Maid to Order (Closed Thread)

[Mephistophelily]

[size=-2]

Closed for Eazy, Chas, and Myself.[/size]​

It was a Tuesday.
Reagan was doing her usual Tuesday thing; an afternoon at the mall, waiting for the phone call from the one she hoped to see. But appearances needed to be kept above all else, Rea meeting her father's guidelines of trying to 'meet the perfect guy' as she wandered the corridors of the mall. She really didn't care much on finding someone. She had already done that... But Daddy simply wouldn't approve.

Stubborn, cranky old man.
It was frustrating to still love him so much.

Wandering into one of her favorite stores, she was soon to find some things that caught her eye. A few pairs of jeans, an adorable little skirt, some wonderful little dresses, and a couple necklaces that she simply had to have. Bringing them all to the register, she started to take out her cell phone once more, pouting a bit as the signal dropped. Ohhh, she'd never get a call in here. As the man rang her out, she put her hands in her pockets, rocking back on her heels and glancing around. Oh, how cute! One of those little bracelets would be perfect for-

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but your card's been declined," The man spoke to her softly, a firm look on his face as he held it back out to her, tapping the red letters on his screen. "See?"

"De-De..clined?" Reagan's eyes widened, staring at it like it was a foreign word. How was that even possible?! "Can you run it again?"

"I -did-. Three times. You were declined." His voice grew louder with that, pulling the clothes back off the counter. "So sorry. Goodbye."

Reagan whimpered softly as she left the store, taking out her phone once again and starting to dial home. What was this all about?! She had to let her father know that...

...Why wasn't her phone working...?

With a little shriek, she ran to a payphone, calling the house. "Tina! I need to talk to Daddy!," She exclaimed to the maid that answered, twirling the cord in her fingers and trying not to cry. "Something's wrong with my card, Daddy. And my phone!"

"Nothing's wrong at all," Her father explained calmly. "Nothing except my daughter being a moneyleech. It's time to prove yourself as a Long, Reagan. You've been out of high school for almost two years. I had my first business deal by now. You've simply spent my money. It's time to do something about that."

"But- But Daddy..." She whimpered again, trying not to cry. "I'm... I'm not a leech... I'm nothing like those girls named after capital cities, Daddy, please!" She finally lost it as the phone went dead, gathering up her things and hurrying out to the parking lot. What she found there was even more horrifying. Her car. Her baby.

The pale blue Mustang, being loaded up on a tow truck.

She was ready to collapse now.

A shaking hand taking a quarter from her pocket, she found another payphone and called the only person she knew would care, could comfort her, come find her. As soon as the phone picked up, that familiar voice coming through, Reagan's floodgates finally eroded, wailing into the phone. "He- took away- my- cards... and my phone and all- my- money- and- and- and even took the Must-aaaang...," she wailed, cupping the phone to her lips. "Please, please come get me... I'm on a payphone... PAYPHONE! There's something icky on the receiver and I'm afraid to touch it and theres a guy staring at me and- STOP LOOKING AT ME, DAMMIT!- I dunno what to do, please..."



------
[size=-2]
Reagan Long (but answers to just about anything she thinks is referring to her.)
Age: 19

Personality: She's a hodgepodge of curious knowledge, though none of it seems to ever have any relevance. Easily excitable with a twist of over-protective tendencies, Rea can go from cooing over kittens to slamming someone's head into a wall in 6.2 seconds. (The .2 is for standing up.)

History: Daughter to millionaire Jonathan Long, Rea grew up in the lap of luxury- a giant home, fancy clothing, a doting nanny, every item she could have wished for, and a beloved friend in the daughter of one of her father's own colleagues. She tried to not let the funds of her family lead her to becoming spoiled, but knew that there was quite a difference in her life than those around her.

Thankfully, Rush didn't see her as spoiled either. This led to Rea seeing her in a different light as well as the years went on... There was something there that was deeper than friendship, but different from a sister. She loved her. Truly, wholly. Loved her.

But heaven forbid Daddy knew about that. The man was horrified to even see women holding hands in public, let alone the idea of them sharing affections. Even to see his daughter give her mother a peck on the cheek was seen as 'overdoing it'. So her feelings were spliced, to keep the appearances that Daddy favored; going out on the planned dates he set with sons of well-lined pockets, flirting with troublesomes in clubs. Then came the other side, the one perfectly meshed with another. Her beloved friend... Rush.[/size]

 

[ChasNicollette]

Rush.

Her date, even given the monumental obstacles kept secretly in the way of her suitor, was not going well.

Yes, the bar was relatively clean and sanitary as such things went, and yes he had magnanimously and chivalrously bought out the elegant old-world public house for their sole use for the duration of their dalliance, but honestly.

Honestly.

Who took a date to a bar in the middle of a Tuesday?

The whole thing spoke of Dionysian Bacchanalia and Rush Llewellyn-Jones did not approve.

She sat upon a seat-backed barstool beside the ancient mahogany wood of the bar, and examined her fingernails dourly. She was eager for her date, such as he was, to return from the lavatory that she might hand him the arguably exquisite ten-thousand dollar leather jacket that he had left hanging from the seat-back of the stool beside her.

(He seemed to be taking an inordinately long time in the aforediscussed lavatory, the sort of time stereotypically ascribed to women.)

The glass door of the pub swung wide, and in strode one of her father's men.

Rodrigo, if she recalled correctly, an arguably aesthetically-pleasing specimen of masculinity, continually clad in haute couture suits and ties and an ever-present pair of wraparound shades.

He smirked at her as he approached.

"Miz," he intoned, reaching into his inside jacket pocket. "I have instructions from your father that your driver is to hasten home without you."

Rush arched an impossibly elegant eyebrow, an arch that could turn Saint Louis ardently verdant with covetousness. "I see. Am I expected to be returning with my suitor to his abode, or am I to bring him home to father that he might assay our compatibility with his own eyes?"

Rodrigo extricated his hand from his pocket and pressed a slender white envelope onto the bartop in front of Rush.

"That, Miz," he replied languidly, "is of less import than Miz might think."

The envelope was addressed to Rush.

The name was written in her father's damnably flowing hand.

Rush's lip twitched.

"'The goodness of giving,'" she quoted archly, "'is in the timing.'"

But then the pub door clattered shut behind Rodrigo as he departed without another word, and Rush scowled at his back.

With sculpted fingernails, she tore open the letter.

And as she began to read it, 'Dearest daughter,' her phone began to ring.

Quickmarch eyes darted across the page and the rage began to bubble in her oft-unswayed temper.

'...severing ties...'

'...productive member of society...'

'...order to terminate mobile service currently in process...'

'...credit cards inactive...'

'...to prove you can swim with the sharks, we are depositing you in at the deep end without so much as a flotation device.'

Rush gritted her teeth, and hissed. Bastard.

Suddenly, then, she realised her phone was ringing and the number on the nextgen touchscreen LCD was unfamiliar. With irate fingers, she tapped the key to respond and placed the phone to her ear, forcing herself to respond without ferocity given the possibility that this might be her father and this might be part of some test.

"Pronto," she declared in Italian.

This was not her father.

This was, quite frankly, the chief obstacle to any long luxurious life Rush's suitor expected to garner with Rush.

This was the love of Rush's life. In the way that friendship overcame everything even the boundaries of friendship, in the way that friendship transcended, they were still best friends. And they were more.

This was Rea.

And she was in hysterics.

'He- took away- my- cards... and my phone and all- my- money- and- and- and even took the Must-aaaang...,' Rush heard, and every word was a fist to her stomach, a stab to her heart. 'Please, please come get me... I'm on a payphone... PAYPHONE! There's something icky on the receiver and I'm afraid to touch it and theres a guy staring at me and- STOP LOOKING AT ME, DAMMIT!- I dunno what to do, please...'

The bubbling boiling in Rush's blood stopped.

Cold.

There were more important things than anger, at present.

Rush's hand clawed through her hair, her eyes hard and cold and staring to nowhere, her face expressionlessly stoic.

"Stay calm," she instructed Rea, though this instruction was also directed selfwards.

No money, plastic or otherwise.

No driver.

Phone on borrowed time.

Think.

Emerald-glass eyes slid over to the leather jacket hanging beside her.

Oh, my poor pride.

But there are more important things than pride.

(Not many, of course. Just her, really.)

Her hand went into the pocket of that jacket, extracted her date's billfold, and yanked out of it the substantial remainder of the wad of cash he'd been throwing around all morning, like a peacock spreading its feathers, to demonstrate his suitability as a mate.

"I'm rolling to you," she promised Reagan, looking down at the collective image of a half-dozen Ben Franklins smirking back up at her.

"'A woman's best protection is a little money of her own,'" Rush quoted, irony thick in her voice, "Clare Boothe Luce."

She left the wallet on the bar beside the crumpled remnants of the letter and the envelope.

The door clattered shut behind her as her stilettos powered her out onto the pavement of the sidewalk.

She held up her hand.

And Rush Llewellyn-Jones uttered a pair of syllables she had never before uttered in context, and had thought she never would have to.

"TAAAAAAAAAA-XI!"

********​

[SIZE="-2"]
Name: Rush Llewellyn-Jones.
Age: 19
Image.
Image.
Image.

Personality: Quiet, walled-off, reserved. She masquerades as serene, but she is merely a rather slow boiler. Tending to quote others rather than speak her mind or raise her fist directly, she's a master of social misdirection. Until you really get under her skin, then Heaven help you.

She is only herself with one person on the entire planet, only really herself.

With Reagan Long.

History: Rush's father, Dai Jones, had long been possessed of great material wealth, and remanded himself to the company only of those whose wealth rivaled his own. This lead to camaraderie, comradeship, of a sort, with a man named Jonathan Long.

Golf games, swank parties, a little bit of friendly one-up-manship here and there...

Even their daughters were born almost at the same time.

Where other children might have found resentment, however, Rush bonded with her partner in crime. At first, as a so-called "BFF." And then later, on a much, much deeper level.

(So much deeper.)

The sort of level that would have daddy dearest and his moneybagger chum sending them off to brainwashing camps to rid them of this... "unnatural malady."

Occasionally, Rush would consider delivering the middle finger to the world, to her father, to Reagan's father, and taking Reagan by the hand and leading her off into prodigal-daughter debauchery. But as reluctant as Rush was to confess her shortcomings, she had become... accustomed... to a certain level of comfort, a certain level of high fashion, a certain quality of Egyptian cotton sheets, and that all became quite so very hard to give up.

(Not to mention it would break Reagan's dad's heart on a physical level as well as emotional, and one of the blessings and curses of Reagan was that she still cared what the Grand Old Prick thought of her.)

So she endured. Sometimes in silence, sometimes behind a quote, and very very rarely, with her heart on her sleeve.

Until Long and Jones found a new level of one-up-manship...

