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[Zyn]

🌿 𝒜𝓇𝒾 𝒢𝓇𝒾𝒻𝒻𝒾𝓉𝒽𝓈 🌿
Wealth: 9/10 || Kiwi || Male || Twenty-Three || Pansexual || wc: 1,230

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🌿 Tags: Open
🌿 Mentions: None
🌿 Mood: Why oh why?
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The carriage ride had been mostly mundane, the only interesting things to happen were the random bumps in the road and the occasional livestock in the fields. Ari's gaze had stayed fixed on the horizon outside of the small window his mind only focused on the idea of jumping the carriage and running away. Any other party would have gotten him curious and maybe even excited but this one, this one was different. There was the possibility of marriage by the end and it was something he was all to aware of the fact that it was the outcome his father was hoping for. His father had been very straight forward when he had been forced to accept the invitation, go find a wife and get over the other stuff. All the unwanted things that his father had swept under the carpet or just chose to ignore because it would be a stain upon their reputation. Find a wife and hide the parts of him that society didn't approve of. A wife would fix him. For the first time in hours Ari tore his gaze away from the window as he tilted his head back so that he was staring at the roof of the carriage. Ari stayed like that for a moment, completely still before he lifted his hands and dragged his palms over his eyes. He would have messed with his hair but as much as he hated going to this party he wasn't about to show up looking like a complete mess. Sure he knew he was one but he wasn't about to advertise that right away, he could spring that one them later. Unless of course his reputation managed to get there before him.

Ari let out a quiet groan and dropped his hands, letting them fall limply to his sides, while he peered out of the corner of his eyes at the window once more. The scenery had changed since the last time he had looked but it wasn't enough to draw the young lad from his slouched position. Manners be danged he was already being careful enough to keep himself looking halfway presentable so if someone happened to catch a glimpse of him looking like the world had crashed down around then that would just a thing. For a long moment he started wearily out of the window before his eyes slowly shut. It wouldn't be long before he would have to drag himself from the carriage and pretend like he was happy to be there. So he took the few moments he had left to silently collect himself, drawing in deep breaths as he told himself that it would be over soon enough. That it would only be a couple days and he wouldn't have to walk away with some lady attached to him arm. While his father wouldn't be too pleased by it he could always just say that none of the fine ladies were interested in him. That was bound to get his father off his back for a little bit, perhaps the following three days after he returned home there would be some peace and quiet. A sudden jolting bump both knocked Ari out of his own thoughts and physically bounced him into the side of the carriage and roof at the same time. The sudden contact with the carriage drew out a shocked yelp and he almost instantly clutched his head as stars danced across his vision. As he clutched his head he was startled to find the door of the carriage opening and he stared slack jawed at the poor driver stared back at him.

A little self consciously Ari straightened as best as he could and shuffled to the carriage door. He paused a moment to glance in the window of the carriage, eyes narrowed as he struggled to get a good look at himself. His hair was a bit fluffed up from his unfortunate encounter with the roof of the carriage. Lifting his hands he took a couple seconds to try and tame the curls before giving up and settling for straightening his collar and vest. When he was mostly satisfied, aka not entirely to embarrassed to show up to the party, he stepped out of the carriage. Ari barely managed to wave at the driver before the serious looking man was moving on. Awkwardly Ari shuffled towards the stairs that lead to the entrance of the mansion, it even more grand than he could have ever imagined. He supposed this is what money bought in America, his fathers estate was nothing to chuff at but compared to this it was practically a shack in the middle of nowhere. With that thought Ari found himself biting the inside of his mouth, a nervous habit from when he was younger. It had been easier to bite his cheek than it had been to speak his mind, he still had several scars from biting a little too hard and drawing blood. Today it wasn't because he was feeling cheeky but because of pure nerves. So focused on the mansion he hardly noticed the man who had fallen into step with him and practically leaped out of his skin when the sound of someone voice in his ear drew him away from his thoughts. "Good day Mr. Griffiths, if you would be so kind as to follow me" the man said graciously while making a sweeping gesture. There was a glint in the mans eyes that told Ari that this wasn't the first time he had been addressed. "Ah yes sorry" was all Ari managed to get out as he followed after the man.

Despite being a fair bit taller than the man leading the way he found himself struggling to keep up with the mans long purposeful strides. In all fairness his own walking gait was odd and definitely not normal and often had him hurrying to keep up with people he should have been able to casually walk next to. Because of his hurried pace he hardly had the time to appreciate the impressive estate that he was walking through, what glimpse he managed take in he knew he would have to walk the grounds later. With such impressive landscaping there was bound to be a place with plants and where there were plants Ari thrived. All too soon he was approaching the spot where the other's had gathered. From what he could tell it was set up for tea? Not something he would have guess but it was nice in a way. His gaze briefly danced over the groups of people that had arrived but he didn't let anything really sink in. Instead he gaze was quickly flicking over the tables with the food and drinks, searching for something very specific. His father had confiscated the flask he had tried to smuggle with him and he was eager to find something to quench his thirst. Striding purposefully past the others he made his way over to the drinks and began peering at them. The tiniest hint of a frown tugged his lips downward as he moved along and found nothing that he was looking for. The alcohol he was hunting down wasn't front and center and the idea of going through this first meeting with people while sober made his gut twist and his mind buzz.

[lemon!!]

❥ ━━━ 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐘𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐊𝐘
━━━ 19 years | 1/10 | Russian | mentions: Purcells| tags: Ari

Cream and pink - her favourite colours wrapped up in one pretty lacey ensemble. A delicately crafted dress and matching bonnet - the pride and joy of one Katya Derziky. Little Russian seamstress with not a penny to her name… she had to make a good impression somehow and this was how she had chosen to do it. The young woman had made this dress herself, spending weeks and weeks of what spare time she had on creating her own outfit rather than buying one from some out-of-towner. Besides, what would a seamstress be if she didn’t turn up to a social occasion in her own outfit? Ridiculous, that’s what they would be. But what should have relaxed her tense muscles and chattering mind only made her feel twice as sick. She could hardly help but gawk at herself in the mirror as her mother tied the bonnet string around her delicate chin. This girl in the reflection barely even looked like Katya… a form of herself she had never seen. A form which might truly fit in with the rich young girls who came parading into their store to buy finery. And here she was wearing it.

Despite the nerves in her stomach twisting and bubbling to the point she felt she might throw up, the frail brunette was excited. Katya had been preparing for this day for the last number of weeks, practically since she had received the invitation. Being social wasn’t exactly in the woman’s repertoire of tricks but my goodness, she had been practicing hard to fit in with the American aristocracy. Poise, manners, grace, annunciation, every waking hour that wasn’t spent working or sewing was spent with her mother and sisters going over how to present herself at this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It wasn’t to the liking of her siblings that she was the one named on the invitation, so beautifully written in that gorgeous cursive.... But alas! For whatever reason the Purcells had picked her, and she was unbelievably grateful.

