, marvelling over the places she never thought she'd see and some of which she's never even really heard of. They settle into an easy friendship, with her slapping his shoulder for laughing at her and Stephen teasing her for being such a tourist, at least until they cross paths with one of Stephen's ex-girlfriends. Ana stakes her claim immediately, fierce possession burning in her brown eyes, and Stephen winds his arm around her waist, guiding her away with a few murmured words.
***
"I don't want anyone else but you," Stephen realises aloud and Ana gasps a laugh, tugging at his hair until he gives up on the bruise she can feel forming on the arch of her neck. He's serious, she can read it in his eyes when she tips her head back, and she thinks that maybe she is too.
"You're pretty great too," she tells him, mirroring his grin when he hears what she can't say. Her eyes slide to the left, eyebrow arching questioningly, and Stephen chuckles darkly, teeth nipping at her ear before he lets her go. Ana flashes a grin at him before turning her attention to the third occupant of the hotel room. It would be rude to kick him out now after they both promised so much when they picked him up in the nightclub, she reasons.
***
"I have to go back," Stephen tells her seven months later, fingers moving idly through her blonde hair. Ana yawns and twists around just enough to look at him, sprawled lazily over his chest. This should be sleep time, her reproachful gaze tells him, and he's helpless against the urge to kiss her.
"So we're leaving," Ana muses once they've broken apart, entwining their fingers. "Do I get to see this castle you told me about?"
Stephen grins at his wife lovingly, every bit as besotted as he had once accused Julien of being. "Just as soon as we tell my family that we got married," he agrees blithely. "I'm sure they'll love you."
***
They stop in Monaco on the way home, ending the trip as he had started it. "Ah," Valérie murmurs with sudden realisation, "I did wonder why your father intruded on my home to deliver a dossier for you. The Cartiers are not a welcoming family," she tells Ana with unusual softness. "They do not welcome strangers warmly and they certainly do not accept people of a different class."
Stephen opens his mouth to argue, temper riled by the slight against his wife, but Ana rests a hand on his arm, her dark eyes sharp. "This isn't a fairytale," she agrees wryly, "and a girl from a family of strippers and gamblers can't marry a well-connected rich man, not even one from a family of criminals." She doesn't hesitate before accepting the file which contains her new identity. She doesn't lose anything by giving up her past, not if it means she can keep her husband.
***
Ana meets her father-in-law for the first time two days after she meets her mother-in-law.
Where Valérie is all elegance and charm, Jas is as cold as ice and twice as deadly. Ana recognises the danger in him and holds her breath when her husband hugs his father warmly, battling down the instinct to flinch away when the older man examines her. Stephen shares his eyes but somehow they lack the warmth and life that she sees in his son.
"No one can know where you come from," Jas informs her brusquely, matter of fact and emotionless as if he isn't telling her to cut all ties with her former life. Ana can't say she'll miss anything she's left behind but it somehow feels worse when she knows that she can never see her brother or his wife ever again. She may not have liked them very much but they're the only family she's ever had. "I've created a paper trail and set up an account in your name with enough money to back up your new history as a reasonably financially secure girl from a reputable, mostly unknown family. It'll hold up to any questions that Avis will ask and anyone who tries to dig a bit into your past but I didn't have enough time to make it fully ironclad."
"Your usual contacts would tip off Avis," Stephen guesses and is rewarded with a nod.
"It wouldn't have been an issue if Jon was still in power but Avis is a different matter. The way things are, I didn't have a choice but to do it myself." Jas clicks his tongue against his teeth and then raises a shoulder in a shrug. "It'll do, for now. When things die down a bit and people get used to her being here, I'll fix it up properly. It won't do to be messing about with her history when people are prodding at the surface, leaves too much room for error."
Stephen nods as if this is all perfectly normal and Ana takes the glass of wine offered by Valérie, knocking it back in a single gulp. "You'll get used to it, dear," her mother-in-law advises. "My husband is not a warm man but he does care for his sons. He won't let anyone disturb this web of lies they're building for you."
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Stephen
Mar 15, 2017 16:24:33 GMT -5
Post by Rister Graas S6 on Mar 15, 2017 16:24:33 GMT -5
Rafe knew about Ana. How could he not? The Cartiers were family of a sort as well and Rafe was rather good at being protective really. So when Stephen had taken his leave, Rafe had been glad to see the youth take the time and space to himself, but that didn't mean he hadn't worried. Or hadn't kept an eye on him, however distant and unobtrusive. Yes, he knew about Ana. Even before the woman set foot on the castle grounds. With a thoughtful hum, Rafe stroked the nose of the mare who would be foaling any day now and reached to the castle's magic to trace the pair's progress. He wasn't really surprised. Stephen had always liked him and more often than not been over for breakfast. To the extent that Rafe considered him an unofficial godson really. “Avis will be coming to ask you to keep an eye on Ana while she looks into her past. She wouldn't leave that to anyone else, however wise or unwise that will be,” Rafe murmured, knowing he wouldn't need to say more. “Who else would she go to?” was the quietly confident answer from a shadowy corner of the stall, another hand reaching out to stroke the mare's side, “And I will. I do like her. And happy to leave the details up to Avis.” Or perhaps happy to not have to decide how much of the truth to tell, Rafe interpreted mentally even as he just nodded and turned to leave, stepping out into the sunshine with grumpy gray-striped tomcat laying in his arms.
