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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 3, 2008 10:52:46 GMT -5
The Restless Reconcile While shopping in the Not So Supermarket, Esmé and Jerome Squalor cross paths with some old acquaintances from the past. Cast List Jenny: Jerome, Fernald, and Colette. Emma Squalor: Esmé, Emma, and Faust. Both will be playing Carmelita and Nero. *** Esmé hadn’t said much when she heard about the accident at the In Supermarket involving her son-in-law. She had never liked Nero much, but she would never wish any harm upon him. But she did find it rather funny that he had driven his car through the front doors of the store— though she doubted that he would see any humor in the situation when the time came to pay for the damages. However, Esmé’s laughter had faded the instant Jerome had informed her that they would be doing their grocery shopping at the Not So Supermarket that Sunday morning. With a pronounced pout, Esmé trailed slowly down the isles of the store; her husband pushing the cart, while their daughter walked beside him, her hand draped over the side. “I wonder what Carmy’s going to say when she finds out about what Nero did?” Emma said, a little too cheerfully for her mother’s tastes. Didn’t her daughter realize that they would be forced to eat discount food for the next week on account of Nero’s stupidity? “Well, the important thing is that he’s alright,” replied Esmé, who wanted to add “But I’ll kill him later.” Jerome paused so he could take a can of peaches off the shelf and drop them into the cart. “We need parsley soda,” Emma announced. “They don’t sell it here, darling,” Esmé told her. “We’ll have to stop at the Beverage District on the way home and pick some up.” “Oh.” “Why don’t you go grab some bottled water? We can still make your father’s aqueous martinis. I saw some cases a couple of isles down.” “Okay,” Emma said, and dashed off.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 3, 2008 11:58:44 GMT -5
Jerome himself was perfectly comfortable, though he hadn't been dense enough to miss his wife's expression when he had informed her that they would be doing their shopping as the less-expensive supermarket for as long as it took for their usual supermarket to be sufficiently rebuilt after Nero's accident.
'Sweetheart,' he chuckled, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders as soon as his teenage adopted daughter had rounded the corner and disappeared. As much as Emma liked to pretend otherwise, she did find her parents constant public displays of affection horrendously embarrassing, and Jerome hated to make her unhappy. 'You could attempt a smile at least once today. You know how I hate it when you're unhappy.'
(...But didn't hate her adorable pout.)
'Nero's an idiot,' his wife announced, and pouted further. 'How is it possible to drive into the front of a supermarket?'
Jerome couldn't hold back a smile at that. He and Nero got on perfectly well, but he was all too aware that Esmé and her son-in-law (he's older than I am!) had never been and would never be the best of friends. 'I'm not sure, my love,' he said, still grinning from ear to ear. 'But, as you said, the important thing is that he's unharmed.'
'I only said that because Emma likes him,' Esmé grumbled, and leaned a little further into her husband. It made pushing the shopping cart more difficult, but Jerome hardly cared.
'People are looking at us weirdly.'
'That's because we don't usually shop here.'
'It's because we're wearing the basically the same thing, Jerome. I swear you do this on purpose.'
Again Jerome found hismelf grinning. It was the truth--he never dressed before his wife did, and often changed what he was wearing to match. Today she had chosen a pinstripe skirt and black shrt with a high collar, so he had chosen pinstripe trousers and a black shirt in as similar style as possible. Emma never seemed to notice, and personally, Jerome thought it was quite cute.
'Esmé, you're going to have to stop pouting. I can't possibly shop sufficiently with you looking so adorable.'
--
'Colette, you're going to have to stop worrying so,' Fernald Widdershins commented, glancing sadly at his wife, who's arms were wrapped around her incredibly thin figure just a little too tightly--the only clue to the outside world that she was a contortionist. 'Faust will never feel any differently towards you, no matter how many times you have to go into that awful hospital. And neither will I.'
Colette brushed her blonde curls out of her eyes, and looked back at her husband, who had been walking a little slower. His hooks made pushing the cart a little difficult, but as usual he had adapted. They were used to the stares of people who didn't know them--after all, Fernald was without hans, and Colette herself was almost frighteningly thin, and sometimes she had to admit she did contort without her full knowledge.
'We should have brought Faust along with us,' the former circus performer said. 'She could really do with some new shoes.' Fernald glanced at her, and raised an eyebrow.
