Chapter 2
[Ahaha! *devilish laugh* I've been reading up on Poe! You're all going to have fun now! -)
Now, considering I have approximately three other school projects I should be working on, this story is officially a monument to human distraction and procrastination. And in addition to the previous note, I don't play the violin. Both my siblings played for about a year. That's all I know. One last thing: I began writing this BEFORE I read cPegasus's fic, and did not leech the idea from hers.]
Aislinn, in a completely unladylike manner, flopped onto Kathy's elaborate four-poster bed with a sigh, silver hair flying into disarray. Kathy continued staring out the window, watching the sun sink into the west.
Presently she spoke. "Okay, Az, this is the most amazing trip of my life to date, but I can't enjoy it if you don't. I don't have to be a psychologist to realize something's bothering you. So spill it."
"Oh, Kathy, I just can't help remembering what it was like before... And... something's going on. I don't know what it is, but it has something to do with Cecilia. Kathy, does he seem... insane to you? I'm sorry about ruining your great trip. What is your opinion of this whole business?"
"Woah, Az, one thing at a time." She walked over and joined her friend on the bed. "You're uncle... well, I'm honestly not sure what to think. He seems to have control over his actions, but then I read a story by Poe recently, who made the point that when a lunatic seems the most sane, that is the time to put him in a straitjacket.
"Kathy!"
"I'm not saying he's got some evil plan, I'm not saying he's crazy! No need to get all defensive. It's just, well, there's something about the way he talks and moves, and the decor is a little eccentric, unless this is normal?"
"I noticed that as well."
"And his eyes. There was almost a--a kind of..."
"I know what you mean." Aislinn sighed. "Yes, I noticed those things."
They sat in silence for a moment, staring out the window.
"Az?"
"Yes?"
"Is it... did you... is it typical for the high class to drink a lot of wine?"
"My family was always big on wine. I drank it even as a child."
"The casual way Pegasus held the wine glass sort of suggested that perhaps he was---ah--- accustomed to it."
Aislinn sprang off the bed. "Are you saying my uncle is an alcoholic?!" she shouted.
"Az, please! I'm only saying that it could explain a lot of the rumors. And another thing I observed was a lot of pain. Hidden pain, and it only came out when you mentioned that girl, and only for a second. I'll give him this, he either has the most remarkable hold over his emotion I've ever seen... or maybe..." ---her eyes stared at some spot a great distance away--- "maybe he's channeling emotion, using it in another form... have you ever read "Songmaster*," Aislinn?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, the students at the Songhouse, they use something called Control. It's like bottling up emotions until you can let them burst forth in song, and the students must be so good at Control they don't show emotion unless they want to, and they channel it. I think that might be what your uncle is doing. Channeling his normal self into something else. I suppose you could call it acting."
"Wow, Kathy, thanks for that long, drawn-out explanation for something so simple."
"No need for sarcasm."
Aislinn glanced at her friend, and could tell by the carefully casual tone and curling of her fingers that she was lying about something. "Kathy, really, what is it."
"Okay, Az, but you aren't going to like this. I don't think he's entirely sane."
Aislinn was silent. Her eyes began to prick in the corners as she remembered old times. Since her father was so much older than Maximillion, there was not a huge age gap, and they had done everything together. They were out on the front lawn, chasing new cat. Uncle Maximillion had finally cornered at the garden wall the rebellious feline, who had promptly scratched him in the face and run up a tree. Then they were out on the patio at a formal party, and Aislinn, six years old, spilled wine some on her dress, which her uncle covered with a "corsage" of weeds that received many compliments. The tears flowed freely down her face now, and the memories rushed back, unstoppable. They were at the poolside, he was painting her, and it was hours after they realized the "rhus radicans" that her father's friend had said would look lovely around her hair was more commonly called "poison ivy." Aislinn found how horribly allergic she was, and Maximillion had knocked him down. She was getting picked on by some older boys and he had stood up for her. As the sun streamed in through the windows, he taught her how to ballroom dance. He was a child, the violin bow danced across the strings so elegantly and beautifully, and she was won over to music. Years passed, and his fingers flew over the piano keys as they played their favorite duet, as they gave each other a deeper understanding of the power and technique of music. In the dark, the chandelier lit, she guided him to discovering the beauty and importance of shadows in art. In the snowy cold, they had gone Christmas caroling together. And those were only the memories of them alone. The best times were had with Cecilia, gentle, kind, quick to laugh. Cecilia singing Christmas carols with them in the snow at a neighboring house that they knew did not want them there. Cecilia pointing out strengths and weaknesses in his art, Cecilia showing Aislinn the fine points of fashion, Cecilia who she had spent long, giggling night hours with, Cecilia who had confessed her love for Maximillion and asked her permission, and Cecilia of whom Maximillion had confessed his undying love and also asked Aislinn's advice. She could not deny it any longer. Something was terribly wrong here if he could not speak of the woman who had so stolen his heart.