The doors opened easily enough for the Graas Head while everyone else kept their distance as the tomcat hissed and happily staked out his territory from Rafe's arms. “Stephen,” Rafe greeted easily enough as he stepped into the bright room were breakfast was always served, an amused little smirk twisting one lip-corner as the cat stretched to half-sit up with a vicious hiss and a swipe of a large paw with the claws fully extended. “No, he hasn't changed much while you were travelling,” Rafe confirmed the obvious, unwinding his arms and letting the tomcat drop to the floor, where the cat arched his back with his tail coiling threateningly and hissed, before sauntering off to inspect the desserts laid out on a sidetable. No one would be getting any of the orange sorbet Rafe guessed as the tomcat wound his body around the silver bowl it had been served at. The feline's temper was far too well known – and obvious from the still unsheathed claws and partially revealed fangs – for anyone to risk limb and life in reaching for the sorbet as Cayden wasn't here to remove the cat and Jon would probably be the only one who'd ask Rafe to do it instead.
Ignoring the cat for his part, Rafe eyed Stephen for a moment before turning his gaze to Ana, his eye flicking calmly down to her wrists, before returning to her face without any effort to hide his brief but considering glances even if they only took seconds. Touching a hand to Stephen's shoulder as he passed the man, the emerald on the Head's signet ring glinting at the gesture against the tailored black trousers and charcoal shirt Rafe was wearing today. “And you must be Ana,” Rafe continued, rounding the corner of the table, and leaving the phrase just open-ended and his pitch high enough for Ana to offer a different pronunciation of the name or a nickname if she wished to. She was important to Stephen and maybe one day would grow to be important on her own merits, so Rafe would pay attention. Besides the Graas' tradition was to always give first choice to love. Real love, if it was to be found. Rafe had made the decision to first ash his ring when he thought he had no chance and so had bent to duty when he was no older than Stephen was, so he could respect and accept the young man's – couple's – decision easily enough.
He didn't smile often and didn't see a need to offer a fake smile either, so instead Rafe merely inclined his head in a polite greeting and held out his hand for Ana to shake. “I'm Rafe. It's a pleasure to meet you. Welcome."
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Stephen
Mar 15, 2017 17:10:04 GMT -5
Post by Philip Garwin on Mar 15, 2017 17:10:04 GMT -5
"It's an actual castle," Ana murmurs with clear awe. "I mean, you told me it was a castle but...that's an actual, real castle. People live there?"
"I told you so," Stephen replies easily, thoroughly entertained by the wideness of her eyes as Ana openly stares at everything around her curiously. "Gen tried to push me out of that tree once when we were kids." Unsurprisingly, Gen and Ana get along exceptionally well. They both have the same free spirit and cheerful disregard for other people's personal space.
"This isn't going to be like dinner with your aunt is it?" Ana asks rhetorically. Flick and Kester's house - the Spanish one, as Stephen had told her, because she's married into the type of family where people have more than one house - had been delightfully airy and open, with doors opening straight out onto the cliffside. That introduction had passed relatively peacefully; Ana is frankly delighted with Gen's exuberance and has already made plans with Flick and her daughters for a girl's day out. Stephen's silence isn't exactly reassuring but she has his hand in hers and his jewellery marking her as his. No matter what happens here - in the castle! - they have each other. Nothing will change that.
"Rafe. Murder-cat." Stephen greets them both with a bright grin, settled in his skin and comfortable with his future in a way that he hadn't been when he last saw Rafe. His uncle's husband is sharp enough to note the change and the clear reason for it, he knows. Rafe and Jas both notice things, although very rarely the same things. Where his dad may have taken note of the changes, he thinks that Rafe will see Ana's importance. They need all the allies they can get, he thinks grimly. Avis will never forgive them if Dad's false trail doesn't cover all the bases they need it to.
"Are you royalty?" Ana blurts out after a few moments, flushing at Stephen's helpless snort of laughter before lifting her chin and owning her own impulsiveness. The warmth in her cheeks doesn't quite fade but her strength has carried her through far worse situations than this in her seventeen years so her head stays high. "You live in a castle," she points out bluntly, censoring herself just enough to not cuss. She can't imagine it's polite to swear in a castle. She's already waiting to be kicked out by a snooty butler or accused of stealing the silverware. She can just about accept the house that Stephen has bought them but this is ridiculous. People like her don't get to eat fancy breakfasts in castles with men in suits that look like they cost enough to have fed everyone on her old street twice over. "Rich people live in big houses. Really rich people live in mansions. Royalty have castles. Right?"
