20 November 1892 — Knightsway; Bartonburg

The November rain had come suddenly, as if from nowhere. Normally Irene wouldn’t mind, and would just throw up a spell to repel the water, but seeing as her hands were completely occupied by a large canvas (that she’d forgotten to shrink), and doubly inconvenienced by the fact that she so stupidly had left her wand at home, the witch considered herself content to be drenched by the time she reached her destination. The only solace she had was the fact that she was wearing one of her warmer coats this afternoon, and so besides her hands being quite frozen where they were, she didn’t mind the sudden downpour (except some water had managed to find its way into her collar and down her back and was tickling her dreadfully). She counted her lucky stars that she lived on the same side of town as Elias and so didn't have to go to the trouble of crossing into High Street in order to get to Knightsway.

And despite her forgotten talisman, Irene didn’t fret over the painting in her hands too much - it had long since been treated with a weather-repelling charm courtesy of too many mishaps involving dirty canvases. An additional cloth with the same spell over it saved her the energy of worrying if it would make it through the journey from her place to Elias’. Besides, the wide frame permitted her to part the sea of people that flowed around her. She thanked Merlin that her eyes were only barely visible over the canvas, else she would have had to endure many disgruntled stares from inconvenienced citizens.

There wasn’t too much self-consciousness on her part either; that she was headed to see Elias was enough to put her worries of judgement behind her, and a extra spring in her step as she hastened her pace until she was at last in front of his shop. Sniffling slightly as the cold bit her nose to a red smudge, Irene sidled up to the window and braced the canvas in order to quickly release her hand to rap on the pane before adjusting her grip again.

After a few moments of waiting, the familiar tinkling of the shop bell told her someone had answered her call. Praying it was Elias and not some poor unsuspecting customer of his that would witness her likely looking like a drowned kneazle, Irene popped up onto the tips of her toes to beam at him over the rim of her canvas; even at this height he still towered over her, the behemoth. “Good afternoon!” She trilled, “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

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An overlarge canvas was at the workshop door. Elias wouldn’t pretend bemusement for long: he could have guessed who it would be even before the top of her head appeared from behind it. Her hair was wet – there were rivulets still draining down her face – so she must have walked here in the rain.

He quirked a smile at her to say what are we going to do with you, hm? and pulled the door open wider. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite stray drowned rat,” Elias exclaimed in teasing surprise, but he stepped back and ushering her in, wanting to get her in out of the rain as soon as possible, never mind the absolute state of her. “Come in, come in,” he waved, easily enough. There was a distinct lack of the leap in his chest that had recently made itself familiar in accompanying a certain visitor’s arrival at his door – but any sting of disappointment was only subtle and brief, because a visit from Irene would always be fun. She knew how he worked, anyway, so was hardly the nuisance that some people could be.

And besides, this was good timing – he wanted to tell her about Daff sometime, and rather sooner than later, if only to explain the buoyant, breezy mood he’d been in almost ceaselessly for the past few weeks. “But don’t touch the brooms,” Elias warned, with a mock-stern glare. The ones he’d been working on hadn’t been fully varnished yet.

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   Daffodil Grimstone

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3

She cast a fond glance around the familiar shop. The smell of freshly applied varnish mixed with combination of different woods always had created its own unique bouquet of fragrance that she always associated with Elias. Speaking of whom; his exasperated expression only served to brighten the smile on Irene’s face, and she freed a hand again to swipe at the one of many rain drops making their way down her cheeks. “I hope this means you have some cheese, or perhaps biscuits,” She suggested, her voice thin as she coaxed her breathing down to a normal pace after sprinting through the busy sections of High Street. “And perhaps a cuppa.”

Aside from the fact that the canvas was too big to fit into the door (and that she’d forgotten her wand at home to shrink it), Irene flicked her gaze above them in askance. “Actually,” She shifted the canvas in her hands once more indicating its significance. “Might we step upstairs? This is actually for you — I mean, for er - for your mother — your father.” Her tongue tripped over her explanation, and Irene nearly crossed her eyes in frustration before forcing herself to take a breath. Perhaps it was merely her excitement over showing her work to him, or the fact that she was focused on not shivering too much; either way she could feel heat flood her cheeks. “I mean, this is for your mother, she commissioned something for your father as a Christmas gift and told me she would pick it up from you; I wanted to drop it off early.”

Though it occurred to her that perhaps Elias hadn’t gotten the message, and she’d just made an inconvenience for him. However, if he didn’t have the room or wasn’t able to store the painting, she would venture into Irvingly.

