July 16th, 1889 — Weston Residence in London

Percy had been back in his mother's care for a few weeks, but that hadn't meant the adjustment had been smooth or easy since his arrival. In fact the exact opposite could perhaps be said for the young child whose fragmented memory surfaced like sporadic dreams. Needless to say everyday threw up a new challenge for child and parent alike. Today the testy five year old decided he wasn't going to wear his shirt or shoes for that matter.

"ITCHIES AND PINCHIES!" He yelled with a look of defiance in his eyes. His little fists were balled up and there was a huff and puff of air from his little chest as his face began to turn red. The Nanny looked at him with equal determination. "Master Percy, you must wear your shoes and shirt to go outside."

His frown deepened, "Ain't gotta! I been out there with no shoes and shirt before!" Proper decorum was not in the young master's vocabulary. "Your a liar!" He yelled and went to pick up his shoe to throw at the woman, "LIAR!"

Hope Weston

  

The sounds of yelling in the mornings had become all too commonplace since Percy had come home. Her lady's maid was only just finished lacing in her corset when the distinct sound of the word liar reached her ears. With a gentle sigh, she waved the young woman off. "I'll be back shortly," Hope assured, pulling her dressing gown from a nearby hook and sweeping it over her under-dressed frame.

She had known, hadn't she? Her eldest son had gone through much. Too much. They'd sent him off to one of the workhouses! Her son! Percival Weston! In a workhouse! It had been a stroke of pure luck, Guinevere finding him. She would always and forever be in her sister-in-law's debt for that. Sweeping down the hall, it took only a couple of moments for Hope to enter Percy's bedroom, gazing about at the room. A flung shoe here, a red-faced boy there, and a flustered nanny at the center of it all. Hope sighed. "There'll be tea for you in the kitchen," she offered to the nanny, who hurriedly thanked her and scurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

"Percy." Hope sank to one of the chairs, folding her ankles together. "What seems to be the problem this morning?"

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Percival Weston

  

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such a heavy broken heart, can't take the weight of all these scars

Percy's dark eyes shot over to his mother the tidal wave of emotion just beneath the anger starting to break and tears moved down his cheeks. "She's- She wants me dead!" He said pointing to the closed door where the nanny had just left. He gave a sniffle and tried to hold it back but tears leaked down his cheeks, and fear reflected in his youthful visage.

He didn't approach his mother though, not sure if it was wise. Grown up were much stronger than him, what if she was in on it with the Nanny. His gaze searched around for another shoe as he trembled. "The shoes make ouchies and the shirt itchies. Can't make me!" He said as if that was explanation enough for his accusations towards the nanny. He spotted the other shoe and picked it up. For now it was his rock,  like David versus Goliath, except to him everyone was Goliath.

  

Hope had known it would be difficult, bringing Percy home. He hadn't been in the greatest of living situations when he'd been found, and of course there would be time needed to adjust to being in a safe, warm, loving environment. On top of that, he was still a child. He was still only five years of age.

And at five years old, he'd already been through hell.

"Now, Percy," Hope smiled, holding out an open hand, palm turned to the sky, "I can assure you, if Nanny truly wanted to do you harm, I wouldn't have sent her off for a cup of tea." She couldn't do much about the situation as a whole, but she could, perhaps, fix the present issue, if she could simply convince him to hand over the shoe and join her for a short walk down to her bedroom.

She probably should have brought her wand along.

"If the shoes are hurting and the shirt is itching, then those are circumstances I can help you with. After all, I did quite well in Charms class, and have been reading up on some spells intended for comfort in clothing." She slowly reached forward, with that upturned hand. "If you'll come along with me, I can help you. I left my wand in my room."

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Percival Weston

  

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such a heavy broken heart, can't take the weight of all these scars

The child sniffled a few more times, but fought the urge to wipe away the tears because that would mean he would have to admit he was sad or scared, and that in and of itself was a scary notion for the boy. "You wouldn't? What would you do?" He asked in a small voice as she said she wouldn't send Nanny for a cup of tea. Curiosity was beginning to peak as his mother's patience had a magic all it's own.

She then mentioned her wand and charms and her ability to help. He thought about this for a good long moment, and then slowly he approached and gave her his small hand, but not the shoe, just in case, that stayed in his other hand. "Why do I have to wear them?" He didn't understand that either, the need for appearances. His small hand fell into her's and his big brown eyes stared up at her in wonder, snot running down from his nose mingling with the left over tears and spittle from his latest temper tantrum.

Hope Weston

  

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"Why, I'd do exactly the same as I did with the nanny who let you out of her sight when we lost you. She'd be heavily reprimanded, and then let go from her position," Hope stated, plain and simple. "I'll not lose you again."

She squeezed his hand gingerly, pulling herself upright and leading him from his room in the direction of hers. "You're home now, Percy," she began, "and being home means maintaining a certain standard of dress and decorum. Certainly, when the circumstance calls for it, you are welcome to run around barefoot. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those circumstances." She smiled down at him. "You wouldn't want me seen in public like this, would you?"

Her free hand gestured to her own state of undress with her free hand, before using that same hand to tug open the door to her bedroom. "Today, I think, we ought to go to the tailor's and see about getting you some more comfortable shirts. And then, perhaps, a shoemaker's. It's possible the shoes we have for you don't fit correctly."

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Percival Weston

  

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such a heavy broken heart, can't take the weight of all these scars

"Oh." Came Percy's response to the woman being let go from her position. This sparked a devious little idea that he would stew on later, but for now his short attention span dashed off into another direction.