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Stephen
Mar 15, 2017 17:59:58 GMT -5
Post by Rister Graas S6 on Mar 15, 2017 17:59:58 GMT -5
“Fair enough, although I don't think he has actually killed anyone. Or at least I haven't found any bodies,” Rafe tilts his head and considers the cat lazily, not perturbed by the fact the feline hisses at him, “Admittedly I haven't asked Cayden if he has ever woken up to bloody intestines on his pillow. I wouldn't put it past him to eat his kills.” Turning his head back to address Ana – it isn't necessarily polite nor fun to be stuck in a conversation you can't follow – Rafe indicated the tomcat with a lazy flick of his wrist. “A free hint – don't try to pet that cat. He has something of a temper. He'll tolerate me to an extent. Or at least doesn't dare to attack me in my own home. But Cayden, one of my grandsons, is the only one that furry monster listens to and doesn't attack and the reason why he's allowed in. I suspect everyone else would be leaving flesh and blood sacrifices if they tried to get to the sorbet at the moment. Cayden's down with a slight flu and only dosed off a couple of hours ago I believe, so he and Wyron - my younger son - will be around once the kid wakes up."
Ana's question brings on a faint shadow of a grin. “No. The closest the Graas' have come to royalty... One of the heads married a cousin thrice removed to the king of Luxembourg in the 18 hundreds, making him the 46th in line for the throne I think? All that came from that was a viscount title the King of Sicily at the time granted that ancestor as a wedding gift,” Rafe recalls the family history with ease. Every Heir and future Head is able to name-check and offer some details about every single previous Graas Head after all.
Pouring himself a cup of coffee – one sugar, no milk – Rafe hoists the silvery pot towards the pair is a wordless offer. “Coffee? Tea? And get some food. It's a Graas rule – you come to my house during meal time, you eat. No exceptions, no excuses; yes, Stephen, I made the ridiculous mini-croissants with the chocolate orange mousse,” he added with a pointed look and a nod towards the laid out buffet. Taking a sip of his coffee, Rafe left the cup on the desk – with an absent-minded charm over it, as he was far too used to the boys antics – and helped himself to the food as well.
“I also believe that royalty lives in palaces. I'm just stuck with a measly castle. And the urge to punch that bloody moron of an ancestor who decided to have it built here and painted white. Sure, it looks all nice and fancy, but that cat has nothing on my temper every year when I need to pay the bill to have this place repainted again," Rafe returned to Ana's question, as he returned to take a seat with his own breakfast, "It is a semi-proper castle though. Still has the features - the arrow holes, the grooves where the oil cauldron could be moved, some fortified walls - hidden underneath the decorative parts. It has only ever been under siege once though and that was a short one. Half a day."
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Stephen
Mar 15, 2017 18:27:33 GMT -5
Post by Philip Garwin on Mar 15, 2017 18:27:33 GMT -5
Stephen has heard about Cayden, although he hasn't seen the kid in person yet. He's had the warnings to keep his distance and not to scare the boy, as if he deliberately sets out to terrify small children. "That cat has almost definitely killed at least three people," Stephen tells Ana and Rafe seriously. "And he always looks at me like I'm going to be the next victim if only he could figure out where to stash my corpse. Tristan is a much better target," he advises the cat with a grin. "Numerous people would thank you for maiming him, just as long as you avoid the face. I couldn't take him whining about scars on his face."
"So you can't run off with a prince after all," Stephen murmurs teasingly, and promptly earns himself a sharp elbow to his ribs. Worth it, he thinks with a wheeze. Ana has pointy elbows and she's stronger than she looks but at least now she looks a bit less like she's worried about being kicked out if she breathes too hard.
Ana rolls her eyes when Stephen immediately makes a beeline for the croissants. He's ridiculously particular about his food when he's at home, she's learnt over the last few days, but he can't resist a croissant. Neither of them enjoy a heavy breakfast though so she eyes the orange sorbet somewhat wistfully. "I'm going to lose a finger if I try to take some of that, aren't I?" Ana ruefully asks the cat under her breath. "I should have asked if you were the ruler of this castle, shouldn't I, little prince?"
"So where's Drake?" Stephen asks curiously, noting the absence of Rafe's eldest once he's successfully raided the plate of mini-croissants. "Out shepherding Tristan again? I know that he's married again, though he can't have had high expectations since he didn't even insist that I come back for the wedding. Gen's about ready to open the betting pool on when the divorce proceedings will start, from what I gathered over dinner yesterday."
"The castle has been under siege?" Ana asks once she's returned to the table with a cup of coffee and a light breakfast of fruit and yoghurt. "That's just..." She rubs her thumb against her left eyebrow absently, trying to acclimate to a world in which people live in castles and have oil cauldrons for potential attackers. So far, Tristan sounds like the most recognisable type of person in this whole ridiculous place even though she hasn't met him yet. He might be rich but there's nothing unfamiliar about a man in an unhappy marriage who cheats on his wife.