...the old bastards.[/SIZE]

********​

Minutes later, as she had admonished the driver of the cab to make all due haste, the taxi rolled up beside that payphone.

Pushing the door open, she beckoned the slender flaxen-haired lovely inside, perceiving instantly that while the red stain of tearfulness had not diminished Rea's beauty, it was not as complementary to her beauty as Rea's smile would have been.

Rush hated to see Rea cry.

"Get in," she suggested, crisply, peremptorily, so as not to endure the prying eyes of Rea's hated onlooker any longer than necessary. "'The time has come to be gone.'"

 

[Mephistophelily]

Reagan sniffled, trying to keep her tears from flowing any further, glaring back cautiously over her shoulder to the oogling man on the bench. She wanted to hurt him. Scream at him and tell him to get a life, to get away from her and learn some goddamn manners.

But all she could do was focus on keeping the tears at bay. She really was good at multi-tasking. She really, truly was. But right now her brain was so flooded with confusion and anger and sadness and-

"STOP FUCKING LOOKING AT ME, YOU SUNUVABITCH!!!"
Well, maybe it wasn't that hard to multi-task.

She wiped at her eyes, her lower lip jutting out still as the cab pulled up, the door opening to reveal her Lady in Yellow Steel; Rush. The stern look to her face was such a comfort, her extended arm against the door her immediate lifeline as she dove into the car. Rush's words brought a nod from the blonde, curling against her friend, lover, companion in this messed up journey of life.

"I don't understand what I did wrong. Why would Daddy do this? I-I didn't overspend. I stayed under my card limit! And- And I stopped calling those psychics... Why'd he take my phone?!" She was more talking to Rush's shoulder than to the girl attached, refusing to remove her head from the comfort of her friend's touch. "He called me a LEECH! I'm not a LEECH!"

She paused, finally sitting up. "Rush, what's a leech?" This finally made her tears stop, the only remnants of them being the redness about her eyes. Sighing softly, she settled against the seat, wrinkling her nose slightly as she shifted. Then shifted again. Then wriggled a few more times. "This isn't your car," She spoke with her realization. "Where's your driver? Where's YOUR car? This guy smells like old cigarettes and that nasty cologne our old Principal wore." She froze once again, lowering her voice. "Oh god, he can't hear us, can he?"

Reagan reached into her pocket, sighing at the still dead phone that came out of it. "He told me to go prove I'm a Long and go to college. How'm I supposed to do that if he won't let me have any money?" She frowned, resting her head against the window as she closed her eyes. This was horrible. Her heart felt like it was just leaking from her body, broken and flowing through her blood, her tears. She had cried so much already.... Was it already gone?

"I'm scared, Red," She confessed softly, glancing to her friend. "I'm scared of what'll happen. I can't just ignore him..." She sighed, shaking her head. "I hate loving him so much. I really do."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Rush.

Rea joined her in the sordid auto-for-hire within the span of an eyeblink, which Rush appreciated. All the more she appreciated the warmth of Rea curled tightly and relentlessly against her, her speech muffling against Rush's shoulder, but again, she couldn't help but regret that all of this was brought about by such... dire circumstance.

"I don't understand what I did wrong. Why would Daddy do this? I-I didn't overspend. I stayed under my card limit! And- And I stopped calling those psychics... Why'd he take my phone?!" She was more talking to Rush's shoulder than to the girl attached, refusing to remove her head from the comfort of her friend's touch. "He called me a LEECH! I'm not a LEECH!"

"No," Rush patted Rea quietly on the shoulder, murmuring into her hair, her speech measured and crisp even through the muffling of her own speech, "you most certainly are not."

She paused, finally sitting up. "Rush, what's a leech?" This finally made her tears stop, the only remnants of them being the redness about her eyes.

Rush's oft-buried heart broke a little as she gazed into those eyes. "Haemophages, D'or. 'Bloodsuckers.' Nasty little things. Which, obviously, you are not. So very not."

Sighing softly, she settled against the seat, wrinkling her nose slightly as she shifted. Then shifted again. Then wriggled a few more times. "This isn't your car," She spoke with her realization. "Where's your driver? Where's YOUR car? This guy smells like old cigarettes and that nasty cologne our old Principal wore." She froze once again, lowering her voice. "Oh god, he can't hear us, can he?"

Rea's assessment of the driver was not inaccurate. He was scruffy, his eyes were beads in his head, the pack of coffin-nails sitting beside him on the front seat had obviously past its expiry date back when people had still thought Y2K a death-knell for humanity, and he reeked of trying too hard to impress people in all the wrong ways.

"My driver and my car are, I think, on their way to my house," Rush pointed out dismally, eyes half-lidded. "Notably, without me. And, yes, this driver can hear us; soundproof partitions are not yet standard in conveyances of this... stripe. (I have promised him a substantial gratuity, however, and thus he should treat us with professionalism.)"

"Professionalism," the driver remarked, in a laconic sort of born-to-the-streets variety of accent, "I gots in spades. What I don't got is a new destination."

"Simply drive," Rush instructed him. "Specifics will be forthcoming."

"...yeah," the driver grumped, and kept driving.

Sombrely, she regarded her counterpart. The driver's still being able to perceive them was sufficient reason for Rush's not having dropped her guard moments after seeing Rea. It was only safe with Rea, she had long ago decided, to become her true self.

And desperately she wanted to lower her defences, to raise the portcullis across her heart, to really talk and to really commiserate with Reagan.

But so long as other ears could hear and other eyes could see, she simply couldn't. Simply wouldn't.

Gently, however, as gently as she dared, she gazed upon Reagan. "He did it to you, didn't he? Your father did the same to you as mine to me."

Reagan reached into her pocket, sighing at the still dead phone that came out of it. "He told me to go prove I'm a Long and go to college. How'm I supposed to do that if he won't let me have any money?" She frowned, resting her head against the window as she closed her eyes.

Rush watched her for a long moment. "I gather the purpose of the endeavour is to prove our resourcefulness. To come through in a pinch."

"'We learn the ropes of life by untying its knots,'" Rush murmured. "Jean Toomer."

Shrugging her shoulders, she looked away for a moment, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Granted, this knot is positively Gordian. And I don't have the slightest clue as to how to unwind it. (Forgive me.)"

"I'm scared, Red," She confessed softly, glancing to her friend. "I'm scared of what'll happen. I can't just ignore him..." She sighed, shaking her head. "I hate loving him so much. I really do."

Rush returned Reagan's glance, meeting her gaze. "It is a fact that we cannot always choose those that we love. We are not consulted as to the makeup of our families before we are born, and while to a certain extent we build our families from those around us, there is an inextricable connection to those of our blood. I do not blame you for loving him. I don't always understand it, but I refuse to force you to choose between him and me."

A tiny whisper of a smile danced on her lip. "(Of course, I'm not so noble that I won't point out that he would make you choose between himself and myself if ever he caught wind of This Thing of Ours.)"

She sat her chin in her palm and stared into the distance for a moment. "My father and I were fairly plain with each other from the beginning. He loved his money, and I loved the freedoms and comforts that his money afforded me. Never did we make believe that we loved each other, except in vestigial modes of speech. 'Dearest daughter' and so forth. Now he wants me to earn it. His money, not his love."

Rush harrumphed. "'To be clever enough to get all that money, one must be stupid enough to want it.' Gilbert Keith Chesterton."

 

[Mephistophelily]

Reagan frowned, her head still resting against that window as she listened to her friend... The only one who truly understood her, knew more about her than she seemed to know herself. That was the thing about Rush, one of many things that made her so special to Reagan. She seemed to have the knowledge of the world buried in that head of hers, quotes and phrases that Reagan sometimes didn't quite understand, but knew the importance of them. Rush, quite literally, knew exactly what to say.

"I know. I know, I know." Rea groaned softly, rubbing her fingers beneath her eye as she sighed. "Daddy would lose his mind if he knew about us. As it is, he thinks you and I are a bit too chummy. If he had any idea..." She sighed, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on her companion's cheek. "I don't want to think about it."

A hand crept behind Rush as she leaned forward, Reagan's fingers tiptoeing up her back to play with a lock of the other's hair, a faint smile keeping to her face while listening. They had their moments of being alike, but their reactions with their fathers were mirrors- funhouse mirrors, anyway.

"Daddy and I have had our moments," She confessed, still stroking the red hair as she smiled. "But most of the time... Not all of it... but most of the time, we get along so well. He seemed just so upset that I was 'this age' and 'that old', but 'so behind'." Each quote of her father's voice was accentuated by a deepening of her own, her fingers pawing at the air as she rolled her eyes. "We live in different times than he did!"

She laughed softly at the quote uttered beside her, nodding. "I would never call him or your Dad stupid, hun. But... Sometimes it does seem there are more important things in their lives. Something with Green Backs rather than blue or green eyes."

There was still an issue at hand, however.

College. Schooling.
Real work.

And then the problem of housing.

"Daddy said the gates won't open for me." She frowned, glancing to her friend. "That I'm in the real world now, and need to figure it out. So... So how exactly do you figure it out with no money, no phone, no home, and no car?"

Frustrating.

She bopped her head against the window once more, sighing as she closed her eyes. If it weren't for Rush, she was sure she would have been bawling her eyes out, right that moment. Her world had almost completely exploded around her in a matter of minutes.

Except Rush. She was her safehaven.

"The internet seems to always have the answers. You can find anything on the internet." She sat up a bit, peering out the window of the cab, jabbing her finger toward a coffeehouse. "There. There, stop please, sir! I'm sorry I called you those terrible things, just PLEASE stop!"

 

[Eazy]

Stately Calloway Manor had housed numerous occupants and guests within its great halls over the past few decades. The three story (not counting attic and basement) mansion sat in the middle of a large stretch of private land which stretched out for acres. Surrounding it was a multitude of trees that allowed a medium of privacy from onlookers who may try to see beyond the front entrance of the gate. Attached to its side was a ten car garage within its structure, filled with classic and exported models that rarely came out except for certain social events. In the back there was a rather large greenhouse, filled with exotic plants collected from around the world which were each cared for depending on their specific needs.

Inside one could find the usual luxuries of the rich and famous. A grand dining area, expensive looking furniture, an indoor pool, bowling alley and a recreation room with the expected pool table among other things. There also stood a home theater room, where if one were to walk by, they'd hear the noise of overpriced Hollywood effects blaring from the closed door. It was here that the silver haired male in his late 50's approached, decked out in a traditional butler uniform, despite his duties having long since surpassed those expected of one in his position.

As Lawrence ignored the lit up 'Occupied' sign that was switched on above the door, his thin, white gloved hand turned at the nob and pull the door open calmly. The calm demeanor proved difficult to maintain as the nearly deafening sound of the movie's soundtrack and sound effects caught him somewhat by surprise. However, years of this had made the older male accustomed to these moments, as he walked in slowly and, without wasting any attempts at making conversation, moved to the switch near the back which immediately killed the projection in the middle of Han Solo and Chewie's dramatic last minute rescue of Luke Skywalker.