'We have to buy her shoes sometimes, Fernald! The ones she's wearing now have holes in the toe.'
'Not as expensive as the last ones,' Fernald told her, and it pained him to be so stern. It pained him even more that he was not able to secure a job that paid more towards the upkeep of his family. Colette could hardly work--she was quite....fragile, and she had never attended school. Both of them entirely without qualifications, it was unlikely that either of them would ever be able to secure a well-paid job. It was undoubtedly tiring, to always have to budget so heavily, but for now, it had to be done.
Fernald had been far too busy observing Colette, and he accidentally swerved into the cart of another man.
'Sorry,' Fernald said briefly, working his way up from the man's hands and well-tailored shirt to his face. He took no notice of the man's shocked face, until he caught a glimpse of the man's wife.
'Hello, Fernald,' she said quietly, and he found himself looking directly at an almost completely unchanged Esmé Squalor.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 3, 2008 13:00:00 GMT -5
“Es— Esmé,” Fernald stammered, and clicked his hooks unconsciously against the metal handle of the shopping cart. “Mr. Squalor.”
“How are you?” asked Esmé, who had not yet noticed Colette, who had shrank behind her husband at the sight of the woman she had not expected (and hoped) to ever see again.
Fernald smiled uncomfortably, and lowered his eyes to his hooked hands. “Quite well,” he said, although that was only a half truth. Turning his head to the side, he continued in a soft voice, “Colette, you remember Esmé Squalor, don’t you?”
Her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, Colette stepped slowly out from behind her husband. Being sure to keep her head lowered to the ground, she nodded.
Fernald offered an apologetic smile to the Squalors. “You must forgive my wife,” he said. “She hasn’t been herself since the fire.”
Esmé let out an audible gasp. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “But did you just say your ‘wife’?”
After thirteen years, Fernald had forgotten that his relationship with the circus performer had gone unnoticed— at his own insistence —by everyone around them. He regretted it now, of course, and he expected that his wife harbored some feelings of resentment. But he couldn’t very well have had everyone in the troupe thinking he had softened his villainous exterior for the sake of a beautiful contortionist with blue eyes and golden curls.
Could he?
“Yes, that’s right,” Fernald said, reaching out one of his hooked hands and draping it carefully around Colette’s extremely slender wrist. “We’ve been married for almost twelve years now.”
“Congratulations!” Jerome exclaimed loudly, so that a few heads turned in their direction.
Esmé glared at him.
“Yes,” she said, and attempted what she hoped was a friendly smile at her two prior acquaintances. “Congratulations. That’s— um —smashing news.”
Esmé was just starting to feel an awkward silence begin to build when a familiar clicking sound caught her attention. Turning, she saw Emma rushing towards them, clutching a six-pack of bottled water in each hand. Her stiletto heels scraped loudly against the tiled floor, stopping her before she could plow straight into the Widdershins.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 3, 2008 14:33:30 GMT -5
Fernald, who had turned in the direction of the scraping just in time to avoid crashing into the person skidding across the floor, found his jaw dropping involuntarily, and before he was even able to introduce himself, he had turned back to Esmé and raised a careful eyebrow.
'Our daughter,' she told him, and winked. Fernald and Colette understood instantly. Although the stress of the first word wasn't too promient, it was there all the same. Emma had shaken Colette's hand politely, and offered an outstretched hand to Fernald, although she had not expected to be given a hook instead.
'Hello, sir,' she said, trying not to look to hard down at his hooks for fear he might consider it impolite. A second later she was beginning to wish she hadn't bothered--this man with hooks had not once met her eyes because he was far too busy observing her eyebrow. In response, Emma smoothed her fringe downa little further in a futile attempt to hide what she considered to be such an embarrassing feature.
'Emma, this is Fernald Widdershins,' he smiled, all too used to having to stop Emma from screaming at people to stop looking at her eyebrow. 'And this is Colette Widdershins. Friends of your mother.'
Colette turned at that, her pretty blue eyes trained on Esmé, and chuckled bitterly, though she said nothing.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 3, 2008 15:38:16 GMT -5
“It’s very nice to meet you both,” Emma said. She then attempted what she felt was a proper curtsy, like the ones she had seen her mother do every time Esmé and Jerome shared a dance during one of their parties. “I’m Emma Esmélita Squalor.”
Fernald turned to Esmé, and smiled. “Well, she certainly talks like you,” he said.
