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Post by Jenny on Aug 27, 2008 12:33:41 GMT -5
Even Nero and Jerome were persuaded to leave their lasagna following Colette's last words. Fernald drummed one of his hooks on the table in the silence that followed, and wrapped one arm around Faust's shoulder, wishing silently that his wife could learn along with Faust that some thigns really were better left unsaid.
'Wha--' Carmelita's blood was thrumming in her ears with every word the blonde woman spoke, but she couldn't quite understand it. 'I don't understand,' she admitted through gritted teeth, and Colette smiled a little as if this were a small victory.
'Not everyone is lucky enough to grow up in a penthouse apartment, and attend a prestigious school, and marry a wealthy man, as you seem to assume,' Colette clarified, and both Carmelita and her husband stared across the table incredulously.
Jerome felt like bursting into tears.
Carmelita let out a long, bitter laugh. 'You think that I'm married to Nero because he's wealthy!' she concluded, and her azure eyes twinkled with amusement, even as her anger reached boiling point.
'How surprised you are!' Colette returned. 'You do remind me of Esmé!'
The sheer audacity of the statement in front of Jerome himself was enough to push Carmelitta a little further away from any semblance of control. She leant across the table, and nobody except Jerome noticed Esmé lingering in the doorway, watching the events unfold with a horrible bemusement.
'Nero is a teacher, and a violinist,' Carmelita hissed. 'And I think if you combine the earnings of a teacher and a chef, you will come to the conclusion that my husband and I could not possibly be described as wealthy.' She paused, and everyone else around the table desperately tried to avoid eye contact and therefore avoid Carmelita directing her temper at them.
'It was wrong of you to assume that just because Nero is older than I am, that I could only possibly be married to him if he were wealthy,' Carmelita spoke quietly, glaring across the table at the former circus performer all the while. Ever since she and Nero had become romantically involved when she was younger, people had always assumed things about the two of them that were almost always untrue. 'And Esmé has got nothing to do with it whatsoever!' And before Colette had any chance to retort or apologize, someone else spoke.
'Quite right,' Esmé said, and took a seat opposite her husband, who silently begged her not to make things any worse. 'How absolutely uncalled for.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 27, 2008 14:25:30 GMT -5
Colette responded by way of what Esmé interpreted as a mocking smile. “I see,” Colette said. “Well, then, Carmelita, I—”
“Mrs. Spats will do just fine,” she said, having no intent to let go of her anger just yet.
“Very well, Mrs. Spats. I apologize for my previous words. But surely you can see why I would compare your relationship with your husband to the one between Esmé and Jerome.”
“No. I’m sorry, Mrs. Widdershins, but I’m afraid I simply cannot.”
Turning to Esmé, Colette said, “I married for love; not for money.”
Jerome could almost hear the snapping of the twig as the words rolled off the edge of Colette’s tongue. He expected his wife to dive across the table and seize Colette by the hair just for saying what she had, but instead the financial advisor rose calmly from the table. Jerome and the others then watched Esmé as she lifted a pair of trembling hands, and covered her mouth. Tears gathered together in her eyes instantly, and before anyone could stop her, she turned and fled the room.
“Esmé!” Jerome called, and rushed after her.
Now that their parents were no longer present, the two Squalor sisters saw no reason to shield their emotions any longer.
“You are a spiteful woman, Mrs. Widdershins,” Emma said, no longer worried about holding onto the idea that she and Faust would become friends. Emma had begun to like the Widdershins girl quite a lot, but could no longer ignore Colette’s dislike of Esmé.
“Esmé is emotionally unstable,” Carmelita added. She didn’t care much for the phrase, but at this point it was rather necessary. “Do you have any idea of the affect your careless words could possibly have on her? Do you— do you even care?!” Carmelita was trying her best not to cry for the sake of her younger sister, but it was proving to be quite difficult the more her concern for her adoptive mother grew.
“She’s right, Colette,” said Fernald. “What you said before was incredibly insensitive.”
Colette’s blue eyes widened, and she stared at her husband in astonishment. “You’re taking Esmé’s side?” she exclaimed.
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m just saying that you didn’t exactly use the best judgment when you said what you did.”
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Post by Jenny on Aug 27, 2008 14:53:17 GMT -5
'But it's true!' Colette cried, far more concerned that even her husband did not seem ready to support her in this than she was about both Mrs Spats and Emma staring down at her murderously. 'Of course she married for money, Fernald, you were there!'