"Hey! I was watching that!" Came the annoyed voice of the young owner of the estate, William Calloway The 2nd, as he tried getting up from his current position on the theater seat. Which proved difficult, as he'd found himself laying with his back on the seat, head facing the screen, with his legs kicked up and ankles resting over the back of the chair as his head hung over the front of the seat; essentially watching the movie upside down while enjoying the front row view.

As Will struggled with getting out of this predicament, Lawrence began to survey the damage caused. Pieces of popcorn and candy littered portions of the floor, along with their empty bags/boxes and a half full bottle of soda that could have easily spilled like they had so many times in the past. It was surprising to think this was caused by only one movie going patron.

The older male rolled his eyes and let out a disgusted sigh, yet spoke in calm (if forcibly so) voice as he lightly chastised the young heir, "Sir, if nothing else, you could at least make a better effort of not making a mess in your usual hangouts along with keeping up your own bedroom."

Having scooted up enough where he could grab at the back of the chair and pull himself into a partially sitting position, the young man let out a slight grunt at the strain while pointing out by reflex, "Isn't that why we have maids and butlers and all of the other help?"

The other male simply stared at his young employer for a moment, as William felt a brief hint of embarrassment over the slip up.

"Oh, right. I kicked them all out." He pointed out with a partial smirk and short chuckle at the brainfart, before quickly perking up a little as he added, "But you're still around, Lawrence! Couldn't you...?"

To his credit, Lawrence showed little in ways of annoyance over the younger male's slacker habits as he explained, "Young sir, I already have my hands full with daily cleaning around the estate, tending to your family's garden, not to mention assisting you in the day-to-day management of the company you inherited. I feel my time is better spent focusing on that than following you around with a dust pan."

Having finally managed to get into a kneeling position as he remain perched on the chair, Will gave the older man a wide smirk as he poked fun at his calmly voiced complaints, "Aww, don't be such a sour puss, old chum! It shouldn't take long for us to pick out a few decent candidates for replacing the former staff. And who knows? There might even be a gray haired cutie about your age looking for work and something else?"

Rolling his eyes at this, particularly in consideration for William's decision to not use a proper agency for hiring, Lawrence turned and started for the door as he deadpanned, "I'll make certain to keep my social calendar clear, sir."

"I'm picking up some sarcasm there." The young man stated while squinting a bit as he adjusted to the light.

"Well it is being laid on rather thick, sir." Lawrence retorted, all while calmly walking out of the private home theater without giving a another glance to his young charge.

Giving a roll of the eyes at the man's comment, the heir of the Calloway legacy grumbled under his breath, "I bet Alfred never gave Bruce Wayne this type of grief."

"I'd imagine he also wasn't required to sort out his animated pornography collection." The butlers parting words could be heard in the distance just as the door finished closing behind him,

Blinking in the direction of the now closed door, William let out a sigh and got his feet while sarcastically lamenting, "It's so hard to find good help these days. Besides, the guy kept a boy in a cave. Lord knows what else he was into on the side."

Left alone for now, the young man started straighten out the expensive looking clothing that was worn like an old t-shirt and pair of pants during a lazy Sunday afternoon. It was passable, especially after William finished buttoning up his top, followed by running his fingers through his hair as a quick fix. From there, despite his earlier protests, he did show a rare sign of compliance by picking up after himself like the older male had requested earlier. Since childhood, Lawrence always had been one of the few that could get him to do as told when his parents image wasn't on the line. Besides, it wasn't like there was much else to do in a big, mostly empty mansion.

[SIZE="-2"]---------

Name: William "Will" Calloway Jr. (although he prefers 'The 2nd' over 'Junior')
Age: 21
Personality: Somewhat emotionally detached due to his childhood, William Calloway Jr. had much in terms of friends or companionship. In fact, while genuinely saddened by the passing of his parents, the young man could scarcely conjure up much in terms of happy memories involving their past interactions with him. It's partially due to this lack of parental bonding (or any type of truly meaningful bonding) that any social life outside of those required for a family of their status became increasingly rare as he got older.

In fact, when not studying or dealing with the social demands of his family business, young William could often be found playing video games, watching movies or reading fictional literature/comics in the solitude of his room. And with a family that had infamous wealth and limited room for personal time with their child, this meant the then young boy and later teen came to mass a sizable library over the years. Still, there are occasional glimpses of genuine warmth within the young man, but they're rarely seen by any outside of the few whom he's come to hold a sense of admiration or camaraderie toward. Of such people there are indeed few, so it's a rather rare thing.

Being groomed since childhood for receiving important guests and business partners, however, have left Will with a natural talent of putting up a number of facades which better matched the 'expected' image of a young heir. It's a talent used considerably less since his parents passing, yet continues to find itself useful on rare occasions. In short, he's one of the best bullshit artists you'll ever come across.

History: Born into a family of wealth and considerable social standing, young William was raised with the proverbial spoon lodged firmly in his mouth. His parents, William Sr. and Sandra Calloway, were geniuses in their respective fields which inherited the already profitable corporation started by his grandfather and took it to financial heights before unimagined. Will, in turn, was a child prodigy with a knack for his fathers genetics leanings and his mothers status as a tech wiz.

The kid was given all of the advantages to get ahead in life, and had the personal tools necessary in running with them. He aced most of his classes and was skipped grades several times until graduating from high school at 15 (it would have been sooner if he felt more motivated by the private schools academics). This all pleased his parents, but they rarely showed much in emotional support, as they indeed fit into the stereotypical mold of detached parental figures who placed their work ahead of anything else. In many ways, Will was raised more by the help then he was by either of his parents, and it resulted in him having little in terms of emotional bonds and often finding escapism in the world of literature and other various pop culture prattle.

Often able to break new ground in advancements with already existing everyday luxuries and devices, the Calloway's hold at least partial ownership on patents for a number of popular brands and items (phones, cameras, computer hardware, an extra soft and durable line of toilet paper, so on and so forth). Aside from this, in recent years they also started to hold a number of contracts (both official and under the table) working on technological and biological based projects for a couple of hush-hush organizations.

It was during an accident involving one of these questionable 'business ventures' that both William Sr. and Sandra tragically lost their lives. They left behind a legacy which was inherited by their then 19 year old son. Unlike his parents, however, Will tends to take a less hands on approach in handling the business. The guy's certainly capable, and isn't foolish enough to let others he doesn't trust to gain too much clout, but he also shows greater interest in his own personal indulgence then the life of a CEO. Fortunately, he has a loyal, if often snippy butler named Lawrence at his side whose learned enough from working under his father to help in carrying the workload.

Speaking of which, aside from said butler, the young millionaire and genius had recently let go of every member of the live in staff which served his family loyally for years. The reason being? Well, they served his family for years. Decades, in rare cases, which implied (and perhaps not unjustly in certain cases) that many had continued seeing him as the snot nosed brat they helped to raise when his parents couldn't be bothered with it. So, to have a medium of the respect he felt was deserved of one in his status, they were released, with plans for hiring new staff to continue with the upkeep of his home. Ones which would display for him the obedience and respect he sought, one way or another.[/SIZE]

 

[ChasNicollette]

Rush.

People had a tendency to prattle on about things that they did not would not could not understand. And had Rush given "people" half a chance to wonder aloud to Rush about the nature of her relationship with Reagan, no doubt those selfsame "people" would question what Rush saw in Reagan.

Because people were ignorant. Not all of them, but quite a few of them, a slice of a massive percentage of them were ignorant.

And with subtle, innocent/naive-yet-insightful wisdom, using boldface-deep voice when it struck her to somewhat politely sit in the seats of mockers, Reagan put a lie to the superficiality of which such "people" would accuse her.

Rush felt her body want to... react, want to part lips and open arms and... embrace the little physical gestures of affection Rea offered her. But again, Rush could not compel herself to open up completely so long as their audience remained. Though, oh, how she wanted to. More than a little bit of her yearned for the mutual comfort that lovemaking would bring them, even a little kiss.

But now was not the time. They could take solace in each other when difficult decisions had been made, when courses of action could be assayed and surmounted.

"Daddy said the gates won't open for me." She frowned, glancing to her friend. "That I'm in the real world now, and need to figure it out. So... So how exactly do you figure it out with no money, no phone, no home, and no car?"

Rush's response to this was dismal misery. Her mind had been racing since first she hailed this rolling rattrap, and had come across nothing.

"The first thing we must do is to secure money," she theorised, pontificated, "as the rest of these things could theoretically be purchased with enough of it. 'Money will get you through times of no luck,' to paraphrase a duck, 'better than luck will get you through times of no money.'"

Her lip curled, and she rubbed her forehead with her palm before tangling elegant, manicured fingers into the crimson tide of her hair.

"The question remains, however, is how to get that money."

But Rea was mid-epiphany, and it was quite a good one. Rush would hesitate to call it a theophany, but it was close enough for their purposes.

"The internet seems to always have the answers. You can find anything on the internet." She sat up a bit, peering out the window of the cab, jabbing her finger toward a coffeehouse. "There. There, stop please, sir! I'm sorry I called you those terrible things, just PLEASE stop!"

The driver harrumphed, and tilted the wheel so that the vehicle slid to the kerb in a loading zone, there was little in the way of nearby parking. "I been called worse, little lady, an' I been called 'em by uglier. All th' same, if y'ain't got money to pay, I gots a running meter here what compels me ta discharge ya."

Rush rolled her eyes and held up a pair of those Ben Franklins between a pair of her fingers. A substantial investment based on their current assets, but she had promised him a solid tip. That, and there was the hope that based on this infusion of cash the cabdriver would not extrapolate their affections towards each other and parlay that into a deal with the tabloids when inevitably he would realise whose daughters he had been ferrying.

"'For the love of money is the root of all evil,'" Rush intoned, darkly, archly. "It is, however, not the need for money, nor money itself, that is the root of all evil. So try not to love this tip too much."

The driver arched scruffy brows as he took the funds from her. "I'll do m'best."

And then Rush was out of the car and on the pavement of the sidewalk once more, strutting into the place like she owned it, which, not an unfamiliar feeling for her. Not that she would deign to purchase such a place, had she the capital available, it was one of those ubiquitous sprawling creatures from Washington state that affected highbrow to the extent that its pretension infected its clientèle without ever actually achieving any degree of culturedness.

She eyed the signs that said "free wi-fi" but was disappointed to note that there were no actually standalone computers free here, but tables at which customers could deposit pre-existing laptops and make a big show of writing the next great American novel or movie script or some such poppycock.

There were a few such playactors sitting at those tables now, they looked like college sort of age. Perhaps these were students at the local university? Rush stood up a bit taller in her heels and smoothed out her dress and put on her sincerest-looking smile.

