Love and Other Rituals

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11/26 Update: 933 words (total 32119)
Had her sister felt stifled in the society they kept? Of the three of them, Theodora was the only one who would have remembered life with their mother, while their father was still a struggling inventor shunned by his older brother’s peers for “working in trade.” Eustasia had been only five when their uncle passed on, heirless, and they all uprooted themselves to live in the city townhouse, collecting checks from a handful of manufacturing tenants on a parcel just outside the city limits.

“Give me just a squick,” says the woman, collecting up a piece of scrap paper from inside the drawer of an end table. She scribbles on it, then folds it into a paper glider design the likes of which Eustasia has never seen. And then, with a twist of her wrist and an utterance under her breath, the glider floats of its own volition, out of the sitting room and off to… somewhere.

As soon as the glider is out of sight, Eustasia snaps a look to the young woman. It’s a terribly clever bit of magic, probably using Bernoulli’s Principle and a simple bit of direction and speed instead of a constant use of active, blind telekinesis to keep the thing aloft. Eustasia wants desperately to watch her fold a second glider, to analyze the folds, memorize them, and then show Lord Massey.

No. Nope. She’s not going to think about him until her sister is right in front of her and Eustasia can blubber at her.

“It’ll be maybe ten minutes before your sister gets here? I could show you around in the meantime?”

“Erm.” Eustasia hates to think it, but she doesn’t think a tour of this apartment will take fifteen minutes. “Maybe before that, you could introduce yourself?”

“Oh!” The young woman flushes, wipes her hands on her apron, and offers a hand. Eustasia is about to shake it when the other woman aborts the movement and tries at a curtsy instead. “So sorry. Cat Hooper. Caterina Hooper, I mean. Theo is my, uh.”

Eustasia is about to finish “sister-in-law” for her, but there’s something about the way Caterina averts her gaze that makes Eustasia pause. Then she remembers one of the kitchen girls is in the room observing and decides to say it anyway. It’s none of Eustasia’s business.

“Yes. Sister-in-law.”

Knowing she has to change the subject before Miss Caterina combusts, Eustasia tries to offer a way out. “Father says your brother is interested in large-scale manufacturing of alcohol?”

Caterina clearly knows that this is so, but just as clearly knows nothing about either magical means of manufacturing, or about brewing. Or plants. But by the time Eustasia thinks she should put the other woman out of her misery and ask about something they can both probably speak to, like maybe aerodynamics, ten minutes have passed. She hears the creak and click of a door opening and closing somewhere in the apartment, and then the groan of the wooden floor as someone steps through the house.

And then, in all her dirt-covered, green-thumbed glory, Eustasia finally sees her older sister again.

---

When no response comes from Eustace Orland about his mine problem, Gil has to take drastic action.

And by drastic, he means dropping in unannounced at Wentworth’s townhome, begging him to find out Miss Roche’s next social event, and then dragging his friend along to a poetry reading that he had to throw his title at in order to snag an invitation. It is atrocious, desperate behavior, and he knows by the whispers of the hostess to her lady friends, that everyone else knows exactly what he’s done.

Everyone except Miss Roche, apparently, who sees him across the room, blooms a terribly charming shade of pink, and then lets her jaw fall open and stay there until her friend–Mrs. Gordon, if Gil remembers right–reaches over and closes her mouth for her.

Is it too obvious if Gil walks straight over and talks to them? He’d never behaved like this when he pursued Lady Lyall. Everything about that entire affair had been coy and calculated, done to engineer meetings with both her and her father without raising suspicion until the very end. He hadn’t thought it was calculated at the time, since Gil had just been following advice from others, but he realizes now what an elaborate game he’d been playing.

Wentworth grabs his arm before he can take a step. “Blast it, Massey!” he hisses. “There’s already rumors you’re chasing someone here. Cool off, will you?”

“But”-

“But nothing!”

When Gil had explained to Wentworth that he had misgivings about taking Lord Lyall’s offer of twenty-five thousand a year in exchange for, one, leasing the land with the coal vein, and two, marrying his daughter, Wentworth had been aghast. This was fine. Gil knows that Wentworth thinks in business terms, that he cares about the Roche family and probably doesn’t want to see either of his friends hurt or in financial difficulty. But Gil wants Eustasia’s opinion so badly he can already taste the twin flavors of victory and defeat, depending on how she answers him.

And if Miss Roche can get through society without the ability to hide herself, then Gil is going to meet her where she’s at. So what if everyone knows? He likes her. Gil is pretty sure she likes him back, or at least finds him an interesting test subject. They don’t have to play games. So instead of letting Wentworth pull him back, Gil pulls Wentworth, and off they go, straight toward Eustasia and her friend.
"I've got dreams like you--no really!--just much less, touchy-feeley.
They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny
on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone
surrounded by enormous piles of money." -Flynn Rider, Tangled




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I am going to end this month exactly as I started it: on travel. Hahaha.

11/27 Update: 621 words (total 32740)
He definitely draws stares, and raised eyebrows, and mouths flapping behind fans. It’s fine. When he practically skids to a stop in front of her, his face feels a hundred times lighter than it did before. His lips pull into a toothy smile without his say so. “Miss Roche,” he says, “lovely to see you again.”

