It took far too long for Nell to realize someone had entered the room (at least, in her opinion); had she left the door open? She blinked once, twice and then shot to her feet – her hands jerked towards Huey as he pecked and flailed under her uncle’s arm, then pulled back when she realized it might look like she was reaching for the letter he’d just picked up.
Instead, she darted down to the floor. Pinching the almost empty glass vial between her fingers, trying to avoid getting too much more ink on her fingers, she rose to her feet—
And found herself in a dilemma: she couldn’t put the vial back on her desk without risking a ring of ink ingrained into the wood, as ink slid down the side and threatened to drip off the bottom. Jerking up her palm, she caught a droplet for the sake of the rug underfoot as she turned to her uncle.
She'd never felt so... lost, before, so uncertain than when faced with the man before her. If possible, she drew into herself even more, pulling her arms in as close as she'd dare without threatening her own clothes with ink, feeling very much like a misbehaving child caught drawing on the walls. What a right mess she'd made - was still making.
“I,” her voice shook as badly as her hands still did and she paused, trying (and failing) to collect herself, “I am sorry—I’ll help, of course, certainly, clean this up…”
Once she found out where to safely store the inkwell in hand; she feinted towards her vanity, but then drew up short as her uncle offered the letter. She froze, then quickly took a half-step back as her vision burned and she blinked furiously as her vision blurred a touch: “No!" Then, looking at the letter again, she reconsidered more softly: "That is—yes?... I'm sorry, you should not have to but—Father, he said... and you should know...”
Her eyes met her uncle's for a heartbeat – as much as she did not want the man before her to know how little her own Father thought of her (like he needed see it put to paper, when he could easily witness it all first hand), Samuel had a right to know of Father's impending arrival – before nodding to emphasize her point. It was the closest she'd ever get to the vulnerability required to give him exact verbal permission.
Sniffling, her red-rimmed gaze skittered down at the owl in his grasp. She steeled herself for what was to come by briefly changing the subject, reaching weakly out towards the messenger bird with her free hand.
“Huey—he didn’t mean—” she swallowed around the lump in her throat, ignoring how her arm stung in several spots, distantly hoping she wasn’t bleeding… at least not noticeably, as that would not help Huey’s case. “…he’s likely, probably just h-hungry…”
Instead, she darted down to the floor. Pinching the almost empty glass vial between her fingers, trying to avoid getting too much more ink on her fingers, she rose to her feet—
And found herself in a dilemma: she couldn’t put the vial back on her desk without risking a ring of ink ingrained into the wood, as ink slid down the side and threatened to drip off the bottom. Jerking up her palm, she caught a droplet for the sake of the rug underfoot as she turned to her uncle.
She'd never felt so... lost, before, so uncertain than when faced with the man before her. If possible, she drew into herself even more, pulling her arms in as close as she'd dare without threatening her own clothes with ink, feeling very much like a misbehaving child caught drawing on the walls. What a right mess she'd made - was still making.
“I,” her voice shook as badly as her hands still did and she paused, trying (and failing) to collect herself, “I am sorry—I’ll help, of course, certainly, clean this up…”
Once she found out where to safely store the inkwell in hand; she feinted towards her vanity, but then drew up short as her uncle offered the letter. She froze, then quickly took a half-step back as her vision burned and she blinked furiously as her vision blurred a touch: “No!" Then, looking at the letter again, she reconsidered more softly: "That is—yes?... I'm sorry, you should not have to but—Father, he said... and you should know...”
Her eyes met her uncle's for a heartbeat – as much as she did not want the man before her to know how little her own Father thought of her (like he needed see it put to paper, when he could easily witness it all first hand), Samuel had a right to know of Father's impending arrival – before nodding to emphasize her point. It was the closest she'd ever get to the vulnerability required to give him exact verbal permission.
Sniffling, her red-rimmed gaze skittered down at the owl in his grasp. She steeled herself for what was to come by briefly changing the subject, reaching weakly out towards the messenger bird with her free hand.
“Huey—he didn’t mean—” she swallowed around the lump in her throat, ignoring how her arm stung in several spots, distantly hoping she wasn’t bleeding… at least not noticeably, as that would not help Huey’s case. “…he’s likely, probably just h-hungry…”