"Hello, boys," she greeted them with reasonably-affected warmth. "I was wondering if I could borrow the use of one of your machines for a moment. It appears I've misplaced my own computer and, well, it's a matter of some importance."

They stared at her blankly, the three of them, like they had no idea what to make of her.

Rush scowled inwardly but managed to keep the expression from quite reaching her face, she was brilliant at concealing her emotions and making other people feel like she wanted to be around them when she didn't, but engaging in lingua franca still did not come easily to her.

She turned her head and regarded Reagan. "I don't know. Can you talk to them?"

 

[Mephistophelily]

The car stopped, Reagan shooting the driver a smile of sweetness as she slipped from the seat, stretching her arms high above her head as she started toward the cafe. Not exactly her biggest elemental surrounding, but she had been known to wander into one when the need for caffeine/sugar/other things tended to arise. Her companion soon following after, she shot her a smile, hands hooking thumbs into her pockets as they stepped into the building.

"Aww. They don't have actual comps out for us to use..." She frowned with that, glancing to the Free Wifi sign as Rush eyed the current customer ratio. Reagan's own gaze fell to something completely different, blue eyes widening a bit as she patted her friend's shoulder. "Be right back."

Those wonderful little thumbs had found a wonderful little five dollar bill. Add to that the spotting of a certain item on the menu, and... well. That was all Reagan needed. Leaving Rush to her own devices with the men at the table, she made her way to the counter, happily making her order.

By the time she returned, Rush was in the midst of her attempted coercions to gain access to a computer, though her efforts seemed to be gaining no ground. Sipping her straw, watching silently, she smiled brightly as Rush straightened and shot a look in her direction.

"I don't know. Can you talk to them?"

"Kaaay." Taking another sip, she grinned at first, only to slightly twitch as the cold mix hit the back of her throat. "Smoothie. What? It was hot in that car! Want some?" Offering it out to Rush, she laughed again, but soon plunked herself down on the edge of the table, peering over a screen to look at one of the gathered guys. "Howdy."

He barely looked up. Reagan frowned.

"Maybe you guys can help us out? See, my friend and I... we just got evicted. Everything. Poof. GONE. And now we need some way of getting a new place, maybe a job. You guys know anyway we can find that?"

One scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked at her. "Ever hear of Craigslist?"

"Who's Craig and why would I want to be on his list?" She frowned at him.

"No, you-" The guy paused, staring at her. "What? No. Its a... Here. I'll show you." A few keystrokes in a new browser, and the minimalistic site was pushed in front of her. "Craigslist. Its like classified ads. But free, online. Seriously, what did you DO with a computer?"

"Nyah-ha-ah. Shoosh, reading." She waved a hand at him dismissively, peering at the screen. "So, we could find things to solve this lil issue on here?" She squealed suddenly, pointing to an ad in particular as he scrolled through the Help Wanted section. "Look! Live In Maid Staff needed! Help tend to large prestigious home and the current resident. Must be able to cook, clean, and meet other daily tasks and requirements as they arise. Weekly pay allowances as well as room, uniforms, and board. No experience necessary. Apply in person." She quickly gave a hopeful smile to Rush, her eyes shining. "It solves everything! ...Well, almost."

Hopping off the table, she threw her arms about the shoulders of the one helpful guy, hugging him tightly to her chest. "Thank you, thank you! You've been wonderfully helpful! Just let me write that down and we can be on our way!" Finally releasing him, she glanced around for a paper, snatching up one of the notebooks between he and his friends, stealing the pen as well and jotting down the info. Ripping it out, she gave the fellow a quick peck to the cheek, taking her drink back from Rush and sipping it as she winked at the trio. "Thanks, fellas!"

Another sip, the paper happily waved in the other hand as Reagan moved to Rush's side. "It's probably some old person, can't handle living alone. Needs help and someone to talk to, company... And we get somewhere nice to live, free food, and a paycheck! It's at least worth checking into, right? Some elderly sweetheart, looking for a friend. Pleeease? Can't tell me that wouldn't add some brownie points with the Dad situation. A Good Deed? It would completely kill that selfish spiel!"

 

[ChasNicollette]

Rush.

"Kaaay." Taking another sip, she grinned at first, only to slightly twitch as the cold mix hit the back of her throat. "Smoothie. What? It was hot in that car! Want some?" Offering it out to Rush, she laughed again, but soon plunked herself down on the edge of the table, peering over a screen to look at one of the gathered guys. "Howdy."

Rush stared at Reagan for a minute, the easily-distracted creature had been... easily... distracted... Rush had a plastic cup in her hands with a straw sticking out and she stared at it as though it were a dead fish.

Ah, well. In for a penny. In for a pound.

She sipped it. Gingerly.

And blinked in surprise.

Oh. Yes.

I am thirsty and hadn't realised this and this is a curious subtle combination of banana and orange and mango and 'Vivanno' isn't really Italian at all, is it?

Reconnecting with the progression of events, Rush noticed that these boys were really more withdrawn than most. Socially anxious types, perhaps, these were the "nerds" she'd heard about? She had wondered how such people would survive in the wild, and was suddenly chagrined to realise that they actually had better evolved foraging techniques than she did.

Curse you, Darwin.

...but Rea was working her unmistakable magic, coaxing them to help her with a mix of her winning charm and a sincerely genuine lack of awareness. The girl was a wonder, and Rush smirked to herself, arguably delectable lips wrapped absently around that straw.

Quickly, Rea navigated the information presented to her by that Good Samaritan nerd, and eureka--

She squealed suddenly, pointing to an ad in particular as he scrolled through the Help Wanted section. "Look! Live In Maid Staff needed! Help tend to large prestigious home and the current resident. Must be able to cook, clean, and meet other daily tasks and requirements as they arise. Weekly pay allowances as well as room, uniforms, and board. No experience necessary. Apply in person." She quickly gave a hopeful smile to Rush, her eyes shining. "It solves everything! ...Well, almost."

Rush popped the straw from her lips and shook her head, her eyes shining right back. "A good thing, too. If it covered everything, it would be too good to be true. As it stands, it is only almost too good to be true."

Hopping off the table, she threw her arms about the shoulders of the one helpful guy, hugging him tightly to her chest. "Thank you, thank you! You've been wonderfully helpful! Just let me write that down and we can be on our way!" Finally releasing him, she glanced around for a paper, snatching up one of the notebooks between he and his friends, stealing the pen as well and jotting down the info. Ripping it out, she gave the fellow a quick peck to the cheek, taking her drink back from Rush and sipping it as she winked at the trio. "Thanks, fellas!"

Exuberance bubbled over from Rea like an Old Testament cup running over with blessings and Rush could tell as she (with a hint of reluctance) that that particular quasi-evolved shut-in had had his personal bubble invaded in quite a startling fashion; not of course that he was complaining. How could he possibly complain about the two beautiful globes that had just gotten mashed against his chest?

I think you've made a friend, D'or.

Another sip, the paper happily waved in the other hand as Reagan moved to Rush's side. "It's probably some old person, can't handle living alone. Needs help and someone to talk to, company... And we get somewhere nice to live, free food, and a paycheck! It's at least worth checking into, right? Some elderly sweetheart, looking for a friend. Pleeease? Can't tell me that wouldn't add some brownie points with the Dad situation. A Good Deed? It would completely kill that selfish spiel!"

"I have read that karma," Rush pontificated mildly, eyes half-lidded, "is misinterpreted when categorised specifically as 'good' or 'bad.' There is no 'good karma' or 'bad karma,' there is simply 'what is.'"

Striding out into the street, she raised a hand and with a now-practised air, she bellowed: "TAAAAAAAAAA-XI!"

Gently taking hold of Reagan's wrist-- more of that later, I can't wait to get you alone --she examined the address that Rea had written down on that piece of paper with the remainder of that information.

There was something vaguely familiar about the address, but Rush dismissed the notion when she could not immediately assign it value.

As the taxi trundled up, and Rush opened the door for Reagan, Rush smirked, her eyes glinting: "Let us go and prove them wrong. Prove them all wrong. Let us prove our fathers wrong and prove wrong the doctrine of karma all in one fell swoop. Let us go and get some seriously good karma."

********​

...and when, minutes later, the cab dropped them at the gate of stately Calloway Manour, Rush was again trying to figure out what was quite so familiar about this location.

Approaching the gate, she straightened her date-wear and pressed the buzzer on the intercom.

"Ah, hello?" she attempted, speaking a touch overloud to account for possible hearing loss in the nice old person by whom they were shortly to be employed. "We are here about the advertisement?"

 

[Eazy]

A good while after their earlier meeting in the private theater room, Lawrence could be found in the office of the late William Calloway, sitting on one side while going over the daily paperwork dealing with stock information and the family business in general. Reclining on the nearby leather couch was William Jr. (or the 2nd), whom was busy going over some papers of his own. Only these papers involved blueprints from his failed attempt at filling the mansion with robot maids and butlers to take the place of those let go weeks ago.

"I'm telling you, Lawrence. We can put a man on the moon but we can't make a cleaning robot with enough precision to properly clean a shelf of Faberge eggs." The young man lamented as he looked over the plans with a misleading amount of precision and thought. Misleading in that his demeanor about it would suggest a less than serious approach to the already unusual idea, as he let out a sigh and whined, "It's just one more thing we were lied to about by The Jetsons."

"They did a great disservice to everyone, sir." The other male replied while going over a report, a pair of reading glasses framing his aged features as both were soon taken by surprise at the buzzing sound of the intercom.

Putting his papers down, the older man went to check on and respond through the intercom on the desk, while the actual owner of the estate seemed only mildly interested while he continued going over his past handiwork. It wasn't until they heard Rush's rather loud and clear voice over the speaker that the dark-haired heir would peek over his papers out of piqued interest.

"Ah, hello?" she attempted, speaking a touch overloud to account for possible hearing loss in the nice old person by whom they were shortly to be employed. "We are here about the advertisement?"

"She sounds hot." Will stated as he hopped off the couch, quickly standing beside Lawrence as they watched the pair upon a small monitor installed to rise out of the desk for security and verification reasons, "She looks hot. The blond isn't half bad either."

"So I take it you'll be handling this one, sir?" The salt-and-pepper haired older man stated with an obvious hint of sarcasm as his employer began to clear out his throat

"Naturally." William responded in kind, before finally pushing down the blinking red button in order to greet the fine young ladies waiting outside of his humble abode.

"Greetings. Don't worry, we can hear you loud and clear from here." The perhaps unexpectedly young voice replied over the intercom. His words were however spoken in a light manner, and with a brief chuckle thrown in there to further insure that no harm was done by the slight boom within Rush's voice.

"I do apologize for the delay in responding, but as you both may imagine we are running a little short on help around here." He continued, keeping up a pleasant manner which wasn't too dissimilar from the way he'd long ago grown accustomed to addressing others during social events. The young man would then offer up his assistance, like any good host should, for those without a means of transportation which had to walk the fairly lengthy distance from the front gate to the mansion itself, "Please wait there and I'll have a car drive right up to escort the two of you up to the front door. We can further discuss the possibility of employment when proper introductions are made in person."

