Chapter 1: Tea with a Lord
My next day off rolled around a few days later. I had nothing to do, so I thought I'd check out Siingle again. I looked through the other guys' profiles briefly, but I lingered more on Damien's. It wasn't just because it was interesting either. The pictures he had were very intriguing.
I read through his profile once more:
Name: Damien Bloodmarch
Summary: How do you do? I've decided to join this "Information Superhighway." I'm not entirely sure how this works, but I will try my best to understand. I love long strolls through graveyards and spending time with my son. If you would ever like to chat about the latest in Victorian fashion, the inevitability of our own demise, or black cats, please send me a letter!
On a Friday night, you are most likely to: Listen to true crime podcasts while I taxidermy my newest specimens
If you had one thing to take with you onto a desert island, what would it be: A coffin
What are your turn-ons: pronouncing "bosom" correctly
What did you wanna be when you grew up: a bat
What's your favorite movie genre: foreign arthouse horror
What's your ideal date: It's night. We are at an industrial darkwave club in Berlin. The music drums to the beat of our hearts.
What do you never leave home without: an upside-down cross
I spend a lot of time thinking about: mortality salience
He seemed like a cool guy when I met him. What's the worst that could happen? Or the best? I felt the blood rush from my face and to my face at those respective thoughts. I decided to message him.
"Hey, Damien! It was cool to see you at the barbeque. We should hang out some time :D" I sent.
It took a few moments for Damien to reply. Then, he kept replying… and he kept typing. Imma need some coffee. I made some coffee, got back, and finally saw the reply:
"Carrie,
"I must confess my excitement to be receiving your kind letter for, as you see, I do find myself available to enjoy your company. I must ask for your forgiveness, however, as I believe our meetings did not give us the time to get properly acquainted. I would be highly flattered to enjoy your companionship at my residence for an afternoon tea and a stroll around my garden, should it please you. Til then, adieu.
"Yours, humbled,
"D. Bloodmarch."
My brain, hard-wired for simpler speech, took a few moments to think of a proper response:
"Sounds fun :)
"Sincerely, yours,
"Carrie :D"
"Nailed it," I said aloud.
"Good job, Mom," said Andrew from behind me.
I jumped. "Don't do that," I scolded.
He snickered. "Yes, Mom."
I logged off my computer then went down the hall to my room. "Okay… what in this closet says 'Afternoon tea and a walk through the garden of a gothic lord and I want to look nice'?" I giggled to myself. "This is ridiculous. I haven't fussed over a date since-" I cut myself off. "This is not a date. It's not. Right?"
I continued to reason with myself. I want nice clothes, but I should be prepared to get pollen and dirt on them. Dresses are out. So, my best solution would be black trousers and a purple top. Purple seems to be his favorite color and I have a frilly top that's pretty and black trousers will be ideal for being seen and for getting dirty, if necessary. I was happy that Daniel and Andrew had endured my femininity enough to give me a wardrobe this size. I slipped some black boots on and decided I was ready.
"You look nice, Mom," said Andrew, upon seeing me.
"Thank you, son. Now, I am off!" I said.
"Sounds good. I gotta get back to school. See ya." The school allowed open campus lunch to seniors.
"Thanks for dining and dashing in Mom's Kitchen," I teased.
He stopped from heading out the door to give me a one arm hug. "Love ya, Mom." He left.
I sighed. He's a good kid. I then walked out to head over to Damien's house.
It was an easy house to find. It was the only one on the block painted black with gargoyles out front. It was a sunny day outside, but it felt like there was cloud cover when I stepped closer to the house. The part of me that wanted to go forward won against the part of me that wanted to turn back.
I walked up the steps and knocked on the door only to find it ajar. Is everything all right…? I walked in. "Hello? Damien?" I called out. The door then slammed shut behind me. I squeaked in surprise. "A draft, I'm sure…"
"Good afternoon, Carrie," greeted Damien from the stairs. He walked down to my level. "You certainly look nice today."
"Thank you. You do too and your house is pretty cool," I replied.
"Would you care for a tour?"
"Of course."
He bowed and I replied with a curtsy. He then escorted me around the house, explaining to me how he had remodeled it after the Victorian era. There were a few items that were still modern: a bathroom, a kitchen, and his son's room.
"I remember Andrew going through a goth phase. He never explained why he stopped though," I commented.
"Are you against a gothic lifestyle?" asked Damien.
"No! I, uh… I try to be supportive of whatever Andrew wants to try and whether he chooses it as a temporary thing or a permanent thing is up to him."
"I see."
He took me into the library and I gaped at the size of the room. "Your house is certainly bigger on the inside than it is on the outside," I commented.
