𝐁𝐀𝐒 ;

"i guess that depends if you believe in heaven, or the afterlife. do you?" eliza had never been the religious kind, only sometimes accompanying mrs. tristan to mass out of curiosity and fascination. she surely liked to think richard was in a better place now, looking down on her. though that last part was perhaps as chilling as it was comforting. "besides, no one knows if winifred is actually dead." the name was heavy in her tongue, something she thought about often but never actually spoke out loud. eliza had wondered about it sometimes, wondered what might have happened, tried to imagine a grown version of winifred (of herself) walking through woodrow's gates. for the most part, she tried to lock these fantasies in the same part of her brain where she locked thoughts about her mother and biological father, long lost ruminations of a sad, confused little girl. but winifred was somehow harder to escape, confronting her every time she looked at the mirror.

Eliza seemed more disturbed by his words than what she perhaps thought she looked like. He wondered for a moment, how difficult it must be to live under the shadow of someone else, a kid nonetheless, Eliza was a grown woman now, but she still resembled the kid that house had lost. "Would you like that? For Winifred to be alive?"

The writer asked without guilt. It would be fantastic, for the missing child to reappear while the fake one was in the house. It would make a perfect twist for his book, if only real life was as easy to control as his stories were. Maybe Sebastian should have tried to be nicer towards Eliza, maybe she had information he wouldn't find. Maybe Richard had shared secrets about the disappearance of his daughter with the one he got as a replacement.

"It would freak out Mrs Tristan for sure... but you, Eliza? How would you feel about Winifred reclaiming her land?" Sebastian was cynical, and he enjoyed it very much. Nothing was worse than a petty girl, or perhaps there was, a passive aggressive one.

when: 6:00 pm

with: @vesvius

there were a couple of things eliza was very good at. acting, singing, making apple crumble and, of course, ignoring things that were upsetting. as a child, she ignored some of the wards distaste of her, ignored the fact that adoption was never a word that passed through richard’s mouth, ignored her own empty past with the easiness of someone ignoring a stubborn wine stain in dark clothing. it was a habit that she still held onto, and when it came to sebastian, it was a useful skill. there were many a time when she passed through a bookstore only to be confronted with murky reflections of her family, shrouded in fiction and ink, and simply walked past it. sebastian could write whatever the hell he wanted and she didn’t need to read a single page of it. out of sight out of mind.

of course, ignoring things always became harder when face to face with them, but eliza was also very good at compartmentalizing. that evening, exhausted by the work at the greenhouse, eliza had been the one to seek out sebastian, approach him with an amicable but serious expression. she had in hands the small photograph of winifred that resided in the great room, the one that she was so fascinated by as a child. she passed it to sebastian. “i saw you staring at it earlier.” it might have been a declaration, but her tone was questioning. why? was the part left unsaid.

Eliza disliked him, he knew that, he always did. It never affected Sebastian in any sort of way. Being disliked, feared, and avoided became the norm, and Eliza's attitude towards him surprised no one. They met when she was way too young, and even if he thought that perhaps she would be clever and realize Sebastian was not as dark as he seemed, he couldn't blame her. She was nothing but a baby and grew up watching others dislike him. Eliza was a reflection, not much more.

She approached him and that he did not expect. Minding his own business while searching for any sort of clue he could find in the library, Eliza walked towards him with a question in her mouth, and honestly, Sebastian knew what she was going to say before she even said it. She was a shadow, and as soon as he looked at the picture in her hands and how much she resembled the dead girl, Sebastian couldn't help but smirk, he looked at the photograph and faked a surprised expression. "For a moment I thought you were showing me a baby picture of you." His left eyebrow arched, he could tell her words had a question behind it, and he had no issue in avoiding it with what made Eliza uncomfortable. "I looked at it, wondering if they finally found each other again."

Naomi could feel herself sinking into the part of the plush, vintage sofa she was sitting on. It was tempting to slip into another nap, given her sleep schedule had yet to reset and the day the group had. It had been a varying level of hard work across the wards that day in the greenhouse and admittedly, Naomi was somewhere in the middle.

The Greenhouse was a lovely spot, and gardening had seemed like a good hobby choice for a quiet, solitary child like Naomi. For Richard, Naomi had wanted it to stick, but she didn't have a green thumb and working today was a sore reminder of a connection to Richard she could have had, if she were better at it. Even so, when she looked down at her hands that afternoon with the sun shining on the various ticks of scars that lined her hands caked with soil rather than food products, she felt proud.