After the short intercom exchange was wrapped up, William immediately started to look himself over in a mirror while barely bothering to glance over at his longtime butler through the reflection, "Well, Lawrence? That car isn't going to drive itself. We tried that, remember? Ended up like a scene out of Christine."

Rolling his eyes and letting out a brief sigh, the elder man promptly turned and started for the door, "I'll get right on it, sir."

After he was gone, William quickly checked his breath and then started looking around the desk in search for something; only to hear the voice of his trusted employee calling from the hallway outside, "The breath mints are in the bottom left hand drawer, young William."

Stopping for a moment, Will looked at the open doorway, then checked the aforementioned drawer to find the mints in question. "How the heck does he do that?" The young man muttered to himself with a shake of his head; popping a couple of mints in his mouth before slowly making his way to the large entranceway of the mansion to await their 'guests'.

------------

It didn't take long for Lawrence to make his way toward the garage, and it took even less time for the man to drive the black limo toward the front gate where Rush and Reagan were found waiting. The gates would open by remote, allowing the two young ladies entrance as the expensive vehicle came to a stop before them.

The older man would then step out of the car, dressed in his butlers uniform, yet wearing one of the spare chauffeur hats as he was often instructed to do while he greeted the pair in a manner expected of his training, "Good evening, young madams. My name is Lawrence Findlay. Mr. Calloway has instructed me to escort the both of you to the manor."

With that, Lawrence moved to the side of the vehicle, holding a door to the back of the limo open as he prepared to drive them the rest of the way, "If you'll please?"

 

[Mephistophelily]

Reagan gave a hesitant glance to Rush over the responding voice. Seemed a bit young to be the master of the house, didn't he? "Maybe... he's another caretaker?," She asked softly, finding the need to cup her hand against the side of her mouth to be somehow useful. Not like the little thing was going to pick up her words.

She smiled as the unseen voice spoke of sending a car out to greet them, clutching her little purse a bit closer as she leaned to hug the gate's rungs, peering inside. "It's biiig," She noted, a rather unneeded observation. "Reminds me of our- I mean Daddy's summer place in the Hamptons." She sighed slightly with that, frowning for a brief moment. She wondered if she'd even be allowed to visit it anymore, if she couldn't pull off these requests of his. "We should be pretty comfy here, don't'cha think? Take care of the old dude, see what we can do around the place, enjoy being in somewhat close-to-home surroundings... A little work to be done, but- Hey, at least it's not some dinky apartment or some trash hotel. I don't mind a little work to avoid that."

She let go of the gate as she saw the car starting to approach, whistling softly. Well, at least if they needed rides around, it was in comfort. WAY better than that stinking, cramped, disgusting thing they were in earlier.

As the gates parted and the two were allowed inside, she shot a smile to her friend. This was going to be okay. This was going to be better than okay. She reached out, gently letting her fingertips brush Rush's. As long as I get to be with you, I'll be far better off. I can handle anything, as long I have you around. She was sure of it.

The driver stepped out, an older man, a rather mixed appearance to him. Curious t first to Reagan, but she smiled nonetheless and approaching the car. Mister Calloway? Ahha. Yes, now she was sure of it. The younger voice they had heard HAD to be another person that worked here. It made sense, really. If this Old Mister Calloway was as ill or whatever as she believed, of course he would have someone answering his calls and the like. The old fella probably had troubles hearing the conversations and understanding what was going on. The young man was acting as his ears and mouth... And this man here, his arms and legs.

The ride back up to the house was rather quiet, a few more whispered musings on the property sneaking out from Reagan before reaching the main doors. The car parked for the moment and Lawrence allowing them exit as he opened the door once again, guiding them up the steps and letting them into the house.

A man close to their own age was standing in the entryway. Reagan smirked, nudging an arm into Rush's side. "Mister Mouth," She whispered, giggling before giving him another glance. "Are you going to show us to him, then?," She asked curiously, looking him over. She ventured a guess that Mister Calloway's sight wasn't that grand anymore either; his butler was dressed in such impeccable detail, while his assistant donned such wrinkled, careless attire?

 

[Eazy]

"Anti-Wrinkle and Self-Ironing Clothing." The young heir murmured while struggling with straightening out his clothing, "I'll tell Lawrence to put in an order for our guys to begin working on this immediately."

William had buttoned and tucked in his shirt along the way, while also retrieving a pair of shoes to slip on and hastily lace up during the short window of opportunity which was available. Unfortunately, a days worth of lounging around the manor hadn't left his attire in the crispest of shapes. Along with this was a difficult to manage head of hair which continued defying his orders to stay perfectly in place. Too bad Will couldn't fire and replace them....yet.

Regardless, the limo soon drove up to the front of the mansion, leaving the young man without any further time for last second grooming as he prepared to greet the pair of possible applicants. As they were led inside by the older man, the young master of the estate began looking over the pair as he stood there with an expected welcoming smile on his features. It was unlikely they had much, if any professional experience, but at least they were young and could, hopefully, keep up with their parts in maintaining the premises. Plus they were far greater eye candy then the last batch of maids that were working here.

Discipline, on the other hand, may be a problem, as the blond whispered something to her friend that was obviously meant as a joke at his expense. That was annoying enough, but then she had to mistakenly believe him to be part of the help; which came rather close to making the young man break his seemingly pleasant demeanor. It was, however, enough to draw out a faint smile from the corner of the older man's lips. At least until young heir took notice, which caused William to shoot the elder gentleman a subtle glare of annoyance which prompted Lawrence into obscuring his mouth with a gloved hand and forcing out a slight throat clearing noise.

At least now they knew which of the two would be put in charge of cleaning out the nearly half dozen toilets after parties and other social gatherings.

Returning his attention to the pair, William had maintained the facade of a welcoming host as he gently corrected Reagan while also introducing himself, "Not to disappoint either of you, but I'm afraid you're already speaking with the 'him' in question. William Calloway The 2nd, to be precise. Named after my late father and inheritor of all that you see after his and my dear mother's passing."

Looking over his clothing and trying to straighten them out a bit, the young man let out an amused chuckle while lamenting on his current attire, "I do apologize if I'm not what you were expecting. We're incredibly short handed, so I've had to do more than my share of hands on work in keeping up the mansion. It doesn't allow for many chances at keeping myself tidy when unexpected guests arrive."

Perhaps unseen by either of the young ladies in attendance, Lawrence let out a brief eye-roll at the Calloway heir's excuse; standing to the side while awaiting any further orders from the young master.

"But enough on that for now. You were both interested in filling out the maid positions, correct?" The man stated as he addressed both of his guests, getting down to their reason for showing up at his estate, "I believe the immediate question any good employer would ask is what experience, if any, either of you may have in this line of work?"

Before they could answer, however, William backtracked on this a little as he amended, "But I'm getting ahead of myself. The most important order of business is to inquire as to the names of such lovely young ladies?" He'd ask with a soft smile, his attention perhaps a little more directed at Rush over Reagan for reasons related to earlier.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Rush.

Reagan gave a hesitant glance to Rush over the responding voice. "Maybe... he's another caretaker?," She asked softly, finding the need to cup her hand against the side of her mouth to be somehow useful.

"Perhaps," Rush mused, nodding quietly as she murmured. "Perhaps he is some sort of executor, supervising the estate of our benefactor-to-be in his, or her twilight hours. A metaphorical caretaker? I approve. I would not want a kind elderly gentleman's resources to be... taken advantage of."

She smiled as the unseen voice spoke of sending a car out to greet them, clutching her little purse a bit closer as she leaned to hug the gate's rungs, peering inside. "It's biiig," She noted, a rather unneeded observation. "Reminds me of our- I mean Daddy's summer place in the Hamptons." She sighed slightly with that, frowning for a brief moment.

Rush touched Reagan gently on the shoulder. Oh, to be open with you. To be... as reassuring as I would like to be.

You'll see it again. We'll get there. We'll do this.

Aloud, she could only say: "I always liked that place."

"We should be pretty comfy here, don't'cha think? Take care of the old dude, see what we can do around the place, enjoy being in somewhat close-to-home surroundings... A little work to be done, but- Hey, at least it's not some dinky apartment or some trash hotel. I don't mind a little work to avoid that."

Rush chuckled faintly. "Who was it that said, 'no sacrifice, no victory?' For some reason, the source escapes me. Quite right, however, quite right. A small sacrifice. A great victory. (And that's just for starters.)"

She let go of the gate as she saw the car starting to approach, whistling softly.

Rush arched an eyebrow, and silently agreed with her counterpart's rather demonstrative sound.

As the gates parted and the two were allowed inside, she shot a smile to her friend. She reached out, gently letting her fingertips brush Rush's.

Rush smiled back, as wide a smile as ever anyone would see that wasn't Reagan. Those fingers were fleeting, but profound. Those fingers were warm.

Courage. I'm right here.

The older man would then step out of the car, dressed in his butlers uniform, yet wearing one of the spare chauffeur hats as he was often instructed to do while he greeted the pair in a manner expected of his training, "Good evening, young madams. My name is Lawrence Findlay. Mr. Calloway has instructed me to escort the both of you to the manor."

Inclining her head to him, Rush returned his greeting in kind. Her analysis of the situation was not dissimilar to Reagan's-- the aforediscussed executor would need more than just their pairs of hands to maintain such an exquisite site.

The driver's decorum was flawless. Rush instantly felt respected and valued, and she approved of this.

With that, Lawrence moved to the side of the vehicle, holding a door to the back of the limo open as he prepared to drive them the rest of the way, "If you'll please?"

"But of course," Rush agreed.

And away they went, Rush keeping her own elated but reserved counsel on the goings-on, Reagan offering an under-the-breath running commentary on things that were bright and shiny and cool. Truly, this was a godsend, if one were to believe in God. If one were not to believe in God, one might call it a windfall.

Or, perhaps, karma.

But then they were arrived at the threshold to the palacial manse, and the distinguished Mister Findlay bid them egress that they might meet-- who was this, now? Presumably the executor.

Not entirely unhandsome. Interesting.

A man close to their own age was standing in the entryway. Reagan smirked, nudging an arm into Rush's side.

The elbow found its mark in Rush's midsection and she smirked. Oh, so you see it, too? Perhaps a game, then, in which I compete with him for your affection?

I think I shall win this game.

"Mister Mouth," She whispered, giggling before giving him another glance. "Are you going to show us to him, then?," She asked curiously, looking him over.

Rush closed her eyes and inhaled, then exhaled. Let us hope this 'mouthpiece' has the humour of his apparent youth.