"Sir-comb-dance." He repeated slowly as he heard her say the word quite a few times, thus it had to have some importance. "Sircombdance!" He said proudly and then his brows knitted together in confusion, "What's a sircombdance?"

She then asked him a question in turn and he looked her up and down before giving a shrug. "Why not? You don't like how you look mommy? Because I like how you look, and smell, you smell good." He could smell the heavy scent of her perfume.

"Why does someone with a tail make shirts?" He asked ever inquisitive once his fears were dashed. He stood there in her room waiting to see what she would do next. His eyes glue do her image.

  

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Oh, to be a child again with such an innocent mind. Hope had missed having a smaller child in the house. Children had the freshest perspective on just about everything. Still, she led her son to the settee and sat herself down, patting the cushion beside her. "A circumstance," she emphasised, speaking the word slowly to guide his pronunciation, "is another word for situation or event. Such as right this moment, I find myself in the circumstance of explaining what a circumstance is." She grinned broadly, gesturing with her hands. "The word can also take other meanings when paired with certain other words. A financial circumstance is a polite way to phrase that someone's wealth has recently changed, or is in the process of changing, for example."

It was all probably far too advanced for the five-year-old, but then, he had asked. And then he had continued on into her appearance. Oh, dear. "No, no, Percy," she said sweetly, gliding her fingers into his hair, "you wouldn't want a stranger to see me like this. It would be horribly indecent. I'm technically in my underclothes." Slowly, she stood, clicking her fingers together to call the lady's maid before she shed her dressing gown. The maid slipped up behind her, helping her into the corset cover.

"As for a person with a tail making shirts, I don't think it'd be a good idea to mention having a tail to a tailor," she giggled. "I don't know why they're called tailors. Never looked into the word's origins. They're just called tailors — and technically, shoemakers are also called cobblers." Not that she needed to throw that in, but there it was.

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Percival Weston

  

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such a heavy broken heart, can't take the weight of all these scars

He gave her a blank stare as she went about trying to explain the word, circumstance. It wasn't registering. Rather his mind quickly jumped to the next topic.

"Why does he not like his tail?" Percy asked his curiosity peaking as his imagination seemed to run off with him. Then there was the bit about cobbler. "Why do deserts make shoes?" Meaning to say dessert of course, but ah the English language is frustratingly difficult for a boy his age.

His tumble of questions eased however as his mind wondered once again when the maid came, and then there was silence. If one turned to look at where the boy had been standing they would find a vacant spot, but time quickly told where he had gone off to. In fact his head was under the maid's skirt. "Mommy Mommy she has on the same cloth you have on underneath!" Thankfully he couldn't see as far as the crotch what with the numerous layers and the lack of thigh gap possessed by the maid. Still it wouldn't do for him to go poking his head up ladies' skirts.

  

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"Percival Sterling Lukeson Weston!" Hope startled, dropping immediately to one knee — not the simplest feat in a corset, but she managed — and pulling the boy from beneath the maid's skirt as the other woman stepped back abruptly, hands clamped tight to his shoulders, holding him so he had to look her in the eyes. "Young gentlemen do not look up a lady's skirt!"

Slowly, she took a deep breath, and explained. "I know you have been living in a less than ideal place since you were brought back from stone, Percy. I know, and I am immensely sorry that I did not find you sooner. My little boy." She smiled, lifting one hand to comb her fingers through his hair. "I love you, my little boy. I need you to know that, and understand that there are rules that accompany our status. We have to present the image of being proper, and that means shoes and shirts for you, and layers of clothing for me." She looked up at her maid. "And I need you to behave properly. That means no looking up any skirts, all right, Percy?"

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Percival Weston

  

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such a heavy broken heart, can't take the weight of all these scars

Percival's hand clawed at the rug as his mother dragged him out from under the maid's skirt. "AHHH!" He screamed kicking back at her with one foot. When she had finally freed the maod from prying eyes he kicked again with a fuss rolling onto his back, and why not? All that was made of what he did was words.

His mother begam to lecture him and his mind began to wonder as fingers went into his mouth, eyes darting thos way and that only pausing om her when she mentioned decorum. More rules, always more rules. He huffed either not seeing or caring about her point.

"Can i go play?!" He pleaded hoping she was finished.What a brat he could be.

  

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As much as Hope wanted to keep him there, to make his shirt feel soft and comfortable, and his shoes, at least for now, less tight, she knew that the boy was still a boy. Still a child. She couldn't keep him there forever, not if she ever wanted to get through to him. She would have to work with him, personally, on his manners.

"If you make me a promise," she said softly, "you can certainly go off and play. Just promise me that you'll listen and do as Nanny tells you." Perhaps in a few hours, she would dress the boy herself, take him in to the tailor she preferred for ensuring her children were just as immaculate as she was, and then to the shoemaker's. For now, she turned to the maid. "Fetch me one of Theodore's old shirts, if you would?" She never got rid of anything her children had worn, and now she could use one of those old shirts for Percy's comfort.

Moments later, the maid handed Hope a simple blue shirt — too big for Percy to wear in public, but it would certainly be a sight more comfortable. "This will be far less uncomfortable for you, but I need you to wear something, Percy. Please? For your mother?"

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Percival Weston

  

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such a heavy broken heart, can't take the weight of all these scars

Percy looked to his mother, interested only really on what was in this conversation for him. Right, play if promise. "Promise!"

He got up snatching the shirt and running out the door, he wasn't even wearing it! Also what had he promised, something about a nanny? Oh well it was play time!!

The little terror that was her darling child was racing down the hall, and ah yes, the shirt was on, like a cape with the sleeves tied around his neck!

  

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