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Cheese, and biscuits, and a cup of tea – although Elias rolled his eyes at her, the thought of a snack had perked him up at once. He glanced at the clock, trying to recall how long it had been since he’d eaten.

Not that there was much time for pondering that, because Irene was babbling on about the canvas in hand, which was its own mystery. “‘Course, come in the house,” Elias agreed easily, once she’d finished sketching out the situation; he was still a little bemused, but he would rather she drip all over the kitchen or the sitting room a hundred times before the workshop. “I’ll put a fire on.” He led the way, still squinting at her and the canvas over his shoulder as the rest of her ramble sunk in. “For you, that is, not the painting. I can’t believe you’ve been wasting your time on doing things for them,” he remarked with an amused shake of his head, not at all up-to-date on his mother’s friendship with Irene or any gifts they’d been plotting. “You’ll be their favourite child soon, and all –”

Elias paused, ushering her into the sitting room with a wave of make yourself at home. The fireplace had already been filled this morning, when the maid had been, so one spell saw it blaze up without any more effort. “I’m glad you’re here, anyway,” Elias added, distracted from his earlier train of thought as he summoned some things from the kitchen. “There was something I wanted to tell you.”

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3

Upon seeing his eye roll, Irene scrunched her nose up at him before giving into the urge to stick her tongue out. If she knew Elias, he’d been working in his shop all day, which mean he would also likely not have eaten something in a while either. Sure enough, she thought she saw a flicker of realization across his features as he turned to lead her upstairs and she sent a smug smile towards his back. Moving with greater care than she had through the street, Irene maneuvered the painting up the stairs, grateful that they didn’t have to spend long in the workshop where she might cause more disasters - and thus more work for him. Even with the time she had to get to her next appointment, spending more time with Elias plus the prospect of a fire, in addition to sustenance, was too good to pass up.

But before she could enjoy that, she had to tackle the task of getting the frame up the stairs. Despite her struggling, Elias only proceeded to look back at her, perplexed but remained largely (and somewhat frustratingly) focused on leading her up the stairs rather than helping her up the stairs. An uncomfortable twist made itself known in the already growing knot in her chest, accompanied with a little voice proclaiming her unfit for any act of chivalry.

Would he have done the same for the younger, lovelier Miss Potts? the voice asked her, to which Irene immediately and vehemently told it to button its lip. Along with it, she banished the stab of embarrassment that had resulted from both thoughts. Elias was a gentleman when it counted. You’re just being silly. The comfort he’d given her after she’d been so panicked over Silas Hunt’s death had served as more than a cool balm over the burning thoughts that had plagued her during the night. And besides, he had scarcely mentioned Miss Potts over the past few weeks; there was a likely possibility he hadn't been able to see much of the young florist. That thought caused her as much shame as it did comfort.

Turning her thoughts instead to a much livelier topic — his dear parents — Irene took the opportunity to crow with delight, “A-ha! And thus my plan has been set into motion to surpass you, Ruth and Anthony as their favorite child.” Never mind the fact that whenever she spoke with Lucille Grimstone, the older witch always seemed to give her a reason to check up on Elias, instead of Ruth or Anthony.

Finally the large painting was through the door, propped safely against a free wall. Irene’s hand came to a rest on the back of a chair as she caught her breath. “Merlin, I hope the news won’t leave me breathless, I scarcely have any more left!” She quipped before catching the frightful image of her reflection in the window of the sitting room. Elias might be willing to forgive her appearance, but her next client would certainly not. “Elias,” She breathed, regretting her previous gloating, as that had apparently taken up a great deal of her air supply. “As much as I love providing entertainment for you in the form of my haphazard appearance, I do have a client to meet after this.”

She cast him a hopeful grimace mixed with an apologetic tone. “Might I use your wand to summon a few things from my place so I don’t look as if I’ve just been dunked in the Black Lake?” It was a more personal request that she frankly wouldn’t have asked anyone other than a select few people in her life — Gus and Sophia — and with Elias, it felt natural, almost routinely so. “You can tell me your news whilst I fix myself up, unless,” she added, with a teasing smile. “it’s so beguiling that you’ll accept nothing but my undivided attention!”

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Elias had been oblivious to most of her exertions, and, now that they were away from his brooms, was also oblivious to the sodden state of her. He was curious about the painting in question, still, but he had decided to let Irene catch her breath at least, and had busied himself, instead, as he cut up cheese on a platter with crackers and biscuits, nibbling absently on a broken-off piece as he poured the tea.