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Stephen
Mar 16, 2017 18:05:38 GMT -5
Post by Rister Graas S6 on Mar 16, 2017 18:05:38 GMT -5
“Innocent until proven guilty,” Rafe countered with a lazy smirk, “Until you find the would-be corpses, I'll just assume you're trying to blame the cat for something you did.” As if sensing the conversation was about him or noticing the attention on him, the tomcat shifted position so that he could pounce more easily, the tail swiping slowly from side to side behind him and the hiss so constant that it's almost unnoticable as it prepares to attack anything and anyone who might . “Yeah, you probably would,” Rafe responds to Ana's question with an idle glance. “There's no proof that he's actually killed anyone and he's sweet as a fluffy toy to Cayden and doesn't dare to hurt me. Everyone else though has learned to keep their distance through a swiftly applied practical lesson in bloodshed.”
“Drake's in Japan. He'll be back on Friday, and Tristan's far more likely to seek out Wyron if he wants to rant or get advice,” Rafe responded without a beat. Then again, he usually knew where all his family members were. Especially so his children – although Wyron sometimes slipped away for his work -, but Rafe definitely knew where his Heir was. “Jon's meeting up with Lucas – he should be back for dinner. You know you two are welcome to stay as long as you wish – your room is in the same place and in the same mess you left it in.” Rafe's and Jon's presence will temper any opinions from Avis or from making a point in society, if the young couple wish it and Rafe has no problems to being used in that manner or with playing host. Ultimately it'll be Stephen's and Ana's choice though.
Pleased that some food is being eaten, Rafe makes no further comment of the food. Regardless his mind takes absent note of what Ana did choose – and of the sorbet. The next time Ana comes around she'll find her chosen foods available in a greater quantity and with some more variation. “Only a tiny one. It was a lover's spat really. But she was a fierce woman and he was smart enough to appreciate it - we, Italians, do love our melodrama at times. They married two months later. Had a lovely marriage by all accounts as evidenced by their six children. One of their grandsons was the one who was gifted the viscount title in fact,” Rafe recalled with amusement, “It's a bit out of the way for siege's really. Warded pretty well against muggles and too well fortified for it to be an easy foray. There is a private well with access to fresh spring water in the cellars, so that wouldn't be an issue, but running out of food would probably be the main concern in case of an actual siege. I have a book in the library that covers some of the castle's history and features, if you're interested. Or you can get a tour if you want one at some point.”
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Stephen
Mar 20, 2017 13:40:17 GMT -5
Post by Philip Garwin on Mar 20, 2017 13:40:17 GMT -5
Stephen hums doubtfully but otherwise doesn't respond. He works with poisons, not bloodshed, but of course Rafe already knows that. There are probably still a few capped vials locked away in a box somewhere in his room here at the castle, left behind because he hardly needed them for an extended holiday. He only has a few kills under his belt anyway, at least two more than Tristan but fewer than Julien, and certainly none of them can equal their dad's tally. Any kill attributed to Stephen would look like nothing more than a natural, though perhaps unfortunate and unexpected, passing.
"If you ever want to know where someone is, Rafe's the man to ask," Stephen tells his wife idly. Any Cartier who has spent an extended amount of time in Rafe's company has their own private suspicions as to how the man keeps track of his family. Gen has been insisting for years that he has tracking charms in place but Stephen favours the idea that it's simply part of being the Graas Head. Just because Avis can't do it doesn't mean that Rafe can't. Different families, different magic. Sometimes the simplest explanations are the most accurate.
The offer to stay makes Stephen pause as he considers the idea. He really doesn't remember what he has locked away upstairs, and he'll need to start carrying his usual kit again now that he's back home, but Ana is just growing comfortable in Monaco and he's loathe to uproot her again. The next move they'll make will be into their own home, once they find one. Besides it makes more sense to stay where they are for now. Mum is drilling Ana in the things she should know as part of her fabricated background as well as letting her in on a few secrets that she'll need to know as a Cartier. Stephen isn't too proud to admit that he's a bit smug that his wife has their mother's approval when Tristan has tried twice and failed each time. He and Tristan have been competing, as brothers do, since childhood and this is one victory that his older brother will never be able to recreate. It's petty of him, particularly with wife number two pregnant and another divorce on the horizon, but he can't help it. "We'll probably keep on staying with Mum until we find our own place. Keep a low profile for a bit until the dust settles."
Ana glances from Rafe to Stephen with cautious interest at the mention of a tour. She hadn't realised that she was interested in history until they stopped in Greece. She had already been aware of her fascination with beauty, in things and people both, but the striking combination of both the architecture and Stephen's warm voice educating her on the finer details of Greek mythology had captured her interest - and apparently something had cemented Stephen's interest at the same time since he had proposed and they had gotten married two days later. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble," she answers carefully, "and if your cat permits it, of course. He seems rather territorial, to say the least."
***
Stephen never questions how his dad knew about Ana without even being told. It comes with the territory, he reasons, and he can't pretend that it hasn't made their lives easier. Something about Ana simply rubs Avis entirely the wrong way, and he can only imagine how much worse his cousin would be if she knew the truth. For the Head of a family such as theirs, Avis doesn't take kindly to deceit and liars unless she's the one directing them. That comes from Uncle Jon, he imagines. They all know how much Uncle Jon values honesty.