Aislinn sat up and hugged her knees, her body rocking with sobs, her face burning with shame to be so coarse in front of Kathy. How embarrassing, and yet she could not stop the tears now, the tears falling for all the memories, all the good times, all the laughter and song and mischief, and what it all was now: a mess. Her life, her parent's lives, and, in all evidence, her uncle's life. All that was left now was emptiness, a horrible, torturous emptiness, an emptiness which she felt now so acutely...
In the midst of her misery, she felt Kathy roll across the bed and embraced her, silently telling her that she was not alone.
******
Aislinn was up at sunrise the next morning, the day breaking bright and annoying cheerful, as if the world was taunting her. Rubbing her eyes, she sat on the edge of the four-poster and stared at the wardrobe. Goody. Time to pick out a dress.
Unlike Cecilia, Aislinn had never much enjoyed dressing up in frills and lace, and preferred simple elegance as well as one single, fool-proof color. Coloring digital art she could do, coloring her own attire she could not.
Mustering her tiny bit of color-coordination and brandishing her scraps of knowledge from early multimedia classes like a sword, Aislinn flung open the oak wardrobe and was surprised to find it full. Then again, she had been at Kathy's room a while last night, her uncle's men must have filled it then. If she remembered correctly, her uncle was quite fond of dramatics and would expect her to dress nicely for this simple breakfast. She chose a long, light, silver gown which included a jacket of the same silky material with long, flowing sleeves. On the dresser she found several accessories, and chose a pearl necklace and silver stud earrings, as well as some heels of the same color. A quick run with the brush through her silver hair, and she critically scoured her appearance in the full-length mirror.
It felt so odd, such finery after so long, like Cinderella must have felt as her rags turned into a ball gown. As an awkward child, the gowns she had loved had never quite flowed the way she wanted, and so sometimes she gave up on elegance and went for the "cute" look. But now she realized that this elegant look actually looked elegant, and not just pretty, with her long, willowy limbs, slender form, long hair, noble face. Perhaps it was too much for a simple breakfast. No, Maximillion would not mind, he would enjoy it, she was sure.
There was a knock on her door.
"Miss Aislinn," called a gruff voice, "Master Pegasus asks if you are ready for breakfast."
"Perfect timing," she called back. "I'll be just a moment."
It only took a few minutes to dab on some makeup--she never needed much for her taste--and practice walking in heels, practice which she found that she needed, much to her mortification.
I wonder if Cinderella tripped on the way to the carriage? She wondered as she made her way down the hall.
*****
Kathy woke to a knock on her door. Sunlight streamed though the window. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she squinted at the face of her watch. Eight o'clock. So that's how it is amongst the rich, hmm?
"Breakfast, Miss Kathy."
"Okay," she mumbled, feeling like a tee-ball benchwarmer placed in the pitcher's spot of a major league baseball team.
The doors opened, and in came a servant with a silver tray. On the tray was one of those silver domes they put over fancy dishes, straight out of the movies.
Kathy blinked sleepily in her penguin pajamas at the scene, not quite believing it. Her hand fell to the nightstand beside the bed and touched her notebook. Sleepiness disappeared as she recognized an opportunity.
"You breakfast, miss," the servant said with a little smile at the poor disheveled girl in her pj's.
"Um, thank you, but before you go, can I ask you a few questions? For research." She gave her biggest innocent smile.
"Certainly," the servant replied, as if appeasing a little child.
"Is Mister Pegasus kind to you?" Best to dive right in instead of tormenting yourself inch by inch in cold water.
"Why, of course," he replied, a little disconcerted. She jotted down this in her notebook.
"Does he confide in his underlings?"
