25 July, 1892 — Dempsey Estate, Ireland

Unsurprisingly, the Dempsey library held a disproportionally large amount of poetry books, but it did have other volumes which could prove useful from time to time. Oz had never been the sort of Ravenclaw to spend too much time in books, of course; he preferred to learn through experience whenever he could. This was one area however where he had to admit that he had no expertise whatsoever, and no desire to acquire any. Even the idea of spending half an hour flipping through a book to find the right answer was dreary, which was why after pulling down their copy of The Language of Flowers he had not bothered to open it.

A head of dark hair passed by in the hallway. "Endymion!" Oz called, not really knowing whether or not he'd picked the correct brother until Endymion poked his head back in the doorway. "Oh, good, you're still here," he said, gesturing at one of the nearby chairs to invite him inside. He didn't know what hours Endymion worked (the only person whose schedule he bothered to learn was Thomasina's), but he generally assumed that anyone with a day job would be gone most of the hours that had daylight, so it was a mild surprise to find him here. "I need someone to tell me which flowers to buy."

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Elias Grimstone Endymion Dempsey

  

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Cursebreaking at Gringotts was not nearly as taxing as he had grown used to it being, out in the field; in fact, although the goblins were mostly civil, Endymion suspected that they were glad to get their human colleagues out from underfoot as often as possible and be left to their own devices at the bank.

Well, he wasn’t complaining at being turned out early. More time to get ready for whoever’s party or dinner or ball it was tonight. Unless this took all afternoon, that was... because Oz was in the library, which really couldn’t be good.

But asking for advice. About flowers. Endymion raised his eyebrows, impressed; if he hadn’t already sprawled into an armchair, legs over the side, he might even have promptly stood up again in his keenness. He didn’t, though he did perk up slightly at the prospect. Flowers were fun.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked brightly, ready to start spouting ideas. (Maybe Oz and Thomasina were getting along well for once in their lives?)

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Ozymandias wasn't sure he would classify getting kicked out of a prima ballerina's dressing room with only half his clothes on as an occasion, but he also wasn't sure he wanted to bother explaining all of that to his brother. It wasn't that Endymion wouldn't have sympathized (he of the veela in the hammock incident), just that it was a rather long story whose ending didn't leave Ozy with much dignity to cling to.

"Trying to smooth over a misunderstanding," he replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand to indicate that was as much context as Endymion could expect. "Is there a set of flowers that could convey something like..." Oz paused, considering how to phrase this both succinctly enough to fit in a bouquet, specifically enough that his meaning would be received, and broadly enough that flowers could actually do the job. His knowledge of flower language may have gone no deeper than red roses for passion, but he was at least aware that the established dictionary didn't cover man is accused of months-long malicious plotting due to an unfortunate coincidence with his cologne.

"... 'I understand your point of view' but also 'You've judged me unfairly.' Or — maybe... 'I am sorry' although 'the fault wasn't mine' and also 'it's best we part ways.'"

Not exactly the message Oz had been expecting to express when he'd started this affair, but at this point it did seem like the wisest course of action. To be honest, he didn't need to say anything at all. Their parting certainly had enough of a finality to it that he didn't need to send coded messages through flowers to ensure they didn't end up entangled again. No, he was writing at all because she'd bruised his pride with her accusations. Even if her opinion didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, he wanted the story set straight. The problem was that he couldn't find any words to write her that didn't sound, on a read through of his draft, like cheap lies. He wasn't sure flowers would be any better, but — well. He had no better ideas, at the moment.

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   Sophia Lissington

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MJ is the light of my life <3

A misunderstanding. That was dreadful – but it was also, privately, delicious, because Endymion had had far more practice in sending pretty, vapid messages of strong but short-blooming appreciation: he usually did not have grievous mistakes to beg apologies for, or any real hatred in his heart. Oz, naturally, was a different story.

A challenge, in bouquet form! Nevertheless, he gave a long, drawn-out sigh of chastisement. “What have you been arguing about this time?” Something petty and utterly baffling, probably. That seemed to be their way.

Still, he raised a hand to say I’m thinking, squeezing his eyes shut as if painting a bouquet in his mind. Or searching for divine inspiration. He was impressed that Oz was inclined to say sorry to Thomasina at all, whatever it was, and – best we part ways? “Wait,” he demanded, eyes shooting open again in shock, “what do you mean, parting ways?”

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Oz assumed the emphasis on this time was meant to convey that he was the sort to frequently get into misunderstandings, regardless of with whom, and he didn't bother to protest it. It was perhaps a little unfair, but he couldn't expect his siblings to know that. He didn't bother to be charming or chivalrous when it was only the lot of them around to bear witness to it. So they might very well assume that he was as tempestuous with everyone as he tended to be when they'd misplaced something he needed for one of his inventions, and as the misconception impacted his life not a whit he wouldn't pause to correct it.