"She's going to be spitting mad," Ana remarks with barely hidden glee. Stephen rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving upwards helplessly. Sometimes his wife and Gen act entirely too much alike but there's only a few years separating them. He's glad that his wife and his childhood best friend get along so well but sometimes the thought of them together is terrifying. "Think of it, me being involved with teaching the next generation. I'll pass on all my classless, gold-digging ways while they're still young and impressionable."
She's still laughing but Stephen bends down to brush a kiss against her curls before sitting next to her, pulling the plans for the Academy closer. Ana puts a good face on it but he doesn't fool himself that Avis's words have left her completely unscathed. His cousin can be cruel and she's always been exceptionally good at knowing how to hurt people. Maybe this is his own small act of retaliation, making it clear once and for all that Ana is here to stay. He'll take on the Academy, will rebuild it into something more comprehensive than the skeleton training regime Dad had implemented when Uncle Jon was the Head and Clare was still alive, but Ana will be built so deeply into it that trying to remove her will make the entire system collapse. Avis can be cruel but Stephen is a Cartier too and he has learnt a patience that his cousin still lacks. He just wants to teach the kids and make his wife happy but he'll play the long game if he has to.
"We'll make them great and they'll love you," Stephen promises, curving an arm around her waist when Ana snuggles closer and worms her bare feet under his knees for warmth. When she tips her head back to smile at him, the winter sun streaming through the window catches on the necklace collared around her throat, the pattern an exact match to the cuff encircling her wrist, and sets the gold of her hair alight "You'll have an entire army of little minions at your disposal."
***
His promise comes true, but only after long years of hard work and tireless effort. They both get mad over the stupidest of things and argue out of sheer frustration and they come so, so close to just storming off and leaving their plans in rubble for someone else to pick through. They don't, if only because Ana has never given up on a single thing in her life and she's not about to let this beat her.
The Academy is running smoothly, although perhaps not flawlessly, by the time Liam is born. They've implemented a new starting age of five years old for the kids who will follow in their parents' footsteps and Ana has insisted on adapting some of the classes to be basic enough for the civilian kids to attend. Stephen has so far focused on keeping the kids alive once they leave the training grounds and go out on their first jobs but Ana isn't wrong, he admits. Danger isn't reserved solely to those who deliberately seek it out.
"They need to be able to look after themselves too," she argues fiercely, the stubborn jut of her jaw telling him that she won't back down for anything, and Stephen marks it down on their extensive list of things to do. "We'll limit it though," she compromises once she knows she's gotten her own way. Winners always can afford to be a bit magnanimous. "Eight to twelve years old? Then they can pick for themselves if they want to keep coming?"
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Stephen
Mar 20, 2017 17:28:18 GMT -5
Post by Rister Graas S6 on Mar 20, 2017 17:28:18 GMT -5
“An old man should be allowed to have a hobby or two,” Rafe responded placidly. And he wasn't that old – not for a wizard really, even if he was considering the usual life expectancy of a Graas – but what age he did have, he wore pretty well. The silver weaving into his hair by some stroke of luck actually managed to be on this side of the line of respectable. He did deign to raise a challenging eye-brow towards Stephen though. It's not like he was in the dark or hadn't heard the rumours and discussions about the limits of what he knew – or supposedly knew, because while nothing could happen in the castle that he wasn't aware of, he was hardly omnipresent. Not that it hurt to occasionally cultivate that aura. No one had taken up the dare though and no one had actually asked Rafe how he did it. He would have answered to, if anyone had. Well, to an extent. The whole of that answer and the intricacies of it were only of the Graas Head to know, but he could answer well enough to satisfy the asker's curiosity he suspected.
“No trouble at all. Wouldn't have offered if it were,” Rafe responded with a shrug, content enough to give the tour – that would be easy enough and his home was impressive enough in its own right – and to also take this opportunity to get to know Ana better. He was willing to overlook a whole lot for family, so he was in no rush to make a quick first impression judgement before even talking to the woman. “The cat's a menace,” he added with a huff and a glance to to the tomcat. Who, in the absence of further attention, had twisted just enough to start licking the ice-cream.
“We can have a tour now – let me know if you want to see anything specific and whether you want to include some of the grounds in it – if you wish. Will help kill some time anyway, as Jon would kill me if I let you two leave before dinner when he's back and you wouldn't wish that fate on me now, would you?” Rafe added, draining his coffee, and touching a napkin to his lips as he stood. “I would still make the humble recommendation that we start with Stephen's room, Ana. It is half-way yours by proxy now after all, so you might as well see the rooms and where they are should you ever wish to crash here for a while,” he said instead with a faint smile to Stephen. Yes, Rafe was willing to open the castle up to Ana as well for him. At least until such a time that Ana herself might do something to get her barred from the grounds, in which case Rafe would be able to deal with that as well.