"Strictly business, miss." Now he definitely looked a little panicked, and a whole lot annoyed. Better get to the most critical points now.
"Are you aware of whether he's suffered any trauma in the past? Any at all?"
"Uh, enjoy your breakfast, miss," the servant said, and hurried out the door, Kathy jumping off the bed and heading after him, pen and notebook in hand.
"Wait! Is he married? Yes or no!"
But the servant had broken into a sprint and was already around a corner. Kathy gave up.
Breakfast consisted of eggs and toast with lots of delicious jelly and some fruit of which Kathy wasn't sure she could identify. At least she guessed and hoped it was fruit.
As she ate she gazed out the window, watching the dueling field begin to uncover, and decided to go and watch some duels.
After eating she opened the wardrobe and was assailed by the aura of sheer laciness and silkiness that assailed her. Fortunately, folded neatly on the bottom were some stylishly cut jeans, and shirts, and there were a pair of what Kathy found extremely butt-kicking boots by the dresser. She passed up on the earrings and necklaces laid out, and with a brush of makeup and feeling extremely stylish charged out the door and into the winding hallway where she promptly got lost.
About fifteen minutes later, right hand to the wall, she happened upon a stairwell leading down. She knew it wasn't the way out, and was about to pass it up, but the air was heavy with a kind of foreboding, invisible mist that resides in places of darkness and mystery and creepy things with eight legs and more eyes than anyone cares to think about. It was only natural that she go down.
Fifty steps and three knights (there was no way she was getting lost down there) later, she came upon a bend, and ran into one of Pegasus's underlings as she rounded it. He did not look happy.
"What are you doing down here?" he growled.
"I--I'm lost," she stammered.
"I'll lead the way," he replied with a tremendous "why me" sigh, and lead the way out, but not before Kathy got a good glimpse of some bars. Cells. A dungeon, of course! It's in the standard castle catalogue. This just got better and better! She could even have sworn she heard a cry for help. Definitely something to look in to, but now was the time to let this underling lead her poor, lost self to the exit, which turned out to be the next corner. Go figure.
* Real book: "Songmaster" by Orsan Scott Card, if you've read it or eventually read it you'll know what I mean.
[Ahaha! *devilish laugh* I've been reading up on Poe! You're all going to have fun now! -)
Now, considering I have approximately three other school projects I should be working on, this story is officially a monument to human distraction and procrastination. And in addition to the previous note, I don't play the violin. Both my siblings played for about a year. That's all I know. One last thing: I began writing this BEFORE I read cPegasus's fic, and did not leech the idea from hers.]
Aislinn, in a completely unladylike manner, flopped onto Kathy's elaborate four-poster bed with a sigh, silver hair flying into disarray. Kathy continued staring out the window, watching the sun sink into the west.
Presently she spoke. "Okay, Az, this is the most amazing trip of my life to date, but I can't enjoy it if you don't. I don't have to be a psychologist to realize something's bothering you. So spill it."
"Oh, Kathy, I just can't help remembering what it was like before... And... something's going on. I don't know what it is, but it has something to do with Cecilia. Kathy, does he seem... insane to you? I'm sorry about ruining your great trip. What is your opinion of this whole business?"
"Woah, Az, one thing at a time." She walked over and joined her friend on the bed. "You're uncle... well, I'm honestly not sure what to think. He seems to have control over his actions, but then I read a story by Poe recently, who made the point that when a lunatic seems the most sane, that is the time to put him in a straitjacket.
"Kathy!"
"I'm not saying he's got some evil plan, I'm not saying he's crazy! No need to get all defensive. It's just, well, there's something about the way he talks and moves, and the decor is a little eccentric, unless this is normal?"
"I noticed that as well."
"And his eyes. There was almost a--a kind of..."
"I know what you mean." Aislinn sighed. "Yes, I noticed those things."
They sat in silence for a moment, staring out the window.
"Az?"
"Yes?"
"Is it... did you... is it typical for the high class to drink a lot of wine?"
"My family was always big on wine. I drank it even as a child."
"The casual way Pegasus held the wine glass sort of suggested that perhaps he was---ah--- accustomed to it."
Aislinn sprang off the bed. "Are you saying my uncle is an alcoholic?!" she shouted.