He laughed easily at her dunked in the black lake remark, and once he’d set down two cups of tea he reached over and passed her his wand rather thoughtlessly. “‘Course,” Elias answered, grinning as he added jokingly, “although I’m sure your client won’t mind.” She did look rather a state, he supposed, as he looked her over again, struggling not to keep grinning at it. Perhaps it wasn’t the most professional impression to make – but, he thought, no amount of rain dripping from her could quite dampen her sunny disposition.

He took a hearty swallow of tea before he forced himself back to the ‘news’ she was waiting for. There was no reason to put it off – he had been brimming with the urge to tell someone for weeks – but he would be quick. It didn’t require her undivided attention. Actually, maybe it was better if she was fixing herself up and didn’t pay too much attention to him, because Elias could feel his face warming ever so slightly already in a strangely bashful way, and he hadn’t said a thing.

“No, it’s fine, you carry on,” he said, waving her on. His gaze drifted to the propped-up canvas for a moment and then back to Irene, wondering whether to stall a little longer – but no, there was no sense in that. Besides, telling Irene would be easy enough, because she was hardly judgemental, and she could keep things to herself, and she was practically family – and she and Daff were friendly already, so. “And it’s nothing really. Just... you know Miss Potts? Daffodil, from the flower show?” He dunked a piece of shortbread carelessly in his tea, too busy watching Irene for her response to notice it crumbling to bits in his cup.

“You’re friends with her, aren’t you? Because she’s, well, she’s...” He sighed, confessed: “I like her. I like her rather a lot. She and I – we, um, well...” Elias trailed off with a helpless shrug. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how much of what he had wanted to express had made its way out of his mouth in words, but he hoped Irene could at least translate his meaning from the smile that had slipped onto his face, too broad and bright and delighted to quite count as secretive. He ducked his gaze and then glanced up at her again, biting his lip to try and contain that smile beneath a new layer of sheepishness.

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   Daffodil Grimstone

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3

Still catching her breath, Irene could only huff out a laugh at his comment. Of course her client would mind, but his joke conjured up the image of her client's shocked face once they took in the state of her. Picking up her tea, she took a rather large swig and instantly regretted it once she could feel it scalding everywhere it touched. Eyes widening slightly from the sudden change in temperature, she hastily took the proffered wand. Hardly able to expel the tea back out, she quickly stepped out of view into the hallway to conjure a small mirror on the wall. The tea tasted delicious, and in a way it instantly warmed her — in the same way that perhaps Devil's Snare reacted to sunlight.

Merlin, what did she look like?

The mirror showed a very frazzled looking woman with flyaways that could rival the highest heights quidditch players flew at. Her worried state saw her hair escaping from its few pins she’d stuck haphazardly into. The addition of a few leaves stuck in the side of her hair assured her that the process would need to be tended to from the start, as opposed to just fixing a few stray flyaways. Elias had already started talking, so there was no time to sidle into the bathroom. Slightly distracted, Irene looked down at his wand in her hand. It wasn’t often that she had cause to use someone else’s wand. Doing so always felt…wrong. It felt off, as if she’d picked up something she knew she wasn’t supposed to.

Picking up Elias’ she imagined it would feel much the same, and prepared herself for a bit of resistance. But instead, it felt oddly….calm. Calm, and peaceful; enough to give her even more pause as she stared at it in her hand for a moment. Then, remembering what she was supposed to be doing, she gave herself a little shake and set about fixing the tangled mess that was her hair. Knowing she was just out of his sight-line with a wave of the wand Irene conjured a hairbrush and pins appeared before her, and she began taking her hair down pin by pin. Having done this multiple times before, it was only a matter of seconds before her black hair was cascading past her shoulders, ready to be attacked by her hairbrush. Running the brush through her locks, she hit a few knots and managed to brush through them thoroughly despite the dampness. The mention of Daffodil’s name came at the exact moment the brush hit a particular nasty knot and Irene winced with a hiss but she could hardly poke her head back around to see him. Close as they were, the idea of him seeing her with her hair completely down was…too intimate for being…just friends.

Besides, he was talking about Daffodil now. “Yes, from the flower show.” She supplied between his pauses, hurrying through her actions so she might be able to face him sooner rather than later. That odd, odd flower show that ended in such an odd evening. The knots came undone easily now, and she didn’t look as harried as she certainly felt. Stuffing pins in between her teeth, Irene began twisting her hair back in its usual updo, first taking a section of hair from next to her temple, and twisting it up until it travelled up to the crown of her hair with the rest of the locks dropping down her back. Now for the next side, then she’d gather it all up and put it — I like her rather a lot.