Ruffling Stephen's hair as he stepped next to the man Rafe even as he tugged him backwards with the other hand, Rafe offered his most charming smile at Ana. “Of course, you do have one more decision to make before that and I would recommend that you consider this with all due seriousness. Sure, you could take Stephen's arm over mine for the tour, but think about it this way. I have his baby pictures. And pictures of his five year old self, wrapped in a slightly overlarge toga he fashioned from a bedsheet, to proclaim himself the ruler of all waves, only to loose his crown at the first sign of uprising in the form of a frog leaping past him, forcing him to become a melting left-over of a mud-troll instead. And pictures of the bedhead from all those mornings he napped by at my breakfast table. Which, now that I think about it, was probably an attempt to take over by subterfuge from inside the castle. Thinking about it, I have baby pictures of almost everyone born and bred a Cartier, including his father and uncles. I've always wondered whether it would make meeting new family better or worse, if you have seen the baby pictures first. You'll have to tell me later on.” Rafe grinned cheerfully at Ana and, ignoring Stephen, turned slightly towards the door while offering his elbow. “I also have a swath of embarrassing stories, some of which Stephen doesn't think I know about. If we drop by the dungeons after seeing your rooms, so that I can lock him in one for a few hours, I might even be coerced to dredge a couple of those up. Never hurts to have some innocent blackmail material for your spouse either.”
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Stephen
Mar 22, 2017 16:06:20 GMT -5
Post by Philip Garwin on Mar 22, 2017 16:06:20 GMT -5
"You're hardly old," Stephen points out wryly. Wizards live well into their hundreds; Rafe has a long way to go yet before he can consider himself decrepit. He doesn't take the bait though, returning the arch of Rafe's eyebrow with a blandly cheerful smile. Stephen isn't Julien or Tristan; he doesn't need to know everything or press people's secrets out of them. He'll take any information offered to him but he won't go digging for more. It isn't in his nature.
"May as well start with my room," Stephen agrees when Ana glances across at him. He can take the chance to pick through the remnants of whatever he left there and catch up with Rafe and Ana afterwards. She'll need to stand on her own sooner or later, and Rafe is quite possibly the best person to start with. He doesn't have Avis' brashness at least. "You do realise she lives with me," he adds with a laugh, acknowledging the unsaid welcome with a tip of his head. "She's well aware that I'm not always the tidiest person."
"You will be," Ana murmurs pertly, the sideways glance she shoots at him somehow managing to be both coy and threatening. "I let you get away with leaving clothes on the floor in Greece but you'd better start picking up after yourself. Neither me nor Val thinks it's a cute habit."
"Be careful," he warns teasingly when Ana accepts Rafe's arm, the exaggerated grimace of horror meant solely for the older man. "She and my mother actually get along." Rafe has known Jas for decades, since long before Valérie ever entered their lives; he's more than familiar with the reality that Stephen's mum doesn't accept people easily. To date only Clare, Flick, and perhaps Gen have truly managed to endear themselves to the brisk socialite. Stephen doesn't know what it means that his mum has taken to Ana so quickly but his dad can vouch for the difficulties she can cause if she feels that someone has crossed her. There's no better person for Ana to have in her corner, as far as he's concerned.
Ana rolls her dark eyes at him, utterly unimpressed. "Ignore him," she says dismissively, slipping her hand into the crook of Rafe's elbow. "Val's an absolute delight. Unlike her youngest son. So, about those stories...? I'm familiar with the bedhead but I can only imagine how adorable it must have looked when he was younger," she enthuses affectionately, her expression lighting up as she meets her husband's eyes. "Has he always been useless in the morning? He walked into a doorframe one morning and didn't even realise until forty minutes later."
***
Liam is four years old when the twins adopt him. Kellen and Landon are still a few weeks shy of their ninth birthday and yet Ana finds herself staring down the two little troublemakers who have her son clumsily copying them as they run through their newest training routine. Landon notices her first, and it's the sudden wariness in his expression that makes her eyes soften. Those boys have known her since they were four years old themselves; it breaks her heart a little bit that they so obviously don't trust other people the way they trust each other. Ana grew up not trusting anyone but herself so she can appreciate that they at least have each other but they need adults too, even if only until they grow up a bit more.
Sometimes, when these two little boys are sitting in her kitchen during the standard lunch break during training, Ana hates Julien. There are always at least ten kids in each training group and the other kids are chattering away, bright-eyed with triumph or deflated and seeking comfort. Kellen and Landon sit by themselves, happy with their own company to the extent that they openly scorn anyone else who tries to break into their little bubble while they have their heads tipped together. Julien is a good man in his own way, powerful both in his own right and as Avis' right hand man, but he's not always a good father. Ana has heard the stories of what happened to his girlfriend and Julien is still buried beneath the grief and the guilt, so much so that he misses the little things about his sons that he should see. Ana doesn't blame him for it but she does hate him sometimes, just a little.
She's marginally fonder of Tristan, but only sometimes. The middle Cartier son is charming and outrageous and so full of life that he could tempt a saint into sin but he's neither a good man nor a good father. He owns it, at least. He never pretends to be anything more than what he is. Ana can respect that but she doesn't think that helps his daughter. Rin is seven years old now, all sharp angles and cool eyes and antisocial reservations. She almost reminds Ana of the twins except that Rin lights up around sharp objects - and Cayden. The twins have only ever shown that degree of interest in penguins and the odd Muggle contraption that Stephen sometimes seeks out for them. Rin's training is handled solely by Stephen, of course. Ana has heard all about how special Cartier girls are in their rarity; Rin is trained alone rather than in a group for the most part to ensure that she has the full attention of her teacher but she still spends a few lunchtimes in Ana's kitchen and nothing makes that girl light up more than talking about showing her godfather and her best friend about what she's learnt that day. Whatever faults Tristan has, he's contracted Wyron to cover whatever he misses.