'That's not the point,' Fernald said calmly, and wished his wife could have refrained from starting a domestic crisis between them until they at least got home. 'The point is, that was a long time ago. And the Squalor's have been nothing but polite to you.'
'Nothing but polite!' Colette cried, standing so as to be level with the redhead that, as of that moment, she absolutely despised. 'When Faust accidentally broke the sugarbowl--'
'--Esmé and Jerome said it was only an accident, and told us we didn't have to pay for it,' Fernald interjected. 'And then you started talking about prison and marrying for money.'
Colette's lips parted as her jaw dropped. 'This was not my fault!'
Fernald simply raised his eyebrows, and turned back to both of Esmé's daughters. 'I'm sorry, both of you,' he said, and Emma decided that she really did like Mr Widdershins, even if he did have very strange hands. 'I hadn't anticipated that this evening was going to turn out so badly. My wife has never acted this way towards anyone before, and I think that the only way to resolve things is probably for apologies to be exchanged both ways.'
'My mother's done nothing!' Emma cried, but nobody seconded her exclamation.
'Perhaps you're right, Mr Widdershins,' Carmelita said, sitting down again, 'But I'm afrais that sounds unlikely to me.'
He nodded sadly, and peace was temporarily restored until his wife spoke again. 'I'll not apologize,' she said angrily. 'Not to her.'
Faust, who had been silent, all the while, finally broke out of the protective hold her father had on her, and raced out into the hallway and down the corridor, one lithe arm covering her eyes, sobbing quietly as she ran. She had started this, and all she could think was that she wished she had never agreed to come to the Squalors, wished she'd never taken a bit of that chocolate, wished she weren't so downright stupid.
'Faust?' A voice called. It wasn't either of her parents, but it sounded a little like Emma.
'...How dare she, Jerome!' A voice sounded from behind the door in front of her, and Faust couldn't help but listen.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 27, 2008 16:15:55 GMT -5
“Faust? What are you doing?” It sounded like Emma again, and as Faust glanced over her shoulder, she was surprised to see that the older girl was smiling gently. “Are you alright?” Emma asked. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, then nobody would be fighting.” While a part of Emma agreed with Faust’s statement, another part knew that telling her she was right was the last thing she needed to hear. Instead, Emma brushed some of the blonde curls that had loosened from Faust’s ponytail away from her face. “Are your sister and my mother still yelling at each other?” she asked. “I don’t think so,” Emma reassured her. “They seemed to have stopped right when you ran off.” “My parents are going to punish me. I know it.” Emma had no idea what to say in response to that, and so she asked a question instead. “What are you doing out here in the hallway?” “I heard your mother’s voice,” Faust explained, “coming from the other side of that door over there. She sounded like she was crying.” Together, Emma and Faust crept quietly over to the door, pressed their ears against it, and listened. *** Esmé was lying on the grand bed, her husband’s arms wrapped tightly around her from behind as her small body shuddered from her sobs and anger. “I know, darling,” Jerome said soothingly. “It was a terrible thing that Colette said to you. But I specifically told the Widdershins not to bring up the past while in your presence, and so I don’t understand why—” “Because she hates me, Jerome,” Esmé concluded. “Because she’s miserable, and she wants me to be as miserable as she is!” “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure that isn’t true. She was just upset, and said what she did in the heat of the moment.” But his words— however genuine they may have been —did not seem to register, and Esmé exclaimed: “The worst part of all is that there is some truth to Colette’s words! In the beginning, I did marry you for your money!” What followed was Esmé’s strangled sob, while on the other side of the door, Emma Squalor and Faust Widdershins shared a look of dismay.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 28, 2008 4:33:29 GMT -5
Emma had never been told much about the past specifically because it was so distressing to her mother to talk about it. Sometimes, she resented the fact that everybody else seemed to know more about her parents background than she did, but she had long ago accepted that until she found another way of getting answers, she would never know the truth about their complicated history. She hated Colette Widdershins at that very moment for making her mother so upset, but she hated her a little more for knowing about what had happened before she was born.
'Darling,' Jerome said from behind the door, and Emma heard her mother's sobs cease a little. 'We mustn't think of that. It doesn't matter that you married me initially for reasons that were less than noble--' her mother gave another little strangled sob, and Emma imagined her burying her face deeper into her pillow. 'What matters is now. Colette hasn't seen you for all those years since the fire, and to be fair to her, how could she know what a tremendous transformation you have undergone?'
