Cursing was not something he made a habit of, but he'd cursed all the way home that evening.

He'd returned home from the Indies that morning, and instead of going straight home he'd been forced to fill out all sorts of ungodly paperwork at Gringotts, so he'd done the most sensible thing he could think of—he'd sent his mother a letter. There were plenty of things he'd expected her to say, but none of them included, Do try and look your best, dear; we're having a formal dinner tonight.

He didn't know for what, and he certainly had no fancy suits to wear, and it wasn't even until someone let him in the front door of the Fisk family home did he realize that his mother had not been kidding about the formality of it all. The home was weirdly decorated in a way that didn't suit the Fisk family home. Ten children weren't born and raised in a home without looking a little run-down, and there were - wait, were those vines wrapped around the stair railings?

Suddenly, his eyes snapped to his right as a figure moved into view. There, in the foyer, was an unfamiliar gentleman, who seemingly had just come from down the hallway that led to the dining room. They both came to a pause, and Julian stared at him funny. He didn't look like anyone he was supposed to...

... and then it hit him. "Well shit," he said, dumbfounded, before his eyes widened and he tried to recover from the inappropriate slip. "I mean - hello." Well that wasn't really a recovery, but it would have to do.

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