Esmé wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult, but judging by the way Fernald had been staring at her daughter’s one eyebrow, it was the latter. In order to spare Emma any further embarrassment, Esmé decided to try and change the subject. “Emma just turned thirteen last month,” she explained. “We threw a big party for her, and all of her friends from her acting class attended…” Esmé had no idea what had made her say this, and the embarrassment seemed to shift from her daughter to her. Like Colette, Esmé lowered her head and looked down at her hands.
“Thirteen, eh?” Fernald asked. “That’s only a few years older than Faust.”
“Faust?”
“Colette’s and my daughter.”
“You have a daughter?” Esmé asked, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice and face.
“That’s right. She’s the spitting image of her mother— both in looks and her knack for playing dominos.”
It was at that moment when Jerome said something that no one had expected, and was something that Esmé would scold him thoroughly for the minute they were back in the car.
“Why don’t the two of you come to dinner tonight at the penthouse?” he asked. “And bring your little girl, too. Esmé is planning to make her world-famous risotto.”
Esmé reached behind her husband and jabbed him (not too painfully, but enough to let him know how much she disapproved of his proposal) sharply in the back with one of her newly manicured fingernails.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 3, 2008 16:20:39 GMT -5
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
'Yes,' Esmé said through gritted teeth, glaring nonstop at her completely clueless husband. 'Why don't you?'
Jerome looked innocently back at her with wide green eyes, and she couldn't very well stay angry. Fernald and Colette shared a look, and before Colette was able to decline the offer Fernald spoke.
'We'd love to,' he said, throat suddenly dry from the shock of the proposal. He cleared his throat, but that seemed to make little difference. 'Faust doesn't really get on with a lot of girls in her class--' Colette looked a little angry at him for that statement, but didn't argue. '--and it would be wonderful if she and Emma could become friends.'
'How old is Faust, did you say?' Esmé asked, a big fake smile plastered onto her face. Fernald recognized it--only he doubted she was hiding a bruise under her foundation this time.
'Just ten last month,' he answered, and it was Emma's turn to glare at her stepfather, who cringed under the anger of his wife and daughter. If he thought she was going to spend all of her time babysitting some little kid he had another thing coming!
'How...cute,' Esmé lied. She'd loved Emma always, of course, but she had been a little irritating at ten years old, and she didn't like children after all. 'I'm sure they'll get along just fine.'
Not.
'Maybe we could invite Carmelita and Nero?' Jerome asked his wife in a small voice, and Fernald and Colette paled.
'Hmm, maybe,' his wife answered, still glaring at him and resisting the urge to stab him with a fingernail again.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 3, 2008 17:24:42 GMT -5
“Wonderful!” Jerome said, even as he felt the slight stab of his wife’s fingernail in his backside. “Come by around six. We eat at seven, so it’ll give the girls a chance to get acquainted, and you and Esmé to… um… get reacquainted.” “Six o’ clock would be perfect,” Fernald said. “My wife and I are looking forward to it, and I’m sure Faust will be thrilled when we tell her.” *** “You are an absolute dimwit, Jerome!” It was twenty minutes later, and the Squalor family was seated in the privacy of Jerome’s Mercedes. Esmé had just finished slamming the front passenger’s door, Jerome was behind the wheel too scared to drive, and Emma was watching from the back seat as her parents took part in the first argument they had had in a long time. “I know you were only trying to be nice,” Esmé went on, “but those two people you referred to as my ‘friends’ hate me!”“Oh, darling, don’t be silly,” Jerome said, patting her knee even though he knew it would be of little comfort. “They don’t hate you.” “They most certainly do, Jerome! Didn’t you see Colette? She couldn’t even bear to look me in the eye, and I don’t blame her.” Emma always hated it when her mother got upset, but the teenager knew enough not to ask any questions. It was always best to let Jerome handle these things, because he was always the one who managed to make everything better. Then again, it was his stupidity that had spawned this particular argument. Emma didn’t think this would be the best time to express her concern for the ice cream sitting in the trunk, and so she chose to look out the window at some passing crows instead.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 4, 2008 13:42:38 GMT -5
Jerome looked over at his wife and attempted a comforting smile. She had either not noticed or allowed his hand to remain on her knee, which was a good sign.