Her mother let out an exasperated sigh as Katya wriggled to get a better glimpse of herself in the mirror before she had to look away. It was immensely difficult not to fall into the trap of vanity when you had never seen yourself looking so beautiful. “Could you stop moving, child?” the woman clipped, an otherwise proud voice suddenly sounding a little harsh. Tired, perhaps. Understandable. “Sorry, mother!” she trailed off, though her head still squinted away from the woman so that she could catch another sight of herself, not realising how difficult it was for the bow to be tied properly when she was struggling against her mother’s calloused hands. The woman was not, of course, Katya’s biological mother - the woman that held that title had been paid a handsome dowry to hand her over to American fabric merchants who would ensure employment of the talented young seamstress. And of course, she had been - the girl spent moments ashore before she was swiftly picked up by Edward and Elizabeth - an overword seamstress and her undeniably stupid husband. She had been given refuge with the pair as long as she agreed to work… and work she did. The girl had become quite the talented dressmaker in her time, often helping to create stunning garments for the likes of the Purcells, whom she was visiting alone for the first time tonight.

Nerves truly began to sink in now. She had never felt anything quite like this. Her throat threatened to give her away, bile building in the back as though she had seen something sickening. But there was nothing disgusting of course, only magical, she had no idea how she would be perceived. There was surely nothing to be this concerned about - but the young woman’s nervous disposition often got the better of her and tonight was certainly no exception to the rule. The calloused hands of her mother finished tying the pretty bow in her bonnet before the older woman stepped away, admiring what a fine job she had done of lacing the rather gangly girl into her outfit. “You’ll do me so proud tonight. I’m very sure of it.” Elizabeth offered a soft smile of encouragement, breathed a sigh and turned away to look out of the window. “Will father be coming to wave me goodbye before I leave?” she stammered, thick accent lacing her whispered words only to be met with a glare. Of course, mother’s only weak spot. Her rat of a husband. “No. The man is asleep. As always.” while she was unsurprised to hear it, the answer didn’t bring Katya much joy. It only made her more miserable - imagine being trapped in a loveless marriage like this? She couldn’t think of anything worse than ending up some old, unimpressed wife. That sounded worse than ending up an ostracised spinster. Alas… she hoped tonight would leave her with a different impression.

The passing moments were tense, silence awkward as Katya wished she hadn’t mentioned her father at all. The silence was broken moments later (although those moments felt like an absolute eternity when you were nervous). “Your carriage is here.” the woman sighed, gesturing to the window. Katya looked up from admiring her dressed up body to see the horses pull up outside her door. And this time, they were here for her. It still hadn’t hit the young seamstress quite what was happening. She had never in her wildest dreams expected to live like this. It wasn’t in her wildest dreams she had ever expected to be rushed off of her feet and whisked away to some high society life where she would mingle with the ones she saw as unobtainable - she felt like a princess. And she still felt utterly ill with nerves. As she climbed in and waved goodbye to her mother, she couldn’t help but notice the woman’s sullen face. Perhaps if this had been twenty or so years ago, and Elizabeth had been granted the same opportunity things would have been different. Despite the lady’s sunken exterior, she knew that face hid worlds of pain. What would life have been if it had been her instead of Katya? She would never know, it didn’t bear thinking about.

The journey wasn’t all that long but it was longer than the young woman anticipated - Katya wasn’t used to travelling very far, she simply never had the need and unnecessary travel was far too expensive for her to afford. It just wasn’t worth the money it cost… but tonight was a special occasion! And the transport had cost her nothing, just her presence as requested. As sick as the journey made her - seasickness was an affliction that seemed to affect her on land too - she couldn’t help but watch out of the window the entire time, engrossed with the rolling countryside that passed by her. The smile didn’t shift off of her face, hands pressed against the glass like an over-excited child. Perhaps it wasn’t proper etiquette to stare out of the window with such animate expression, but she was completely overtaken by amazement. What a beautiful country… and what an incredible opportunity to see it all! As her carriage slowed to a halt outside of the mansion, the smile faltered just a tad. In fact, she felt the urge to throw up yet again. Katya held on, not wishing to making a fool of herself just yet, though the temptation to ask the driver to take her around the corner so that she could get this out of the way was rather tempting. She already felt out of her depth here but at least she looked the part?

“Oh thank you, sir!” Katya graciously thanked the man, mustering as much poise as she could possibly manage, attempting to curb the ridiculous enthusiasm that coursed through her as the carriage slipped away again. Almost awkwardly, the petite girl wandered quietly towards the entrance of the mansion. She sucked in a breath as her eyes processed the whole thing. Why, it was even more beautiful than she could have ever dreamed. She wanted to bite down on her bottom lip, bite her nails, play with her hair… any of that! But those were such bad habits, and she had promised mother she’d make a good attempt at being proper! Heart beating a mile a minute in her chest, Katya looked around to see if she could spot anyone who might instruct her on where to go. Her eyes fell to a kindly looking woman smiling in her direction. “Hello, miss.” the woman spoke up, beckoning Katya to come towards her. Drat1 Her frightened deer eyes must have given her away. “Would you mind following me please?” Katya froze for a moment. Oh boy, this was really it. “O-oh! Of course! Right away.”

Walking in, Katya took the time to admire the beautiful grounds that spread out in front of her. The slender girl felt a little out of place already - although the woman leading her was likely just a servant, she seemed to be very well versed in the etiquette of the day. And so pretty, Katya thought, immediately feeling a hint of self-consciousness in her tall, gangly exterior. Her eyes transfixed upon the area where a number of people had already gathered. There was the bile in her throat again. Her eyes darted around, registering a number of people. One of which caught her eye immediately - a tall man who had arrived at roughly the same time as her yet seemed excruciatingly hellbent on trying to locate… something amongst the tables. Her head tilted to the side. What an odd man. All of this socialising and he’s raiding the tables for some sort of refreshment... or maybe he had lost an expensive object and was trying to relocate it. Still, she was intrigued. Slowly, the girl approached, silently watching before she dared speak up - trying very hard not to let her accent burden her words. “Excuse me, sir? Have you lost something?””

[lemon!!]

✧ 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍
━━━ 23 years | 7/10 | Australian | mentions: Purcells | tags: open!!

Maxwell Wilson had arrived from Australia three days ago and had been staying with some wonderful family… the only downside was that he had been far away from the Purcell’s mansion for those three days, both in distance and in luxury. Staying on the family ranch was not quite the million dollar experience he had been promised. While he had expected to hear phrases like “Can I get you anything?” or “What can I do for you, Mister Wilson?” instead, the young man was met with mud on his dress shoes and “Won’t you be a dear and come help me with these cows?” - quite the different tale to the one he had been told. A tale of wines and steak turned into their pre-evolutionary form of grapevines and cows. What a wonderful life it could have been and yet Maxwell was faced with more disappointment.