Now they all seemed far more deflated, tired from the labor and the night creeping up. She looked around at her peers, thinking about the little moments that she caught on to, tensions that she wasn't sure of. Mostly, Naomi didn't care about those things, happy to disengage and let people sort it themselves. Here, stuck together for the week it felt inescapable and it beckoned memories of her own mother, and the ways Naomi would try to anticipate the fallout when they shared a small apartment.

The day went through and Sebastian successfully avoided getting his clothes dirty. He wore a grey sweater and dark pants, perfectly fitting his body, hugging him like a glove. He assisted in making the greenhouse acceptable again, but not much, not with his hands at least. To Sebastian, nature shouldn't be contained in a greenhouse. He understood the concept and how it was a special place for Richard and some of the wards, nonetheless, to him, nature should be unchained, unrestrained.

If any of his faux siblings suggested such a thing again, this time, Bas would raise his voice and bring hell upon them, to later hire someone else to do whatever bright new charitable idea they could have come up with.

The whole situation was not as bad, though. Not to Sebastian, as the distractions made the wards put their eyes somewhere else, and he managed to stroll into the house to his wishes, but as soon as the work was done, he had to pretend to be in places for the joy of socialization, and not only because he was looking for things. Yet, Naomi's voice was not the one he thought he'd heard in the room, not because she was quiet most of the time, but since their last encounter, they had not shared a word. Sebastian knew the woman was crossed, and if she could avoid even looking in his direction, she would. It was her loss however, Sebastian was one fine man to look at.

If she spoke to him, it must have been a mistake. "Was it, though? Don't you think a professional would have done a better job?" Perhaps it was not the best thing to say, not to Naomi, who was already pissed at him, and Sebastian had done next to nothing for the Greenhouse, but he was anything but a cynic.

Naomi feared her appreciations for Sebastian should've remained unsaid to spare her from his judgements. She was able to look away and roll her eyes at his attempt to kill her small talk, the type she wasn't accustomed to doing anyway. It was when he directly addressed her eulogy, that she felt her shoulders tense up and a heat all through her skin.

This sanctimonious fuck, Naomi cursed him in her mind. While not everyone was able to be eloquent and unemotional, Sebastian was and she envied him for it. "Did your own absence of emotion for your hero bother you?" So badly she had wanted to remind Sebastian that he never thanked Richard either, wanted to throw a drink and some of her own judgements in his face. She didn't wait for a response to her rhetorical question. "I didn't ask you for any notes, so why don't you write them in your next masterpiece?" Naomi saw the gold gleam of the ornate frame shine against the light as she pushed the photo of Winifred to his chest, forcing him to grab it or let it fall before she turned and walked away.

Sebastian didn't want to talk with Naomi, not because of the reasons she could have imagined, but because her compliments felt empty and only there to fill the air with bland conversation, just like any other guest grieving Richard. Maybe he should have been nicer to her, just a little bit.

"Is that an attack?" Sebastian asked without expecting an answer from Naomi. She seemed like she'd walk on him at any second, "some of us can hold back, Naomi, without running from it." and just like he thought, the woman pushed a frame against his chest and walked away. Dramatic, even for Sebastian.

He looked at her petite frame get lost in the ocean of people, and only when she no longer looked back and caught a glimpse of him, he looked at the picture resting against him. Winifred.

Losing people was a funny thing, and maybe this coming out of her shell was Naomi's way to deal with it, but Sebastian was not one to comfort her, nor anyone, that was not his thing. Yet, running away was definitely Naomi's.

He appreciated the sentiment, surely. If there was an old greenhouse down in Virginia he could fix up for his mom, he’d do it too. Well, not himself but, he’d organize a similar party. In Angus and Natalia’s little initiative they neglected to realize how few of them rarely got their hands dirty. The only person he could imagine doing any real yard work was possibly Will, in exchange for room and board at a beautiful Spanish villa owned by a bewitching señorita who’s husband never showed her the time of day...and possibly Celia, but more in the motherly, keeping up appearances sort of way.

Fixing the Greenhouse was unnecessary, or even worse, idiotic. Sebastian should have stepped up and voted against this lunatic idea Natalia and Angus had, not that any of those two were truly going to get their hands dirty, or perhaps they would. Sebastian did not care, he had no intention of getting under the sun and fixing the unfixable —whether or not it was possible to improve the state of the greenhouse was not important, not in this lifetime at least— Why was the place in such bad shape after all? Since when do the wards have to work for Woodrow? Why would Natalia and Angus not suggest hiring others to do it? Why?

The number of questions Sebastian had running through his head were too many to find an answer to each one, but in the middle of his silent cursing against the two, Reuben's voice brought him back to reality, a strange one where Reuben had a shovel in his hands and invited him to flee from the scene. This new reality sounded more interesting than the dust in the greenhouse.