Returning his attention to the pair, William had maintained the facade of a welcoming host as he gently corrected Reagan while also introducing himself, "Not to disappoint either of you, but I'm afraid you're already speaking with the 'him' in question. William Calloway The 2nd, to be precise. Named after my late father and inheritor of all that you see after his and my dear mother's passing."

Rush paused. And pursed her lips. And the relaxation she had been experiencing, the hope of securing such fine quarters until the bewilderment of their estates had been been unbewildered, this slammed shut behind her eyes like twin portcullises.

Such familiarity was unbecoming. Sarcasm even less so. When faced with a new employer, a new arbiter of paychecks.

Oh.

Dear.

Calloway. The Second. Which would make his father.

Calloway The First.

Dear God-if-there-is-a-God. Why. Does that sound so infernally familiar?

Looking over his clothing and trying to straighten them out a bit, the young man let out an amused chuckle while lamenting on his current attire, "I do apologize if I'm not what you were expecting. We're incredibly short handed, so I've had to do more than my share of hands on work in keeping up the mansion. It doesn't allow for many chances at keeping myself tidy when unexpected guests arrive."

"Of course," Rush immediately found herself agreeing. "Indubitably, the maintenance of a father's legacy must require full-time effort."

(And, no, the irony of this was not lost on her.)

"But enough on that for now. You were both interested in filling out the maid positions, correct?" The man stated as he addressed both of his guests, getting down to their reason for showing up at his estate, "I believe the immediate question any good employer would ask is what experience, if any, either of you may have in this line of work?"

Rush's mind whirled, a veritable Charybdis, a Coriolis of possible answers, weighing and evaluating possible ways to be-- diplomatic about their utter dearth of hands-on real-life real-world learning in this matter. Surely there was a word of wisdom to be quoted, something from Kipling, or Eliot, or-or-or--

Before they could answer, however, William backtracked on this a little as he amended, "But I'm getting ahead of myself. The most important order of business is to inquire as to the names of such lovely young ladies?" He'd ask with a soft smile, his attention perhaps a little more directed at Rush over Reagan for reasons related to earlier.

Rush smiled gingerly, gamely. This was a much easier topic to address, and in the meantime, in the background, she could keep thinking on ways to hedge their bets and to make their novice status seem a blessing rather than a blessing's lack. It perhaps helped that he was apparently enchanted with their physical attributes, which, who could blame him?

"We are," she intoned, "to be frank, utterly honoured to be making your acquaintance, Mister Calloway. I am called Rush Llewellyn-Jones. My-- counterpart, whose vivaciousness and eagerness are no less than legendary, is Reagan Long."

A tiny little encouraging smirk touched the corner of her lip, attempting to encourage young Mister Calloway to see the humour in this situation, to see the aforementioned vivacity of Reagan, again, as an asset...

...and then there was the other order of business.

"We are not, strictly," Rush explained, "versed in the protocols of maid and housekeeper. We are, to employ a weathered phrase, tabula rasa, clean slates with regard to such experience. But as was once quoted to me by a teacher, 'practice does not make perfect, practice makes permanent.' Which is to say, as I'm sure you already comprehend, if one repeats a task incorrectly repeatedly, one will forever perform the task incorrectly. In that regard, we have had no opportunity to perform the tasks before us in an incorrect fashion and will be utterly open to learning these things in exactly the manner you would prefer them to be done.

"Surely, Mister Calloway," Rush raised her eyebrows in a calculatedly enchanting fashion, "you could not object to our doing everything your way?"

 

[Mephistophelily]

Reagan choked slightly as he corrected her, a horrified glance shot to Rush out of the corner of her eye. This wasn't going well at all, and they had only been in the man's home for less than, what, 5 minutes? And she had already stuck a Jimmy Choo deep into her mouth. This was just wonderful. She had ruined things completely, hadn't she?

The name he gave was unknown to her, but not to her companion. The reaction given by her dearest-of-dear friends only furthered her frown, making her concerns on her blunder even stronger. The light laugh from Mister Calloway, a name seeming so unfitting of a man so close to their own age, managed to ease her a slight, slight bit. Breathing out softly, she nodded a little, attempting to smirk herself. "Yes, um... Sorry on that..," She muttered deicately, avoiding looking at him by instead finding the cracks between tiles beneath her feet.

He asked on experience. Rea balked. She cleaned up after herself in minor ways at home, but to truly care for an entire estate? She really didn't know much on that aspect, but was once again blessed to have a friend with faster gears in the mental workings than the quick-to-panic girl. Introductions made, another meek wave of fingers as Rush indicated the now very quiet blonde, and Rush was quick to point out the possibilities of their clean slated approach to housekeeping. Rea gave her another sidelong look of awe as she explained, amazed at how well the girl could do in the, well, BS'ing depeartment.

Perhaps it was true. Rea wasn't really one to think about such things.

But the more she listened to her, the more even Rea believed that this was a good opportunity. "Right! Learn by example!," She chimed in with a grin, a finger raised beside her. "Can't mess up when we don't know anything else!" She paused, slowly letting the smile fade. "Can't mess up any worse than I already have... Again, I'm real sorry on that, Mister Calloway. I didn't mean to offend..."

Her mouth had a terrible habit of going before her mind could censor or consider. It was simply a case of think-and-do. A source of trouble, to be sure, but in her previous experiences it never really mattered.

Now, it mattered. Really, really mattered.

Rush was offering to learn what he wanted them to learn. But would having no skills at all be an asset to him? Offer up something, anything worthwhile to help out with this! The only other option was a hotel, or on campus living. The thought of it made her shiver.

"We may not know much in the lines of housekeeping itself," She added quickly, still smiling as she looked at him finally, "But we do have other skills that could be of use! I'm quite the cook, for instance! And Rush- well, just listen to her. This girl is a fountain of knowledge! A walking wikipedia! She knows things, so many things- she can leave me in such awe with the things she knows how to do!"

Perhaps a touch too close to hitting personal points, there.

"I'm sure we could be helpful here, I just know it." She was still smiling, her cheeks nearly hurting from the forced hold of that expression.

 

[Eazy]

The young man kept up the pleasant front as the second of their two guests responded with great respect to his question. Rush, as her named turned out to be, at least appeared to be on the more tactful and quick thinking side compared to her cute, if very blond companion. Rush and Reagan. Interesting names which ultimately meant little else then a means of addressing oneself, at least in his own experience in dealing with and acquainting himself to others. Although there was something about their last names which seemed to spark a curious, thoughtful expression on the man's features. Familiar names, but their faces didn't match any he'd personally met, and it was difficult enough keeping count of every politically or business related name which passed through these grand halls.

Regardless, William caught onto her cue of seeing humor in the situation, and played it up with a small chuckle as he briefly addressed them both with a warm smile, "Believe me, the honor is ours, Ms. Llewellyn-Jones. Ms. Long. No harm done, so we'll each be best to put this little misunderstanding behind us."

It wasn't a complete fib, as they provided a welcomed change in scenery from the elderly gentleman who stood patiently to the side while Rush went over qualifications. Or rather their lack of qualifications, which wasn't a very big surprise for the young Calloway, given their respective ages, which didn't seem any older (and indeed, perhaps slightly younger) than his own. Still, she gave a wonderful pitch in defense of their case, particularly when it came to the idea of them learning to perform their duties in exactly the manner he'd prefer them to be done. The nicely calculated eyebrow raise as she finished served in sealing the deal. Of course, if she could read his thoughts at that moment, she perhaps wouldn't be so willing to present William with such a perfect offer.

Her friend, on the other hand, was again less than articulate in her own response. But what Reagan may have lacked in Rush's gift for gab, she made up for by a passion and, perhaps more importantly for William's taste in future employees, sense of underlying desperation for landing the positions being dangled before them. She was actually sort of amusing, and not in a completely cynical way, which brought a rare genuine smile to the young man's features. She was still going to be put in charge of scrubbing those toilets, though.

"Well, I must confess that the two of you do make a very compelling case for your employments. Albeit in your own, rather unique ways." And it didn't hurt that they were both incredibly attractive, he thought to himself while raising a hand to rub a finger along his chin in a thoughtful fashion; trying not to appear too eager as the young man finally added as he clapped his hands together for effect, "You've convinced me, ladies. We'll give you both a trial period starting tomorrow and see how things work out over the coming days and weeks ahead."

The young master paused a moment to let them soak in his acceptance of them as his newest employees (never being one to ignore a chance at fawning), before nodding toward the head butler and explaining, "Lawrence here can help the both of you on getting settled in when it comes to the housekeeping and other duties required for assisting him in maintaining the estate. He's worked under my family since I can remember and perhaps knows this place even better than myself."

The seasoned butler gave a courteous bow to William and the young ladies as he accepted the expected task, "It would be my pleasure, sir. Young madams."

Clapping his hands together once more, William continued from where he'd left off moments ago, "Now then! It's already become late into the evening, so we can worry further about this in the morning. For now, how about we show the both of you to your rooms? If you have any luggage, you can take the time to unpack, and I do believe dinner will be ready within the hour, Lawrence?"

The older man looked surprised for a split second, both at the sudden addressing of his name and the insinuation that he'd have dinner for four (well, three at first, then himself later) ready on such short notice. Still, the trained gentleman and fateful servant that he was, Lawrence simply nodded his head in agreement, "Of course, sir. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Splendid. Now then, ladies? If you'll follow me?" The young man offered as he prepared to personally lead them to their new rooms when they were ready.

They were lead up to the second floor, taking a left at the top of the staircase and down an adjoining hallway. There were numerous rooms within the great manor, with the vast majority having been left unoccupied since William fired all of the help not so long ago; which he explained to them as being a simple case of the old staff not working out to his satisfaction. Soon enough, they arrived at their destination, with the girls respective rooms located within the same hall, with one room to the left half while the other stood only several feet away in the opposite direction. It was more for perceived privacy reasons, however, as even for a servants chamber, both rooms were incredibly big. Huge closet space, queen size beds, large dressers with furnished arm chairs and couches amongst other accessories were found within. It didn't match his own bedroom or even the one Lawrence had since come to settle into, but one would be hard stressed to find fault with the luxury given to them as part of their new lives working for the young heir.

William would then offer to give them a partial tour of the place. It was already getting late into the day, so they couldn't come close to covering even half of the estate, but he showed them enough so they could manage on their own and not have to worry about getting lost if they needed to use one of the nearby lavatories. Didn't need anyone running the risk of having an accident, or getting desperate by using one of his expensive vases as a toilet; both of which didn't seem like impossible options with Reagan over there. He also showed them where to find Lawrence's quarters, for if they needed to ask the experienced butler for any assistance, although he neglected to do the same for his own room. The was the one possible negative. Having to go back (at least for now) to putting his pornography away instead of leaving it on the shelves for easier access.