Truth be told, the Wilson wine business had fallen a little into disrepair in the past years since Thomas Wilson trundled off to Australia to fall in love with his heiress wife. A lot of the New York aristocracy was appalled at his actions and started to spread awful rumours about what the man was putting into his wine - that what he was sourcing was wrong, it wasn’t what he was advertising at all! That is not to say the quality of his wine actually changed at all… but rather his clientele was disappointed in his actions. Of course it wasn’t his mother’s fault that Thomas had left his darling fiancee in New York - she couldn’t help who fell in love with her. And Thomas seemed to have struck it rich with both his inherited business and her inherited wealth. Still, for the number that believed the man’s disgraceful actions had not tainted his wine, he remained the first choice. How hilarious, Max thought, that something like social politics could ruin the taste of wine. How he wished he had some of that right about now.

The carriage ride had been… interesting, that was for sure. Bumpy, dizzying, a little uncomfortable. Perhaps the only positive was that the entire thing had been taken in complete silence. He watched silently as the fields rolled by, cows and sheep passing his window as the man watched with furrowed brow and shivering shoulders. He was unbelievably cold and the winter had just passed by. It was springtime for crying out loud. But when you live somewhere that boasts a four season summer, you rarely ever appreciate the cold of an American springtime. Still, he let out a number of reluctant sighs. Best get all of this pent up frustration out before the ball, you know, better not show just how disingenuous it felt to be here. Truth be told, Max wanted little to do with love.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be doted on. Of course he did. Love and marriage had once been in the cards for the Wilson boy. Why, when he was merely thirteen he would tell people that he would court the most beautiful lady in the land. Hilarious, he scoffed, oh to tell little Maxwell all about his future. But Maxwell had seen too much. Traveling with the army had made the young man become disinterested in what once seemed like a vibrant future. What he had once wanted, he now pled no desire for. Marriage seemed more like an entrapment than a thing of love - women showed more interest in him with all of his battle scars than they ever had when he was whole. It felt as though he was merely a prop to be used to show status. He didn’t want that much.

But of course, his father had other ideas. “Find a wife, won’t you, Maxwell? Make our family proud for once?” the old man’s dull voice drilled into the back of his skull. A once proud father now tired of his unmarried son. Bringing pride to the family by serving his country but bringing shame for being unwed. How the tables turn, he thought, and how difficult it is to please everybody. So Max promised he would show up - lest he bring more shame to his father by refusing an invitation from one of the most wealthy (and influential, of course) families in all of America. He would go and interact, maybe dance with a few women before leaving for home just a short while after the festivities had finished. Or perhaps he would never go back. Maybe he could re-invent himself here, as someone entirely new. Max wasn’t sure what he wanted just yet… but he would find a way. Maxwell Wilson always found a way.

Max paused his thoughts for a moment, closing his eyes as the carriage drew to a halt outside of the mansion. What a glorious thing it was, a real piece of architectural beauty. Money, he thought, maybe I should’ve worked for that wine company after all. Stepping outside of the carriage and offering a gracious thanks to the driver - he had remembered his manners, if little else - he caught his breath as he stared up at the beautiful mansion. Maxwell had developed a keen eye for architecture on his many travels. It was one of the few things he had enjoyed about his time in the army. Perhaps in another world, or another life, he might have become an architect, shaping buildings for the wealthy or creating beautiful sketches out of nothing. It almost made him scoff just to think about what could have been instead of what the reality of his life was. Still, no reason to stand moping.

Max strolled calmly towards the stairs leading to the main entrance to the grand mansion, only becoming more and more impressed with what he saw as he approached it further. The young man was no stranger to money - he had known comfort all of his life, never having to struggle for much at all, but this seemed… excessive. Strangely enough, Max felt no nerves. After all, why should he? This wasn’t supposed to be difficult for him. He should go in, talk a little, be polite, and hang in the shadows. Max didn’t intend to put himself in the metaphorical spotlight. Subtlety would be his middle name tonight. He looked around as he approached the mansion, smiling at the man who greeted him. “Hello, there. Mister Wilson, I presume?” the man’s voice was soothing. “Correct. Good day, sir.” the wavy haired young man offered a polite smile in return. “Wonderful. If you could please follow me in where the rest of the group is waiting.” Maxwell nodded and followed the older man who had addressed him.

The man leading him walked with gusto and purpose. It almost took Max by surprise - he thought perhaps his host would be inclined to tell him more about the grounds and how magical they appeared to be. Alas, this was not the case, and he was whisked on through to the gathering before he could say much more than a word. A shame, really. Max would have so liked to strike up a conversation about the beautiful landscaping and the stunning architecture of the Purcell homestead. Perhaps another time, he uttered to himself, trying to hide his slight disappointment. “Here we are. Good day, sir.” the man offered little more than a polite smile before excusing himself. My, what an experience.

He was no philosopher, no scientist, no detective at all - but from what Maxwell could deduce from the state of this set up was that he had been invited to… a tea party? Perhaps he should’ve already been told, but Max never kept himself as up to date as he should have. It was a lovely setup, and the china looked ridiculously expensive. There really was an emphasis on money today, it seemed. He only hoped that he might do well enough to impress someone… anyone. His eyes skimmed the few people who had already arrived. Unfortunately, the man didn’t recognise many faces - or at least, not the ones which were turned in his direction.

[HauntedMansion]

Amanda Tobin

She/her - 19 - status: 2/10 - mentions: Annalise - tags: open!

A bright grin dawned across Amanda’s face the moment she saw the pristine carriage pull around the corner, being guided by a pair of beautiful, dark coated steeds, proceeding towards where she stood on the sidewalk. Truly, her invitation to this event had felt too wonderful to be true, and yet here she was, watching a refined looking coachman pull his steeds to a halt. For once, a carriage wasn’t stopping to narrowly avoid her as she dashed across the street, and it was certainly a nice change of pace. Amanda could barely contain her own excitement, hands lightly gripping the fabric of her pale dress, unconsciously focusing any nervous energy by bouncing on her heels. After a brief moment of watching the carriage come to a complete stop, Mandy felt a pair of firm hands land on her shoulders, reminding her that she still stood between her two siblings, waiting patiently to see her off.