"I made room for everything I could."
"It's all very impressive."
"Thank you."
I took a look around his library: he had butterflies pinned in cases (which almost looked unreal); a large window (where I saw Craig doing pushups with his girls. Dang.); and, upon looking at his book collection, I saw a wide variety. There were classic novels, horror books I had never heard of (which spanned a lot of literature, I was sure), and some books looked like articles that had been pulled from the internet, based on their titles. There was one of those that was a fanfiction. When I asked him about it, he didn't give much of a reply. I decided not to press him on it.
After giving me the tour, he brought me back to the parlor. He served me tea and a sandwich before serving himself. I sipped it gingerly and realized how great it was to have tea. I smiled. "I feel like a noble lady, having high tea like this," I commented.
"High tea actually refers more to the time of day and the height of the table that the tea was served on as opposed to the people drinking it. We, my dear, are enjoying afternoon tea," he informed.
"That's cool." There was a little uncomfortable pause. I decided to broach a new subject. "I just wanna say that I really like the lifestyle you have here and the clothes you wear. It's so elegant and cool."
"Thank you. I enjoy the Victorian culture; its fashion and its architecture are beautiful. I like being able to pick from a variety of period appropriate clothes." He took a sip of his tea. "It started out as a hobby, but it quickly grew into an obsession. I find it important to appreciate the lives of those who came before us."
"Plus, it's pretty chill to live the lifestyle in today's world. Victorian style is truly, as you say, beautiful."
"It takes a critical mind to appreciate something to the fullest; to be cognizant of its flaws and love it all the same. Tell me, do you have any hobbies?"
I blushed. "I'm sure I could never be half as interested in something as you are in your interests."
"Well, I'd love to hear about them. Hearing someone talk about the things they're passionate about is intriguing, and, quite honestly, rather attractive. Do tell me about your interests."
He's so smooth and fancy! I gotta say something that sounds cool. The words came to me, thankfully. "When I was young, I was always fascinated with stories. I wanted to tell some of my own, so I began writing. I actually have written some works of fanfiction and some original short stories and poetry. I love expressing these ideas into words… when I get the inspiration, that is."
"So, you're a writer."
"A little, but not professionally yet."
He nodded and, upon seeing that we had finished our tea and sandwiches, he stood and offered his hand to me. "Come, there is still one more thing I want to show you."
He took me out back to his garden. When I saw it, I thought, It's like a picture for a jigsaw puzzle or a painting. It certainly had that surreal feeling, that too beauteous to be real feeling. "Wow… it's beautiful."
Damien proceeded to explain to me how Victorians would send messages to friends and lovers via flowers. I knew flowers had meanings to them, but to hear him explain it, it sounded like he knew a great deal on the subject. Certain flowers paired together affect the message, even the ribbon's style of tying: something he taught me.
"Lilium bulbiferum. The orange lily. What do you think this one means?" he asked.
"Well, I have heard different meanings for the same flower on different cases. The orange lily is one example of such a case. I have heard it means 'passion' and I've heard that it means 'pure hatred.'"
"My, you certainly know your flowers."
"Not really. I just pay attention to lilies more since they are my favorite. They're beautiful, they smell sweet without being overpowering, and they generally symbolize purity, devotion, and prosperity. To have one placed on my coffin would speak not just of the fact you paid attention to me when I told you it was my favorite flower, but also to the fact that I am forgiven after death, that I am purified, and that you actually care…" I paused. "I went a little too deep there, didn't I?"
"Not at all. I think it's rather beautiful. I shall have to remember it when I put together a bouquet for you."
He would put together a bouquet for me? Wow… As I admire more of his flowers, I hear a phone ring. I look over to Damien and he says, "Oh, Carrie, will you excuse me? I must take this."
"Sure," I reply. Damien smiles and walks back into the house. The air smells so beautiful out here. Everything out here is simply beautiful. I should have put more effort into building a garden… The boys were never interested in that though. It was always put off for some reason or another… they weren't entirely to blame, if I was being perfectly honest.
As I walked, I accidentally ran into one of the gargoyles and tipped it over. Ah! Fix it! Quick! I put it back on its pedestal quickly and walked a good distance away from it. I was able to recover from the shock long enough for Damien to come back out. He looked upset.
"Carrie, my sincerest apologies to have kept you waiting. There's an urgent matter that I must attend to, so I'm afraid I must take my leave," he said quickly.
"You're good. Is everything okay?" I asked.
I noticed one of his hands playing at the hem of his cloak. "It's all right, it's just… it's Lucien. His teacher needs me to come posthaste."
"Do you… do you want me to come?"
