17 July 1892 - Black and White Garden Party, Foxwood Estate, Bath

Atticus had been thinking about his baby brother all day, after watching him converse with Anthony; all three of them - plus Poppy - had managed to play a game of croquet, although he couldn’t recall uttering a single word to his brother. They hadn’t talked since Basil’s birthday after their explosion in the parlor where they’d both snapped harsh words in an attempt to belittle the other, and he’d been fine with him living in Wellingtonshire because it meant he didn’t have to see him on a daily basis. But after watching Basil ask Anthony for advice earlier this morning Atticus realized just how much he missed his brother.

And in his drunk stupor after dinner and many conversations had been had, he had the brilliant idea to change that. It took a minute to find him as Atticus stood in the middle of the garden as the festivities came to a close, his cheeks flushed red, scanning for any semblance of his brother. Basil has done his best to avoid him all evening and Atticus had done the same. It was as if they were two ships sailing on opposite ends of the ocean, neither wanting to risk seeing the other, even in the distance.

He sauntered across the space between them with a purpose, keeping his eyes trained on his little brother to ensure he didn’t try to run from him. But where would he go? It was his birthday and if he wanted to hang out with his brother he was going to.

Atticus tossed his arm around Basil’s shoulder as soon as he could, giving it a squeeze. Then he turned his gaze toward him and flashed him a quick grin. “You,” He started out strong with a single word and then paused to collect his thoughts. What did he want to say to him? He wasn’t ready to apologize, he wasn’t sure he was going to be, but he wanted to offer an olive branch to at least be on speaking terms. “Are my favorite brother.” A strong finish. His only brother, but it was a start.

Letting his arm drop from him, Atticus shuffled to stand next to him. "How long do you think Anthony's ego will hurt?"

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Basil Foxwood w/ Mood music

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   Natsuko Foxwood

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Basil was still sour with Atticus, despite the way the day had gone. He could only color himself surprised then as said brother meandered over to him, evidently a little dipped in alcohol, and slung an arm around his shoulders. Dinner had gone much better than Basil had anticipated, conversing with the lovely Ms. Mountbatton, but that fared neither well enough nor dramatically enough for him to forget everything that had transpired a few weeks past. After the ladies had been excused to pass through to the parlor and the gentlemen had remained, Basil had done everything in his power to avoid the birthday boy, though it hadn’t been particularly difficult. With all of Atticus’ friends smoking cigars and having after dinner drinks, clapping him on the back, Basil had slipped by relatively undetected. It was only now, in the gardens again before the close of the festivities for the evening, that his brother seemed to remember he existed.

“Am I?” Basil replied curtly, skirting out from under Atticus’ arm. His eyes darted involuntarily to where Anthony was standing, unable to quip back that he was the only brother when it was Anthony that Atticus really treated as such. He wasn’t jealous; not really. Basil liked Anthony well enough in his own way. They were friendly and Anthony in part served to be there for Basil for the silly little things that he couldn’t count on for his actual brother. He trusted Anthony’s guidance, and his gut, for things Basil himself had no real notion of, but he knew better than to think he compared between the two of them. Shrugging then, as Atticus asked about the croquet game from earlier, he didn’t respond. Maybe if he was cold and distant, Atticus would go away.

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Atticus Foxwood & still, basil in his perfect black and white outfit of the night lol

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He couldn’t blame Basil for being angry with him, but he also felt like they should put their anger aside because it was his birthday. (Not that Atticus had when the roles had been reversed, but in all fairness he hadn’t been angry all of Basil’s birthday, just… some of it.) He followed his brother’s glance toward Anthony and frowned. Of course he was close with him. They’d started Hogwarts together, been sorted into Ravenclaw and spent nearly every waking hour for seven years at each other’s side.

He stepped forward as Basil stepped back and reached out to ruffle his hair in a way he might have many moons ago when going to Hogwarts had just been late night talks while huddled under a blanket together. “You’re my only brother, so yes.” Atticus confirmed quietly as he dropped his hand back to his side and continued to frown at him. This wasn’t how he’d pictured this interaction going; he hadn’t expected Basil to welcome him back with open arms but he hadn’t expected him to be so cold. All the words he said had been true and there was no taking them back now.

“I miss you.” Deciding that might be the first piece of wood in rebuilding their burnt bridge, Atticus decided he’d rather admit to missing him than being sorry. He wasn’t. Not really.

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Basil Foxwood w/ Mood music

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Basil frowned, pointedly, as Atticus followed him in his stepping way and tried to ruffle his hair. Was his brother drunk? He had to be if he was being so affectionate! Irritated, Basil ducked and swatted at him like a child. If their mother could have seen them then, two grown men batting at one another, she’d have been appalled. Smoothing his waistcoat and stepping back as Atticus settled, Basil resisted the urge to ‘hmph.’