'That doesn't make it right,' Esmé sniffed. 'And Carmelita! Didn't you hear what she said about--'
'Yes, sweetheart.' Jerome sighed to himself. He had truly been hoping for a peaceful evening, and felt a little foolish now that things had come undone so spectacularly. 'It was wrong of her to assume those things about Carmelita,, and I'm sure she knows that now.'
There was a short silence, and then a rustle of movement as if somebody had stood up. 'What's worse,' Esmé said, quietly so that they could only just hear her. 'Is that Colette is well within her rights to hate me, Jerome. How could I have ever expected anything else from someone I tricked so dreadfully?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 28, 2008 9:46:02 GMT -5
Jerome frowned, not knowing what to say. He wanted to console his wife, yet at the same time the last thing he wanted to do was lie to her. Realizing that he was fighting a losing battle, he simply wrapped his arms around her again and guided her down onto the bed with him.
The eyes of Emma and Faust met once more, the expressions on their faces being those of great distress. It was going to be extremely difficult to form and keep any sort of friendship without Colette’s hatred of the financial advisor interfering. Neither Emma nor Faust had any idea what it could be based upon other than what Esmé had said, but the children knew that asking anyone about it would most certainly be at the bottom of their list of options.
Emma herself couldn’t imagine anyone hating her mother, or how it was even possible for that matter. Aside from her occasional temper, Esmé was one of the gentlest, sweetest people that Emma had ever been acquainted with, and she was thankful that she had such a person for her mother. She didn’t understand why Colette Widdershins didn’t see it, or rather refused to see it.
“Jerome,” Esmé said, “would you run to the bathroom and get me an aspirin? All this stress has given me a tremendous headache.”
“But you haven’t eaten any dinner,” Jerome reminded his wife. “The pills might upset your stomach. Why don’t you let me go heat up some lasagna for you first?”
“I don’t want to be left alone.”
“I promise I’ll be right back. In the meantime, I’ll ask Carmelita or Emma to come stay with you.”
Emma felt relieved that she’d had enough warning before one or both of her parents had opened the door to find both her and Faust standing there. Emma had gotten so involved in the conversation taking place on the other side of the door, that she hadn’t had time to consider the consequences of what would happen were she and Faust discovered.
Giving the younger girl an encouraging smile, Emma said, “You should probably head back out to the kitchen now before my parents catch you eavesdropping.”
“What about you?” Faust asked.
“I’ll just tell them that I was worried about Mother, which I am. You, on the other hand, would look a little more suspicious.”
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Post by Jenny on Aug 28, 2008 13:23:37 GMT -5
Faust nodded, and she rounded the corner at the end of the hallway into the kitchen just a second before the door opened in front of Emma, and her stepfather stepped out into the corridor.
'Emma,' he said, a little surprised. She often waited outside the door when she knew she might be needed, so it was a little unusual of him to be shocked about her appearance. He recomposed himself, and smiled down at her. 'Would you go and keep your mother company for a few minutes, while I--'
'Yes, of course,' Emma answered too quickly, and Jerome raised an eyebrow as if he knew that she had been eavesdropping, but said nothing. Emma just hoped that Faust had gone back into the dining room after rounding the corner.
'Mother?' she asked, stepping cautiously through the doorway, and catching sight of her Mother sitting at the edge of the bed, dabbing daintily at her eyes with a tissue. Her eye make-up had run several times during the night, and Emma picked up the compact mirror from the vanity on her way across the room to help.
'Thank you darling,' Esmé said, offering a watery-eyed smile in return for her daughters kindness. How could anybody hate her?
'Mrs Widdershins is horrible, Mother,' Emma stated. 'And I'm sorry that she was so rude to you. It's not fair, and you've done nothing to deserve it.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 28, 2008 13:46:57 GMT -5
Esmé felt fresh tears weld up in her eyes at her daughter’s words, and she dabbed once more at her eyes before opening up her compact. “My goodness,” Esmé said, and smiled in spite of herself. “Just look at me! If I left the penthouse looking like this, I would surely be declared as the most out person in the city. Wouldn’t you agree, Emma?”
