~*~*~*~
On June 11th, Estell Williams joined her husband in the neighborhood cemetary. Taryn attended the funeral, of course, being the old woman's closest friend as of late. Nichola was brought along as well, wrapped in blankets and behaving very appropriately in her buggy. Mother and daughter stood off to the side, mother openly weeping behind her lace veil. They had all known this day was fast approaching; Estell was at least eighty years old, but Taryn was devastated still. She had lost her only friend, her only support, and her only hope.
"Ms. Locksly, I presume?"
Taryn looked up from the ground, bewildered and lost. The service was over, and anyone previously in attendance was slowly making their way to their respective homes. She and Nichola were the only ones left standing there, aside from the short, stubby little man who was now speaking, apparently to mother and child.
Taryn blinked. "Yes?" Odd that he reffered to her by her maiden name, really.
"I am truely sorry for your loss." The man nodded, congenially. "My name is Victor Milosovich, Mrs. Williams had asked that I discuss a few things with you."
Things were moving like an ocean, waving back and forth... sound was muddled and hard to understand. Taryn wavered a bit in her stance, gazing at the little man, confused.
"Pardon?"
"Her will, Ms. Locksly." The man smiled. A warm smile... "Mrs. Williams had asked me to discuss her will with you."
"Oh..."
Snap.
Reality.
"Right, then."
Victor stepped forward to help her with her balance. "My office is right this way, just accross the street. It shouldn't take long at all." He went to take her arm.
Taryn shooed his arm away with her hand, tossing her red curls. "I can walk just fine, thank ya, Mr. Milosovich." And with that she strode off ahead of him, pushing Nichola in the direction of the stubby little man's supposed office.
Her shrieking, 30 minutes later, could be heard blocks away.
"Bleedin' Everythin'?!"
"Not... -everything-, Ms. Locksly. A few peices of furniture and airlooms will be shipped to distant relatives, no charge to you, of course." Mr. Milosovich said, beamining brilliantly enough to match his shiny bald head. He was a good man, Taryn noted behind her fit of shock. He seemed very pleased for her.
Mother was up and astounded, pacing around the room, while daughter slept through her irish ranting. "But the house!" She shrieked again. "All the money!"
A low-pitched chuckle sounded from behind a fancy desk. "That's right, Ms. Locksly. We can have the paper-work ready for you in about a week."
"Jesus ever-lovin' Christ!" True, she wasn't one for strict reverance. She continued to pace the room and chew at her nails. This could be it, she was thinking wildly. This could be my way out of all of it... But just as these thoughts seeped their way into her mind, Taryn's eyes met Nichola's, and that dreaded reality once more faded back into view. It was then Taryn realized that although this gift could help her out of nearly any bind, it wasn't going to help her out of the one thing that mattered most: how to save her children.
The following weeks were spent as a mixture of frantic scheming interlaced with mourning. Taryn hadn't felt this alone since she was torn from her family, what seemed like so long ago. Her determination to somehow salvage her immediate family was kicked into overdrive, however. The Ravensdale home was strewn with sketches and jotted ideas. Scrolls covered the large sofa in the sunroom, and Taryn herself spent a great deal of her time pacing back and forth throughout the house. Every so often a brilliant idea would pop into her head, and when the most minor of details would prove the plan impossible, she would collapse and cry the tears of a woman in the utmost distress. As if all of this weren't enough, time was drawing near for Adair's homecoming, and Taryn hadn't the slightest idea what she would do if he were to walk in to her, with her large belly and infant, drawing out escape plans in his living room. That simply wouldn't do. It simply wouldn't do at all.
~*~*~*~
On June 11th, Estell Williams joined her husband in the neighborhood cemetary. Taryn attended the funeral, of course, being the old woman's closest friend as of late. Nichola was brought along as well, wrapped in blankets and behaving very appropriately in her buggy. Mother and daughter stood off to the side, mother openly weeping behind her lace veil. They had all known this day was fast approaching; Estell was at least eighty years old, but Taryn was devastated still. She had lost her only friend, her only support, and her only hope.
"Ms. Locksly, I presume?"
Taryn looked up from the ground, bewildered and lost. The service was over, and anyone previously in attendance was slowly making their way to their respective homes. She and Nichola were the only ones left standing there, aside from the short, stubby little man who was now speaking, apparently to mother and child.
Taryn blinked. "Yes?" Odd that he reffered to her by her maiden name, really.
"I am truely sorry for your loss." The man nodded, congenially. "My name is Victor Milosovich, Mrs. Williams had asked that I discuss a few things with you."
Things were moving like an ocean, waving back and forth... sound was muddled and hard to understand. Taryn wavered a bit in her stance, gazing at the little man, confused.
"Pardon?"
"Her will, Ms. Locksly." The man smiled. A warm smile... "Mrs. Williams had asked me to discuss her will with you."
"Oh..."
Snap.
Reality.
"Right, then."
Victor stepped forward to help her with her balance. "My office is right this way, just accross the street. It shouldn't take long at all." He went to take her arm.
Taryn shooed his arm away with her hand, tossing her red curls. "I can walk just fine, thank ya, Mr. Milosovich." And with that she strode off ahead of him, pushing Nichola in the direction of the stubby little man's supposed office.
Her shrieking, 30 minutes later, could be heard blocks away.
"Bleedin' Everythin'?!"
"Not... -everything-, Ms. Locksly. A few peices of furniture and airlooms will be shipped to distant relatives, no charge to you, of course." Mr. Milosovich said, beamining brilliantly enough to match his shiny bald head. He was a good man, Taryn noted behind her fit of shock. He seemed very pleased for her.
Mother was up and astounded, pacing around the room, while daughter slept through her irish ranting. "But the house!" She shrieked again. "All the money!"
A low-pitched chuckle sounded from behind a fancy desk. "That's right, Ms. Locksly. We can have the paper-work ready for you in about a week."
"Jesus ever-lovin' Christ!" True, she wasn't one for strict reverance. She continued to pace the room and chew at her nails. This could be it, she was thinking wildly. This could be my way out of all of it... But just as these thoughts seeped their way into her mind, Taryn's eyes met Nichola's, and that dreaded reality once more faded back into view. It was then Taryn realized that although this gift could help her out of nearly any bind, it wasn't going to help her out of the one thing that mattered most: how to save her children.
The following weeks were spent as a mixture of frantic scheming interlaced with mourning. Taryn hadn't felt this alone since she was torn from her family, what seemed like so long ago. Her determination to somehow salvage her immediate family was kicked into overdrive, however. The Ravensdale home was strewn with sketches and jotted ideas. Scrolls covered the large sofa in the sunroom, and Taryn herself spent a great deal of her time pacing back and forth throughout the house. Every so often a brilliant idea would pop into her head, and when the most minor of details would prove the plan impossible, she would collapse and cry the tears of a woman in the utmost distress. As if all of this weren't enough, time was drawing near for Adair's homecoming, and Taryn hadn't the slightest idea what she would do if he were to walk in to her, with her large belly and infant, drawing out escape plans in his living room. That simply wouldn't do. It simply wouldn't do at all.
~*~*~*~