"Oh, no, that's not necessary-"
"I want to though. I know what it's like to go in by yourself. We've been alone as parents for long enough, we should stick together, if just this once."
"You're… right. This is one of Lucien's more… elaborate stunts. I would greatly treasure having another parent by my side."
"Sounds good."
We head off in my car to the school. I am slightly surprised to see Hugo there as well. So, both of their kids got in trouble… and it's not the first time. I could tell by how they were looking at each other. "Thanks for coming so quickly, Damien," said Hugo.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, dear friend. What have they done this time?" asked Damien.
"This is- you have to see it to believe it." Hugo led us through the hallways down to the basement.
We get there and find Lucien; Hugo's son, Ernest; and another teacher. I notice Lucien has a bloody nose. "Goodness! Here, take these," I said, handing some tissues from my purse to Lucien.
"Thanks," he said attitudinally. "Ernest punched me."
"Lucien tried to kill me!" Ernest protested. Some masonry tools and some bricks lay scattered around us.
"What happened here?" asked Damien.
"I was not trying to kill you, dumbass. I was just trying to build a brick wall around you and see what would happen," said Lucien to Ernest.
"You promised me there was wine down here! You tricked me!" said Ernest.
"Lucien, did you… try to… Cask of Amontillado Ernest?" asked Hugo.
"I'm neither confirming nor denying that," replied Lucien. He had tissues stuffed up his nose at this point, the remaining splatter cleaned off.
"What's the Cask of Amontillado?" I asked Damien quietly.
"It's a classic Edgar Allen Poe short story where a man gets his enemy drunk, lures him down to his cellar with the promise of wine of a fine vintage, then buries him alive behind a brick wall. It's a lovely story." Damien replied.
"And Lucien tried to do that to Ernest…?" I asked.
"I was curious to see how it would turn out. I wasn't actually gonna leave him there," said Lucien.
I blinked in surprise. "Okay… what was the thought process here? Did you think Ernest was just gonna stand there while you slowly built a tomb around him?"
"Well, it worked for like, twenty minutes 'cause he's an idiot, but then he realized I had lied about the wine," Lucien replied.
"And you were cackling maniacally. That sort of tipped me off," said Ernest. I put a hand to my head.
"Twenty minutes, Ernest? We just did an entire two week segment on the Cask of Amontillado and it took you twenty minutes to realize Lucien was leading you into an elaborate ruse? Did you even read the story?" asked Hugo.
"I paid Lucien to read it for me," said Ernest.
"Actually, he didn't even pay me. So, when you think about it, this was me teaching him a lesson," said Lucien. Damien and Hugo look exasperated. Lucien continues, "You guys are always telling me to 'engage in the literature' and I did. I don't see a problem here."
I groan and hold my head in my hands, matching Damien and Hugo. The other teacher says, "Okay, you two are suspended for a week. Hugo, I'll cover your class. Take your son home. You should too, Mr. Bloodmarch."
"Thank you for your mediation," said Damien. We all headed upstairs.
Damien, Lucien, and I get into my car and begin the drive home. Lucien puts his hood up and stares out the window moodily. "I'm not going to therapy again," said Lucien.
"I know, son, it's entirely up to you whether or not you want to go," said Damien. "But I care about you and I can see that you're struggling. So, if you do decide that you would like to speak to a professional about your feelings, we can do that too. Maybe you can spend this next week looking for a summer job, hm? I know how much you want your own car."
Damien is… so cool right now. I know I wouldn't have handled it this coolly.
"Fine. Thanks for not freaking out too hard," said Lucien.
"I love you, son," said Damien.
There's a pause. "Love you too," said Lucien. I inwardly aww'd. I smiled. The rest of the ride was relatively quiet.
When we arrived at their home, Lucien got out and immediately headed inside. Damien turned to me. "I didn't expect to have that conversation in front of you. He and I have a lot we need to work out," he said.
"You're good. Plus, if nothing else, his brick-laying was pretty good. He might get a job in construction or something," I reply. Damien smiles. I continue, "I really admire how you handled that. I certainly wouldn't have been nearly as cool about it as you were."
"I just want what's best for him. Yelling at him certainly wouldn't do either of us any favors."
"It certainly doesn't help in most cases. You're a good dad. See you around?"
"It would be my honor and my pleasure." Damien gives one of his classic bows as he departs.
I take the car home and find Andrew watching TV on the couch. I sit down next to him. We watch a dumb show for a while. Andrew then brings up the fact that Lucien had actually live-streamed his stunt.
"This entire day was bizarre, but I had a lot of fun. Damien's good company and a good parent," I said.
"He's cool," said Andrew.
"I think so too."
That's all for now! Please keep reading and reviewing, thanks :)
