Atticus rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache from having the same conversations over and over as the continuously talked in circles. It was always the same: Basil didn’t do enough while his dear little brother argued that he did more than enough. It was tiring. He heaved a sigh. “And what do you want? A thank you?” He snapped at him, knowing damn well that his brother wouldn’t have much of an answer for that. Although he was particularly chatty today about his life choices. If only he’d put this much passion and effort into finding a wife.

His next words were like a slap in the face, and Atticus narrowed his eyes toward Basil. If only he understood how difficult it was to crunch numbers, run a household, make decisions he didn’t care about he would understand why he didn't have any business ventures. Did his brother think he never had goals or dreams outside of this life? He hadn’t wanted to be thrust into the shoes but here he was. “No, Basil. If it wasn't for you and your career I would be married. I would be a father. So I’m sorry for thinking of how miserable you would have been if I hadn’t chosen you. But it was her and be disinherited because father didn’t approve of her or let her go so you could continue being happy with your life. And guess what I chose?” Atticus frowned then. He wasn’t having this conversation here with Basil. He wasn’t having this conversation with him, ever. Lowering his voice, he flicked his gaze toward the floor, staring at the marble. “She was perfect, my dear little brother, in every way and you would have adored her.”

Then, without saying another word (he wasn’t going to talk in circles about Lissington either), Atticus turned on his heel and walked away from him.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil frowned, pointedly. “Yes, rather,” he snapped back. “A thank you would be nice every once in awhile!” Or some acknowledgement of his efforts, at least! Atticus never realized how truly difficult these things were for him; Basil detested social events and social conventions as they tended to trigger his boughts. If the eldest could get his head out his posterior for half a moment, he might recognize the difficulty of his brother and stop to appreciate it every once in awhile!

The words that tumbled from Atticus’ lips next confused Basil, enough that the youngest paused in his tirade to listen and try to process. What in Merlin’s name—? How could Atticus have been married now if it wasn’t for him? Basil had never seen the other even court a woman, much less propose to one! And even if their father had disapproved of her, he was dead now. (The youngest did not think this without some reservation.) Why couldn’t Atticus find this girl and marry her anyhow? And what, too, had this anything to do with his, Basil’s, life choices and career?! Before he could ask any of these questions however, the eldest was walking off and Basil stood, stunned.

“Atticus!” He called out, angrily. “What on Earth are you talking about?” He hated when his brother walked away from him. Following closely behind, because he was not going to get away that easily even in this big house, Basil grabbed his brother by the arm. “What do you mean you chose me? When? How?” His tone, though still hostile, was lower now. Basil wanted answers and he knew accosting the other with a barrage of insults would get him nowhere.

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Atticus Foxwood

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Atticus grit his teeth as he heard his brother following him. Why wouldn’t the other understand that this conversation was over? He was quite aware how cryptic his words were and they were remaining as such - this was a very well kept secret with no one outside Anthony knowing. And he supposed father, but he’d taken it to the grave with him.

He spun angrily and glared at his brother as he felt him tug on his arm. He wrenched it out of his grasp. “I’m not having this conversation with you Basil, so leave me alone. I will see you at your party.” Atticus was well aware Basil deserved some kind explanation, but that wasn’t a here or now conversation. “It was eight years so it doesn’t concern you. We’re here, in the present and what’s done is done.” Maybe had he not been at his boiling point Atticus would have offered him more.

But he couldn’t. He was well aware that he’d make the correct choice - there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for his brother - but sometimes the thought would creep up on him: what if he’d picked differently?

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil set his teeth, decidedly not finished with this conversation.

He hated that Atticus was being evasive. It was like he couldn’t simply grow a pair and have the civil communication that he’d very much started! Why was this some big secret? Whatever had happened, Basil felt he deserved to know! Especially if his brother claimed it was “for him” which - squinting - the youngest very much doubted in the moment.

“Fine,” the professor offered, icily. Then, turning on his heel to walk out the front door, Basil slammed it with less self-control than he’d managed since he was an adolescent. Forget the party, he'd be late. Basil was going to try and find Lissington, even if it was rather hopeless at this point.

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Atticus Foxwood

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