What?

She and I. The words echoed throughout her brain, refusing to quiet — instead, amplifying until she was disorientated and left wondering if she’d heard him right. There was a slight twinkling sound; a few of the pins had dropped from her lips and onto the floor. The pins in her hair had refused to stay and soon joined the ones below. But Irene paid no mind. She was too busy stepping from behind the wall to stare at Elias. “You’re what?”

But his expression was enough to confirm what she didn’t need to ask. “Ah.”

So the glances between them at the flower show…that odd, odd show that ended in such an awkward end of the night. Catching Elias’ gaze drift to the young florist across the room as if she were a magnet. Catching her do the same to him. So, she hadn’t made those up. Of course she hadn’t made those up. She’d just been that foolish enough to convince herself they weren’t real.

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The following 2 users Like Irene Crawley's post:2 users Like Irene Crawley's post
   Daffodil Grimstone, Elias Grimstone

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It was almost easier to confess things through the separation of the wall, Elias had found, and Irene’s distractedness helped too – but when she moved back into his sightline in the doorway everything abruptly felt more real. She had understood enough without him saying it, at any rate – that ah said plenty – and now he was almost too distracted to be embarrassed by it.

Though neater and smoother than it had been in the rain, her hair was down and falling about her shoulders and she looked so different, suddenly, that he blinked in surprise. She had his wand, and a hairbrush, and was in the middle of such an ordinary thing in his hallway that it felt like – well, that she lived here, maybe. Like she was just as at home in his space as he felt in hers.

He thought it, and then felt a strange twinge of guilt in him, remembering how Daffy had once gotten the wrong impression about them and the familiarity of their company.

But that was nonsense, after all: they were only good friends, and he certainly wouldn’t sever an earnest friendship for the sake of convention and proper distance. Theirs was too comfortable a friendship to lose. So, instead, and without needing to be asked, he moved into the hallway and stooped for the hairpins scattered about on the floor, collecting them placidly by hand for her, since Irene still had his wand.

“I don’t know what’ll come of it, exactly, but,” Elias explained as he worked – not wanting to get carried away and hope for too much, when things were still so new and delicate between them; and not wanting Irene to be witness to all his hopes and disappointments if things with Daffodil went nowhere – “I like to think we’d make a decent match, wouldn’t we?” He straightened up and let his gaze lift too to try and read the answer in her face, offering the cluster of hairpins back in his open hand. Elias was almost nervous to ask it, but... he trusted Irene’s opinion of him and of Miss Potts, and having someone else see the potential that he did there would be a genuine relief. (He could picture himself with Daffy, he was certain of that: but if they were going to get anywhere, properly, he needed the rest of the world to believe it made sense too. He knew very well how things were doomed to go if it didn’t.)

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The following 1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post:1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post
   Daffodil Grimstone

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3

Irene had only registered his brief expression of surprise before she felt a nauseating sensation in her stomach. No one had warned her of the dangers of falling for one of her dearest friends. She’d fallen so completely, so irreversibly for him that she hadn’t been able to brace herself for impact before the ground was rushing up to meet her. Instead, she had fooled herself into thinking her fears would never make an appearance. How had this happened?

But before she could even finish the thought Elias was speaking, and she forced herself back to the present; to focus on what he... — how’d he get right in front of her? He was picking up the pins that had fallen out of her hair. Where had they come from? Thoughts of the last few minutes replayed themselves in her mind, reminding her of how she'd been stunned out of her process of doing her hair. Moving her gaze from watching him back to the mirror, Irene realized what his staring must have been about. Her hair fell about her shoulders, tickling her neck. Amber eyes stared back at her, and she could read her own expression like a book: exposed; raw; a nerve about to be severed. A shiver worked its way up her spine before coursing down through her arms. Her palms stung. Sparks crackled at the top of the wand, vibrating with an energy she was struggling to get rid of.

He was still speaking wasn’t he?

A sharp intake of breath later and her mental walls slammed back down into place. The curdling in her stomach remained. It wouldn’t stay like that for long; it had only taken hearing Elias’ confession to know what would follow: rot.

Of course it was Daffodil. Sweet, fair and flaxen: more of an English rose than Irene would ever be. Where Daffodil was soft and bright, Irene was sharp and dark; an ink stain, inconvenient and bold and a nuisance. It was Daffodil who brought colors to life, where Irene only painted mere possibilities. It was the young florist whose complexion stayed fair and ivory while Irene’s was tanned and bronzed and burned. Daffodil's family no doubt loved Elias from the moment he stepped across the threshold of their home, where Irene had none at all. Of course it was Daffodil.