Sebastian looked at Reuben and if the other squinted his eyes, he could catch a slim smirk across his lips. The writer was never one to misbehave or skip his duties, but this one, he had to, and he heard the hidden anguish behind Reuben's words, the younger did not want to be there either. "What if we lock them in the greenhouse and let them die of dehydration?" He asked, with a straight face and his gaze glued to Reuben's. He sounded almost serious.

Natalia didn't have to say anything, he knew his words had made her feel uncomfortable. He didn't expect her to feel that way, though. Natalia was known for barely having a beating heart, the mention of the man rotting away shouldn't have been so unsettling.

"I am working on a new one, yes." He answered the question but wouldn't elaborate. Sebastian knew that Natalia wouldn't keep a secret if she knew the subject of his next story, it was best to paddle away from his new writing. "I wouldn't have imagined you reading anything I'd write. My books don't seem to be in any way something you'd spend your time on." Sebastian moved his gaze away from Natalia and back to the crown of people crying over Richard, something he should be doing too but tears were stuck.

Mickey had always been a Pandora's box. Her mind and brain were something Sebastian would pick and examine. She was interesting and he suspected she had no clue about it.

"I didn't know you were in the band either." Not knowing stuff always made Sebastian feel uncomfortable, he prided himself in knowing more than others, at least the interesting stuff. Maybe Mickey's musical talents were not enthralling enough to catch his attention back then. "Fencing suited you well." That he remembered, Mickey wearing her white attire and her mask. He wondered if she still practiced it or not, but didn't ask.

"Are you still working in the stars?" On the other hand, Mickey's fascination with the outer space always pulled Sebastian's heartstrings. "Are you happy?" His question became too personal, in fact, way too much, Mickey didn't have to answer, but the writer's curiosity was true.

on edge had not fully encompassed what dante had felt. he was beyond just an edge. rather, it were a perpetual falling⸺as if he'd flung himself from a parapet with no ground beneath to catch him. only air, sailing through fate with no particular ease. there's only an unknowing of when he'd finally collide with reality. consider this a partial evasion, a postponement made for the sake of recreation. for the sake of winning a game of darts, really. by any means necessary. they're halfway through the round, dante readies a dart between fingers. " if i make this you gotta let me pitch an idea for your next book. "

Dante and Sebastian's relationship probably surprised everybody. They clicked for some reason, and not even Sebastian was quite sure why or how. Their friendship, if it could even be called that, was unusual but right. Dante had the edge Sebastian lacked, or so he thought. Dante was just a puppy when they met, a stray one, of course. Innocent eyes but filled with mischief, and that, Sebastian liked.

"Deal." He simply said, playing with his dart between his fingers. They had spent the last hour in the games room, stabbing the dart board. "I accept only because you are not good at all." Sebastian mocked the other, his own skills were above average and Dante was... well just that, average.

"I did not know you had any creativity in you. You made me believe all you had was muscle."

It wasn’t yet two hours into the wake and, already, Sama wanted to leave. She couldn’t, or she could but she wasn’t going to because that would disrespect Richard’s memory, and probably disappoint Mrs. Tristan, and definitely piss off Alison even more. But she wanted to. The second best thing to actually leaving would be to get a break from the questions and the remembering and the strangers who kept touching her, like that was okay just because it was meant to be comforting. Instinctively, Sama looked for Sebastian. Because that was what she did when she was a Woodrow House and wanted to be left alone, if going to her room was not an option, Sebastian’s bizarrely off-putting aura was an acceptable refuge. 

When she first arrived at Woodrow, Sama had made it a point to not be intimidated by Sebastian. Which, in turn, was how she’d realized he wasn’t really intimidating, or even trying to be. She also quickly realized that if she was hanging out with him, the younger, more annoying wards wouldn’t bother her, and that was something she was willing to take advantage of. A cursory inspection of the wake told her that nothing had changed. Sebastian was still off to the side, watching, and the rest of the mourners were giving him a wide berth. Ridiculous, but useful.

Sama stopped at the bar for a glass of sparkling cider, then slid into Sebastian’s orbit. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” something that used to be a given but she figured was worth restating, “but if you do, you're not allowed to ask me anything about feelings.”

The ambrosia that so often kissed the lips of other wards was not what called Sebastian to the bar, it wasn't the alcohol at all but the strange silence of the place at that hour of the day. The game room wasn't his favorite place in Woodrow, everybody knew it, yet he there was, getting himself a drink at ungodly hours. Richard would disapprove, but Sebastian barely did himself.