'Darling,' he said. 'I'm sure once Mr and Mrs Widdershins get to know you again they will realize that--'
Esmé gave an annoyed sigh, and he thought better of finsihing that sentence. What could he say? Sometimes Jerome thought he was rather good with words, but at others words failed him entirely and got him into even more trouble. This seemed to be bordering on the latter.
'If I was able to forgive you, dear, I think it should be quite simple for Fernald Widdershins and his wife, shouldn't it?'
'If only.'
Jerome was suddenly very aware that this conversation was going to lead to having to talk about Olaf again, and that never turned out well, especially not in front of Emma, who was able to hear their conversation clearly from the back seat, though she chose to pretend as if she weren't listening.
'No use arguing about it now,' Jerome said quickly, and turned back to the windscreen. He hated to leave things unsaid--but if it was going to cause an argument between himself, his wife and Emma, he would rather avoid it.
'I'll talk to you at home, Jerome,' his wife told him in a voice that reminded him that he was not yet forgiven for his stupidity. 'If we're going to engage in this ridiculous charade, there are things you need to know. It's only fair you know what happened between Fernald, Colette and I all those year ago before you go on and say something else completely idiotic.'
Emma smiled.
~
'I can't believe it,' Colette whispered to herself, as Fernald attempted to start their incredibly old car for the fifth time that morning. 'I just simply can't believe it.'
'What?' Fernald looked up from under the bonnet of the car. 'That we met Esmé again?'
'No,' his wife answered, and Fernald caught sight of her pout as he sat back down in the driver's seat. 'I can't believe you agreed to have dinner with her and her spawn.'
'Spawn?' Fernald cried, and laughed. The engine had finally jolted into action, much to his relief--he didn't much fancy having to walk all the way back to their house on Lousy Lane with so many shopping bags. 'Emma looked like a nice kid.'
'She looked her mother,' Colette grumbled, and curled up on her seat as they finally set off. 'Plus a momobrow. And we all know where she got that.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 4, 2008 15:42:40 GMT -5
“Well, if it bothers you that much, honey,” Fernald said as he turned out of the parking lot and onto the highway, “then I suppose I can call the Squalors and cancel.” “You can’t do that,” Colette said. “You already accepted their invitation. If we cancelled now, then they’d know the reason why.” “I was thinking of Faust the entire time. You know how she’s always complaining of not having anyone to play with.” “Esmé's daughter is thirteen, Fernald. She isn’t going to want to play.”“Faust can bring along her set of dominos, can’t she?” “Not unless they’re in,” Colette muttered doubtfully. *** “Emma,” Esmé said as the two of them set a few bagfuls of groceries down on the counter in one of the kitchens of the penthouse apartment. “Why don’t you go telephone your sister and Nero?” “You mean you’re going to invite them to dinner after all?” Emma asked, slightly surprised. “Yes, darling.” Esmé didn’t add that she was only using this as an excuse to get her daughter out of the room so that she could talk to Jerome alone. With the idea that for once she wasn’t being forced to help put the groceries away, Emma skipped happily out of the kitchen and down the hallway. “So you are going to invite Carmelita and Nero to dinner,” Jerome said, pleased that his wife had taken him up on his suggestion. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Carmelita,” Esmé said as she reached into one of the bags and took out a can of green beans. “I thought it would be nice if she had dinner with us. At least then I won’t feel as though everyone at the table will be regarding me with suspicion.” Frowning, Jerome put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what happened between you and the Widdershins?” Nodding, Esmé set the can of green beans up in one of the cabinets. Turning back to her husband, she picked up a carton of eggs out from one of the other bags. “It was more than twenty years ago,” she began. “I was living with Olaf and had just been recruited into V.F.D. Everything seemed to be going well until…” She trailed off, resting her eyes on the eggs. “What?” Jerome asked, and squeezed her shoulder gently. Biting down on her bottom lip gently, Esmé closed her eyes. “Until the night Olaf struck me for the first time.” Up until now, she had never revealed this part of her past to her husband, and she had no idea how he was going to react.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 4, 2008 16:18:27 GMT -5
Esmé turned away to concentrate on packing away the shopping while her husband's mouth hung open and he processed the information.
'Until--' Jerome repeated, and then swallowed. What? His mind was blank for along time, until he realized he perhaps should have expected this ofa man as evil and vicious as Olaf. A memory of his childhood flooded back--his father had hit his mother over something trivial, he remembered, though only the once. Had it been only once, or had he just never seen? 'But why?'
