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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 6, 2007 0:09:49 GMT -5
Smiling softly, he wondered if perhaps she thought french toast was his primary food source. He wasn't complaining by any stretch of the imagination, however. Shaking his head in response, he saw her disapparate to some unknown region and seated himself at the table.
Finding himself pleasantly surprised at how little time D'rorah had taken, he produced a small smile as he watched her begin. Smirking slightly at her playful comment, he saw Darius drape himself in from the corner of his eye. Normally being the one to cook in the household, he found this a rather unusual set of circumstances as she set up two places at the table. Returning her kiss lightly, he gazed hungrily at the meal before him.
His regular appetite fully reformed from its recent neglect, he dug right into the french toast, which didn't turn out to be lethal at all, but rather delicious.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Oct 6, 2007 0:27:44 GMT -5
D'rorah sat down at the table beside Dylan. "So..." she paused uncomfortably, "should we expect your mother to come down anytime this morning?" she asked tentatively. She considered her own serving of french toast before using her fork to carefully cut into it. It had been a while since she had actually eaten a proper breakfast, though she found herself doubting whether bread dusted with powdered sugar truly counted as a proper breakfast. Nevertheless, it did seem to taste alright.
She looked around, considering the kitchen as she ate. "Everything here seems so large," she remarked finally. "I always forget there is so much discrepancy between city domiciles and those in the country. Our apartment was rather large, especially for New York.. but still, this is far more spacious. Under the table, she allowed her food to seek out Dylan's as she slowly munched on her toast. She looked over at Darius, who was draped across the floor nearby, and considered him next. She had never had pets... the Philosophy's simply hadn't been pet people, but he was rather cute.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 6, 2007 2:15:23 GMT -5
"My mother usually wakes long after me," he said in response to her question, between bites. "She's always been a late riser," he added quietly, remembering the precious moments him and his father had shared in the early mornings. "I'd have thought she might have gotten up a bit earlier today, though, all things considered." Checking the time, he saw it was just after eight in the morning and noted that they had only a few hours until the funeral.
His mind diverting off that particular subject, he wondered if they had any cinnamon in the pantry. Feeling D'rorah's foot meet his own beneath the table, he quickly decided against moving to check on the spice levels. His own foot returned the actions by sliding up her leg a little way and he followed her eyes, finding his dog in view and smiling diminutively as he took another bite of his breakfast. Finding himself without a drink for the meal, something that rarely happened, he figured that he might just be able to handle it if only the contact between the couples' legs wouldn't cease.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Oct 6, 2007 7:03:51 GMT -5
D'rorah considered his statement for a moment as she continue to watch Darius in the corner. "Late riser..." she turned the words over in her mouth. "Well, I suppose sleep patterns are some one of the most difficult habits to modify," she added, after another moment. She looked over at Dylan. "Tell me about your foster father. What sorts of things did he enjoy doing? What was his favorite meal? Just the simple things." she asked quietly. Not only was she genuinely curious about the man, she also knew that often times remembering pleasant memories was a positive way of dealing with grief.
"I suppose I shall see the cast of your childhood today, more than likely. In a place like this, I assume everyone knows everyone else." As she spoke, her foot absently continued to move over his. She wished for a moment that she had not yet put her boots on that morning, having a feeling that her actions would be far more pleasant between a pair of bare feet.
She looked at a third piece of french toast she had served herself for a moment, trying to decide whether she was hungry enough to actually eat it. With the strange eating a sleeping habits she had been keeping of late, it didn't seem as though any meal was quiet normal anymore. After several moments of deliberation, she finally cut into the piece and began chewing slowly, finding that she finished it rather quickly.