Eustasia looks at him like a kitten surprised she actually caught a mouse, before her friend shakes her, and she composes herself. “Lord Massey. I… um. I didn’t know you were coming back to town.” She gazes, unfocused, at a point behind him, and then remembers the rest of the niceties she’s supposed to say. “It’s lovely to see you again as well. Not that. Um. Not that we didn’t want you to come back into town, but”-
Mrs. Gordon cuts her off with a sharp jab to the rib. Wentworth may or may not be doing the same thing to him, but Gil hardly feels it.

“We should claim seats for the reading,” Gil suggests, “before all the good ones are taken.” Or before all the groupings that can accomodate four people next to each other are gone, so he can sit between Wentworth and Eustasia, and she can still have her friend on her other side.

“Erm.” Eustasia follows like a prodded sheep, all wide-eyed and confused. Oh, Gil hopes he isn’t misreading the situation. He isn’t coming on too strong for her, is he? Obviously he’s coming on strong by his peers’ standards, but Eustasia’s is the only opinion that really matters here.

Eventually, they settle into a row of seats near the back of the room, where they are tucked away enough from everyone else that no one will hear if Gil whispers to Eustasia, but in clear view of everyone and their mothers. He does snag the chair next to her, which makes her blink at him in bafflement, and then, despite Wentworth’s insistent tug on his sleeve, leans over so he can speak more quietly.

“I’m terribly sorry about the picnic,” he starts. “Did you– were you– did the Gordon children have a nice time?” This is not how he wants this conversation to go. How does one smoothly cut into “Hello, I greatly value your opinion and also maybe know your secret academic identity. Please help me understand your opinions so I can build my life in such a way that you will want to fit in it?”

Mrs. Gordon shoves across Eustasia’s lap with a glare. “My children enjoyed themselves quite fully,” she snaps, “for all that their new favorite mage left the outing early.”

Gil wilts. “I did say I was sorry.”

“Not going to dip out early today, are you?” Mrs. Gordon continues, lowering her voice. “Can’t say no when your future father-in-law calls?”

Eustasia frowns, looking a little green, and her hands clench around the fan in her lap. But then she gulps, steels herself, and chances a look directly into Gil’s eyes. Her eyebrows dip in a way he’s never seen on her face before: curling in worry and hardening in preparation. She bites her lip, and her cheeks continue to be that charming reddish pink. But she doesn’t say anything to stop her friend making accusations.

“Nothing is set in stone,” Gil hisses back, hoping no one can hear. He can see a few older women creeping closer, heads clearly tilted so they can listen in and pretend they’re not interested at all. “But that’s what I was hoping to talk to Miss”-

“Come now,” Mrs. Gordon says. “It’s unbecoming for a man to ask a woman he’s been stringing along for two months what she thinks about him marrying someone else.”
"I've got dreams like you--no really!--just much less, touchy-feeley.
They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny
on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone
surrounded by enormous piles of money." -Flynn Rider, Tangled




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Really sliding under the wire today.

11/29 Update: 678 words (total 33418)
“I haven’t been stringing her along!” Gil doesn’t think he’s been stringing Eustasia along. Yes, maybe Wentworth had implied that she wasn’t a girl Gil ought to pursue, but he’s a bit past that, feelings wise. Frustrated with Mrs. Gordon, he shifts in his seat to address Eustasia more directly. “Miss Roche, I’m guessing you saw the letter I sent y”-

“My father!” she interrupts, then darts a nervous look at her friend. “The letter you sent my… father. Yes. Er, he shares his correspondence with me.”

Right, of course. Unmarried men and women aren’t supposed to send letters to each other, and Mrs. Gordon has no idea of her friend’s pseudonym. Gil longs to catch Eustasia’s hands in his, to squeeze her fingers to try and both ground them and convey all the messy, awkward, things he hasn’t figured out how to say aloud. Instead, he settles for squeezing the fabric of his pants over his knees and leaning forward as earnestly as he can. “So then you know it’s not Lady Lyall I want your opinion on.” Gil wants to know her vision of the future, what Eustasia wants from life, what she wants in marriage, in a husband.

Mrs. Gordon nearly jumps in again, but Eustasia manages to calm her with a silent hand over her friend’s. She makes a few aborted attempts at saying something, maybe thinking too fast or too hard to just say it like she normally would. And then, after a long moment, she meets Gil’s gaze again. “I have thoughts,” she says, “on the matter you asked me about. I don’t know that I can say them until… well.” She dips her head down and worries at her lips. “Until I know why exactly you want my opinion.”

Mrs. Gordon looks bewildered. Wentworth has forgone trying to tug or poke or prod any kind of sense into Gil in favor of resting his head in his hands.

“It would hurt too much,” Eustasia continues, “if I told you the um… the ideas that I have, and then had to hear about you achieving them with someone else.”