He bit back a scathing comment about Anthony, determined not to drag his poor cousin into this any more than he was already involved, and continued to frown at his brother. As Atticus said those three little words, I. Miss. You., Basil felt his anger bubble up again and he couldn’t quite catch himself before: “I’m right here,” he snapped. “There’s never been anything dividing us more than your secrets and Merlin knows those are abundant.” The brunette sprung his mouth shut with an audible click. He hadn’t meant to bring up the secret, the one that had been niggling at him as of late, but here they were.

Determined to change the subject before Atticus started in on it, Basil eyed Anthony again. “Why don’t you go bother Tony,” he grumbled, accidentally letting his cousin’s nickname slip. Anthony hated being called anything but well, Anthony, and Basil was one of the few privileged with this ability. He hoped, spitefully, it reminded Atticus that their relationship was so much worse for wear by comparison. “He looks like he could use some interrupting.” In truth, Anthony was perfectly fine, having a civil conversation with someone Basil didn’t recognize. But, looking for an out, the youngest Foxwood figured it was worth a shot.

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Atticus Foxwood & still, basil in his perfect black and white outfit of the night lol

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Secrets. This family didn’t have secrets. Not in the way that tore them apart, at least. Just because Basil had been left out of a pertinent conversation (that no one outside of their dead father and Anthony knew about for good reason, and even Anthony wasn’t meant to be a part of it), didn’t mean he had a right to know. Not even Mama knew and that in itself was a feat. She knew everything that happened in her family, immediate or extended, and if she had any inklings that he was keeping something as hefty as this from her, Viola Foxwood just might murder him.

Heaving a sigh, Attics reached forward to grip onto his brother’s arm to keep him from wandering off. “I don’t want to bug Anthony!” He snapped. “He’s doing perfectly fine having a conversation with the young lady he has been talking about all night!” Although he doubted anything would come from it, at least their cousin finally had enough courage to approach her after she’d politely informed him her dance was full.

“If you want answers, then you need to start asking.” He barked and gave him a tug toward one of the benches a bit further off from where some of the others stood. Privacy. If Atticus was going to tell Basil anything, which he hoped wouldn’t be the case because he never wanted to talk about the whole ordeal again, he wasn’t going to have anyone overhear him.

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Basil Foxwood w/ Mood music

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Atticus was definitely drunk. He was being far too touchy-feely than was usual and, despite touch being Basil’s primary form of showing affection, he was not. having it. Ripping his arm rather too dramatically away from his brother than could be considered at all appropriate for polite society, Basil felt his face heat from instant embarrassment as well as rage. They were bloody lucky nobody seemed to be paying them much mind right about now and that it was dark out. Still, it was probably better to pull off to the side for the interim before things got exponentially more heated.

Basil stood even as Atticus sat and pulled in a deep breath. He crossed his arms grouchily over his chest, determined not to have this conversation at all but still trying to seem casual about it to anyone from afar. “Fine,” he hissed. “What aren’t you telling me.”

The demand was simple, clear, concise. Atticus would be a bloody fool not to know exactly what it was Basil was referencing, but as neither of them wanted to explicitly bring up Lissington, he felt it was safer to be evasive. Bringing up Lissing, especially after what had transpired this week and the fact that he was literally inside Foxwood House back in Wellingtonshire at this very moment, made Basil sure this was not the time and place to bring him up. He’d had a few drinks of his own and letting that little factoid slip would almost certainly ruin what had been a mostly pleasant afternoon. (And… likely… cause an astronomical scene neither of them would be able to escape for years to come.)

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Atticus Foxwood & THIS IS BASIL'S 300TH POST!

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   Atticus Foxwood

“Please, sit.” Atticus frowned at his brother as he scooted toward one of the edges of the bench giving him a wide berth if he wanted it, although he wasn’t going to force it. This was a conversation they had to have since he’d daftly opened the door, and no matter how many times he tried to shut it, Basil kept sticking his foot inside to prevent that from happening. Heaving a sigh, Atticus brushed his fingers through his hair before he entwined his fingers together and rested them in his lap.

A beat of silence stretched between them before as he considered where he should even begin with the whole tale. From the beginning, he supposed, would make the most sense. “I met her at Padmore Park when I was twenty-two. It’s why I go there so often; it reminds me of her. She was feeding the ducks and almost fell into the pond, and well, I saved her.” He laughed quietly and shook his head. He'd grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up, and she'd smacked him against the chest thinking he was trying to push her in before her mind caught up to what had happened.

She hadn’t been anything special: middle class, poor enough that her dowry was downright laughable for the Foxwood family, and average looking enough that she would never catch the eye of someone looking for beauty. But she’d felt indebted to him and had offered him a pan of cookies if he stopped by the park the next day, especially after assaulting him. Atticus had been curious, so he did… “We fed the ducks a lot. I met her nearly everyday after supper, and well… I fell in love with her.” She had been his first love; lust, maybe. In the end, Atticus wasn’t sure if she would have made him happy, but at twenty-two he wanted what he wanted.