"Parting ways. Ending the acquaintance. I'm sure there's a flower for goodbyes," he replied with a shrug. He could not fathom why of all the things he'd said, this was the one Endymion's brain had happened to stick on. "Probably half a dozen, at least. I want one with an air of finality. No parting is such sweet sorrow or anything. The kind that invites no protest or equivocation."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

“Ah.” Endymion had caught up, mostly: he had obviously misunderstood the misunderstanding. That was his fault. It wasn’t to present to Thomasina after all. Of course, Oz was married and had been for eons, so Endymion hadn’t supposed he spent a lot of his time sending flowers whenever he had a disagreement with anyone in his wide circle of acquaintances, or wanted to cut them out of it. (Admittedly, ending an acquaintance with a bouquet was a nice dramatic flourish. Maybe he approved.)

“Of course, there are plenty,” Endymion answered matter-of-factly, reeling through their options. “Cyclamen, maybe; sweetpea’s the wrong kind. Anything yellow’s good for rejection. So what happened in this acquaintance, exactly?” he asked, less because he needed to know for the flowers – though context couldn’t hurt – and more because he was being nosy. He peered at his brother in expectant interest. “Who’s judged you unfairly?”

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"Not rejection exactly," Ozymandias protested before he could think better of it. He wasn't trying to divulge all the details of what had happened, but he was also hesitant for his brother to go bandying about words like rejection when that didn't strictly apply. He wasn't rejecting Sophia Voss — the distance was for her own good. (Whether she had rejected him, on the other hand — but his pride was still too wounded to want to discuss that angle about it, in flowers or through any other method).

"I am perpetually judged unfairly," he answered, in hopes that a little melodrama might distract Endymion from pressing him for more details. It was a feeble ploy, and he suspected even as he said it that he would have to offer his brother something if he wanted his help. What was the smallest possible bread crumb to drop? That acquaintance was with a woman would have been too obvious; he wouldn't have been thinking of flowers otherwise. It would not be any great leap to assume the nature of the acquaintance at this point. Saying precisely with whom was giving away too much.

"She's an artist, and you know how they are," he said with a shrug. Endymion ought to know, since they'd both grown up surrounded by them. "Prone to dramatics. So what ought to have been a small misunderstanding escalated rather quickly."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

So it hadn’t been Ozy’s fault and there had been some misunderstanding severe enough to end an acquaintance, and yet no one was rejecting anyone? Sure, that made sense.

Endymion didn’t respond to the first remark, waiting impassively for something actually of use, if Oz wanted his help at all. And here came a little more context – and ugh. He was still doing that, then. Having shameless affairs. Dymion didn’t care so much if Don Juan slept his way through town, but their younger brother wasn’t profaning the name of marriage by it. And admittedly it was hardly the first affair he’d ever heard of Oz having in the time he’d been (turbulently) married to Thomasina, but there had always been some faint hope in his head that his brother might grow out of it one day. Clearly, the line between optimist and fool was a thin one, and he was the latter.

He let his head thud down onto the armchair arm, and folded his arms, still lying there. “I’ll need more elaboration if you want my help,” Endymion declared grumpily, more to air his general disapproval than because it was true. (What flower was best for the message I’m an absolute cad? That would probably do just as well.)

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   Ozymandias Dempsey, Sophia Lissington

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It seemed clear to Ozymandias that Endymion understood the situation well enough and was just saying this in order to have an occasion to pout, which was rather obnoxious. He didn't want to contend with this degree of self-righteousness in his own house — particularly when it seemed likely that Endymion was just jealous. Since the Veela incident he had not been particularly successful when it came to love, as far as Oz knew (though in fairness, Oz had tormented him so thoroughly over the Veela incident that Endymion probably did not consider him very high on the list of confidantes for that sort of thing).

"I am perpetually judged unfairly," he remarked dryly, as he found the nearest safe object to toss at Endymion's head in protest (the unlit candle plucked from a nearby candlestick). Then, addressing what he perceived to be Endymion's chief complaint with the situation rather than what he'd actually said, he protested: "Thomasina works. She's hardly ever here. I'm allowed diversions."

Oz wasn't bitter about his wife spending time at the hospital; he'd known she was a healer when he proposed to her. Similarly, she'd known he was a rake when she accepted. It seemed silly to think either of them would have changed the moment vows were exchanged.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

He saw the movement of it out of the corner of his eye, but remained precisely where he was, motionless in churlish disapproval, as the candle struck him across the forehead. “Ow,” he said. It bounced away onto the floor, and he uncrossed his arms to rub a hand against his temple.

His pout was more aimed at the library ceiling than at Oz, but the candle was not quite enough to knock the self-righteousness out of him. Practical protests made no dent in the principle of it, besides. But it wasn’t worth wasting his breath lecturing – he’d tried that before, and had long since learnt Oz would certainly never change. Or, you know, listen to anyone else.

Still, there was a bright side here, that if Ozymandias was going to carry on like this, then at least he was getting his comeuppance in his affairs. “And so this diversion was very satisfying, was it?” Endymion asked loftily, smiling again when he next surveyed his brother. By the sounds of it, it had not lasted long or ended well. Maybe Oz had met his match in this artist. If it had gone awry with her, it was poetic justice; his brother’s just deserts. “But whatever happened?” he pressed, tongue in cheek, expressly because Ozy clearly wasn’t keen to delve into the details. “Did she tire of you too soon? Didn’t think you much of a muse?”

