Itʼs coming down hard by St. Ceciliaʼs
Itʼs holy water if you can say
That the chemical reactions youʼve been causing
Can qualify me as a saint
Cause Iʼve been feeling like a martyr for the past two years

22nd June, 1894 — Fairtree Farm celebration

Selwyn Manor was not exactly next door to Avalon Glen, it was halfway across Wales, but Trystan had another reason to have bothered to come to this. It might not be a good one, but – curiosity was as irresistible as anything. (An inaccessible village, and a hunch; a woman he hadn’t forgotten; a leisurely quest to fill his time.)

If he had dressed down, and made a few casual alterations to his appearance (darkened his hair, changed his nose a little), it was mostly to keep a low profile here. As the afternoon wore on, he had admired the hand-hewn furniture, and watched some of the childrens’ games of tug-of-war and the men’s chopping wood. Apparently there was a bonfire set to start when the sun went down, though Trystan knew he probably shouldn’t linger.

For now, though, he had been left to his own devices re-planting a sapling – and it was entertaining to get his hands dirty. Until a young girl came wandering over – Trystan paused, watching as she made a beeline for the freshly upturned earth where he was supposed to be planting the sapling. “Well, hello,” he greeted her in amused surprise, happy to wait and let her have her fun, if she wanted to play in it first – but he cast his gaze around swiftly, wondering if she had a parent or a guardian in tow close behind. Oh, and there she was. Trystan raised a hand to greet or warn her, gesturing lightly at the little girl. “Is she yours?”

---

With a weekend like this, Avery’s worries of if she’d made the right decision in bringing her daughter to this foreign land almost disappeared. Marigold was having the time of her life; Fairtree Farm was a godsend in making sure her daughter was well and truly satisfied. She seemed rather in her element for a four year old: running around in the dirt, making mud pies and chasing Orpington’s large guardian dog, Shadow around the farm; a small shadow for Shadow.

Avery had contented herself to follow her daughter around, occasionally talking with the residents and with the Glynn children (by now she’d gotten most of their names matched to names thank the Lord), and looking forward to the bonfire later that night. It seemed Marigold was constantly on the move, searching for what she called the “perfect dirt”, and despite Avery not knowing what in heaven’s name “perfect dirt” was, she followed her to a little patch where a man had already begun to dig his hold for his sapling. Marigold, of course, paid little mind to who had actually gotten there first, and dug her hands right into the pile he’d made without so much as a greeting. This caused her mother to scold her, albeit gently. “Marigold Alexandria Davenport,” She called sternly, picking up her skirts to hurry over. “What did I say about askin’ people first?”

To the man’s credit, he didn’t seem that too fazed; it was a good thing, otherwise Avery would have to try and juggle being cross at her daughter for intruding and at the man for being indignant about the unpredictable whims of a child. “Yes, she’s mine.” She responded, catching her breath as she looked at the man. Blinking, she furrowed her brow. He looked extremely familiar, and yet different. Avery had carried over the habit of never forgetting a face from her days in California, but even still there was something different to him. Simple. But different.

---

Even if she had looked different, her voice would have given her away well enough even by the first syllable, never mind the familiar last name. So she was married, presumably, or had been. (Trystan acknowledged this in his head alongside the fact of her having a daughter, and did not think too much into why it might matter. It didn’t; it was irrelevant.)

He moved the sapling he had been about to plant away from the spot, propping it back where it had been resting to smile amusedly down at Marigold. “You have your fun, Marigold,” he assured the young girl, even less interested in disciplining other people’s children about asking permission or not than his own; instead, he brushed a smear of dirt casually off his thumb, aware out of the corner of his eye that Avery Davenport was looking at him.

“She’s sweet,” he remarked. “Is she a metamorphamagus too?” He wasn’t sure if she would be – he thought there was a chance it had been inherited, but even then, as far as he knew, that kind of magic was still rather rare. Besides that, he wasn’t sure if Avery Davenport recognised him: so at least that would give her a clue that he had met her.

---

If Avery’s mind had been working to place where she knew the man from, it immediately stopped at his question about Marigold. An alarm rung like a bell throughout her body, and she straightened. It wasn’t a threat - he looked genuinely intrigued, but coming from someone that Avery wasn’t entirely sure she recognized, she wasn’t willing to risk anything. A swift step closer to him put Avery between the man and her daughter, and she stared up at him, her eyes flashing. “What the fuck,” she hissed, “d'you know about my daughter being a metamor -” It was halfway into her reply that Avery managed to really look at his features. His hair was darker than last time; his nose slightly more bulbous than she recalled, but the slightly amused look she remembered from that day at the lake remained.

How the fuck had he found her here of all places?