Emma didn’t say a word as she watched her mother work on wiping away the smudged mascara from her eyes and cheeks. Emma had known Esmé long enough to be aware when she was trying to change the subject, and this was definitely one of those times. But what the young teenager did not understand was the reason behind it.
“Mother,” Emma asked. “How do you and the Widdershins know each other?”
“We’re old acquaintances,” Esmé replied without turning her face away from the handheld mirror. The only time she didn’t make eye contact with a person was when she wasn’t being honest with them, and Emma immediately picked up on this. “We knew each other at school.”
Emma supposed this could be true of Colette, but certainly not of Mr. Widdershins, who looked to be at least five years older than Esmé. With this in mind, Emma wondered what it could possibly be that was forcing her parents to keep the truth from her. Another thought that struck her was the probability that the Widdershins were doing the same to Faust.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 28, 2008 14:50:55 GMT -5
'Why does Mrs Widdershins hate you so much, then?' Emma asked. 'If you just knew each other at school. What did you ever do to her?'
Esmé sniffed, and finished cleaning off her mascara, only to reach for the slim black bottle and apply it all again. Emma hadn't yet really come to understand the purpose or necessity of make-up--why put it on if you were just going to take it off later? She perhaps understood using it if your eyelashes were especially pale, or you had bad skin, but she couldn't possibly see what need her older sister and mother had for it. She supposed she would come to understand a little more as she got older (although it was blatantly obvious that Jerome had never discovered his wife's reasons for hiding skin that was already flawless). For now, though, she took the re-application as a good sign; it meant that for now Esmé didn't intend to do anymore crying, and that was always a good thing.
'I'm very tired, darling,' Esmé said at length. 'And I'd rather not talk about everything that happened during my school years. Colette and I have never been friends, and I'm afraid I don't think that will ever change.'
Emma swallowed a couple of times, and then from nowhere acquired the courage to ask her next question.
'So, what did you mean when you said you tricked her?' Emma asked quietly, and her mother's eyes widened in horror.
'How did you--'
'I heard from behind the door,' Emma admitted, blushing a little. 'I didn't mean to eavesdrop,' she lied. 'It was just, I was waiting outside and I heard you talking.'
Esmé sighed, and for a second it was almost as if she was going to cry again before she composed herself. 'I've been less than pleasant to Colette in the past,' she admitted in a small voice. 'Let's leave it at that.'
~
Just as Jerome Squalor had begun microwaving a small amount of lasagna for his wife (he was well aware that she would eat as little of it as possible), he heard someone pause in the doorway behind him. Expecting Carmelita, he turned, and instead came face to face with Colette Widdershins.
Jerome found it very difficult to argue with people, and found it equally as difficult to be unpleasant to them. But he felt an extremely intense dislike for Colette after her actions that evening, and insulting his family was never something he had taken lightly since the incedents involving his father had occured all those years ago.
'I'm sorry if I offended you by what I said earlier,' the blonde said softly. Jerome thought the statement ridiculous, but said nothing. 'It's just that I find being around Esmé so difficult that--'
'--I'm afraid I can't honestly say that I'm interested.'
Jerome shocked hismelf by his own rudeness, but he felt it necessary to let Colette know how much trouble she had caused. 'I'm well aware of what happened fourteen years ago, Mrs Widdershins,' he said. 'And neither myself nor my wife need reminding of it. I'm also aware of the reasons you have for feeling a little....' he searched for the words. '...Standoffish towards Esmé, but I'm afraid they just don't cover the way you have treated my wife and my daughters this evening, especially Carmelita.'
A short, uncomfortable silence, and Jerome removed the lasagna from the microwave and set it on a tray longside two asprins and a glass of water.