"Az, please! I'm only saying that it could explain a lot of the rumors. And another thing I observed was a lot of pain. Hidden pain, and it only came out when you mentioned that girl, and only for a second. I'll give him this, he either has the most remarkable hold over his emotion I've ever seen... or maybe..." ---her eyes stared at some spot a great distance away--- "maybe he's channeling emotion, using it in another form... have you ever read "Songmaster*," Aislinn?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, the students at the Songhouse, they use something called Control. It's like bottling up emotions until you can let them burst forth in song, and the students must be so good at Control they don't show emotion unless they want to, and they channel it. I think that might be what your uncle is doing. Channeling his normal self into something else. I suppose you could call it acting."
"Wow, Kathy, thanks for that long, drawn-out explanation for something so simple."
"No need for sarcasm."
Aislinn glanced at her friend, and could tell by the carefully casual tone and curling of her fingers that she was lying about something. "Kathy, really, what is it."
"Okay, Az, but you aren't going to like this. I don't think he's entirely sane."
Aislinn was silent. Her eyes began to prick in the corners as she remembered old times. Since her father was so much older than Maximillion, there was not a huge age gap, and they had done everything together. They were out on the front lawn, chasing new cat. Uncle Maximillion had finally cornered at the garden wall the rebellious feline, who had promptly scratched him in the face and run up a tree. Then they were out on the patio at a formal party, and Aislinn, six years old, spilled wine some on her dress, which her uncle covered with a "corsage" of weeds that received many compliments. The tears flowed freely down her face now, and the memories rushed back, unstoppable. They were at the poolside, he was painting her, and it was hours after they realized the "rhus radicans" that her father's friend had said would look lovely around her hair was more commonly called "poison ivy." Aislinn found how horribly allergic she was, and Maximillion had knocked him down. She was getting picked on by some older boys and he had stood up for her. As the sun streamed in through the windows, he taught her how to ballroom dance. He was a child, the violin bow danced across the strings so elegantly and beautifully, and she was won over to music. Years passed, and his fingers flew over the piano keys as they played their favorite duet, as they gave each other a deeper understanding of the power and technique of music. In the dark, the chandelier lit, she guided him to discovering the beauty and importance of shadows in art. In the snowy cold, they had gone Christmas caroling together. And those were only the memories of them alone. The best times were had with Cecilia, gentle, kind, quick to laugh. Cecilia singing Christmas carols with them in the snow at a neighboring house that they knew did not want them there. Cecilia pointing out strengths and weaknesses in his art, Cecilia showing Aislinn the fine points of fashion, Cecilia who she had spent long, giggling night hours with, Cecilia who had confessed her love for Maximillion and asked her permission, and Cecilia of whom Maximillion had confessed his undying love and also asked Aislinn's advice. She could not deny it any longer. Something was terribly wrong here if he could not speak of the woman who had so stolen his heart.
Aislinn sat up and hugged her knees, her body rocking with sobs, her face burning with shame to be so coarse in front of Kathy. How embarrassing, and yet she could not stop the tears now, the tears falling for all the memories, all the good times, all the laughter and song and mischief, and what it all was now: a mess. Her life, her parent's lives, and, in all evidence, her uncle's life. All that was left now was emptiness, a horrible, torturous emptiness, an emptiness which she felt now so acutely...
In the midst of her misery, she felt Kathy roll across the bed and embraced her, silently telling her that she was not alone.
******
Aislinn was up at sunrise the next morning, the day breaking bright and annoying cheerful, as if the world was taunting her. Rubbing her eyes, she sat on the edge of the four-poster and stared at the wardrobe. Goody. Time to pick out a dress.
Unlike Cecilia, Aislinn had never much enjoyed dressing up in frills and lace, and preferred simple elegance as well as one single, fool-proof color. Coloring digital art she could do, coloring her own attire she could not.
Mustering her tiny bit of color-coordination and brandishing her scraps of knowledge from early multimedia classes like a sword, Aislinn flung open the oak wardrobe and was surprised to find it full. Then again, she had been at Kathy's room a while last night, her uncle's men must have filled it then. If she remembered correctly, her uncle was quite fond of dramatics and would expect her to dress nicely for this simple breakfast. She chose a long, light, silver gown which included a jacket of the same silky material with long, flowing sleeves. On the dresser she found several accessories, and chose a pearl necklace and silver stud earrings, as well as some heels of the same color. A quick run with the brush through her silver hair, and she critically scoured her appearance in the full-length mirror.