”You’re bouncing. A young lady doesn’t bounce, Mandy.”
The gentle voice of her older sister reminded her, Julia took a moment to steady Amanda before bringing her hands back up to fiddle with the final touches of what she had declared a masterpiece. What was once Amanda’s unruly red locks and curls had been braided and styled into the fanciest bun she’s ever worn. (Not many, so it only made this one more special!) Topped off with a few small flowers peaking out right above her ear. Amanda had nodded in confirmation to her sisters words, mentally adding “bouncing” to the very long list of things the upper class might turn their elite noses up to.
”Right, heaven forbid the horses think you have no manners..” Their brother Issac retorted over his shoulder, taking a moment to admire the steeds after handing off Amanda’s single bag of belongs to the coachman. His comment earned a particular look from Julia, one she didn’t even bother to cast upon him, as her eyes remained fixated on her work. Being so much shorter then Amanda herself, Julia only stepped off her toes when she was finally satisfied with how her hair was holding up, circling Amanda to take in her appearance completely. Julia stopped in front of her younger sister, proud smile adorning her lips alongside Isaac’s typical crooked grin.
”Man, has anyone seen Amanda Tobin around? I’m suppose to be seein her off.” Issac called out, looking around in emphasis. Mandy giggled at the sight, practically lunging forward to envelope her brother in a hug.
“I’ll miss you guys.”
”Darling, you say that like your heading off to war, and not a fancy party that’s right up the road.” Julia retorted, graciously joining their hug. Amanda smiled warmly, feeling throughly comforted from her sisters words and safe within her brothers hold. Hearing a disgruntled ”ahem” from the coachman being the only thing to remind her that she had a ball to attend. Amanda only managing a few scrambled words before proceeding towards the carriage.“Thank you for everything! I love you both! Tell father I love him to! And everyone else! Goodbye!”

Originally, Amanda had planned to find Annalise first. To congratulate her, (this ball was for her after all!) and maybe even thank her for the invitation. (How else could she have been invited otherwise without a good word from Annalise? Even then, they weren’t exactly suppose to be friends in the first place. But why would any other Purcell want to invite one of their gardeners?) She pondered these questions briefly on the carriage ride over, sitting comfortably within the cabin after failing to win over the coachman in letting her ride up front and take control of the reigns herself. Even if she could’ve guessed the answer, she felt too confident in her current position to not try taking the opportunity. It was like she had entered one of those fairytales, given a chance to live out a few magical nights, only to find something far greater by the end of the journey. True love. No, of course you couldn’t earn that amount of love in a few nights, though maybe she could begin that beautiful journey with someone at this very event. She’s only ever dreamed of meeting someone so special, to have a moment of knowing she wanted to spend the rest of her days with them, whoever they may be. She allowed herself to feel hopeful for a moment, that the promise of marriage from this ball would lead to what she’s been searching for.

Arriving at a familiar setting, Amanda felt a comfortably warm excitement return to her the moment she stepped out of the carriage. Offering friendly smiles and greetings to fellow workers for the Purcells and their property, as she was led through the grand entrance gates of the gardens. Mandy took time to observe the intricate decorations, blending perfectly with the springtime flora they surrounded, as well as the formally dressed crowd. While it felt strange to be standing among what she could only assume to be elites, she hoped that their was at least one other person with a familiar position to her own. Though she didn’t let any lack of possibility discourage her own excitement, taking time to admire the rest of the scenery, remembering her goal of finding the woman of the hour.

[wait for me.]

𝐉𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞
⊱ ─── 21 | 6/10 | Mentions; -- | Tags; Open!

Jemima did not often find herself afraid. Her time spent traveling, dealing with all sorts, and in academia, where plenty of men would have loved to see her cower and flee, had hardened her resolve. Unfortunately, her resolve was not holding out that May afternoon. Jemima was terrified. She had every right to be, of course, for her father had decided, against her own will, that this was to be her last season. Either she would find a husband on her own, or he would select one for her. Either way, she was to be engaged. And soon. The merest thought of a ring confining her finger made the bottom of her stomach pinch with anxiety. She brought a hand down to her stomach in an attempt to palm away the ache. At her feet, her sister's sheepdog whimpered and leaned his nose into the folds of her skirts. Phoebe's sheepdog was nothing like her own ever-loyal Addy, but he was still an observant little beast, and he could tell she was troubled. Jemima bent onto one knee to ruffle the dog's fluffy ears, mindful not to be too rough and stir up his coat. She longed to wrap her arms around his comfortingly soft neck and bury her face in the fluff, and might have done so, had there been enough time for her to replace her dress afterward. Her sister and her husband were usually quite permissive, but even Phoebe's patience would run out if Jemima appeared before her, covered from collar to hem in white fur.

There was a knock on the door. Jemima made her graceless way back onto her feet to answer it. Upon opening the door she was greeted by her brother-in-law, the utterly frantic Mr. Joseph Bunting, "Miss Jemima, are you quite ready? My driver has just brought the carriage to the door and I'd hate to keep him waiting."

"One moment, Joseph" Jemima went to her armoire, opened the first drawer, and withdrew a pair of white kidskin gloves. They had once been her mother's. Jemima was not usually a superstitious woman – she wasn't filled with dread at the sight of a black cat, and she knew a broken mirror was bad luck only because of the expense of replacing it – but she always felt that she had her best luck when she wore her mother's gloves. It was as if, in wearing those gloves, she gave her mother permission to guide her hand, "Now I'm ready." She said, pulling them on and heading out to the carriage.

The ride from the townhouse to the Purcell estate was not a terribly long one, but her nerves made it feel centuries longer. Jemima squeezed her gloved hands together, breathing slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth, hoping that her leg would finally stop shaking. She had been jittery since the townhouse faded from the horizon and, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get it to stop. Her father had been so pleased when she received her invitation, so hopeful she'd be returning to him with a gentleman on her arm: there would be a rich man for her, he'd said, and perhaps a titled man from Europe! She had been sculpted well, she would be rewarded with someone worthwhile. Jemima had learned throughout her previous two seasons to treat parties like the piano recitals she gave for her father's business friends. She must keep her back straight, her hands relaxed, and her mind on her objective. Find the kindest face in the room and focus on it, memorize every twist of the lip, crinkle of the eye, the set of the jaw. It had always worked before, why not now? Despite feeling prepared, she dreaded letting her father down. When she returned to Boston and presented herself to him, would there be good news and promises on her lips? Or would she have only an apology to offer? She glanced out the window in hopes of finding something to take her mind off of all her worries and was instead confronted with the front gates of the Purcell estate. The sun, just beginning to tip toward the west, splashed light down onto the roof, which reflected harshly into Jemima's eyes. She turned her head downward, cracked her knuckles and brushed down the lawn of her dress, repositioning herself in her seat. Her leg was still shaking. She tried to distract herself by thinking about what meter her foot was keeping as it beat against the floor. She folded her fingers together again, brought them up to her mouth and blew over her thumbs, before twisting her hands to blow over her pinkies, her good luck ritual. "If you can play Erlkönig," She whispered to herself, right arm aching at the memory of hours upon hours of practicing those endless triplets, "You can do this. And you must."

