“This is highly irregular, Zelda,” Brannon said on entering the hallway, a frown set deep in his features. “But I expect you didn’t need me to tell you that.”
Zelda was very aware that everyone was, probably, still eavesdropping on them to some extent. “I don’t think he knows it’s Passover,” she said, as if that was the most obvious problem with this situation.
This may have been the most obvious problem, but it was not the largest nor the most egregious — in fact, Brannon may have been inclined to overlook the interruption had it been for a more favorable proposal. “Zelda,” he said, tone stuck somewhere between a stern warning and a patronizing pity — how did she get herself mixed up with these sorts of people?
Zelda grimaced. She was used to grimacing in conversations with her father, but this was particularly problematic, because she was not sure how she was going to talk her way out of this one. “He’s not a bad person,” she said, because he wasn’t. Alfred was a pretty good person, really, if one who frequently got himself into trouble like he was right now.
Brannon made an exasperated gesture with one hand. “Being ‘not a bad person’ is hardly the only criteria I use to evaluate potential son-in-laws,” he pointed out. “How well do you really know this fellow?”
(There was no right answer to this question; the fact that his name had never come up before in the Fisk household meant it would be suspicious if Zelda claimed to know him very well at all, but the opposite was, of course, grounds for immediate dismissal).
There was no good answer to this question. It was a trap question, and Zelda recognized it as such, and kicked the toe of her show against the hardwood floor in silent protest.
“I know him,” Zelda said, “I know him - better than Xena’s known some of the men who have come here for her, so.” Yeah, that was maybe too combative, and she regretted it immediately, except that it was true, and she could be fully confident that Alfred was not in love with one of her sisters.
“This isn’t about Xena,” Brannon shot back immediately, voice rising slightly but not yet reaching anything that could be termed yelling. “This is about you, and your future. I suppose you want me to agree to this.” He supposed so now, at any rate, that Zelda had gone through the effort of pulling him into the hallway; since he had never heard Mr. Darrow’s name before tonight (at least not in any sort of connection to him or his family), he wouldn’t have had the faintest idea what her opinions on the matter were had he come on any other night. “But I doubt you’ve considered the consequences.”
Zelda was very aware that everyone was, probably, still eavesdropping on them to some extent. “I don’t think he knows it’s Passover,” she said, as if that was the most obvious problem with this situation.
This may have been the most obvious problem, but it was not the largest nor the most egregious — in fact, Brannon may have been inclined to overlook the interruption had it been for a more favorable proposal. “Zelda,” he said, tone stuck somewhere between a stern warning and a patronizing pity — how did she get herself mixed up with these sorts of people?
Zelda grimaced. She was used to grimacing in conversations with her father, but this was particularly problematic, because she was not sure how she was going to talk her way out of this one. “He’s not a bad person,” she said, because he wasn’t. Alfred was a pretty good person, really, if one who frequently got himself into trouble like he was right now.
Brannon made an exasperated gesture with one hand. “Being ‘not a bad person’ is hardly the only criteria I use to evaluate potential son-in-laws,” he pointed out. “How well do you really know this fellow?”
(There was no right answer to this question; the fact that his name had never come up before in the Fisk household meant it would be suspicious if Zelda claimed to know him very well at all, but the opposite was, of course, grounds for immediate dismissal).
There was no good answer to this question. It was a trap question, and Zelda recognized it as such, and kicked the toe of her show against the hardwood floor in silent protest.
“I know him,” Zelda said, “I know him - better than Xena’s known some of the men who have come here for her, so.” Yeah, that was maybe too combative, and she regretted it immediately, except that it was true, and she could be fully confident that Alfred was not in love with one of her sisters.
“This isn’t about Xena,” Brannon shot back immediately, voice rising slightly but not yet reaching anything that could be termed yelling. “This is about you, and your future. I suppose you want me to agree to this.” He supposed so now, at any rate, that Zelda had gone through the effort of pulling him into the hallway; since he had never heard Mr. Darrow’s name before tonight (at least not in any sort of connection to him or his family), he wouldn’t have had the faintest idea what her opinions on the matter were had he come on any other night. “But I doubt you’ve considered the consequences.”