He cleared his throat and met his brother’s gaze. “I actually proposed to her a year later. And you know what she said. ‘No. I need to meet your family first.’ Meet you guys? You’d bloody well scare her away. But father was sick and she wanted to meet him in case he died before the wedding… and well, he hated her. He hated everything about her.” Atticus sighed and leaned back against the bench as he glanced upward toward the darkened sky; father had been downright cruel to her, asking her questions and tearing her down before she'd even had the chance to answer.

He never wanted to have his conversation. “He told me if I married her, he’d disown me. So who then do I choose? Her? The woman I pictured spending my entire life with? Or you, the boy who wanted nothing to do with society and would go mad being the first son? The only son? All the responsibilities, all the decisions, everything about the family would go to you. You'd be forced to give up your position. Have an heir -” He pictured Lissington’s face and scowled. He was going to make that impossible for Basil, and he had to hatch a plan to stop that. “And I couldn’t do that to you.” He whispered the last words, wishing the wind would blow them away.

Atticus hoped Basil would read between the lines. He picked him. “I broke her heart, dad died and then she died, so I guess it didn’t really matter anyway.” He frowned then before he closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s it, Basil. I don’t know what else to tell you.” It had years ago. He’d mourned, he’d moved on. 

And well, now he loved someone even more than he did before.

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Basil Foxwood w/ Mood music

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Basil frowned at his brother’s insistence to sit. To be a contrarian, he stayed standing and made no motion to move whatsoever. Instead, the brunette eyed his elder brother as Atticus sighed and seemed to go deep into thought. Something about the action should have softened him. It didn’t. But it should have. Basil didn’t know what kind of story he was in for, but he did trust Atticus to tell him the truth he supposed. The truth about whatever would-be-family he’d dreamed up before!

The other started to speak and Basil zero’d in on his story, grey hues leveling the eldest with appraisal. Twenty-two… so Basil would have been seventeen. It explained why he’d perhaps never noticed anyone Atticus may have been courting. They were no longer in school together; Atticus would have been home in Wellingtonshire with their parents and Basil had been finishing his…seventh… year. Blast. That was a rather ugly coincidence. It too explained why he was particularly distracted. Basil felt his cheeks burn and he tried to push Lissington from his thoughts.

So the girl had wanted to meet them. And father had spurned her. (For a moment, Basil wondered what that must have felt like. Was it at all like being second best? Or was it better because she had nothing to prove?) As the tale continued to disownment and choices, Basil finally felt something in his countenance stiffen. The idea of being first born, of having the responsibility of it all— Atticus was right. It wasn’t something he’d have wanted. And having an heir? The thought made Basil’s face pale as his stomach turned over in its place.

When Atticus finished his story, the younger brother stood eerily still. He was…unsatisfied, in a way. He felt guilty for even existing, but it wasn’t as if he’d asked Atticus to give her up. And, if Basil was honest, wasn’t it just easier for him to chose his own family over some woman? Instantly the younger felt his own selfishness surprise him, but he stuck to his guns as the thought developed. Atticus may have made a difficult choice, but it was still the easier one. For what is life without one’s family? Without the money their father would have evidently withdrawn? (Perhaps this said something about him… about the reason why he was the way he was, or perhaps not.) Either way, Basil wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to say. Or, maybe he did, he just didn’t want to.

I’m sorry. That was what one was expected to respond when learning their brother gave up a horrible version of their own life for you, right? But in reality, Basil wasn’t sorry. He was glad Atticus had chosen him, had chosen them - Mama and Papa - over her. It’s how things were supposed to be. It’s what he’d done when—

“What was her name?” He finally asked, breaking the silence.

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Atticus Foxwood & we've all learned something here about Basil... >>;

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Atticus watched with interest as he spun his tale, although Basil’s face didn’t betray his emotions in the slightest. The details had been sparse at best but giving his brother the whole story would take him – time he didn’t have because they both had to get ready for this damn party. She was just a fond memory now and nothing had come to fruition and there was nothing to truly talk about; what Atticus had done was done and dusted. It had been his decision and his decision alone, and even there was no way to know if he’d make the right one.

There was no way to know if things would have turned out the same even if he hadn’t chosen Basil. Atticus believed in fate, and any path he would have chosen would have led him right back here.

A melancholy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Hanna.”

Atticus glanced at his brother as he finally stood, smoothing over jacket; he didn’t want to speak about her any more, at least not tonight; his head was still swimmy for the copious amount of alcohol Anthony had been feeding all night and now was not the time to get sentimental.. “Goodnight, Basil.” He inclined his head toward him before he began his trek back toward the party.

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   Basil Foxwood

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