The carriage bumped to a stop and the doors clattered open. Jemima accepted the proffered hand of a valet and stepped down from the carriage. Her toes scuffed the gravel walkway. She dipped a grateful nod to the valet and handed him a half-dollar coin to pass on to the driver. As she strode away, the driver effused his gratitude to her turned back. His voice rang out in a way that made Jemima worry that he may not be fairly compensated for his work. Perhaps she should talk to her sister about that.

Walking into a party, even one during the day, without one or both of her brothers as an escort felt odd, but she knew the paces to follow. It was a simple tea party. She'd been to plenty of them. Never unchaperoned, but there was a first time for everything. As she followed another group of partygoers around the house, she saw one with a mop of dark, curly hair that reminded her of exactly why her father had decided this would be her last season. Was it really him? She wondered. And if he's here, will he even speak to me? Just as she was about to give in to curiosity and call out to him, the curly-haired man turned to talk to someone next to him and did not reveal a familiar profile. Jemima's cheeks flushed red at the thought of what almost was. Desirous of avoiding embarrassment, she made her way to a corner to stake out the rest of the partygoers, hoping to find at least one familiar face.

[fawn,]

xxxxxx𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓
xxxxx( 20 ✦ 9/10 ✦ mentions; the purcells ✦ tagged; annie, hugo )
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x

Leonora had spent the majority of the journey to the Purcell's staring out of the window with a pensive expression gracing her features. The Bennetts had had somewhat of a difficult few years and it was strange for her not to be within her family home let alone in a completely different country. Her father had fallen ill last Winter and his physician had not been able to identify the cause of his ailment as of yet. Her father's health had at one point declined so much that the family physician was ready to prepare them all for his untimely demise, they had been very fortunate that her father had responded well to a new form of treatment that had been implemented as a last ditch attempt to at least ease some pain. Months later, her father's condition had improved vastly to the point where he was now even able to take, albeit very short, walks in the garden alongside her mother. The Bennett household had been very busy, her two elder brothers had returned to support their parents alongside their pretty wives and Leo had felt rather like a gooseberry with all of the happily wed couples around her. It had been somewhat of a surprise to receive the invitation from her darling Annie but it was certainly welcome! Leo had been practically fizzing with excitement when her parents had sat her down to explain the opportunity she had been offered.

Though she had been somewhat reluctant to leave her parents, she was reassured by the fact that her father's condition seemed to be steadily improving and with her brothers being home she knew that her parents were getting all the help they needed. After the tough years they'd weathered, Leo felt she deserved this. Deserved to go to a party and to feel pretty and have the chance to meet potential suitors just like any other young lady of her age and status. Now she was sitting in the carriage with the sun's rays warming her skin in the bucolic May weather she finally felt a small kindling of hope within her chest. Since she was a young girl she had dreamed of one day getting married and having a family of her own, she had been quite taken with stories of princesses and princes, loving the stories of daring rescues and 'true love's kiss' and now the opportunity to chase her own fairytale was unfolding around her.

Leo smoothed the lilac skirts of her dress over her knees, her parents had sourced her an absolutely gorgeous gown for the afternoon tea, it was a lovely pale lilac that complemented both her pale complexion and her golden blonde curls, Leo felt truly beautiful and hoped that she may well turn a few heads during the season. Leo was pulled from her reverie by the slowing of the carriage's wheels and the appearance of the Purcell's home. A thrill of excitement went through the girl and her eyes sparkled excitedly as she took in the hustle and bustle humming all around the carriages as more guests appeared and made their way to the gardens. Soon her carriage was called forward and her attendant was opening the door for her to step out. With a bright smile Leo thanked her attendant who told her that they would be returning to collect her when the events had run their course. Watching as they pulled away and left her at the Purcell's, a small bubble of anxiety wormed it's way through Leo's chest, suddenly she wasn't quite as confident, she needed to find Annie and fast.

After being led through to the gardens, Leo took a moment to absorb the atmosphere and figure out where to even begin. Luckily for her, she did not have to search long. The familiar blonde tresses of Annie were fairly easy to spot. She hadn't seen her best friend since before her father had become ill though the two of them had written frequently, to be in person was quite different though, they surely had much to catch up on even with the letters! It took her a moment to recognise the man stood talking to Annie but when she recognised him it felt as though her stomach was full of butterflies. Hugo. When they were children Leo had developed somewhat of a crush on Hugo, she had thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen and in her own mind had dreamt of their courting many times. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had seen him, probably when she'd still been quite young but that familiar sweet ache had returned with a vengeance. Hugo looked good, better than good. He had grown rather tall and was broad-shouldered with the instantly recognisable Purcell blonde. For a moment she dared to hope that perhaps he would look at her as someone other than his sister's best friend but this was quickly squashed, she had never event told Annie about her crush on Hugo, too embarrassed to admit it aloud, she would just go over and introduce herself as an old friend.

She walked with purpose towards them, a bright smile dimpling her cheeks, "Annie!" she called, stopping beside the two of them and hovering for just a heartbeat not wanting to interrupt them before she turned to Hugo with a small smile, "And Hugo too, you look a little different from when I saw you last, taller maybe?" her eyes glittered with mirth as she looked them both over with a wide grin, "You both look wonderful! I hope you're having the best time, thank you so much for the invitation, I have so been looking forward to this!" her heart felt both full and light, she had a feeling this season would be the most interesting of them all.

[senna_]

𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐃𝐄𝐍
━━ 23 ● 6/10 ● mentions; annalise, leonora, tag ● tags; hugo (briefly) -- open

Sydney could not remember the last time he attended an event such as the one the Purcell's had been advertising for the past several months. He did not recall ever attending an event such as this one, either. Why would he? Sydney Camden did not want a wife, and he hadn’t ever set out to thoroughly commence a search for one. He had very little desire to carry on the family name and pass it down for generations to follow. The name came with a curse, and it certainly had not taken much for him to come to that conclusion. Despite being bitter, Sydney was not cruel; he did not wish to have any future Camden boys suffer through the Camden Curse. There was enough to deal with without tackling an unmanageable family issue.

This had been a decision made long before the heart-aching passing of his dear mother. Sydney had come to this conclusion before he even knew what the meaning of courtship was. He had decided that he would use his masculinity to his advantage and put an ultimate halt to this misery. It wasn’t something ever mentioned to his mother, though; Sydney didn’t have the heart to break such news to her delicate soul. His father, on the other hand, had heard the threat every time the two were in the same room. Although, that wasn’t very often; Sydney was sure his old friend Markham had heard it more than anyone else.

