May 21st, 1891 — Tycho's Home, Wellingtonshire
The next time he broke things off with a lover (if there ever was a next time — if there was ever another person), Ford was going to give himself the evening off afterwards. He'd known that he was planning to have that conversation this afternoon when he'd scheduled this dinner, of course, so he had no one to blame for himself. He'd even done this on purpose — sort of. It was like he was trying to prove something to himself by aggressively continuing on with the rest of his life as though there were nothing of particular import happening that afternoon. He'd wanted to reassert that he didn't really have feelings for Macnair, and that he was extricating himself from this relationship before he could accidentally develop any. He'd wanted to reassure himself with a perfectly normal, mundane dinner that he was fine; that there was no gap left by Macnair's absence; that everything could go back to just the way it had been last month with no trouble at all.
The trouble was that over the course of the day he'd stopped believing that. He'd essentially admitted as much to Macnair during their conversation that afternoon. After slogging through the rest of work he wanted nothing more than to take some time to himself and process everything (and maybe reread some sad poetry with a cup of tea), but he'd already made plans, and if he canceled at the last minute he'd have to think up an excuse not only for Dodonus but for his family, whom he'd already told not to expect him for dinner. Maybe this was better than sulking around the house all night, anyway — at least Dodonus didn't know him as well as Noble did, and was less likely to press for details if he picked up on the fact that Ford was feeling off. He'd warned Dodonus that he was 'scattered,' too, in one of his earlier letters, so maybe he'd get a pass.
So here he was, standing in front of the garden gate at the only house on the street with rainbow roof tiles, his insides aching from a heartbreak that was entirely his own devising (and probably unearned in the grand scheme of things, but in the moment no less bleak). This would be fine. Maybe it would be diverting. Maybe he'd forget about the way he was feeling. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
He managed to get through the garden without being accosted by gnomes, though he did hear a devious snicker from a few feet away on one occasion that made him pick up his pace slightly. He reached the front door and would have knocked, except that it was already standing partially open. Lowering his brows in mild confusion, Ford took a few steps inside and spotted Dodonus, who didn't appear to be dressed for dinner in the typical sense.
"Sorry — am I early?" Ford asked, knowing very well he wasn't. The subtext to the question was did you forget I was coming? because between the half-open door and the lack of formal dinner attire, he didn't know what else to think.
The trouble was that over the course of the day he'd stopped believing that. He'd essentially admitted as much to Macnair during their conversation that afternoon. After slogging through the rest of work he wanted nothing more than to take some time to himself and process everything (and maybe reread some sad poetry with a cup of tea), but he'd already made plans, and if he canceled at the last minute he'd have to think up an excuse not only for Dodonus but for his family, whom he'd already told not to expect him for dinner. Maybe this was better than sulking around the house all night, anyway — at least Dodonus didn't know him as well as Noble did, and was less likely to press for details if he picked up on the fact that Ford was feeling off. He'd warned Dodonus that he was 'scattered,' too, in one of his earlier letters, so maybe he'd get a pass.
So here he was, standing in front of the garden gate at the only house on the street with rainbow roof tiles, his insides aching from a heartbreak that was entirely his own devising (and probably unearned in the grand scheme of things, but in the moment no less bleak). This would be fine. Maybe it would be diverting. Maybe he'd forget about the way he was feeling. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
He managed to get through the garden without being accosted by gnomes, though he did hear a devious snicker from a few feet away on one occasion that made him pick up his pace slightly. He reached the front door and would have knocked, except that it was already standing partially open. Lowering his brows in mild confusion, Ford took a few steps inside and spotted Dodonus, who didn't appear to be dressed for dinner in the typical sense.
"Sorry — am I early?" Ford asked, knowing very well he wasn't. The subtext to the question was did you forget I was coming? because between the half-open door and the lack of formal dinner attire, he didn't know what else to think.
Set by Lady!