A Twist in the Tale
13th of November 2006 A.D.
Not one to let something like bewilderment at the offer to get in the way of a fine fodder of formality Lydia nods graciously. "That is a judgement fair and fair the manner of its telling. I did not come here to catch with barbs of metal or of words those who pass me by. Courtesy I expect so now that courtesy might be restored in full I bear you no ill will." As she speaks she turns from Lara to Barrowill, not too fast nor yet to slow to take into account this stations. "I ask pardons for the harm I have done to you and to your suit. If you are looking for a good cleaning service or a good tailor to replace it I am willing to help with most."
These words half medieval, half modern chick are just what she needed to say to stick. A rich people thing maybe, being willing to share the attentions of a skilled tradesman, one trusted with one's image.
With Lydia listening for how Charles is going to take this practically no one is paying any attention to the woman who is the object of this sorlid transaction. She looks horrified, helpless and hopeful all at once like a tornado had all at once picked her up and hurled her from the bounds of a life hated but familiar.
"Very well," Charles sounds harsh almost mechanical next to Lydia's essence crowned performance. "I'll have all of Eleanor's
personal possessions transferred to you within the week and I'll have her served the divorce papers of course."
Divorce? He was doing that to his wife, passing her along like a party favor? To your left someone is laughing, you are not sure if it is a vampire or one of the people in Eleanor's situation making light. "I'm sure he was getting bored of her, but
that bored?"
"Just goes to show if you do not treat your playmates well they will get nicked," someone with a British accent, but not the sexy James Bond one adds.
Your right hand tightens in a fist that longs to connect with Charles Barrowill's aristocratic nose, or with Lara Raith's smug little smile, looking for all the world like the cat that got all the cream.
"Come on, lets get you some fresh air." Much to your surprise Lydia isn't standing there in shock for having been the proximal cause of someone's divorce, but is in fact taking her new... vassal, yeah that is probably the most palatable way to look at it, away from all the vampires and into the garden.
"Listen I'm not going to apologize again, I have a bit of a bad record with them tonight, but as soon as we are out of here you are free to go. It's not like the White Court has any formal power over you regardless." she pauses, hesitates a moment, still perfectly balanced in the grasp of more than mortal insight. "Do you prefer Eleanor or. something else."
"Well aren't you... How old are you?" the woman manages to ask. If you were to judge her age by the light spilling in from the garden and the much brighter radiance of Lidya's anima you would say late thirties to early forties.
"Fift... sixteen now." It is not that your friend is being insincere, on some level you are pretty sure she does feel as overwhelmed as she sounds right now, but much like turning a certain way so that the camera only catches your good side all Eleanor is seeing right now, despite the literal halo of divine power is the fifteen year old girl, which means that to her own mind she has to act, she cannot just let herself be dragged along or worse yet drown in the chaotic feelings you read behind those bottle green eyes.
"God, two years older than Connie..." She trails off, horror suddenly overcoming the fragile embers of hope in her expression. "What am I going to tell Connie?"
"Your daughter?" you prompt, silently cursing Lara, not least because you are pretty sure she did this on purpose to teach Lydia a lesson or something.
"Step-daughter not that it matters. She's just started highs school. I don't think Charles is going to let me see her anymore." Horror drips into her tone. "All he would have to do is show the file to a judge and they'd side with him instantly. Look at her she's using, she's using. What am I supposed to tell them, that I take drugs to make the empty feeling go away because he's a
vampire?" Laughter like broken glass spills from her lips. "I was relieved like I'm twenty one and sampling every sleazy talent agency in San Francisco."
"The file?" Lydia asks carefully.
"Blackmail file, he keeps one on me," Eleanor replies distantly, hardly seeming to pay attention. "He keeps one on a lot of people," she adds darkly.
"Well then I'll ask him to hand it over as part of the agreement Lady Raith brokered."
"He'll never do it." There is a certainty in that tone that only despair can bring.
"He will unless he'd like to take his chances with the Ferryman and the river ever-winding," your friend answers, a flash not bright but dark in her eyes.
It is perhaps for the best that Eleanor Barrowwill does not understand that reference.
What do you do?
[] Offer to send Eleanor to your house to talk to mom, you are sure she can be of help somehow
[] Offer Eleanor Black Rider's services to go wherever she needs to go to clear her head that is not a vampire party about to turn into an execution
[] Let Eleanor stay, she is probably safer under your eye and Lydia's than elsewhere and it's not like you are about to kill Charles, much as that might appeal
[] Write in
OOC: Now leaving the station for the land of unintended consequences. Up next mass execution. 