With that, it seemed almost ironic that Sydney had accepted the invitation that had been mailed out across the sea to him. In fact, he hadn’t even dwelled too much on the idea of stopping by the Purcells until after he had sent back his answer. He supposed it was a coincidence, having a business meeting in New York a week before this event was to take place, but, in a way, that almost made it seem unavoidable. As large as the state was, Sydney found himself bumping into a familiar face every time he was there. That wasn’t to say it was a good thing, for he had received far, far too many “Oh, how you look like your father!” comments, but it went to show that regardless of his decision in advance, the chances of running into someone that had connections with the Purcell family was extremely high. It did not help that that American family seemed to know everyone, either; Sydney had even met someone in Germany who knew of the infamous Philip Purcell. The family seemed to own half the world, and while he thought this amusingly, he doubted he was truly that far off from the truth.

Sydney used to hold a high amount of envy for the family. Hugo Purcell knew that the most. As men of the same age, with very similar interests, it wasn’t uncommon to see the blond around whenever Sydney was in town. Like many friendships, their conversations were not always the gentlest, and Sydney pridefully took the blame for that. While the word “bully” was far too strong to use in the context, Sydney had been a boy who had taken a bit too long to learn manners when it came to interacting with the same sex, and he liked to show his dominance. Hugo Purcell had been his only good opponent. Head-butting was a common occurrence at first, especially given how much Sydney desired the boy’s lifestyle, but as maturity ran through their veins, and fiddled with their minds, Sydney slowly saw Hugo as someone different. Worthy, notable; the type to keep around close. An alliance was later formed. It had been a few years since he had last seen the man now; would he even be at this event? Sydney knew as well as everyone else that the only reason the Purcells decided to power through this event was because of their youngest child, and only daughter, Annalise. Hugo was the same age as Sydney now, but until Sydney, Hugo had parents that were surely right on his tail. The man had to be wedded by now.

It was then that Sydney had begun to dread his decision, and even now, on his way over, his head only remained upright because he’d learned to master the role of the puppet. The chances of knowing anyone at this were extremely slim. Shadows of grief and destruction had lured Sydney in these past few months, and, like bait, he had unsuccessfully managed to wiggle his way out. In other words, Sydney had barely spoken to anyone in a very long time. He had even fallen out of contact with his old friend Mark, and if that fell through, then Sydney doubted anyone else would remember who he was. That surely had to be the case; even his business meeting was cancelled, in less than twenty-four hours before it was supposed to take place. To the rest of society, Sydney was a dead man standing.

Barely.

However, there was no turning back now. The hills had turned into lengthy meadows, and the stone roads had turned smooth: he was close to the mansion now. Of course, Sydney had put some effort in his appearance and prettied himself up for the occasional, given how he had spent far too many long nights with a flask in his warm hand to have looked approachable up until now, but he did not have high hopes for this occasion. He didn’t have it in him, really. In all honesty, Sydney, simply, was nosy.

Little dialogue was shared between himself and the driver as the rattly carriage drew to a halt. He tipped his hat to acknowledge the man, but that was merely it. Rolling his shoulders back, Sydney moved smoothly up the path, stopping at the front entrance with a quirk of the brow to address to a rather tiny-looking servant at the door. He watched as the younger man practically crumbled beneath his gaze, turning sharply to call to someone inside before rushing off. He seemed young, perhaps seventeen or so. How many new people had the Purcells taken in recently? It seemed the house was becoming more of an orphanage than anything else.

“Ah, Mister Camden!” a booming voice rang out, and Sydney’s dark eyes connected with the contradicting orbs of one of the servants he was familiar with. “How lovely of you to show up. Right this way, I will take you out back. I’m afraid the Purcells have gone a wee bit overboard this year, but I am more than sure you can handle it.”

“Mmm,” Sydney mumbled in return. “How delightful.” The sarcasm rolled off his tongue the way a polo ball deliberately rolled down the playing field.

The two fell silent as they rounded the back of the house. The servant hadn’t been wrong – the scent of floral perfume was overpowering as he stepped foot in their large garden. He tipped his hat to thank the worker, just as he had the driver, then stepped away, forcing himself through the large gates. As expected, dozens of ghostly faces swarmed his vision.

No. It couldn’t be. But oh yes, there he was: Hugo Purcell standing tall and mighty in the presence of two ladies. One was Annalise, Sydney knew it instantly. The other was also blonde, in a lovely lilac dress. She was just as much of a stranger as the others.

Sydney did not hesitate to swing by the beverage table on his way over, whisking a crystal rocks glass into his hands as he carried along. “Hugo Purcell.” He phrased it like it was part of a casual conversation, rather than calling it out. While Sydney would be far happier speaking to him than someone else, he wasn’t about to butt into their little bubble. Lingering back, Sydney held the glass close to him, dragging his gaze across the pleasant set-up. Perhaps, with a familiar face in place, this wouldn’t be as bad as he had originally told himself.

[senna_]

𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋
━━ 20 ● 10/10 ● mentions; amanda, tags ● tags; hugo, leonora

The lawn had been neatly trimmed earlier that morning, and it didn’t look as though one thin line of grass was even a quarter-inch taller than another. In the early spring season, the flowers were already nearing full bloom; Annalise recalled her mother mentioning how the flowers would all be properly opened and ready to share their full beauty by the time proposal season came about. Finch-yellow and bubble gum pink mums bushed together near the gazebo, mingled in with grouped petunias that ranged in colour, from magenta to violet-and-white. The symmetrical beds of flowers also appeared to have been cut down so that they were all the same height, even though Annalise was quite sure none of them had been touched. The gardeners did not have much control over the chaos of the flowers, anyway; they focused more on overgrown shrubs and picture-perfect hedge carvings.

The servants had set up two massive tents, easily the length of two or three bedrooms smushed together. The powder-white tent itself flapped delicately against the teasing breeze that trickled by, as if in sync with one another, but it seemed promising; nobody would have to worry about it collapsing anytime soon. Hanging off each pole was a basket filled with fuchsias. If Annie wasn’t feeling so antsy about what was about to unfold in front of her in a matter of minutes, she could very possibly consider this quite romantic.

Despite being out in one of her favourite places her family owned (nothing would top her art room, even though it was an utter disaster at the current moment), Annalise could not seem to find the right emotion to settle on. At the moment, they were all up and down on the spectrum; she was convinced she would act out in a far from sane way if she properly acknowledged everything swarming inside her. So, she kept her mouth shut and crouched down, taking a seat on the cream-coloured picnic blanket that had been put out under one of the tents. Her index finger traced the intricate stitching of the fabric. Had one of their maids made this? Probably not, she knew her mother was quite fond of the seamstress that had only recently moved her shop into a building downtown. Annalise hadn’t ever found much talent in sewing. Of course, her mother still insists the two of them do it together, that or embroidery, but, despite Annie’s fine lines drawn onto a canvas, she was horrible at stitching pieces of fabric together, or anything along those lines. It was embarrassing, really.