And here Elias was, asking if they would make a good match. Asking if she, Irene, thought they would make a good match. A spinster, jilted at the altar, turned her own fiancé into the Ministry to have his memory wiped. She had to laugh, really. If she didn't, who else would?

She looked down at Elias kneeling in front of her, his palms up to hold the pins for her. To a stranger, from far away it might look a romantic gesture, but Irene knew what other purpose it could serve, even if Elias thought he was just helping her clean up: supplication.

Her lips stretched into a dry smile, and she let out a soft huff of laughter. Her breath fluttered against a few tendrils of hair that had dropped in front of her eyes. With a wave of his wand, an invisible wind swept through her hair, swirling the black locks up off her neck and into an intricate knot on the crown of her head. She stepped to the side and around him, murmuring her thanks. The pins followed, trialing behind her like little ducklings, poking themselves into her hair and nestling into place. “I hardly think my opinion should matter, Elias. We both know I’m not to be relied upon when it comes to a relationship.”

She waved his wand again, and supplies began popping out of her bag. The painting. She needed her painting. She needed to focus on something she knew, otherwise Merlin help her she wouldn't make it through this conversation. Her apron sailed out of the rucksack and into her open arms. She hooked her arms through the loops and it buttoned itself at her back before tying around her waist. “Besides,” she added wryly. “Shouldn’t you be asking her family?” She held the wand back out to him and forced herself to smile. Forced herself to meet his eyes with nothing else but the liveliest grin she could muster.

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The following 1 user Likes Irene Crawley's post:1 user Likes Irene Crawley's post
   Elias Grimstone

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She huffed a laugh and put her hair up again, taking back the pins before she had answered – but Elias had supposed that smile just a precursor to the fond reassurance that was coming. But there was none: instead Irene was dry, businesslike, briskly back to sorting out her things.

Taken aback, he pulled himself up straighter than he usually did, shoulders stiffly back and chin up. He had expected her to be teasing, perhaps, because Irene’s friendship was all mischief, but there was no opinion offered at all, just a staunch refusal and a sting of self-pity. We both know I’m not to be relied upon when it comes to a relationship.

But his pang of sympathy for her and the heartbreak in her past was superseded by a spasm of hurt across his face, not for her but himself. Because this – this meant a lot to him, clearly, and it had been hard enough to confess it to anyone, even as hopeful and happy as he was – but every atom of him had expected Irene to be happy for him, not the reverse. She had managed to puncture all that airy hopefulness, to pull him right back down to earth... and even her lively grin now couldn’t save it.

Was that what she thought of him? As if he would have ever thought that of her, that her past meant she couldn’t be relied upon. As if he would have asked her opinion if he didn’t dearly want it. And that comment about asking Daffodil’s family instead... Elias was sure she hadn’t meant it to, but he couldn’t help it: that irked him too. After all, his last real heartbreak had come at the hands of Evangeline’s family – and his working class background and his muggle blood and everything he was – and maybe, just a little, though he knew it was stupid and insecure to need, he had privately wanted Irene to assure him that yes, this time he was good enough.

He forced himself to exhale before the frown could harden on his face, and gave a loose shrug, following her back into the living room and toward the painting she’d brought without actually looking at her. “I wanted to ask you first,” he said, and it came out a little curter than he would have liked. “Because you know her,” – Daffodil – “and you know me better than they do. It doesn’t matter,” he added, deciding it was best to brush it off and carry on, like it hadn’t been important to him. “What’s the painting, then?”

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   Irene Crawley

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3

She thought her tone had been joking, and had lightened her voice enough that he would understand it was a joke. But one look at his expression as she turned back to him - she’d hit a nerve. Any sort of spring in his step had gone, and she could see the hurt fading from him as he shrugged it off. She had meant to make a self-deprecating joke, that was all! Of course he hadn’t taken it that way. Of course she’d had to hurt him to make herself feel better.

Whatever had curdled in her stomach contracted and twisted uncomfortably, and Irene shifted her stance, the wand in her hand still outstretched to him. He was pretending to brush it off, to make it seem as if it hadn’t mattered one way or the other and yet she knew he was pretending. She had known what he wanted from her from the beginning and she might as well have kicked and laughed at him instead. Her grip tightened on his wand, and she dropped her hand; felt her heart clench desperately in her chest. Why did he need her approval? Why couldn’t he have asked anyone else? Ask Ruth, she wanted to say. Ruth didn’t know Daffodil. Neither did Anthony. Or his mother. Or his father.