It wasn't until Sama walked into the room that Sebastian realized he was lost in thought, empty ones. The death of his almost father had shaken him more than he would have expected. Not that Sebastian even dedicated time wondering about death or the meaning of life, not Richard's at least. Heroes were not supposed to die.

Her voice called for attention, one Sebastian had not given her. As usual, he had said nothing at all, yet Sama's attempt to reassure him there was no need for words between them felt like a deep breath of fresh air. "Who asked for a penny for your thoughts already?" The writer asked with half a smirk painting his pale features. It was known information, no one could ask Sama for anything that involved or even hinted she had a heart. There was a point during their time under Richard's roof when Sebastian doubted her ribs were protecting a muscle, she seemed empty, and he liked that.

"I am drinking in the middle of the day, I do not think I can talk feelings, I am hard trying to drown them."

She, the Haze book cover

"How is your writing career? Anything you're currently working on?" Naomi had only read a few of Sebastian's book, and she completely understood the hype, he was very talented. However, through this she also realized his books were inspired by them. Not enough to be obvious to those who grew up outside of those walls, but Naomi did. It was why she had avoided 'Conflagration's Dance'.

"You did really great today, by the way." It was tough to compare them, since each person and their relationship to Richard was unique, but most had seemed a hit with the crowd, and Sebastian and River's talent for writing was on display that day. Naomi knew she faltered.

Naomi's attention was caught by an unfamiliar photo, but one with beings she recognized. There in the ornate frame, was Richard, younger and accompanied by a little girl, his little girl and dearest love. "I don't think I've ever seen this one," She picked up the photo and showed it to Sebastian, "have you?"

Sebastian couldn't remember the last time he and Naomi shared a deep talk or a talk at all. She had always been quiet, and so was Sebastian. Their match was not made in heaven when it came to holding a conversation, none of them would have tried, but this time, during the funeral, he noticed how the woman was trying to keep it going. She was raising the dead. Completely unnecessary in Sebastian's eyes, but he was avoiding his grief as much as possible to even care about Naomi's small talk.

"Call me rude, but I have no desire to see Mrs. Tristan dance, not even shake her body in any other circumstances..." The mere idea of the old woman enjoying herself made Sebastian question his sanity, so he was grateful the girl decided to move the conversation somewhere else, even if his books were not something he wanted to talk about with the wards. His writing was inspired by them, it was obvious to him, but most of them were stupid enough to not even connect the dots. Nonetheless, his fear came from a different place, someone pointing out he was actually not creative at all, and he had stolen stories to write retellings, nothing more than that. Any of them pointing out that, was something Sebastian couldn't deal with, and was, in fact, his fear every time Richard complimented his book deals. "It's a mystery and I wish for that to stay a mystery as well." He ended his explanation, Naomi didn't need to know anything else, and neither did he want her to.

What was with Naomi and her compliments, it was making Sebastian uncomfortable, he looked around the room, trying to find someone he could tag Naomi to, so she would stop talking more than usual, at him leastwise. Failing on his mission, he gave in and looked back at the brown-eyed girl. "I didn't expect you to talk much for your speech, but never thought you wouldn't speak at all." He was blunt, her running felt disrespectful to Richard, and he had no issue showing and voicing his opinion. "You could at least have said 'thank you'."

Sebastian had seen all the pictures, even pictures that maybe not even Richard knew existed, he was working on a book about his daughter, and he had done his digging, maybe not much writing, but his investigation was not that lacking. "She seems as if she was such a lovely girl, not like any of us. Why did he take us in to fill the void of Winifred? I will never understand."

The whole thing was largely an excuse for people to dress up and throw their money away. Richard, predictably, made a large donation at some point. Then later in the evening when things should have died down, he gave the whole affair a second wind when he found himself on the dance floor with a professor Natalia swore had never smiled or laughed until that evening. She wondered where Professor Thibault was now, if she was still teaching at Kingsbury or retired somewhere.

"Did you see the photo of Richard in one of his school plays? It's so weird to see him so young."

Some sort of jealousy hit Sebastian when she said she had seen Richard dance. He looked at her, or better said, down on her. Natalia did not have any sort of special relationship with Richard, or at least not that Sebastian could remember, and if they had it, he would have noticed. He would have seen it. There was none, so why did Natalia have privileges he did not.

"Hmm," he made a sound, no longer interested in hearing more of it, but also wanting to know all about it, but she changed the subject, to a different picture in the collection. Natalia might not be aware of this sudden envy Sebastian was feeling, but he gave it a chance to let it go and look back at the picture of Little Richard wearing a Hamlet costume. "I saw it," the writer said dryly, "I also forgot he was a kid at some point. Isn't it weird? That he is no longer here but cold in a box under the ground... rotting away?"