They were then given the next half hour or so for settling in, talking amongst themselves (as he'd heard women often like to do) and perhaps washing up after their long day before Lawrence would arrive to invite them down for dinner within the large dining room (think Bruce and Vicki Vale's dinner date in Batman '89). Of course, the help having dinner with their employer was a rarity, but William had insisted on it for their first night. It wasn't anything extravagant, due in large part to a lack of time to prepare anything for a group of three, but it was a warm meal, and both men gave their apologies for if they expected anything bigger. The conversation was light, without anything personal being brought up that may stir about any unpleasant emotions. Fluff conversation pieces. It was one of the first things William had been taught for when addressing others.

As with any meal, this would eventually come to its conclusion, with only a few minutes of additional conversation being shared amongst them before the young lord of the manor would suggest how they must both be tired and ready to get their rest for the coming day. Indeed, it would be an interesting one, as many first days on the job tended to be; albeit with some being more 'interesting' than others. This, for certain, would be one they weren't likely to forget.

"I thank you both for allowing me the pleasure of your company on this evening." The dark haired male stated in a pleasant manner, standing at the head of the table as he graciously offered, "Please, if you find you're in need of anything during the night, do not hesitate to approach either myself or Lawrence here for assistance. Good night, ladies."

"Young madams." The elder gentleman added as the girls would eventually depart on their ways, hopefully remembering enough of their earlier tour to manage for the remainder of the day.

After being certain that they were gone from the scene, William wasted little time in reaching for his collar and loosening it along with his tie once again. Just because something looked nice didn't mean it was exactly the most comfortable of clothing. That was another thing he'd learned early on in life, as the young man slowly started toward the opposite way out of the dining area which the girls had stepped out through.

"Will you be retiring for the evening, sir?" Lawrence asked as he began collecting the plates, eyes focused upon the task at hand even while addressing the young lord.

The young Calloway stopped just outside of the door frame, leaning against it slightly as he glanced over his shoulder to respond, "More or less. I need to do a little checking up on something."

"Going into the 'security room' to check in on your new maids, I assume?" The older man inquired, plainly, seemingly accustomed to his young employers less than flattering characteristics despite how vile others would justifiably consider his voyeurism habits.

"Nooo." The heir quickly shot back, before giving a short pause and almost reluctantly correcting, "Well, okay, yeah. But there's something else I wanted to check out. Something about their last names sounded so...familiar."

He stood there in silence for a second, a thoughtful expression upon his features before excusing himself, "I'll be in my fathers office."

That actually caused Lawrence to glance up from his duties, watching William for a moment as the dark haired male turned and finally departed from the dining area. The young heir was gone before the fateful butler could think of asking anything further, but the older gentleman soon enough resumed in taking the now empty plates into the kitchen for washing. The following days should prove most interesting indeed.

 

[Mephistophelily]

Reagan smiled softly at the promise of a test period, glancing to her beloved friend with hopeful eyes. This could work. She simply would be sure to watch her mouth from now on, tread carefully. She had already made a bad impression, time to at least try to apologize for it as best she could.

For Rush, she would do anything.
Behaving herself shouldn't be that hard.

At the talk of rooms, she nodded, though hesitated at the mention of luggage. Oh dear. One thing that had never crossed her mind- stuff. They were without. The subject was moved away from quickly, thankfully, giving Rea a moment's time to quickly frown at Rush. This was something that they'd need to talk about, privately. What were they to do, wear the same thing again and again?

Oh. Dinner.
Dinner sounded nice.
The snagged smoothie of earlier wasn't doing much to calm the tummy of the incredibly nervous girl at the moment, but bit that down as Lawrence showed them about. This place really was huge... A sign of the guy certainly being of wealth as well.

Which reminded her.
The look.
That look, the one Rush had gotten for a moment at William's name. It had clicked something in her friend, something Rea didn't get. She had to know. But again, for later time.

To their own rooms the tour led, Reagan stifling a giggle at the one deemed her own. So quaint! Still, it looked that even servants received high treatment from him (or was this Lawrence's doing?), and that it would be comfortable enough. Making certain that Rush was not far off, merely across the hall, she felt even more at peace. This would do nicely. He showed them how far yet close they were in proximity to their superior staff member, another comfortable thought. So they were watched over, but not really watched?

Rea's mind loved that thought.

Parting ways with their new boss, Reagan wanted terribly to spend moments with Rush- but to push it this quickly? Instead, she simply gave a loving smile, silently speaking the words that pushed through her mind with barely-moving lips. She returned to 'her' door, a term that she would need to get used to. This wasn't her home. She barely knew this guy. No, she DIDN'T know this guy at all! But it was better than nothing. Better than other alternatives.

And she had a safe place.
Rush.

She took the time alone to compose herself, try to understand the new surroundings, the new life they seemed to be heading the path of. It had seemed so perfect in theory, but now she wondered if it was something she could truly manage... She wanted to talk to Rush. But she was afraid. Afraid to leave this 'little' room, afraid to wander too far. She wanted to make sure she felt safe in here first.

Her gaze shifted to the window nearest the bed, hearing the soft blow of a breeze outside. Peering out it a bit more, she frowned at the greying sky in the distance, hugging her left arm with her right hand as she bit her lip. A storm? Oh, she hated those... Maybe it would stay away.

She must have drifted off.
Lawrence came for them, bringing them to William's feast; a surprising time coming to get aquainted with their new employer. She still felt hesitant on talking to him after the earlier events, but by the end of the meal, was a bit more comfortable. He wasn't a terribly frightening guy, nor did he seem to be all that strict. Really, he seemed... like them. For the most part. And that made her feel much better.

Of course, she still needed to be used to the idea that this man was her boss.

Dinner came to its end, Reagan smiling at his parting words for the evening, glancing to Rush with a curious tone to her eyes. She wondered her thoughts on this whole situation, the man they were now living with. And that look of earlier- she HAD to know what that was about! Her gaze made its way to the windows of the spacious room, her smile fading slightly as she saw the flashes of lightning in the distance. Oh... She tried to shake off her fear of storms, instead forcing up a smile yet again. "Thank you, Mister Calloway. And you too, Lawrence. It was wonderful." Scooting her chair back, she stood up, her fingers touching her lips as she tried to stifle a yawn. "I guess I'm ready to test out that nice bed, too." She laughed softly, nodding a quick nod to the other three. "Good night, then."

Returning to her room, she attempted to settle into bed, her jeans left to the floor and her tee working as a makeshift night shirt for the evening. Perhaps tomorrow the awkward subject of lack of clothes could be brought up. Trying to close her eyes, she turned her head away from the bedroom window, attempting to ignore the storm growing closer and closer. She thought she was doing well until the loud crashing boom of thunder rang out directly outside her window, the blinding flash of lightning causing her to shoot straight out of that bed and into the hall, her hand blindly landing on Rush's doorknob and pushing the door open.

Standing at the foot of her bed, eyes so wide it would have rivalled even the most pathetic puppy eyes of a toddler as she stared at Rush.

"C-Can I stay in here with you...? That room... scares me."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Rush.

"We may not know much in the lines of housekeeping itself," She added quickly, still smiling as she looked at him finally, "But we do have other skills that could be of use! I'm quite the cook, for instance! And Rush- well, just listen to her. This girl is a fountain of knowledge! A walking wikipedia! She knows things, so many things- she can leave me in such awe with the things she knows how to do!"

Rush coughed mildly, at that. Smirking faintly.

This was a double-edged sword, this comment. She had lots of... knowledge.

She had seen the world. But had she properly walked about in it, to meet the world with her two hands? No. Philosophy and literature and etymology and botany were of little help when balancing a checkbook or procuring produce from the greengrocer's.

On the other hand, having a tongue that could wend its way around the Byzantine labyrinthine polysyllabic utterances required of one with her vocabulary came in useful for other activities that involved a tongue.

...not that Rush was one to brag. No, ma'am.

If she could, she'd trumpet from the rooftops that while so many thought Reagan a slacker and a waste, the way she made Rush feel was so breathtakingly worthwhile, so impossibly wond'rous, there wasn't a door that shouldn't open for her. That was the kind of bragging she'd do. If she could.

"I'm sure we could be helpful here, I just know it." She was still smiling, her cheeks nearly hurting from the forced hold of that expression.

Rush's smirk metamorphosed into a ghost of a shade of a smile, and she inclined her head. Indeed.

"Well, I must confess that the two of you do make a very compelling case for your employments. Albeit in your own, rather unique ways." And it didn't hurt that they were both incredibly attractive, he thought to himself while raising a hand to rub a finger along his chin in a thoughtful fashion; trying not to appear too eager as the young man finally added as he clapped his hands together for effect, "You've convinced me, ladies. We'll give you both a trial period starting tomorrow and see how things work out over the coming days and weeks ahead."

"This is more than generous," Rush confessed, a bit of elated disbelief shooting up her vertebrae. "Thank you."

The young master paused a moment to let them soak in his acceptance of them as his newest employees (never being one to ignore a chance at fawning), before nodding toward the head butler and explaining, "Lawrence here can help the both of you on getting settled in when it comes to the housekeeping and other duties required for assisting him in maintaining the estate. He's worked under my family since I can remember and perhaps knows this place even better than myself."

The seasoned butler gave a courteous bow to William and the young ladies as he accepted the expected task, "It would be my pleasure, sir. Young madams."

There went a portion of the trepidation Rush had been cultivating. Their tutelage was to occur under the instruction of this well-mannered gentleman of the old school? Whose familiarity with the employer's expectations was penultimate to none? They would become mistresses of the craft in no time.

She dipped her frame in a sincere affectation of a curtsey. "Good sir. It will be our privilege."

The tour proved to be a source of mixed emotion. Continually and continuously, Rush reflected that this boon was too beneficent to be unequivocal. That this turn of events was too contrived to be altruistic.

But with each stride she nurtured a gratitude.

It could well be worse.

She was not alone.

She was not alone.

Shown to her room, she parted ways with Reagan for a short time. Rea smiled at her, an unspoken missive of affection. And Rush didn't... quite... smile back, not trusting in the privacy even of a shared glance. But there was a twinkle in eye which Rea could unmistakably translate.

Just you wait.

Rush took solace in her solitude, sitting on the edge of the bed and hugging her knees.

The Bard was right: 'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.'

And while Rush was undecided as to the reality of Divinity in The Universe, she understood and comprehended that certain events were beyond the control of even the most cunning orchestration. Who could have prognosticated their contemporaneous plummet from grace? What haruspex could have conjured the good fortune which had risen up to catch them as they fell?

A small, tiny laugh. 'No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.'

But she closed her eyes and wondered as to the familiarity of their benefactor's surname.

Why did it taste upon her tongue like lilies and myrrh?

Why did it remind her of sombre silence and dressing in black?

The memory eluded her, danced upon the edge of her awareness, like a synaesthetic cryptomnesia. She had such an uncanny memory for things written down, she cursed herself for not paying closer attention to actual three-dimensional events.

The elegant batman returned to guide them to the nightly repast, which proved delectable and enlightening.