That left only her.

Bloody hell. Irene let out a sharp, frustrated exhale and brandished his wand once more to hoist the canvas onto the easel before putting the wand down on the side table. “I didn’t mean that it didn’t matter,” He knew she didn’t mean it like that. “I only meant that I know you better than I know anyone else — I don’t — I don’t know Daffodil —”

Of course that wasn’t what her last comment had meant either. What was worse, she knew he knew that. She wrung the rag in her hand and clenched her jaw. Felt her palms stinging and she wrung the rag tighter. All she had to do was say that she thought they’d make a wonderful couple, that they’d suit each other perfectly. But words stuck in her throat and wouldn’t budge.

She sighed again, tossing the towel down onto the small table she’d taken out, and dragged the easel and canvas to give it more natural light. “I only meant I’m not in any part of this relationship you two have.” I don’t want to be. “I can’t tell you what you two would be like together —” Please don’t make me. “Because…because I’ve only seen you two at the flower show, and that’s it.” It came out in a rush and she sat herself down on the stool, and staring at the covered canvas. Yes, the painting. She needed something to focus on. Even then, he didn’t sound as excited as she thought he’d be when she showed him. He hadn’t seen it yet, but that didn’t matter now. She might as well show him and get out.

Reaching up to the corner of the canvas, she tugged the draped cloth off and tossed it to the floor beside her without any sort of dramatic flair she thought she would have employed —

And blinked in alarm at what she saw.

When Lucille had come to Irene about a painting, she had known exactly what to make. As if the idea had been in her head for ages, and was just waiting for the right person to come along and request it. It had taken a few weeks to construct the final look that she had envisioned, but she had done it: one massive, fully rigged ship at sea with two smaller barques flanking it; the sun streamed through the clouds and a hearty wind billowed through the sails. Frothy waves lapped at the ship sides, but not so turbulent that the viewer wouldn’t be able to see their names: the biggest ship, Artemisia: the first female Minister for Magic (and coincidentally one of Irene’s favorite painters), Amphitrite: wife of Poseidon and goddess of the sea, and Zipporah: wife of Moses.

But instead of a calm sea that was supposed to be shown, the three ships were amongst a vicious storm; rain pelted down on the sails, and though it was only a painting, Irene was almost worried that they would be capsized by the size of the waves.

Of course this would happen when all she wanted was to show Elias the painting and leave. She gestured in front of her before getting up, taking a deep breath. “I just wanted to make sure I spelled the name of the ships correctly.” She said, in a weak attempt at an excuse. Really, she'd just wanted him to like it, and say it was perfect for his father. But why should he do that for her when she'd had just denied him that very same thing? She crossed her arms and gave him room to move around and look. “That’s all. Your mother told me she’d pick it up later this week.” Maybe he could tell Lucille about Daffodil then. Irene ducked her head bitterly, feeling the uncomfortable knot in her stomach tighten. As it did so, the waves of the painting tossed the three ships around even harder.

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— Painting Inspiration Board —

  

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This was the trouble of friendship. You learned a little too much about a person, learned how to read the pages of a wordless book – faces, expressions, gestures, the spaces in their sentences, the things they didn’t say. Irene’s excuses didn’t ring true, and she knew it too.

“Right,” was all he said. Elias didn’t think she had meant to frustrate him, exactly, but being frustrated at Irene was so foreign a feeling that he was having trouble hiding it. Or maybe exasperated was a better word: he could still give her the benefit of the doubt, that she perhaps didn’t know Daffodil as well as he’d assumed, judging by how they’d interacted – but at the same time it felt remarkably like she wasn’t even trying.

She still had his wand, looked about to give it back and then didn’t, then went back to being busy with her things, wringing out a rag. (Elias felt a little wrung out by the way this conversation had gone, too.) I only meant I’m not in any part of this relationship you two have, Irene explained. And nor did he expect her to be, nor did he want her to be mixed up in the middle of it – with a flash, he thought back to something Daff had said, that evening on the rooftop; assumptions already made – but Elias reminded himself that he had never dragged Irene into it. The flower show had been accidental, just a mix-up – now that things had more... clarity, there wouldn’t be any confusion going forward.

Though, if things worked out the way he (really, desperately) wanted them to, Irene and Daffy would have to become real friends, if they weren’t already. Elias couldn’t picture things unfolding any other way. They were both artistic, sincere, bright and open-minded – so, if he were speaking honestly, it astounded him that Irene didn’t see that already, and apparently couldn’t use a grain of her excellent imagination to actually picture him with Daffodil.

