Not at all, the young woman said, and offered Evander the smallest sliver of hope that this situation could be rescued.
And then, of course, Alfred spoke, and stamped all over that slim hope until it was lying in tatters on the floor. Well done, Alfred.
If anything, Evander would have called the expression on his brother’s face, and the tone of his brother’s voice, and the reluctance with which he moved petulant, and petulance was not what he’d expected to be greeted with, in coming here. Why couldn’t Alfred just be asleep in the hospital bed like normal people were, and spare him having to have this conversation, of all the conversations?!
But no: such was his brother, and such was Evander’s lot. He could only look on in utter bewilderment at first, attempting to digest the stream of information with about the same success as if he’d been trying to eat his shoes. He felt he could have stood in silence for about a century and still not have found any English words with which to process the absolute mess that was Alfred’s life, but eventually Evander decided that he was going to have to say something if he did not want to be trapped contemplating this hell forever.
“Well, I daresay it’s probably fortunate you didn’t marry her, if you’re still not finished nearly-dying,” Evander bit out, past all the disbelief. Once in South America had not been enough for him, obviously, so he had found the curse closest to home and done it again on his front doorstep. And why on earth would anyone want to marry him, if it meant having to deal with this shit?
On that conundrum, Evander’s gaze slid along to Zelda Fisk, who, he did note, at least had the good manners to look embarrassed. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Fisk,” Evander said - though not quite consciously; apparently the habit of making introductions had not been deposed even in this diabolical encounter - “and thank you for, er, saving his life.” His tone had been polite for that moment, if a little stiff, and his expression had mostly neutral looking at Miss Fisk; but it curled into something else as he shot a look back at his brother. “I take it you’re not going to die today, then?” (Or was that part of the reason their embrace had looked quite so morose?)
Evander thought he had a right to ask, anyway, given that he still knew precisely nothing about what today’s ‘incident’ with the curse had involved, nor what the healers’ treatment or outlook had been for it, and instead all he had thus far been furnished with were details of Alfred’s lovelife for which he had not asked.
And then, of course, Alfred spoke, and stamped all over that slim hope until it was lying in tatters on the floor. Well done, Alfred.
If anything, Evander would have called the expression on his brother’s face, and the tone of his brother’s voice, and the reluctance with which he moved petulant, and petulance was not what he’d expected to be greeted with, in coming here. Why couldn’t Alfred just be asleep in the hospital bed like normal people were, and spare him having to have this conversation, of all the conversations?!
But no: such was his brother, and such was Evander’s lot. He could only look on in utter bewilderment at first, attempting to digest the stream of information with about the same success as if he’d been trying to eat his shoes. He felt he could have stood in silence for about a century and still not have found any English words with which to process the absolute mess that was Alfred’s life, but eventually Evander decided that he was going to have to say something if he did not want to be trapped contemplating this hell forever.
“Well, I daresay it’s probably fortunate you didn’t marry her, if you’re still not finished nearly-dying,” Evander bit out, past all the disbelief. Once in South America had not been enough for him, obviously, so he had found the curse closest to home and done it again on his front doorstep. And why on earth would anyone want to marry him, if it meant having to deal with this shit?
On that conundrum, Evander’s gaze slid along to Zelda Fisk, who, he did note, at least had the good manners to look embarrassed. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Fisk,” Evander said - though not quite consciously; apparently the habit of making introductions had not been deposed even in this diabolical encounter - “and thank you for, er, saving his life.” His tone had been polite for that moment, if a little stiff, and his expression had mostly neutral looking at Miss Fisk; but it curled into something else as he shot a look back at his brother. “I take it you’re not going to die today, then?” (Or was that part of the reason their embrace had looked quite so morose?)
Evander thought he had a right to ask, anyway, given that he still knew precisely nothing about what today’s ‘incident’ with the curse had involved, nor what the healers’ treatment or outlook had been for it, and instead all he had thus far been furnished with were details of Alfred’s lovelife for which he had not asked.