When she finished, she looked over at Dylan. "I do not believe your mother knew quite what to make of me last night. She seemed vaguely uncomfortable." She voiced it as an observation, though behind it was her own concern that she had done something which Astraeus had found off-putting. Feeling the connection she did with Dylan, she did not want any tension or awkwardness with his mother. Of course, she realized that she had a tendency to make most people tense, so perhaps this particular situation would require some special effort on her part to be a bit less formal. And that was something which would definitely take quite a bit of effort on her part.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 6, 2007 15:58:28 GMT -5
Having finished off his three slices of french toast in quick succession, his plate lay bare before him as D'rorah posed a question. "Oh..." His mouth only managed to form a small sound of surprise, the question being relatively unexpected. Thinking for a moment, he found the answers with ease. "Well he loved his job," he said, referring to blacksmithing. "He had an absolute passion for it and he was a great teacher," he added quietly, knowing that his own abilities were far beyond those of any other blacksmiths his age in the country nearby. Choosing to then simply answer the other example question she provided, he continued. "He loved french toast," he said, a small smile rising onto his face.
The fond memories coming back to him, Dylan decided to continue, noticing that he felt significantly more light-hearted. "He was a big family man, and a great businessman," he added. Aiden had never been in the business to make money; he made friends, instead. Always demanding that people pay only what they could, and not always with money. He was famous for accepting whatever someone might give; food, cutlery, crockery.
He looked over to his slightly worn-out dog and smiled once more. Despite it not quite reaching his eyes, it seemed a genuinely happy one. Turning his attention back to D'rorah, he nodded at her remark. "The only people who were really ever distant were us," he said quietly. Despite this fact, his family also knew most people well in the small town.
His foot continuing to play with her leg, he raised his eyes to her as she mentioned his mother. "I noticed it too, but it's nothing personal, Dee," he said quietly. "I just don't think she's quite used to the idea of me actually having a girlfriend, let alone any friends," he added in a small voice. "I don't think the little amount of time we've known each other helps much, either. She might be vaguely suspicious of your intentions." It seemed the sort of thing his mother might do.
His leg withdrawing itself from her touch reluctantly, he pushed himself back from the table and rose from his chair. He collected their empty plates together and took them to the sink, rinsing them off and plaing them in the dishwasher nearby. Turning back to her, he checked his watch and saw that he needed to prepare. "I'd better get ready, Dee," he said quietly, his smile having faded.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Oct 6, 2007 22:16:01 GMT -5
"Suspicious of my intentions?" D'rorah looked puzzled for a moment. Didn't such things generally work the other way around? Wasn't it the place of the father to be suspicious of a young man's intentions toward his daughter? She nearly laughed, but then, looking around the house, another idea came to mind. Certainly such a wealthy family would not be immune to the thought of being used for their money. "My parents were very well-respected people when they lived... and certainly I have no interest in your family's money," she remarked quietly. Her lips pursed slightly, it seemed Shadows and the Mage would not be the only things on her mind after this trip... now she would have a concerned mother to worry about as well.
She watched as Dylan rose from the table and put their dirty plates away into the dishwasher. "Yes, I suppose you should," she agreed. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him softly. "I will wait for you in the sitting room."
She turned towards the sitting room, seating herself in a rather rigid straight-back chair to await his return and their departure for Aiden's funeral. She considered Darius while she waited, finally extending a tentative hand several minutes after Dylan had left, waiting to see what sort of reaction she might get. Apparently not interested, Darius sniffed the hand and trotted off up the marble staircase. D'rorah found herself left in the heretofore unknown situation of having nothing to do but wait and found herself fervently wishing she had at least brought a book of some sort to occupy herself.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 7, 2007 18:01:45 GMT -5
A small, slightly apologetic smile crossed his features at her comment. "I know that, Dee, I just think it's a bit of an unusual circumstance for my mother. I do believe that she'll just have to get over it," he said, a sly smile now cropping up as she wrapped her arms around him. Returning the soft kiss with one of his own, he pulled back and smiled softly.