Endymion was aware that with every word he amused himself further in this approach, he was asking for retaliation – another lobbed candle, or worse – but in this case, he was happy to martyr himself for the cause.

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Oz had not been planning on divulging details, but his siblings had always known how to bait him into an argument. Even Endymion, who did not know much, was no exception. Ozymandias could not continue on with the conversation under the implication that he had been jilted (even if it was, strictly speaking, perhaps true) or that he was boring. Of all the complaints one could level at him, that wasn't one he heard often, and it pricked his pride. That, and Dymion looked entirely too smug, sitting there as if he was somehow superior. His brother knew literally nothing about this affair except that it had existed and was now coming to a close, and yet he thought he had enough information to be a judgemental shit about it. It was no wonder Ozy so rarely asked him for advice on anything, even if it was something as stupid as flower language.

"She's still entirely enamored of her dead husband. While we were together in her dressing room she had a complete break down because I smelled too much of him," Oz explained. His tone was sharp; he was hoping for some degree of shock value. "So no, it had nothing to do with being tired of one another, and absolutely nothing to do with bloody muses. I am breaking things off," (this was debatable, but it was the story he would stick to) "for the sake of her health and sanity."

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Phrase origin notes: "breaking it off" apparently dates to the Middle Ages but the other phrase I wanted to use, "hung up on" is from the 1950s

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   Endymion Dempsey

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Endymion had expected some level of indignance from his brother, but the explanation Oz gave was so wildly unexpected that he almost forgot to be judgemental about it. He was still smiling, but he hadn’t laughed as he’d thought he was going to – and the smile had edged into something closer to bafflement. If Oz was being serious, that was... some bad luck indeed.

It did serve him right; but the idea of laughing about a woman’s breakdown had mostly shut him up about it. “Oh,” he said. “How noble of you.” He had meant that to be entirely ironic, but the face he pulled was almost pitying. (For the woman, not Oz having to break things off.)

Still, Endymion chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, thoughtful, and then remarked, “You might pair poppy and flos adonis – red chamomile, that is – as consolation for her painful recollections.” (It would make for a dramatic red bouquet for an artist, too.) “Love-in-a-mist, to say you were perplexed? And yellow jessamine. To suggest a blameless separation.”

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Oz wasn't sure whether Endymion was being sarcastic with him, and therefore decided it was safest not to respond. Telling him anything had been a mistake; for his reaction to be satisfying payment it would have to be at least doubly dramatic. He might, at the very least, have agreed that having to deal with hysterics because of one's scent was wholly ridiculous and unfair, but he had not expressed even that much sympathy, unless that was what his look was meant to convey.

But he was finally trying to be helpful, so maybe the admission was worth something, if only as the fastest way to the end of this interaction. "Yellow jessamine," Oz repeated with a note of approval. Then, fully sarcastic, he pointed out: "You might have said that five minutes ago, when I told you I was blameless."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Oz had actually seemed to take up one of the flower suggestions, so Endymion’s eyes widened, impressed and shocked at having been listened to for at least those five syllables. His brother’s trademark sarcasm returned instantly, of course.

“Well, can you blame me for liking to hear both sides first?” Endymion asked, the perfect picture of innocent diplomacy – which in this case was mostly code for I don’t trust your word as far as I can throw it. The details about the scent and the dead husband were much too particular to be something he’d improvised on the spot, he thought, and it was admittedly difficult to blame his brother for doing something purposely nefarious with his cologne. Anyway, Endymion had probably shot himself in the foot by probing for details of Oz’s sordid affairs – now he would have to work doubly hard at forgetting them.

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"I can, and I will," he replied. He was convinced that none of these details had been at all necessary to answer the question posed, and Endymion had only insisted upon them out of willfulness and spite. Besides, it was telling that he wanted to hear both sides of something when the two parties at play were his own brother and some faceless woman. It wasn't merely that Endymion was willing to take someone's side against Oz; he was apparently inclined to take anyone's side against Oz.

"If I was ever challenged to a duel, you'd somehow end up the other man's second," he accused. Not that Ozymandias had any intentions of ever being involved in a duel, so it was rather a moot point.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Endymion wasn’t certain if Oz was actually annoyed – and if so, how much of it was actually with him as opposed to his lingering frustrations with the affair with said artiste – but this time he didn’t take it to heart. Callousness to the ideals of marriage was worth getting choleric about; idle fraternal jibes were best met without reaction.

So he just shook his head calmly. “Not true,” he assured him, quite sincerely. “I’d be yours, even if you were utterly in the wrong.” (His brother might think little of his loyalty, but Endymion was confident that was one virtue he possessed beyond all common sense.) “And as your second, I’d be the one making sure you didn’t get fatally shot.” So you could probably stand to be a little nicer to me, he didn’t bother adding. Besides, someone probably needed to be able to translate the egotistical rubbish that Oz often spouted into something more palatable, for the sake of whoever he’d insulted.

But if duels were on the agenda, maybe it was for the best he kept a little track of Oz’s extracurricular affairs, after all, just so he knew what he was in for?

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   Ozymandias Dempsey

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