'Your daughters?' Colette said from the doorway, and before he could reply she had wrapped her arms around herself and headed back into the dining room.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 28, 2008 16:09:54 GMT -5
Jerome was so used to referring to both Carmelita and Emma as his daughters, that it often slipped his mind that he wasn’t the biological father of either of them. While it was rather apparent that Carmelita was not related to either of the Squalors, it was fairly easy for people to fall under the impression that Jerome was Emma’s real father; despite the fact that she had inherited most of her looks from her mother’s side of the family. When she was younger, it had always made him feel good when complete strangers had come up to them and remarked how lovely and well-behaved “his daughter” was. Hoping to go unnoticed by everyone, Jerome cut back through the dining room upon his return to the master bedroom. He wasn’t surprised when the voice of his adopted daughter called out to him. “Jerome, how’s Esmé?” Jerome paused mid-stride, and gazed across the room at the table. Carmelita and Nero were still sitting in their seats, looking at Jerome with deep concern, while the Widdershins sat on the other side of the table. Fernald was staring worriedly back at Jerome, while Colette and Faust had their eyes lowered to their (mostly full) plates. “She’ll be fine,” Jerome assured his adopted daughter. “I was just on my way back to the bedroom to bring her some dinner.” “Jerome,” Fernald began. “That is, Mr. Squalor. I know there’s no way in which my family and I can possibly make up for the events of tonight, but it’s important that we offer you and your family our deepest apologies.” Jerome nodded. “Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude, but it is rather important that I see to my wife.” “I understand. Perhaps it would be best for everyone if my family and I left now. Will you please pass on our apologies to Esmé?” “I certainly will,” Jerome said, and continued on his way. *** “Did you eat much at dinner tonight, darling?” Esmé asked her daughter. Emma shook her head. “I didn’t have much of an appetite with all the arguing going on,” she confessed. “Well, when your father gets back, I’ll give you some of what’s on my plate. Goodness knows he probably put on more than I can possibly finish.” “But Mother, you never eat enough. That’s why you’re so thin.” To Emma’s surprise, Esmé simply shook her head, and laughed bitterly. Emma was just about to ask what was so funny, when the door opened and Jerome appeared with the tray. Stepping into the room, he set the tray down on the nightstand, and Emma scooted over so that her stepfather could sit beside her mother. “The Widdershins apologized,” Jerome told Esmé, although he knew this fact would be of little comfort to her. “They’re leaving now. How’s your headache?” “No better, no worse,” she replied bluntly. “You know, darling. It would probably help if you ate a little more than you usually do.” Jerome hadn’t wanted to say anything before, but he suspected that part of the reason Esmé had such a terrible headache was due mostly to the fact that she refused to eat sufficient meals.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 29, 2008 10:57:34 GMT -5
(Took me long enough Esmé heaved a sigh. 'I'm not hungry,' she said, but took one look at her husband's face and backtracked. 'I'm only eating this so that you'll let me have some asprin for my headache.' 'It will probably help your headache more than asprin to eat some lasagna, darling,' he said, but wasn't willing to argue over it. The fact that she was eating anything at all was good enough for him, and so pushing the matter wasn't going to help much. 'So the Widdershins' are leaving?' his wife repeated between modest chunks of lasagna. 'According to Mr Widdershins, yes,' he answered. 'Which is just as well. Carmelita looks murderous.' Esmé and Emma shared an identical laugh, and Jerome for the first time remembered that his stepdaughter was present. He felt a little disappointed that the evening had gone so badly wrong--although Faust was three years younger than Emma, neither of them had ever had many friends at their respective schools, and he had thought they might have been able to form a nice friendship together. Unfortunately, he couldn't see that either himself or his wife (or Carmelita, for that matter) would be pleased to see the Widdershins family again, and therefore the opportunity for a friendship between the two girls was looking more and more unlikely by the minute. He had never had many friends himself as a child, or as a teenager, and so he knew how difficult making friends could be for somebody as blatantly shy as little Faust (he had been exactly the same). Esmé had never been popular at school, he knew, but she'd had friends in the form of Beatrice Baudelaire and Kit Snicket, and so hadn't been entirely alone. It seemed Emma might have been thinking the same thing. 'Would you like some lasagna, darling?' Esmé asked, after having eaten a pathetic amount herself. 'I haven't touched that half.' 'No thankyou, mother,' Emma answered, and anyone with half a brain could have seen that the pieces of some kind of plan had just come together in her mind. 'I'll---I'll go and check that the Widdershins can find their way to the door.' Before either of her parents could stop her, or ask her why on earth she suddenly cared so much whether the Widdershins' knew their way to the front door, she had lifted herself off the bed and darted across the room out into the hallway. ~ 'Look, you're going to have to let it go,' Nero laughed, finishing off several other people's unfinished portions of lasagna. 