Taking a shortcut through the dining room to reach the main entranceway, he quickly ascended the stairs. His lips still tingling slightly, he entered the bathroom and took a nice, hot shower. The reality of everything slowly returning to impede the progression of his happy thoughts, he stood under the intensly hot water that he so loved and simply wished for his worries to go down the drain. His request being ignored, he finished up and re-entered his room with a big, fluffy towel wrapped around his lower quarters.
His actions slowing and his mind focusing mainly on the undoubtedly difficult hours ahead, he adorned a dressy pair of long, black tuxedo pants and a light, black, button-up shirt. His normally messy hair soon being tidied and slicked back with gel, he checked himself over in his dresser mirror, adjusting a few things as a result. Finally pleased with his appearance, he took a deep breath, aiming to prepare himself for the day ahead.
A light knock sounded on his door and he turned to see it being nudged open. His mother was wearing a knee-length black dress that hugged her hips, along with a dressy black hat and matching handbag. Without a word, she entered the room and moved to him, giving him a light hug. Returning it briefly, he pulled back and nodded. Darius, taking full advantage of the open door, had nuzzled into the room. Crouching down, Dylan gave his furry companion a quick cuddle before standing up once more and locking eyes with his mother.
The family of three were soon descending the stairwell and Dylan was found to be examining his watch, observing the hour to go. He made his way back into the sitting room to find D'rorah seated is a straight-backed chair. Smiling sadly, he extended a hand to help her up. "We need to go," he said quietly.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Oct 7, 2007 18:15:00 GMT -5
D'rorah accepted his hand with a reciprocating subdued smile. "Of course," she replied, her voice quiet in deference to their intended destination. She nodded politely to Astraeus. "Ms. Cooper," she said by way of greeting, leaving off the customary good morning, as it did not seem entirely appropriate to the situation. Taking his arm, she fell into step with him and his mother. As they stepped out into a day which seemed quite lovely, as though in defiance of the occasion at hand, D'rorah blinked a few times.
The sky was a brilliant cerulean scudded with intermittent puffs of white clouds, and birds twittered in the trees overhead. It seemed they would be walking as the trio set out for the funeral service. A slight breeze whispered through the air, teasing loose a few wisps of D'rorah's hair as they walked. If their intent on the day had not been to go to a funeral, the day would have been absolutely wonderful... the sort of day one would wish spend out in the courtyard or by the lake. I am right here with you, she thought quietly as a show of support.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 7, 2007 18:29:01 GMT -5
Arm in arm with D'rorah, his eyes required a second or two of adjusting to the brilliantly bright day outside as he exited the house. Setting off, his mind dwelled on the forthcoming occasion and his legs came to feel like lead in response. Forcing himself to simply put one foot ahead of the other and continue walking seemed just about the hardest thing in the world, at that point. His hand slipping into hers, he squeezed it slightly as he received her words of comfort in his mind.
Soon arriving at their intended destination, he took a deep breath before approaching his foster mother, who was waiting patiently before the doors. He saw the tears in her eyes as he approached with a sad expression on his own face. Smiling weakly, he released D'rorah's arm to receive a fierce hug from his foster mother. Returning the action, he muttered quietly. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice quavering slightly. Pulling back, he came to his senses slightly and indicated to Dee. "This is D'rorah," he said quietly, not indicating what relationship they might have.
Watching as she smiled, he soon took Dee by the hand once more and entered the building, deciding to take a seat in the second row.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Oct 7, 2007 18:52:59 GMT -5
D'rorah stepped back deferentially as Dylan released her hand. She watched quietly, eyes slightly downcast as foster mother and son hugged. As D'rorah heard herself introduced, she looked up. "My condolences on your loss." She offered a sad, reassuring smile, something appropriate to the occasion. She noticed as they entered that it seemed rather a lot of people were there. She assumed that nearly the entire town had shown up for this funeral. Remembering how Dylan had described his foster father, she was not surprised to see the number of attendees.