I want to hear your ideas because I want to make them real for you, Gil doesn’t say. He wants to hear what Eustasia has to say, not just because they let him imagine a future he’s never thought of before, but because he just likes hearing her. But they’re in public!
True, Gil is pretty sure Eustasia just admitted to jealousy of some kind, but still. He sees the matrons of the landed gentry all listening in through his periphery, and…

And what? Here, now, with Mrs. Gordon glaring at him, and Eustasia looking at him with her watery, brown eyes, and all her matronly peers ready to pounce, Gil knows, at least, what he does not want. He absolutely cannot live his life attached to Lady Lyall while Lord Lyall mines his property and converts an entire swathe of it into a dingy, dusty coal field. Whether he mines the goddamn thing or not, Gil cannot let the money, profit, and plunder fall to some outsiders while his own tenants starve on the land he ruined. There will be no Lyall involvement.

“Miss Roche,” Gil says, before he can stop the words gushing from his mouth, “I want your opinion because I want to share in its enactment with you.”

Her head flicks up so quickly that the tight knot of braids at the back of her neck wobbles. Her lips part in a glorious, red-pink oval. Gil has never really wanted to kiss anyone, but now that he’s spoken aloud his attachment, and his desire to build a life with her, the idea of kissing Miss Eustasia Roche is a sudden, forceful wash of sensations, so real he can almost taste her.

Several people around them giggle. Fans flutter in the corners of Gil’s vision. Mrs. Gordon’s eyebrows have raised so high Gil wonders if he’s grown a second head.

“Oh,” Eustasia breathes. “Well. Maybe we should have another picnic.”
"I've got dreams like you--no really!--just much less, touchy-feeley.
They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny
on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone
surrounded by enormous piles of money." -Flynn Rider, Tangled




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Sooooo... I maybe spent the whole day hanging out with a friend I never get to see. And then I drew dnd characters hahaha.

11/29 update: 220 words (total 33638)
Eustasia can’t stop turning about inside the Gordon family’s carriage, despite knowing that she won’t be able to see much through the tiny back window high above the seats. The bottom of the window is a full five feet from the carriage floor, so Eustasia would have to be standing to see out of it, but still. She can’t help herself. She knows Lord Massey–well, Gil, soon, hopefully–is following close behind, tagging along so he can get her father’s blessing as soon as possible. Better for her father to hear everything straight from herself and Massey, instead of from someone else. Not that anyone other than Mr. Wentworth would reach out, but who knows what her father might overhear at the next public dance hall.

“This is absurd,” Zenia says, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You’re absurd.”

They have been in the carriage for five minutes. Eustasia is pretty sure the Gordon family carriage team averages twelve-ish miles per hour in the city without traffic, and the home of the barons hosting todays poetry event is about four miles from her own home. Thus, they should reach her house in about twenty minutes total. It’s hardly a long time to be in a carriage, but Eustasia feels each second of the twenty minutes is like its own twenty minutes.
"I've got dreams like you--no really!--just much less, touchy-feeley.
They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny
on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone
surrounded by enormous piles of money." -Flynn Rider, Tangled




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Points 34788
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Final day! I was hoping to get a little further than I did, but 33k is pretty respectable.

11/30 Update: 297 words (total 33935)
Twenty squared makes four hundred minutes, which is six-hours and forty minutes, and admittedly, this trip doesn’t feel quite that long, but Eustasia is so excited she can forgive herself a bit of hyperbole.

After an entire age, the carriage crunches to a stop on the gravel carriage lane next to the Roche family home, and Eustasia bounds out, watching as Lord Massey’s carriage clatters to a stop behind them. She stands under the carriage port to wait, feet tapping as Zenia carefully climbs down, and then while Massey’s carriage also rolls up to the port. And then he’s bounding out as well, and he offers her an arm with a wide-eyed smile, and Eustasia totally forgets that Wentworth is in the carriage with him, and that as a good hostess, she really ought to wait for him.

“Is this alright?” Massey asks, as Eustasia drags him across the foyer. “Not too fast?”

“It can be a long courtship,” Eustasia replies.

“How long are you thinking?”

She peers up at him. “Do you want a ritually auspicious wedding date?”

Lord Massey smiles wryly. “I might be all good on that front.”

“We can be courting as long as feels right, then.” Eustasia sort of hopes it will be long. This is actually fast. She likes knowing where she stands with Lord Massey, and knowing that they are on the same page and planning a life together, but she’s not in love with him yet. Planning everything together, though, sounds like it will get her there.

Lord Massey looks up at the sight of Eustasia’s father shuffling out of his office and speaks out of the corner of his mouth at her. “Perhaps when we’ve gotten through most of the planning for the coal vein and land restoration?”
"I've got dreams like you--no really!--just much less, touchy-feeley.
They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny
on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone
surrounded by enormous piles of money." -Flynn Rider, Tangled




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Twenty squared makes four hundred minutes, which is six-hours and forty minutes, and admittedly, this trip doesn’t feel quite that long, but Eustasia is so excited she can forgive herself a bit of hyperbole.

Hahaha have I mentioned how much I love Eustasia??

Awesome job this NovMo, Vento!! Very much enjoyed reading along ^-^
mint, she/her


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=D



Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream.
— Mark Twain