Rin has Cayden and Wyron but the twins have no one. Except now maybe Liam. Ana studies them with pursed lips for a moment before tipping her head towards her kitchen. "I have waffles," she offers blandly, as if nothing out of the ordinary is occurring.
"With ice cream?" Kellen asks hopefully, and her nod seals the deal. All three boys scramble inside in a flurry of excitedly flailing limbs, with Liam scooped up by Landon almost absent-mindedly because his legs are so much shorter than theirs. Ana exhales slowly, her grin rueful and a touch amused as she follows after them before the tiny terrors can destroy her house. She has a feeling she'll be seeing a lot more of the twins now.
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Stephen
Apr 3, 2017 16:10:07 GMT -5
Post by Rister Graas S6 on Apr 3, 2017 16:10:07 GMT -5
“I’m one of the oldest Graas Heads ever,” Rafe pointed out. Wizards often tended to have long lives – barring murders, assassinations, general clumsiness, and blowing oneself up while experimenting with magic – however the Graas’ as a general rule died young. “And I know my ancestors and details of them as well as I know – or can make an educated guess about – the location of my living family members.” Rafe shrugged, his lip-corner twitching in mild amusement over Stephen’s grimace. “Good. And your mother doesn’t mind me. Or more accurately, she doesn’t really have anything to call me up on,” he mused out loud. Val and Rafe shared a fair amount of similar traits and understood each other. Rafe had the bloodline, upbringing, influence, and social grace to meet even the most discerning eye, which he rather suspected Val appreciated on the occasions they ended up at the same parties or circles. The fact they – nor Val and Rafe’s wife for that matter, who had had all the same ticks in the social checkboxes – weren’t friends had more to do with Clare in Rafe’s opinion. Clare had disliked both Rafe and Maria and Maria fully returned the distaste - furthermore taking offence on her husband’s behalf, as the pair had grown to be very close friends over the years of their marriage – so Val had merely remained loyal to her friend, which was hardly something Rafe would hold against her on those rare occasions they did run into each other. There was the whole mess with Jas and Wyron, but Rafe rather thought that at this point it was mostly habit and old history between Val and him rather than any actual dislike or tension shading their few interactions. Rafe obligingly turned to head towards Stephen’s room, turning his attention on Ana again. “This isn’t just my castle really, but the ancestral seat and home of the Graas Head – because unlike for a lot of families, the Head’s position isn’t necessarily a hereditary position – and through such also the family. So I run a fairly open door policy with family and friends in and out fairly regularly as well as staying over in the guest rooms. Stephen has his own rooms here and as his wife, which you’re more than welcome to share whenever you feel like it. Open invitation, unless you end up doing something on your own merit to warrant either Jon or I retracting it. We are pretty hard to upset by now though,” he mused cheerfully, pushing the door open to the rooms so that Ana could have a look around while Rafe remained leaning against the doorframe. He knew what the room looked like. “It’s my home, so I’ll know you’re here. Drake has a link to the castle as well and Wyron has his own sources, so it’s likely the three of us will know you’re here, but we’re smart enough to take a hint and keep our distance. This place is large enough that that you can stay clear of anyone else if you wish. If not, the breakfast is usually served where we were now and anyone – or your nose – can point you towards the dining room. I'll make sure the tour sweeps through the other more often used rooms as well.”
“Of course,” was the lightly entertained answer at Ana's question once she had finished looking around and turned back to Rafe. “There was the time when he thought he'd be companionable and trekked after me to the stables with his breakfast. Only to almost drown himself in the horse's trough when he couldn't quite manage to walk, chew and keep his eyes open at the same time. He was rescued from drowning by an old gelding we had, who tried to eat his hair and in doing so managed to lift his face out of the water.”
***
Rafe realises once Wyron and Cayden join the living and slowly steers the tour back towards the cosy little lounge his son and grandson have taken themselves to. But for all that Rafe might realise they are there – and Wyron would be smart enough to guess his father, Stephen and Ana would be eating their way – Cayden didn't know. And the boy was far from comfortable in his skin. In the world even, despite the trust he had so wholeheartedly put in Wyron. The door opening abruptly was enough to startle him and Stephen being the first face the boy saw as he whipped around were enough to spell trouble. Slipping on the hardwood floor, Cayden cracked his forehead sharply against the corner of the table – Rafe's magic lashing out to catch the bronze statuette of a rider before it could fall and give the kid another knock on the head -, not that any of it slowed the boy down any in his desperate scramble away from the door. Reaching out his other hand Rafe grabbed Stephen's shoulder to hold him back as Cayden dove to hide underneath the chaise lounge Wyron was sitting on.