No matter: Elias did his best to bury the disappointment and inject some enthusiasm into his expression, taking the painting as an excuse to change the subject and leave the previous topic where it lay. “Oh,” he exclaimed as she revealed it, more awed than he’d expected. “Wow,” he said, stepping tentatively closer, to get a glimpse of the ships and her painting technique, the froth of the waves, the clouds, the torrents of rain. It was a little different to some of her usual landscapes, but it was perfect for his father. Irene had never been to the house he’d grown up in Portsmouth, of course, but from the top floor windows you could always see the streets sloping down to the harbour, the sails and rigging on the horizon. Irvingly had never been the same for Simon.

Elias huffed a disbelieving laugh as he looked at the ships’ names and the sheer awesome detail of it all. (How many hours had she poured into this, some silly project of his mother’s?) “It’s perfect, Irene,” he admitted, glancing her way and regretting feeling so irked about her having dodged one stupid question. “He’ll love it.” He let his gaze drift back to the painting, not wanting to embarrass her by saying too much about it; not sure admiring the painting was enough of a truce. “That storm’s quite something,” Elias added, mesmerised by the painted waves roiling, and not a little interested in how she had managed that effect.

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The following 1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post:1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post
   Irene Crawley

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3

She should have been extremely pleased at his reaction; the revelation of her painting had seemed to calm both of them enough to where Irene felt she could breathe as he took it in. Except it really only served to constrict the knot in her chest even tighter. She should have been more supportive of Elias and Daffodil. The thought kept itself rooted in her mind as she looked up at one of her closest friends. When he met her gaze, she smiled at him before looking back at the raging storm and giving a relieved sigh. The tense moment between them seemed to have dissipated slightly allowing her to quell the storm currently raging in her own mind. And as she sought to calm herself down, she kept her focus on the three ships.

“I know your mother favored the first female Minister for Magic. And you know Artemisia Gentileschi is one of my favorite artists —” How many times had she referenced Judith and Her Maidservant when she was practicing her chiaroscuro? “I know you can’t name boats after men — Poseidon’s wife was Amphitrite — and you can’t name boats after living people, so that cancelled out yours, Anthony’s or Ruth’s. I figured why not name the third ship after the wife of the man in the Bible who escorted his people to safe passage across the Red Sea?” Zipporah’s quick thinking saved her husband from being killed by God, hadn’t it? So her name must mean good luck.

Explaining her process pushed them further away from their argument, which meant more time, more distance for Irene to settle down. She knew she needed to ground herself. To remind herself the reality of the situation. The man she was in love with was falling fast for someone that wasn’t her. The faster she accepted it, the less it would hurt, right? She kept her eyes on the painting before her and felt a calm start to wash over her; there was a reason she liked landscapes so much.

Elias’ comment on the storm seemed to have quite an effect on the painting. The waves had grown calmer, no longer threatening to capsize the ships. “I’m sure it will quell once I leave…” And yet….as sure as she could see the waves rise and fall, she noticed they timed perfectly with the beating of her own heart in her chest. Irene frowned. The odd timing of the painting, and how she knew as she’d left her flat with the painting uncovered the sea had been calm and only just starting to pick up when she realized she was running out of time…oh, Merlin…

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The following 2 users Like Irene Crawley's post:2 users Like Irene Crawley's post
   Daffodil Grimstone, Elias Grimstone

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Irene was wasted on him. Wasted on him and his family, on her friendships – she deserved more than just that, deserved to have a family of her own. It was the thought she’d poured into the painting, the hard work and tenderness. Like Daffy with the flower show frames, or her rooftop garden. There were some gifts that were better than gifts alone, that were effort and devotion and love – the kind crafted with one’s own hands, out of one’s own mind – that couldn’t compare to anything money could buy. Elias had never felt richer than in those moments.

And that Irene had bothered for his parents was... The storm in the painting may as well have swept his irritation clean away, because he’d forgotten he’d ever been angry at her. How could he be angry with her when she knew his mother’s favourite Minister of Magic, or his father’s favourite things?

“It’s changing already, look,” Elias remarked, marvelling at the change in the waves, and peering more closely at the new angling of the ships. Whichever charms she had used or painted into it were incredibly interesting – how had the scene altered so swiftly? He could have squinted at it for an age, determining how it worked, but he felt bad for his earlier begrudging thoughts towards her, and so let his gaze slide over to Irene, who seemed less awkward already too. “And you shouldn’t have, Irene.” If his mother was paying her for her work, it wouldn’t be enough – there were more important things Irene should have been doing. Elias grinned at her though, because she was too kind and he knew well that there was no use in arguing. “But – thank you. It’ll mean a lot to them. It means a lot to me.” He meant it, too, earnestly, and slung an arm around her shoulders in an attempt at a one-handed hug at least, as a peace offering of sorts.