The more the fine silence engulfed her, the antsier she was feeling. Standing up a second later, the blonde carefully swiped her fingers along the bottom half of the dress, then, with a new bit of confidence in her step, turned to head back towards the gates. While she wasn’t able to hear the satisfying clip-clop of horse hooves against the pavement, Annie was sure the carriages would be arriving at any moment.

Her path was abruptly cut off by Hugo, who was coming straight for her. “Oh, hello, brother,” she returned, her tone neither overly enthusiastic nor bitter; neutral with a hint of mischief was her usual approach, for Hugo or any of her other brothers. “Lovely to see you out here. I was convinced you’d have run scared by now. Hugo Purcell, in a setting filled with women? With Mother and Father watching? You’ve attracted the hounds now, I’m afraid. There is no way out.”

Her teasing dropped the moment she realized he appeared to have little intention of slowing his pace down. A frown, playful though still unimpressed, was tugging at the corners of her lips as his hand slowly descended outward. “Hey, hey!” she warned lightly, vision zoning in and out of clarity as she followed his incoming hand, “don't touch!” But he had done as he'd pleased, and a gasp escaped from her vocal cords at the sight of the thick line of straw. Her eyes grew as wide as full moons — similar to the way their barn cat Louis' pupils dilated when he snuck up on a field mouse. “Esther told me I looked all right. Oh, goodness me! That old maid really does have high hopes to make me look the most ridiculous this afternoon. She tells me every day I must find a husband, then sends me on my way looking like this! She really does despise me, I knew it.” Her tone turned into a dramatic whine, and she was quick to put on a pout. However, unlike usual, Annie was unable to successfully maintain it. “Thank you. If I had heard any rumours going around about how I sleep in the barn because of that, I would not have made it another day. What a life-saver you are.”

A pale pink blush formed against her cheeks, and Annalise gave a small shrug. “I haven’t a clue what you are talking about,” she returned. “Me in the barns? So close to the opening of this event? That sounds absurd.” She paused once more, then shot him a “duh” look; “Yours, of course. Father’s mare almost bit my hand off the other day. What a grump.”

Her attention was directed elsewhere as the familiar voice of Gerold, one of their head servants, increased from a cutting in-and-out fade into something far more clear. “They’re here,” she voiced, as if that wasn’t obvious. “Do you think Mother and Father have done a bet? To see which of us would find a partner first? If not Mother, then Father and Charles. Those men are children, I swear by it.” Her gaze drifted onward as she said that. Mandy was the first to catch her attention, though perhaps that was more so because she was one of the faces Annie recognized instantly. Her dress, whose main colour was ivory, did her fiery hair justice. Raising her hand, Annalise gave her a wave, but wasn’t too sure the girl saw. She didn’t move from her spot; the guests were flooding in through the gates now, and she didn’t desire a mouthful of dirt anytime soon.

In fact, it wasn’t until someone had verbally called out her name. Annalise turned at once, her entire face lighting up instantly at the sight of the owner of the voice. Leonora Bennett. When was the last time Annie had physically seen her? It had been ages – at least a few years. She had grown up beautifully. Leo had always been beautiful, with a round face whose smile seemed to light up every room she entered, but she had evidently transferred from childhood to womanhood.

“Leo!” the blonde returned with equal enthusiasm, seemingly forgetting about her brother completely as she flung her arms around her friend. “Oh, how long it’s been! You look angelic, my dear. I do hope your trip over wasn’t too much of a headache.”

[senna_]

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐒
━━ 22 ● 3/10 ● mentions; annalise, hugo, katya, leonora ● tags; rowan

The scent of heavy floral fragrance hit him at once as he properly stepped foot in the garden. Vincent hadn’t realized how powerful it was before, but now that he was all by his lonesome, it was hard not to acknowledge. The garden was massive, easily the size of two or so houses back in his hometown. He imagined the amount of property owned by the family was likely the size of one of the smaller towns in Greece, as well. Everything about the set-up screamed wealth. Despite the few seconds it took to adjust to the level of perfume that lingered around him, he found that the lack of salty sea air was oddly refreshing. Vincent had always found great comfort in the bitterness of the ocean air, followed by the undulating, billowing waves, but for whatever reason, the drastic change of scenery was rather pleasing. It was calming, the way the thin stems of pretty, colourful flowers - sprouts, buds, and full-bloomed - swayed in motion to the welcoming breeze that danced by. It certainly was not home, but Vincent found it pleasant, nonetheless.

He couldn’t quite seem to focus on one thing. In fact, Vincent’s attention had been so ensnared that he had yet to feel ridiculously embarrassed about awkwardly standing in the corner the way he was currently doing. The sight of mingling people was encaptivating, and the fact that he didn’t recognize one face seemed to make it better, more vivacious. He didn’t have to know the Purcells to know who the siblings were. He wasn’t too sure the name of the masculine Purcell, who was standing tall in a midnight-black jacket that outlined his sturdy frame perfectly, but he knew the blonde in periwinkle was Annalise. Oh, how he wished he had paid closer attention to what Maria was saying! That woman knew everything about everyone; she would surely know who he was.

He didn’t have time to stare for very long. His pecan-brown eyes were quickly snatched by a few dresses in particular. Vincent always felt weird about eyeing pretty women, but he couldn’t help it. The brightness of the fabrics they wore was really what drew him in. One lady, with dark chocolate hair, was in a lovely cream-and-seashell pink dress, and the other, a blonde, was dressed in a vibrant, though calming lilac. While they stuck out the most to him, Vincent soon familiarized himself with the other dresses, which, so far, were all dotted with what appeared to be some sort of floral pattern. The men dressed differently too, which was both surprising and relieving. Vincent was extremely relieved to note that apart from the Purcell siblings, he couldn’t quite seem to figure out who rode the wealthy boat over, and who was in a similar position to himself. Or were they all rich, and he was the odd one out? Thankfully, he had yet to capture a judging gaze.

He had been so sucked in by the liveliness unfolding in front of him that Vincent hadn’t even realized someone else was standing nearby. He jolted in his uniform at the sound of a voice, then turned at once to face the stranger – as they all surely were going to be. The man standing quite close to him was, as predicted, not of familiarity. The man had a chiselled face and a sturdy expression written across it, as if he was ready to tackle whatever was about to be thrown his way. However, upon taking a closer look, Vincent was quite sure he could see bits of anxious flecks flickering within his dark eyes. The tone used was undeniably powerful, confident, but, much like the expression written across his features, Vincent had a feeling he wasn’t as poised as he portrayed himself to be.