A squeeze of his fingers and a dark look to command silence, Rafe glanced towards his son. “Wyron?” he asked, careful to keep his tone even even as he levelled the statue back into place on the table. Wyron shifted in his seat with a worried glance to underneath his chair, but obligingly shifted so that Cayden could hide better behind his legs even as he nodded back at Rafe. “Stephen! Been a while,” he greeted cheerfully, letting Cayden clutch at one of his ankles as suspicious brown eyes distrustfully eyed the new faces. “Did you bring me a present? I'm sure you did, because I'm adorable. No need to be shy, you can just pass it over. And Ana, I believe? A pleasure to meet you,” Wyron added with a grin and wave, even as shook his head to the pair to not mentioned the hiding kid even as Rafe cleaned the trace of blood form the table with another spell. "Wyron. My younger son," Rafe added the introduction for Ana's benefit with a nod to Wyron.
Wyron and Rafe both knew enough to Cayden's habits and preferences for now that they kept the conversation light and going, Rafe moving after a few moments to offer anyone some fresh buns from a tray – a dark glare and a slight tilt of his head towards the lounge ensuring Stephen and Ana would take one – before he stepped slightly closer to reach the tray towards Wyron from a good two steps away. Taking two, Wyron took a bite of the plain bun more for show before reaching down to palm half the bun to Cayden to eat. It took another twenty minutes before Cayden had actually finished both buns and would slowly inch backwards until he was from underneath the lounger and could climb over the back of it to squeeze himself tightly in the corner of it, still mostly hidden behind Wyron. It was enough for Wyron to reach out and heal the sluggishly bleeding scrape on his forehead though and whisper something to Cayden before turning back to Stephen and Ana. “And pardon my manners. This is my son. Cayden. Cayden, these are Stephen and Ana,” Wyron offered the introductions, - not that it did anything but make Cayden shrink even lower behind his shoulder -, well aware that it was fairly obviously there was no shared blood between him and his son. For all that the boy still looked like a poorly made scarecrow with his bones too close to the skin even after two months in Wyron's care. The boy was making progress though, hard as it might be for anyone who saw him for the first time now to believe that. “Will you two be staying for dinner? I'm thinking fish. I've always had a taste for it and I think Cayden's developing one as well,” Wyron chatted on cheerfully, even as Rafe took it s his cue to fill two glasses – one only half-way – with pepper-up potion and stepping closer to hand them both to Wyron. “There can be fish for dinner if you both drink your medicine,” he agreed sternly, Wyron grimacing and offering the full glass to Cayden before downing his own half-dose in three large gulps. He had never cared for pepper-up potion but between Cayden's fever and nightmares he was tired enough to appreciate the pep of the potion.
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Stephen
Apr 20, 2022 7:25:55 GMT -5
Post by Philip Garwin on Apr 20, 2022 7:25:55 GMT -5
Ana sometimes thinks she’ll never get used to the way her sophisticated new lover knows so much about so many weird, irrelevant things and yet is utterly clueless about the things that she thinks should be perfectly obvious to anyone with half a brain. It isn’t even that he’s stupid; Stephen whisks her off to anywhere that takes their fancy, sometimes just because she throws a dart at a map and they go wherever that method takes them, but he has a story or a fact or legend of some sort to spin for her about every single place. He points out interesting architecture - and sometimes even does it in a way that doesn’t make her want to yawn and roll her eyes - and teaches her more about alcohol than any one person should rightly know and yet he can’t get his head around the concept of not putting metal in a microwave.
He’s a menace to society, Ana thinks with a fondness that would have alarmed her before Stephen appeared in her life like a demented fairytale prince with a wickedly charming smile and decidedly ungentlemanly desires. Her eyes roll at that last thought. Decidedly ungentlemanly desires. Honestly. The man even has her sounding like him, as if sometimes sounding like he’s stepped straight out of an Austen novel is perfectly normal. Or as if her being able to confidently reference Austen is normal, Ana acknowledges wryly. She skipped school more often than she actually attended but something about being with Stephen, being in these fancy hotels and eating at fancy restaurants, makes her want to be better than she is. She had caught the bemused expression on his face the first time Stephen saw her thumbing through one of his books - he isn’t a subtle man, bless him, anyone with eyes and a functioning brain can read him - but he hadn’t said anything. She doesn’t mention it either, but there always seems to be an assortment of books available in every hotel room they stay in from then on.
They don’t broach the subject even when Stephen starts to spin a new story for her one night, her breaths slow and even against his neck as she drifts somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He brings it to life in her mind with a little twist of magic, painting the picture of Scheherazade - who looked suspiciously like her, Ana points out the following morning after butchering the heroine's name several times in an attempt to pronounce it - winning over a suspicious, bitter king with her stories by perfecting the art of leaving him unsatisfied until he comes to need her like most men need oxygen.
“Besides,” Ana adds as she leans over to clear away the breakfast dishes, “if anyone here is Scherozero then it’s you. You’re the one always telling tales.”
Stephen hums softly, thinking of a wooden box that had appeared of its own volition a few days ago and a smaller velvet box which has travelled continents with them for the past three weeks. “A thousand and one nights, huh? That sounds like a good place to start.”
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