It felt so odd, such finery after so long, like Cinderella must have felt as her rags turned into a ball gown. As an awkward child, the gowns she had loved had never quite flowed the way she wanted, and so sometimes she gave up on elegance and went for the "cute" look. But now she realized that this elegant look actually looked elegant, and not just pretty, with her long, willowy limbs, slender form, long hair, noble face. Perhaps it was too much for a simple breakfast. No, Maximillion would not mind, he would enjoy it, she was sure.
There was a knock on her door.
"Miss Aislinn," called a gruff voice, "Master Pegasus asks if you are ready for breakfast."
"Perfect timing," she called back. "I'll be just a moment."
It only took a few minutes to dab on some makeup--she never needed much for her taste--and practice walking in heels, practice which she found that she needed, much to her mortification.
I wonder if Cinderella tripped on the way to the carriage? She wondered as she made her way down the hall.
*****
Kathy woke to a knock on her door. Sunlight streamed though the window. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she squinted at the face of her watch. Eight o'clock. So that's how it is amongst the rich, hmm?
"Breakfast, Miss Kathy."
"Okay," she mumbled, feeling like a tee-ball benchwarmer placed in the pitcher's spot of a major league baseball team.
The doors opened, and in came a servant with a silver tray. On the tray was one of those silver domes they put over fancy dishes, straight out of the movies.
Kathy blinked sleepily in her penguin pajamas at the scene, not quite believing it. Her hand fell to the nightstand beside the bed and touched her notebook. Sleepiness disappeared as she recognized an opportunity.
"You breakfast, miss," the servant said with a little smile at the poor disheveled girl in her pj's.
"Um, thank you, but before you go, can I ask you a few questions? For research." She gave her biggest innocent smile.
"Certainly," the servant replied, as if appeasing a little child.
"Is Mister Pegasus kind to you?" Best to dive right in instead of tormenting yourself inch by inch in cold water.
"Why, of course," he replied, a little disconcerted. She jotted down this in her notebook.
"Does he confide in his underlings?"
"Strictly business, miss." Now he definitely looked a little panicked, and a whole lot annoyed. Better get to the most critical points now.
"Are you aware of whether he's suffered any trauma in the past? Any at all?"
"Uh, enjoy your breakfast, miss," the servant said, and hurried out the door, Kathy jumping off the bed and heading after him, pen and notebook in hand.
"Wait! Is he married? Yes or no!"
But the servant had broken into a sprint and was already around a corner. Kathy gave up.
Breakfast consisted of eggs and toast with lots of delicious jelly and some fruit of which Kathy wasn't sure she could identify. At least she guessed and hoped it was fruit.
As she ate she gazed out the window, watching the dueling field begin to uncover, and decided to go and watch some duels.
After eating she opened the wardrobe and was assailed by the aura of sheer laciness and silkiness that assailed her. Fortunately, folded neatly on the bottom were some stylishly cut jeans, and shirts, and there were a pair of what Kathy found extremely butt-kicking boots by the dresser. She passed up on the earrings and necklaces laid out, and with a brush of makeup and feeling extremely stylish charged out the door and into the winding hallway where she promptly got lost.
About fifteen minutes later, right hand to the wall, she happened upon a stairwell leading down. She knew it wasn't the way out, and was about to pass it up, but the air was heavy with a kind of foreboding, invisible mist that resides in places of darkness and mystery and creepy things with eight legs and more eyes than anyone cares to think about. It was only natural that she go down.
Fifty steps and three knights (there was no way she was getting lost down there) later, she came upon a bend, and ran into one of Pegasus's underlings as she rounded it. He did not look happy.
"What are you doing down here?" he growled.
"I--I'm lost," she stammered.
"I'll lead the way," he replied with a tremendous "why me" sigh, and lead the way out, but not before Kathy got a good glimpse of some bars. Cells. A dungeon, of course! It's in the standard castle catalogue. This just got better and better! She could even have sworn she heard a cry for help. Definitely something to look in to, but now was the time to let this underling lead her poor, lost self to the exit, which turned out to be the next corner. Go figure.
* Real book: "Songmaster" by Orsan Scott Card, if you've read it or eventually read it you'll know what I mean.