“Hello,” he greeted in return, and it was at that exact moment that Vincent could not be more grateful for accepting those English lessons his elderly neighbour had offered to him and his siblings. His accent slipped in awkwardly, creating an innovated twist on the word, but it was doable. He was also pleased to note that he clearly was not the only one who was not from America; this man was, without a doubt, Scottish. Vincent had travelled to few countries outside of his own to play piano for a crowd, and while he hadn’t ever been to a location within Scotland, the accent was distinguishable. Heavy, thick, but prideful. It suited this man. “Well… I believe so. I can only trust the servants did not take us back here to dump us off and force us to tend to ourselves.” A hum of a laugh sounded in his throat, followed by a quick upward smile to show he was merely joking. After another awkward second or two of standing as stiff as a board, Vincent wiggled his hands – which were likely pretty clammy, due to the rush of adrenaline that had hit him – free from the pockets of his pants and adjusted his posture, facing the Scot more properly. “Pleasure to meet you,” he told the stranger, holding out his hand after giving it a swift swipe across his jacket. “I am Vincent Baros.” Despite having a very good feeling this man was from Scotland (the accent gave it away), he still felt the need to ask; “Had you travelled far to get here?”

[Zyn]

🗡️ 𝙲𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝙼𝚌𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢 🗡️
Wealth: 2/10 || Scott || Male || Twenty-Four || Homosexual || wc: 1,679

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🗡️ Tags: Open
🗡️ Mentions: Rowan, Annalise, Hugo
🗡️ Mood: ....
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Cian had been all to aware of the sounds of gawking as the carriage pulled up, the people who lived in the part of town didn't see carriages like this very often no doubt. From the whispering he could guess that they were impressed by the carriage and the pair of horses pulling it. Even someone who had been around such luxury before had to admit it was quite the sight to behold. The pair of horses where hefty and healthy, and impressive pair. The carriage it's self looked like as clean and fresh and pristine as the day it was created. He shifted uncomfortably as the carriage drew to a halt in front of him and the whispering seemed to grow as the driver started to get down to open the door. Even the driver was immaculate, it was a casual show of wealth. Cian's gaze shifted away from the driver and to the pitiful piece of luggage beside him, compared to the carriage he was comparable to the dirt and mud that the carriage so casually rolled over. His own outfit was painfully casual and it had been a long time since he had truly felt as out of place as he did now. One piece of luggage was all was needed to contain all his belongings. When he had moved across the sea he hadn't been able to afford to bring much, nor could he justify taking up space. The sound of boots hitting the ground had his gaze snapping up and away from his boots. It was the driver, they had hopped down from the driver's seat and was making their way over. Their strides were purposeful as they picked their way around the puddles.

Cian's gaze tracked the driver until they were standing in front of him. "Is that it?" the driver inquired, dipping their head towards the luggage at Cian's feet. He got the impression that they had been expecting a bit more than what he had, not that he was surprised by that. If he had been sent to pick up a poor strange former body guard for a grand party he would have been expecting a little more than well, him. The bag in question was barely big enough to fit two spare sets of clothes and his so called fancy set that would have to suffice as his formal wear for the ball. His boots were crammed into the bottom of the bag and a small leather journal with a quill rested on top. The ink he prayed would spill all over his clothes. All in all it was small leather bag that he could quite easily toss around. Rather than reply with words he offered the driver a curt nod and stooped, picking up the luggage before the driver could. The raised brow was all he got from the driver before they were gesturing towards a spot for him to place the luggage. It was almost satisfying tossing the small bag aboard for the exasperated look in the mans eyes, he was sure the Purcells had advised the driver to do all the heavy lifting. Though his puny bag could hardly be considered heavy lifting. The moment the bag was stowed away the driver made a move to open the carriage door, to which Cian shifted away and instead made a beeline for the driver's seat. It wasn't exactly roomy but there was enough space for two people to sit side by side. Cian caught the glimpse of what could have been an irritated expression as he clambered aboard but the driver didn't say anything. Instead they boarded in a slightly more graceful way and urged the horses forward.

The ride itself wasn't very long since they didn't have too far too go but still the idea of being crammed into the carriage for any amount of time made Cian's skin crawl. He had spent enough time in and out of those carriages accompanying people who only saw him as a guard dog and nothing more. The fact he had been allowed to sit next to the driver, though reluctantly accepted, had made some of the tension gathered in his shoulders relax. As the horses plowed onwards, their powerful muscles easily pulling the carriage as though it was not but a mild nascence, Cian shifted his gaze from the horses backs to the horizon. The last time he had been able to look out like this had been on the ship and that had been bittersweet. Despite the fact that it had been his idea and his plan he had stared at the retreating shoreline mournfully. Scotland had never been kind to him, as a young lad he knew far to much about the streets and how to steal without getting caught. Then later on when he was protecting the rich and wealthy while they barely looked at him. Truthfully he couldn't say it was the worst life but it certainty shouldn't have made him so homesick. Drawing in a breath he shifted his attention once more to the horses backs, watching as their heads bobbed to their strides. It was far easier to focus on them than to allow himself to dwell in his memories of Scotland. There was no chance of him ever returning, he had time nor the funds to go on such a venture. As of right now he could barely afford the small room he was renting from the local tavern. How the Purcells had managed to find him and why they had sent him of all people the invite he had no idea. As far as he knew his name wasn't as well known in the states as it was in Scotland. In a very uncharacteristic move Cian allowed his mind to wander and drift away, his gaze glazing over with his arms crossed. This was how he spent the rest of the ride, staring into space without really seeing anything.

A dip in the road jolted Cian out of his thoughts and his head snapped up in time to see the Purcells estate looming up in front of him. For a moment his eyes narrowed as he took in the sight, he hadn't been aware of how long he had been sitting there until now. As the carriage rolled up, slowing down as they approached, his gaze flickered over the estate. As he took it in he made note of every door and any note worthy window or pathway. Finding every entrance into an estate like this had been drilled into him from a young age. Always know where someone could be coming from and be prepared for the worse. His fingers flexed around an imaginary sword, he hadn't dared bring any weapons though he would have felt far more secure if he had. However he had left those sharp and pointy items back at the inn instead, the letter had specified that weapons were welcome. No doubt it would have been rude to show up with a sword on his hip. As the carriage came to a stop he nodded to the driver and leaped down, practically tackling the servant who had hurried to meet them. Cian had been more than aware of the distance between them and knew he wouldn't actually crash into them but the poor servant had jumped and stared at him with wide eyes. Startled they hadn't been able to find the words and had instead gestured towards where Cian could see a few other people were headed. Dipping his head, with what might have been an apologetic look in his gaze, he headed off after the group. The whole walk Cian kept an eye on his surroundings, memorizing as much as he could. It wasn't long before he was stepping into the garden that had been so carefully set up. Continuing he observing he cast his gaze around at those mingling. He knew almost at once who the Purcells were, while he had never seen them in person he had heard what they looked like. Annalise and Hugo Purcell. Manners dictated that he would have to approach them at some point. Thankfully for Cian they were occupied so he could continue his search. His gaze lingered on a pair of gentlemen, something intrigued him but he held back and instead shifted his gaze. To the outsider he looked fairly casual standing to the side by himself.