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The following 1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post:1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post
   Daffodil Grimstone

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3

Even as she stared at the painting with him, Irene couldn’t figure out how she’d managed to achieve such a feat. She was grateful he seemed so focused on the pictures in front of him that he didn’t realize her mounting confusion. But there would be time to figure it out later. She’d spent so many hours on it; from sketch, to iteration after iteration, from the color palette and the countless hours after work spent at the Sanditon observing the waves from the shore. The satisfaction of not only having completed a project but knowing it would be well loved was enough to overpower her perplexity at the conditions of the painting mimicking her emotions - for now.

“Nonsense, of course I should have.” She pushed back gently with a grin. “It was my pleasure. I know how much your father loved working alongside those ships.” She felt a sort of melancholy - always would feel it with a painting she’d grown close to. But watching the waves rise and fall rhythmically slowly let a blanket of tranquility settle over her shoulders, so caught in the sensation that she neglected to realize she’d leaned into him; rested her head in the crook of his arm and let out a soft hum of content. And that he’d draped an arm over her shoulders.

She was briefly reminded of the time that he’d walked her home after the death if Mr. Hunt: how he’d gathered her in his arms and it felt as if, no after what came next, everything would be alright.

And then, quite suddenly the image of the young healer kneeling at Mr. Hunt’s feet flashed through her vision; the pang of watching as what could have been two lovely souls finding solace in each other swiftly shattered before her eyes. Every time she passed Padmore Park she could see the young woman pleading with the dying man, professing her love too little too late. And for one mad, insane moment, Irene slipped into the possibility of doing the same thing with Elias. Who knew what would happen in the following years? After all, they’d never found the person responsible for hexing Mr. Hunt. What if Elias was next? Who would mourn him?

Daffodil would. The automatic and immediate answer slapped her in the face. Daffodil and her entire wonderful family and his own family, side by side. They would find comfort in each other quite easily.

Thoroughly unnerved, Irene broke away from Elias, spinning out form under his arm in an awkward un-choreographed dance and set about gathering her supplies.

It was time to leave.

“I - I’m glad you think he’ll like it!” Never mind the fact that she had come here with the intention of making a few minor adjustments to the painting. It was nothing that would be noticeable to anyone except her, and suddenly she was very eager to be parted with it. “I’m glad you like it. Don’t forget, your mother said she was going to pick it up from you later this week. I'm afraid I must go, I have an appointment -” She tried to twist around to untie and unbutton her apron to no avail. “-that’s waiting for me, and if I remember correctly she doesn’t like to be kept -” Sighing a huff of frustration, she yanked at one end of the bow. Another two tugs and she realized she’d just knotted it once more. “-waiting.” A sigh of resignation as she realized she wasn’t going to get out of the apron, out of the knot or out of the apron’s buttons, and Irene let out a quiet, plaintive: “Elias, would you…untie me?”

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   Elias Grimstone

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And just like that, it was easy again. Being with her was natural and unaffected and comforting, their friendship as steady as anything.

And then she was gone – off in a flurry of movement again. Elias watched the waves beneath the ships strike up again, not so frenzied as before but still with some new urgency in them. So he stood there, fairly still and a little bemused, just watching her as she flitted about and grinning to himself when she reminded him about the arrangement she had with his mother. He nodded along patiently and just fiddled idly with one of his shirt sleeves, sensing that he’d just be getting in her way if he offered to help her pack up her things.

Although she did ask for his help, eventually, because in her hurry or distraction she’d tied herself in knots. “Well, we can’t have you being late, can we?” he joked with a fond smile she couldn’t see as he stepped up behind her, slowly teasing out the tight knots she’d made – it took a little careful picking at them, but Elias had always had the sort of patience for tasks like that and made short work of that. He paused for a moment, wondering whether that was all the help she expected, but then – if he could spare her the struggle – his fingers found the buttons, and steadily, he unbuttoned the apron at her back. He could smell her rain-damp hair, and he had gone quiet without meaning to, and the silence made the room feel smaller and Irene feel closer and the waves in the painting –

Elias cleared his throat. “All set,” he said, stepping back.

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The following 1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post:1 user Likes Elias Grimstone's post
   Irene Crawley

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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3