'Surely it's an improvement on that old man that said I was your father once, remember?' 'Of course it's not better,' his wife argued. 'At least that man wasn't calling me....well, I don't even know. At least that old man wasn't just being spiteful.' she said. 'And he was very very old, and probably couldn't see anyway.' She sighed, and leant back in her chair. The atmosphere was settling back down now that the family of three had set off for the door, and she was just beginning to relax after being angry for such a long time. 'Might have helped if you'd said something to her, Nero,' she said. 'Rather than just sitting there like a... potato.' 'A very handsome potato,' Nero corrected, chuckling. 'Is that another new affectionate nickname, my darling?' Carmelita smiled in spite of her lingering anger. 'Yes, dear. Along with 'stupid old cakesniffer.'' ~ 'How do you already know Mrs Squalor?' Faust asked her parents as her father practically dragged her mother to the door. 'It was around the time I was working in the circus--' her mother began to expplain, but after a swift and stern glance from her father, abruptly stopped. '....Well?' Faust pushed. 'Ask your father,' Colette decided was the safest route.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 29, 2008 12:45:08 GMT -5
[“’A very handsome potato.’” I laughed so hard when I read that! ] Turning her eyes on Fernald, Faust asked, “Daddy?” Following a moment’s glare at Colette, Fernald glanced over the heads of his wife and daughter to see Emma running towards them. “What is it?” Colette asked, and turned in the direction of her husband’s gaze. “Emma!” Faust exclaimed, just as Emma halted before the Widdershins. Having run passed six sitting rooms, nine standing rooms, four kitchens, two ballrooms, three kitchens, and five bathrooms, it was a few minutes before Emma could catch her breath enough to speak. When at last she did, she looked up from where she was bent halfway over, her hands resting on her knees. “Please don’t leave,” she said, not adding that she was mostly speaking to Faust. Although it was rather obvious, seeing as Emma’s eyes were focused on Faust’s face. Colette frowned outwardly. “I don’t think we have much of a choice,” she said. “After all, what’s the use of staying in a place where you aren’t welcome?” Emma didn’t bother to add that the incident had been completely Colette’s doing. And judging by the expression on Fernald’s face, Emma could tell that he was planning to have a few words with his wife once they had left the penthouse. But before Colette could start an argument with the thirteen-year-old, Fernald stepped in. “How’s your mother?” he asked Emma. “She’s fine,” Emma replied. “She— uh —she would like to speak with you.” “With me?” Fernald could not hide his surprise, while Colette herself looked suspiciously down at Emma. Faust could not have appeared more pleased. Turning to his wife, Fernald said, “Perhaps it would be best for you to wait here with Faust, while I go talk to Mrs. Squalor. I promise I won’t be long.” “You mean so I won’t cause anymore trouble,” Colette pouted. “Please, Colette. Let’s not have this discussion now.” Emma couldn’t help but frown, and directed her eyes to Faust once more. The little girl was standing between both of her parents, looking sadly from one to the other. Emma couldn’t help but feel incredibly sorry for Faust, and wondered if she was forced to hear her parents argue on a daily basis. Having A.D.H.D. and a mother and father who argue constantly can’t be a very pleasant combination, Emma thought. Thankfully, whatever argument the couple was thinking of participating in soon diminished. This gave Emma the opportunity to advise Colette and Faust to make themselves comfortable in either the loveseat or a pair of armchairs in the hallway, before leading Fernald in the direction of the master bedroom.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 29, 2008 14:27:40 GMT -5
'Why does your mother want to speak to me?' Fernald Widdershins enquired, walking behind the thirteen year old (who's resemblance to her mother was uncanny, he noticed). He could see quite easily what made her so out of breath--he had never been inside penthouse before (just outside it), and had not had before the concept of how absolutely ridiculously large it was. How many rooms did it have? He was aware Esmé was in a bedroom from Jerome's words, and at every turn there seemed to be another bedroom, and each time he expected to stop. He had always thought it a rumour that there were seventy-one bedrooms in the penthouse, but now he wasn't so sure.
'She didn't say,' Emma answered. 'I personally am just glad she didn't want to see your wife, for both of their safety.'
Emma had always been able to lie flawlessly to those she didn't know, and horrifically to those she did. Her mother and stepfather were impossible to lie to--especially her mother, who had seen straight through any lie she'd ever told. Fernald believed her without one single doubt instantly.
'Here we are,' Emma said, stopping at one closed, creamy white door--identical to all the rest. How did she know? She knocked twice, and opened the door slightly. 'I'll leave it to you,' she said, after her mother's voice had beckoned her in, and sped off down the corridor before he could stop her.