She followed as Dylan took his seat on the second row, shifting back politely to allow room as Astraeus crossed to sit on Dylan's other side. Still holding his hand, she turned her attention to the front of the room, watching as people began to settle down. The finality of a funeral was something she had not had the opportunity to experience with her own parents. She had still been in the hospital recovering as they were laid to rest. That fact was one which troubled her somewhat deeply. She had visited before coming to Hogwart's, slipping away from her caretaker one afternoon to apparate to the small stetl in Bronsk, Poland where her parents had been buried.
She had stood, her face as stony as the marble slab she looked down upon... the small memorial to Isaac Philosophy and Shoshana Eisenberg Philosophy. The day, much like today, had been sunny, as though creation itself were mocking her grief, daring her to cry on a day that appeared as though no ill could ever exist in the world. Unable to cry, she had quietly recited kaddish, alone, without the requisite community the prayer for the dead required. Her lip twitched slightly pulling her back to reality, and she pushed the memory away.
When she refocused her eyes to the front of the room, she could see that the family had been seated in the first row and the memorial was about to begin. She squeezed Dylan's hand firmly, determined that he would not be alone now, and that he would know that she stood with him, even if the rest of the world seemed somewhat distant and dimmer at the moment.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 7, 2007 22:27:03 GMT -5
Dimly aware that the occupants of the room were beginning to settle down, Dylan relished the feeling of the hand in his own. The seating arrangements seemed to have one row of benches facing the base of the nearby coffin, the other row facing the side. Being located in the second row, facing the bottom of the casket, Dylan saw quite a few heads turn his way. Recognising most people residing in the room, various memories of them were supressed from his mind by the domineering thoughts of his late foster father.
One face that stood out in particular was that of a boy who looked only a few years the senior of Dylan himself. The boy's stares were obvious due to his position in the row before him, and he had short, mousey brown hair with complementary gray eyes. His eyes, so unlike the expressions he received from D'rorah, were cold and full of hatred as he looked back, calculating his newly returned foster brother.
Feeling a small squeeze in his hand, he returned it, clinging to the contact as the procession began. Everyone's eyes, friendly or not, were now facing the front. The entire thing passed in a sort of blur, everything meshing together to make a little puzzle for him to piece together. A lot of the pieces, however, seemed to disappear in a haze of tears, the colours and pictures washed away by the liquid.
After what seemed to be hours of pain, the call finally came for them to pay their last respects. He watched as his foster family stood, his second mother beckoning for him to join them. Thoroughly feeling as if he were an intruder, he took the time to briefly wipe his tears before releasing the hand of the woman beside him. Standing, he shuffled along the row and fell into line behind his foster mother, taking a small snipping of rosemary from a basket nearby.
Walking beside the casket, his mind managed to focus. An odd kind of calm came over him as he thought back to some of the happiest times he'd enjoyed with his foster father. The devastating occasion couldn't afford even the smallest of smiles, but he felt glad that Aiden had lived such a good life. Tossing the snipping onto the head of the casket, he continued his revolution around it and made his way back to his seat.
Seeing that by now everyone was getting up to pay their last respects, he shuffled along the second row and back to D'rorah. Meeting her eyes with a silent gaze, he offered a small nod to indicate that they could leave.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Oct 7, 2007 22:42:29 GMT -5
D'rorah caught the glares coming from a young man seated facing toward them. She wondered for a moment who he might be and what quarrel he might have with Dylan. Then, noticing that he sat with the woman who had been introduced as Dylan's foster mother, she realized this must be Dylan's foster brother. His cold glare indicated that Dylan had quite downplayed the enmity between them and set her somewhat on alert as the day continued. As she caught the site of grey eyes which reminded her a bit of her own, she wondered if his expression was at all similar to the one she normally wore and suddenly understood with quite a bit of clarity exactly why her peers would avoid her. But then, though her own gaze was cold, it lacked the hatred she saw burning in those icy flames... her own gaze tended more towards emotionless on most occasions.
