25 September 1891 — Emrys' Home, Bristol
The bravest thing to do would have been to arrive via floo straight after he'd received her letter some hours ago, but he hadn't done that. By the time she'd sent him the first missive he'd been mildly high — not enough to be enjoyably displaced from the world and its troubles, but only enough to heighten his anxiety, which was an apt microcosm for how this entire day had gone. Regardless, he couldn't face her again until he was sober. He wasn't sure what to expect from this confrontation, but he knew he wanted his wits about him in order to give whatever she proposed his full attention and scrutiny.
He wasn't feeling very optimistic about it. The first time he'd skimmed through her letter it had seemed like she was offering him what he wanted, but the farther removed he was from that initial read the less confident he became in it. He had turned all of this over in his mind many times when he'd debated whether or not it was worth pursuing a bride, and he had never come up with a solution in which he 'lost nothing of value.' How likely was it that she had succeeded where he had failed, in the span of a few hours? It was more likely that she'd misunderstood the situation and had "solved" things in a way that wouldn't make anything better. Earlier he'd tried to take a step back and look at things from her perspective, to try and guess what she might be planning. The first thing that had popped into his head (the use of magic such as the polyjuice potion to allow Angelica to sate his 'fetishes' without necessitating other partners) had made him feel physically nauseous, so he'd had to stop thinking about it.
Down in the pit of his stomach, Emrys didn't really want this solved. He wanted to go back to his life as it was two days ago, before he'd told her anything. Telling her had been a mistake, and if he couldn't take it back then at least he wished things would have worked out the way he'd expected when he said it: for her to have an honest, if ugly, reaction and then leave him in peace. He wasn't worried about her telling anyone else — in order to do so, she'd have to reveal their relationship, which would be more compromising for her than it would for him. The best case scenario for both of them would be to break things off straight away. Angelica might think that she was helping with whatever scheme she'd come up with, but Merlin — he didn't know if he'd even be able to make it through the conversation, depending on which way it went. If she started looking at him like she pitied him, he was going to lose his mind. If she tried to suggest something she was obviously uncomfortable with in a desperate attempt to keep him, he was going to be sick.
While he'd turned all this over in his mind, he'd eaten, he'd shaved, and he'd had a cup of coffee. He looked like he was prepared for this, even if he didn't feel it. He flooed home and was relieved to find the parlor empty, at least for the moment. He suspected Angelica was still there, somewhere, but for the moment he could shake the ash from the fireplace off his clothes and carefully school his expression without an audience. That done, he moved to the sideboard and fixed himself a drink — not because he needed alcohol, but rather because he suspected a prop to hold onto during this conversation would help him keep his grip on reality.
He heard her at the doorway while he was fixing the drink. His shoulders tensed slightly in anticipation, but he didn't turn to face her yet. "Good afternoon," he said. It wasn't, from his perspective, but those two words were the safest he could come up with. Anything else he could have used to greet her — Angelica, darling, my dear, Professor — was too fraught. Not even two words in to the conversation, and already it was a minefield.
He wasn't feeling very optimistic about it. The first time he'd skimmed through her letter it had seemed like she was offering him what he wanted, but the farther removed he was from that initial read the less confident he became in it. He had turned all of this over in his mind many times when he'd debated whether or not it was worth pursuing a bride, and he had never come up with a solution in which he 'lost nothing of value.' How likely was it that she had succeeded where he had failed, in the span of a few hours? It was more likely that she'd misunderstood the situation and had "solved" things in a way that wouldn't make anything better. Earlier he'd tried to take a step back and look at things from her perspective, to try and guess what she might be planning. The first thing that had popped into his head (the use of magic such as the polyjuice potion to allow Angelica to sate his 'fetishes' without necessitating other partners) had made him feel physically nauseous, so he'd had to stop thinking about it.
Down in the pit of his stomach, Emrys didn't really want this solved. He wanted to go back to his life as it was two days ago, before he'd told her anything. Telling her had been a mistake, and if he couldn't take it back then at least he wished things would have worked out the way he'd expected when he said it: for her to have an honest, if ugly, reaction and then leave him in peace. He wasn't worried about her telling anyone else — in order to do so, she'd have to reveal their relationship, which would be more compromising for her than it would for him. The best case scenario for both of them would be to break things off straight away. Angelica might think that she was helping with whatever scheme she'd come up with, but Merlin — he didn't know if he'd even be able to make it through the conversation, depending on which way it went. If she started looking at him like she pitied him, he was going to lose his mind. If she tried to suggest something she was obviously uncomfortable with in a desperate attempt to keep him, he was going to be sick.
While he'd turned all this over in his mind, he'd eaten, he'd shaved, and he'd had a cup of coffee. He looked like he was prepared for this, even if he didn't feel it. He flooed home and was relieved to find the parlor empty, at least for the moment. He suspected Angelica was still there, somewhere, but for the moment he could shake the ash from the fireplace off his clothes and carefully school his expression without an audience. That done, he moved to the sideboard and fixed himself a drink — not because he needed alcohol, but rather because he suspected a prop to hold onto during this conversation would help him keep his grip on reality.
He heard her at the doorway while he was fixing the drink. His shoulders tensed slightly in anticipation, but he didn't turn to face her yet. "Good afternoon," he said. It wasn't, from his perspective, but those two words were the safest he could come up with. Anything else he could have used to greet her — Angelica, darling, my dear, Professor — was too fraught. Not even two words in to the conversation, and already it was a minefield.
Lou made this! <3