Esmé turned back to her husband, and smiled gently. 'Well, I can't remember now,' she answered, as if it was of so little importance. 'I suppose I must have answered back, or made him angry some other way.'
'Wha--Made him--That is no excuse!' Jerome cried, but his wife held up a hand, and he felt he ought to listen.
'None of that is important now,' she told him kindly. 'What is important is that betwen my joining VFD and then, Fernald and I had become...well, not friends, but closer than anyone else in Olaf's band of cronies. We were of similar age, though he was a little older, and for that reason we had more to talk about, understood each other better.I didn't speak to him too often for fear of Olaf's reaction, but I liked him a lot more than most of the other...people Olaf employed.
It wasn't the first time Olaf raised a hand to me that Fernald stepped in, or the time after that, though he made sure to take me aside to ask me what had happened, though I didn't tell him. He must've guessed--I wasn't much of a liar--and he must have planned a move in retaliation.
Olaf and I didn't argue often when I was younger, but if and when we did it often ended in some sort of violence on his part. It just so happened that the one day we argued happened to be in front of a few members of the troupe. In front of Fernald.
I remember being hit, and I remember falling, and the sound of someone stepping in. When I looked up Fernald and Olaf were arguing. Fernald wasn't twenty, I don't think--more like eighteen--and realistically no match for Olaf when he was in his thirties. I remember Fernald hitting the floor beside me, and Olaf looking down before he dragged him into the kitchen.
I locked myself in upstairs, and tried not to listen to the shouts and the noise from downstairs. I didn't see Fernald for weeks after--I didn't dare ask Olaf what had happened, and all he said of his own accord was that I shouldn't have associated with Fernald Widdershins in the first place.'
(Have to leave it there--exhausted!)
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 4, 2008 18:40:32 GMT -5
“What happened when the two of you finally spoke again?” Jerome asked.
“Nothing,” Esmé said. “Olaf made me promise that if I didn’t sever my acquaintance with Fernald, then Olaf would kick me out of his troupe and his life forever. I didn’t want to abide his orders, of course, but I had no where else to go.
“When I finally did get a chance to be alone with Fernald, I saw right away that there was something in him that had changed. It wasn’t the sadness in his eyes, which had been there for as long as I could remember, or that he seemed quieter than usual. No. It was the fact that he no longer had any hands.
“So that Olaf wouldn’t overhear me speaking to Fernald, I asked him what had happened the night I was hit. He whispered to me that after his argument with Olaf, he had taken Fernald for a long drive (‘To put some fear in me,’ he told me). Accompanying them were two of Olaf’s other associates: a long-nosed man and a person who looked like neither a man nor a woman.
“After about two hours, Olaf parked his car at the entrance to some woods where Olaf told Fernald to wait inside while he went to get something out of the trunk. Olaf then ordered his two associates to take Fernald into the woods while he walked behind them.
“Olaf told them to stop once they reached a tall tree stump, telling his associates to hold Fernald’s hands down onto the stump so that he couldn’t escape. When he looked up, he saw Olaf walking slowly towards him, clutching a machete. ‘Never again will you interfere,’ he said. Then, with a maniacal cackle, he swung the blade down onto the hands of Fernald Widdershins, cutting them simultaneously off at the wrists.”
Jerome gasped. “That— that poor man!” he exclaimed. “The terror and the pain he must have felt— it’s absolutely unthinkable!”
“And all because he tried to protect me,” Esmé said softly as she took a step closer to her husband. Jerome put his arms around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
“It wasn’t your fault, Esmé.”
“Our friendship seemed to diminish after that. I thought that if I began treating him as Olaf always had, then I would save Fernald from any future sacrifices.”
[It’s okay, I know you’re tired!]
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Post by Jenny on Aug 6, 2008 9:04:40 GMT -5
[Afraid that's it from me until the 14th I think it's going really well, though, don't you? Talk to you when I'm free again.]
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 6, 2008 14:27:30 GMT -5
[That's fine, Jenny. And yes, I think our RP is coming along fantastically. I'll see you soon.]
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Post by Jenny on Aug 14, 2008 14:44:01 GMT -5
[I'M BACK. OMG. I'll post tomorrow, I'm just on a permanent tired phase right now. ]
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 14, 2008 14:59:47 GMT -5
[Welcome back, Jenny! I missed you! *tackles you with hugs* And post whenever you like, there's no rush. ]
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