D'rorah watched as Dylan made his way up to join the foster family, at the beckoning of his foster mother. She was not familiar with the custom involving the sprig of rosemary, but assumed it was a custom of paying one's last respects. When Dylan returned, she thought he seemed to have come to some sort of tenuous peace with the situation at hand, though of course there would be grief to work through still.
At his nod, she rose from her seat in one fluid motion and took his hand as they made their way from the building. Once out in the street, she walked a way with Dylan before pulling him into a fierce hug. She hoped, with the one action, to convey the emotions she couldn't quite put words to, thoughts of comfort, support, and love. "Would you care for a walk?" she asked quietly.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 7, 2007 23:13:25 GMT -5
His hand once more held by hers, he walked alongside her for a while before being pulled into a relatively unexpected hug. Having no idea just why it was unexpected, he returned it with equal intensity, his arms wrapping themselves around her. "A walk would be nice... if my legs weren't so full of lead about now," he said quietly, his eyes coming to rest on the occupants filing out of the procession. Catching the eye of John, he pulled away from D'rorah and took her hand once more. "Come on, let's get out of here before my beloved foster brother comes over for a reunion," he said quickly, heading back in the direction of home.
Glad that he lived so close, they soon reached his house and entered as he flicked his wand to unlock it. His hand still in hers, he made his way up the staircase and to his room, finding Darius asleep on the bed. Releasing her hand, he turned to her, his eyes locking with her own. "Dee..." he began quietly. "Thankyou... for everything," he said, acknowledging how difficult it might be to feel an imposter in such a sad situation.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Oct 7, 2007 23:35:18 GMT -5
"I understand," D'rorah replied as Dylan remarked about the leaden feeling in his legs. "Perhaps a bit later. As he pulled away from her, she followed his gaze to see the young man who had been glaring at Dylan during the funeral. Her suspicion that he was Dylan's foster brother was confirmed with his next statement. She followed along quietly, wondering if Dylan really thought he would be so crass as to pick a fight not ten minutes after his father's funeral. She wondered why there was such enmity between the two, but held her tongue for the moment.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed by his thanks, she smiled. "I would endure far more than this afternoon for your sake, Dylan," she replied quietly. Caught in his eyes, she felt drawn to him. Approaching slowly, she wrapped her arms around him yet again and kissed him softly. "I would endure so much more," she reiterated quietly. She pulled back and bit and rested her forehead against his. "Dylan, I am curious. Your foster brother... well, he seems to hold a great deal of anger toward you. Considering what you told me before, I thought perhaps it was a simple rivalry of foster siblings; however, this... appears to be something more."
Thinking of the scar over his eye, she found anger flickering deep down. John obviously had the advantage of size over Dylan... and she absolutely detested bullying. She found herself wondering if this foster brother would be the sort who might attempt to go out of his way to attack them two of them during their stay in Alconbury. Obviously, he resented anything that might be perceived as happiness on Dylan's part. She waited quietly for an answer, wanting to hear Dylan's perception of the situation with his foster brother before drawing too many hasty conclusions.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Oct 8, 2007 2:55:52 GMT -5
Her words somehow breaking through his slight melancholy, Dylan produced a small smile and returned the kiss softly, adding in a little passion as she wrapped her arms around him.
She spoke of his foster brother and a slight grimace crossed his features. He closed his eyes briefly and nuzzled into her slightly, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. "John..." he began quietly, wondering exactly how to word it. "He was always a bully," he said simply. Feeling as if she deserved more of an explanation, he reluctantly continued. "He never liked me, but when he thought that me and his sister might have been flirting, he got a lot angrier. I don't actually know why he hates me so much..." he added quietly. "Maybe it was how good at blacksmithing I was, or the fact that i'd removed his status as the 'only son' for Aiden. He always seemed to like mentioning my father, though, so perhaps he had something against Darius." He shook his head slightly, moving away from her to sit on the comfortable bed nearby. His legs were still relatively unreliable and he felt significantly more stable once he was seated.
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