It took only a few seconds of her shock to recover before she took a step back, though she still looked up at him from under the brim of her hat. “Y’could have come up with a better startin’ line, y’know. I almost bit your fuckin’ head off.” She muttered, glancing back down at Marigold who had only momentarily looked up curiously at her mother from under the brim of her own hat before returning back to her mud pies.

---

If he had been pushing her buttons with that remark, he hadn’t known he would be – although it didn’t surprise him entirely that she had leapt to the defensive for her daughter’s sake. She seemed prone to – or at least as far as he could tell from one prior meeting – leaping to the defensive, as things were. A hair-trigger temper. A grim vengeance in her eyes. (She really wasn’t all that far off his wife’s personality.)

He was almost intrigued to see what she was going to do to him, the way she stepped over. It was almost too close to hex him; a fist or palm to the face seemed more likely. But now she had caught up enough to recognise him, or at least to recognise he was no threat. “Yes, I can see that,” Trystan commented airily, at the last part, the head-biting. He paused to shoot Marigold a cheerful smile to suggest this was all fun-and-games, lest she was at all affected by her mother’s tone and stopped her playing.

“I suppose I could have started with fancy seeing you here?” Trystan continued casually, to Mrs. Davenport. “But I thought that felt rather cliché. But it’s good to see you – warm and dry this time.” Funnily enough, she didn’t seem to be in any better a mood for it. Or maybe that was just because him? No, it couldn’t be – Trystan fancied that would be giving himself far too much credit.

---

Avery had hoped that she got the point across to Mr. Selwyn just a few moments ago without raising too much intrigue with her daughter. Marigold was indeed quite curious about the exchange that she’d missed, but Avery was relieved to see Marigold only stare at Mr. Selwyn for a moment before going back to her “work”. Having accompanied Avery on multiple of her creature healing trips, the five year old was well versed in minding her own business when the adults were talking. That wasn’t to say that some days Marigold couldn’t talk her client’s ear off of she was in the mood; it was due to luck that today seemed to be one of those days where she seemed more quiet and content to be on her own.

Satisfied that her daughter wouldn’t ask too many questions and also that she wasn’t in any immediate danger, Avery stepped to the side again, though she kept Marigold within her eye line. Turning back to Mr. Selwyn, she frowned up at him. “Fancy seeing you here would have gotten the job done just fine,” she volleyed back with a sigh. She already felt as if someone had stuck their wand to her ribcage and pushed - did the man really need to make her feel more on edge? “And,” she continued, “Would have gotten the point across quicker. But yes, for what it’s worth I’m glad I’m not swimmin’ for my life in a freezing lake.”

She highly doubted it was genuinely good to see her seeing as she’d very nearly been on the verge of delivering a right hook to his jaw. But now that the danger was clear, Avery tried to get herself to shake off the adrenaline rush. “What are you doing here?” She added, trying not to sound too waspish.

---

She really was annoyed with him already – and Trystan knew he had this power over his wife, but he still wasn’t entirely certain of what he had done to merit it from a near-stranger. This time, anyway; last time he had been partially responsible for her little dip.

But he refused to be anything other than impervious to it; he felt too laidback, emboldened by his relative anonymity today in this place, and with the appearance tweaks, to fret about anything much. “I was under the impression there was an open invitation to the festivities,” Trystan answered, not quite managing to suppress his smile. “I live in Wales too, you know. And sometimes I like to let loose.” He was teasing her a little – what kind of question had that been, after all? Was she trying to accuse him of something, or was she just permanently this grumpy? To this effect, Trystan arched an eyebrow at her. “And you? Is this you... enjoying yourself?”

At least her daughter seemed to understand the principle of having fun.

---

A flippant response, of course; something Avery should have known she’d have been offered if their past encounter was anything to go by. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a way that suggested he was taking a lot of pleasure in this encounter. At this, Avery only scowled; hopefully in a way that suggested he go stick his wand where the sun didn’t shine. “Let loose?” She echoed, wondering how in god’s name this was a way one would let loose. She studied him even further, remembering through her bout of defensiveness that she’d observed he’d some how transformed himself. “The things you must get up to during the day to make you think you might want to plant a tree and play in the mud.” Not that she wanted to actually know what he did for a living. If he wanted to tell her, then that was completely his affair.

She still felt bristled as the question turned on her and she pressed her lips together. “This is me enjoying my afternoon with my daughter,” She provided vaguely, forcing herself to take a step back now that she was fairly certain he was harmless. That didn’t mean she’d be turning her back on him anytime soon though. “That was until I was interrupted.” She raised her eyebrows at him imperiously, only slightly to indicate he should at least show some remorse at having intruded on their evening; daring him to point out that it was Marigold who had been the one to interrupt him. Then, because she decided she didn’t want him to be able to protest: “Do you often venture out this way to The Glen?”

---