He edged his way into the room, hooks stuffed into his jacket pockets nervously, and coughed.
'You wanted to see me?' he asked, a little gruffly, and both of the Squalors looked inquisitively at each other.
'Not to be rude,' Jerome said quietly. 'But...who told you we wanted to see you? I thought you were going home.'
'Well, so did I,' Mr Widdershins admitted. 'But Emma told me Esmé wanted to see me before we left.'
(A little short, sorry...)
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 29, 2008 16:39:02 GMT -5
“Did she, now?” Esmé asked. She wasn’t at all appreciative of the fact that someone had walked into her room while she was eating— particularly when that person happened to be someone other than her husband or either of her two daughters. “Well, then it was Emma’s own idea. I never requested that—” To Esmé’s surprise, Fernald held up what he hoped didn’t come across as a threatening hook. “Please,” he said placidly. “Before you say anything, I’d like to offer you my deepest apologies, both on the behalves of my wife and my daughter. Colette had absolutely no right to speak to you the way she did, and I can assure you that Faust will be punished for breaking the sugarbowl.” Esmé had never been one to hand out punishments to her children, and usually left that responsibility to Jerome. She had taken notice of the Widdershins’ relationship with Faust during the brief time Esmé had spent in the dining room, and supposed that Fernald must have served as the authority figure in his household. “Aside from everything else,” Jerome said, “Emma and Faust seemed to be getting on quite nicely. Perhaps we could get the two of them together again sometime.” He smiled slightly. “But maybe it would be in everyone’s best interests to do it at a park or some other outdoor place.” Fernald nodded. “Faust would like that,” he said. “She loves to—” “Climb,” Esmé finished. “Yes, Fernald. I believe we’ve all established that.” She didn’t sound angry as she said it, and the hook-handed man wondered if that was really an amused smile edging its way around the corner of her mouth. Fernald’s eyes shifted toward the plate of lasagna on the nightstand. “You should eat more, Esmé,” he said. Esmé’s eyes narrowed, a look that Fernald had seen before. Only this time, her gaze wasn’t filled with contempt or hostility, but rather gratitude. “Perhaps,” Esmé admitted softly. “But that is my husband’s concern, and not yours, Fernald.” Fernald nodded, and inched one leg out the door. “Good evening,” he said, and left the room. [It’s fine, don’t worry about it. ]
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Post by Jenny on Aug 29, 2008 17:19:55 GMT -5
He returned to the hallway near the exit of the penthouse in the hopes of finding Emma and questioning her over why she had told him that Esmé wanted to see him when that had been blatantly untrue. Instead though, he only found his wife, who was standing with her arm wrapped around herself to an unnatural extent, looking rather lonely and observing the array of pictures that lined the walls of the penthouse.
'Where's Faust?' he asked, and said nothing about his strange encounter with the Squalors. The last thing he wanted was an argument with his wife before they had left the building, or before they had put Faust to bed.
'With Emma,' she answered quickly. 'They've gone into the sitting room, I think. What did Esmé want?'
He ignored the way she said his former co-workers name like an insult. 'Nothing, apparently,' he answered. 'Emma sent me for reasons of her own.'
'Takes after her parents, I suppose,' Colette said, but she didn't sound particularly cruel as she said it. After a moment, she pointed up at one of the frames above her.
'Jerome and Esmé,' she read aloud. 'Married after only one evening together. I'm surprised they kept this, considering.'
Fernald clenched his jaw. ''Lette, they can put up whatever they want,' he said, and took her arm to get her attention back on him. He had never once hurt her with his hooks, too terrified after years of using them fr less than noble purposes, and had learnt with difficulty to be gentle with them. 'Why were you so unpleasant?' he couldn't help but ask. 'It's obvious Esmé's a bit...unstable, why did you have to--'
'--You talk like she's a friend of yours, Fernald.' she interrrupted. 'We aren't going to be seeing her again, anyway, so it was best I made my feeling known.'
'Wrong,' he said angrily. 'Emma and Faust are going to be friends. You and Esmé are going to have to associate!'
Colette made a derogatory noise. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she returned. 'Emma is thirteen. How long do you think it will be before she tires of Faust? Besides, they're too different.'
'Not for you to decide,' he said, and let her arm fall back to her side. 'And how can you judge Esmé so harshly, when all she used to be was exactly what I was?'
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