(Though not so enlightening as to trigger the proper dendrites and engrams that would remind Rush of their Manour-Lord's identity.)

And once this was done, and good nights were bid to all, they retreated to their retirements, monastic cloisters in a capitalist's haven.

Rush shed her clothes, hanging her dress as carefully as possible, lacking even the t-shirt that Reagan could use to gird her upper body against prying eyes, she simply remained clad in brassiere and panties, green and lacy and a teeny bit racy.

She did not immediately fall to sleep. First she paced in bare feet, muttering distractedly to herself as she measured the dimensions of the room by counting those paces.

And then she perched upon the bed in the Lotus position, attempting a modicum of za-zen.

Clarity eluded her, as it often did. And she curled up atop the covers, her scarlet locks draped o'er pallid shoulders and pallid bust, listened to the brewing storm outside, and wondered what Reagan was thinking right now.

Wondered what transpired in the chambers of Reagan's heart.

And under the clash of thunder against thunder, Rush murmured, her lips shaping the sounds: "...Reagan."

It is said that if you speak of The Devil, he will appear.

It is also said that The Devil was once upon a time an angel, and continues still to masquerade as such in his machinations and temptations.

One might postulate, ergo, if spectral manifestations and paranormal visitations are predicated by an enunciation of nomenclature when it comes to the singular Accuser, could not then mortals summon to them any member of The Hosts of Heaven former or current by simply describing them by name?

Whether this be accurate or not, Rush's angel appeared in the rumble of that thunderclash and she looked very much surprised to be there.

(Q.E.D.)

"C-Can I stay in here with you...? That room... scares me."

She slid from the satin in a heartbeat, her long legs propelling her to the foot of the bed as her hands found Rea's shoulders and her eyes found Rea's eyes.

"Darling, oh, darling, of course you can," Rush promised, "of course you can."

...and then there came a moment, a transition, as layers of Rush seemed to tremble and shake themselves loose and her eyes half-closed and she smiled, she actually all out tremblingly smiled and her forehead pressed to Reagan's and her breath exhaled into Reagan's and it all skittered away in a rush, finally permitting the vulnerability to which only Reagan was privy.

And her hands slipped from Rea's shoulders to cup her face and she leaned in close and softly kissed her lover and her very best friend.

The kiss was long and languid and was grateful and affectionate and there was a certain quantity of shivering that had naught to do with either the fear of the storm nor the temperature of the room.

And when at long last she came up for air, she murmured, smiling, beatific, almost angelic...

"I'll keep you safe."

 

[Mephistophelily]

Reagan smiled softly as Rush peered at her, offering her sanctuary in the comfort of her bed. She could still hear the storm outside, but it was dulled to her ears in the presence of her beloved. Her smile was brightening enough in the dim light of the room to make Reagan herself smirk, growing to a full blown smile as Rush's soft touch came to rest against her cheeks. She hated to hide, she hated not being able to say what she felt.

Rush, with all her words, was few in them when it came to their relationship as well.

But actions. Ohhh, her actions.

Reagan's eyes fell closed as Rush's lips found hers, melting contentedly against her darling friend's affectionate gesture. She felt safe now, truly safe. Little had to be said by her lady of literature, actions showing far more than words could ever attempt. It all flowed from that kiss, the warmth of her hands; Rush would keep her from harm, from fear, from feeling alone. She had no reason to doubt any of it.

With hesitant motions, she pulled away from her beloved's lips, looking at her with the deepest of affections, smiling at her words. "I'm sorry," She whispered delicately, the faintest smile on her lips as she apologized. "For earlier. I'm so sorry. I... I almost ruined everything. I just... it's so hard to control my mind sometimes." She smiled a bit more, reaching her own hand to brush against the crimson locks framing her Rush's face. "Especially around you. You know what you do to me. It gets so hard to keep everything locked up around you. I envy your ability to do that..."

Another flash of lightning, a roll of thunder, and Reagan was soon joining Rush in that bed, clinging to her hand, burying against her shoulder, shivering and whimpering softly. She tried to block it out, focus elsewhere, keep her mind from lingering too long on the noises outside.

Her hand slid to her Red's thigh, her head turning enough to see the attire upon her friend's frame. She smiled.

"I love green on you, Rush. You look so beautiful in it. Like a rose in a garden, and when you smile, it brings it all together." She leaned up a bit, planting a delicate kiss upon her cheek. She had found it, the thing to keep her mind wandering, but wandering to things unpleasant. Focus on the much more pleasant, the wonderful, the beautiful; the woman next to her now, offering her the comfort she could provide. "Your smile kills the clouds and the thunder. I'm gonna stay right here..." She nuzzled down into the sheets with her companion, resting her head against her shoulder once more as she smiled up at her. "...and make sure it doesn't leave... by whatever means necessary." With that, she ran her hand against the other girl's cheek, guiding her lips closer to her own for another gentle loving kiss.

"...No matter what...," She whispered against the soft touch of Rush's lips, her eyes closed for a brief moment. "No matter what, I want to make you smile. You don't deserve to be sad or mad or anything like that, Red. I hate having to hide everything, but- I love knowing I can make you happy." She paused, her eyes peering open slightly as a mischievous grin came to her face. "I really, really love making you happy."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Rush.

Reagan's eyes fell closed as Rush's lips found hers, melting contentedly against her darling friend's affectionate gesture.

How warm this was, how vibrant.

Such a fusion of life on life.

Rush swiftly shed her erudition, her eloquence, though she retained a certain... expressiveness... and she whimpered wordlessly into the kiss that she shudderingly suddenly realised she'd been waiting for all day.

No matter that she had been cast out of her ancestral manse, had been severed from her clan and her inheritance, no matter that she dwelt this eve 'neath the eaves of a stranger. Kissing Reagan, she was home.

She belonged.

With hesitant motions, she pulled away from her beloved's lips, looking at her with the deepest of affections, smiling at her words. "I'm sorry," She whispered delicately, the faintest smile on her lips as she apologized.

Rush couldn't help but arch a crimson brow at that, wondering at the inspiration for such abashedness, but chose not to interrupt.

"For earlier. I'm so sorry. I... I almost ruined everything. I just... it's so hard to control my mind sometimes." She smiled a bit more, reaching her own hand to brush against the crimson locks framing her Rush's face. "Especially around you. You know what you do to me. It gets so hard to keep everything locked up around you. I envy your ability to do that..."

Rush laughed softly, but not cruelly, and pressing her forehead to Rea's, brushing her nose across Rea's, an almost feline nuzzle, she shook her head.

"It's hardly fair to blame me for such things," she murmured. "But it matters not. 'What's said is said,' and you spoke such assumptions as I had also made, such presumptions about our host's perceived role in events. The difference is, you felt the freedom to speak your mind, to speak your own opinion, and as much as you envy my... reserve... I envy you your capacity to always only be yourself."

"It is not in your nature to wear your heart anywhere but your sleeve. You never need to apologise for that. Least-ways, not to me."

Another flash of lightning, a roll of thunder, and Reagan was soon joining Rush in that bed, clinging to her hand, burying against her shoulder, shivering and whimpering softly. She tried to block it out, focus elsewhere, keep her mind from lingering too long on the noises outside.

The storm's cacophony penetrated their sanctum anew and, resolution swift, shelter sought, the two of them were quickly interlaced beneath the satin, Rush's arms cradling Reagan as Reagan hung for dear life to her hand and tried to hide herself away in the very structure of Rush's body, as though Rush were some proverbial Rock of Ages cleft that Reagan might take shelter therein.

Astraphobia. Brontophobia.

Don't be afraid.

I'm here.

And gradually, gradually, the cracking skies and rumbles in the distance began to take less and less precedence over the warmth and softness shared close to hand.

Her hand slid to her Red's thigh, her head turning enough to see the attire upon her friend's frame. She smiled.

"I love green on you, Rush. You look so beautiful in it. Like a rose in a garden, and when you smile, it brings it all together." She leaned up a bit, planting a delicate kiss upon her cheek.

"This almost-- this almost--" she attempted, but the words, such an unusual feeling, and yet Rea nearly always had this effect on her, the words fluttered and didn't quite materialise, she wanted to say, 'this almost makes me wish I was wearing more of it,' it would have been ironic, it would have been coolly deflective, it would have been witty, but she just couldn't manage it.

She stopped talking. And enjoyed the shape and the texture and the temperature of Rea against her, and enjoyed that kiss upon her cheek, affection made manifest.

She couldn't talk. All she could do was smile.

"Your smile kills the clouds and the thunder. I'm gonna stay right here..." She nuzzled down into the sheets with her companion, resting her head against her shoulder once more as she smiled up at her. "...and make sure it doesn't leave... by whatever means necessary." With that, she ran her hand against the other girl's cheek, guiding her lips closer to her own for another gentle loving kiss.

She smiled into that kiss, oh, this was turnabout and this was fair play, that Rea should be the one so masterful of speech, and Rush should be so bereft of vocabulary. This was the way of warm nights.

This was the way of their secret.

This was the way of them together.

"...No matter what...," She whispered against the soft touch of Rush's lips, her eyes closed for a brief moment. "No matter what, I want to make you smile. You don't deserve to be sad or mad or anything like that, Red. I hate having to hide everything, but- I love knowing I can make you happy." She paused, her eyes peering open slightly as a mischievous grin came to her face. "I really, really love making you happy."

And as good as Rush perhaps looked in green, mayhap she looked a little bit better in red... Reagan wore her heart out there for all to see, but now Rush's heart was in her throat... and she was blushing as red as her hair.

As rare as her smiles were, even rarer were her blushes, and only Reagan could make her do either. Particularly, as now, both at once, both smile and blush.

There was such. Promise. In the mischief of that smile. In the wickedness of the curve of Reagan's lips.

There was such... promise.

"Suh--" she began, and hesitated, she fumbled the word, the phrase, "semp--"

She would have said 'semper felix,' 'always happy,' and it would have been elegant, and it would have been genius, but the words just failed her and all she could do was stammer for a moment.

But then she summoned up her breath and she summoned up her heart in her throat and she desperately hungrily kissed the golden-tressed creature and exhaled the stumbling stammering stutterings in a word.

"Always."

Her teeth found the lobe of Rea's ear, whisper-quick and nibbling, her kisses found the side of Rea's neck.

"D'or, you always--"

She shifted, there in the bed, like she was coiling to spring, preparing to pounce, like things were about to change quickly now from gentle affection to fierce affirmation.

"We can make each other happy."

"Please."

"Yes, please."

 

[Mephistophelily]

"Sometimes I think I speak too freely, Rush." Reagan burrowed against her beloved for a brief moment, enjoying the feel of her warm skin against her own, regretting the decision to don the shirt still and not taking the more relaxed freedom Rush had gone with. Well, if she had been spotted in her panicked bolting through the hallway, it was sure to be less a surprising thing for Lawrence.

But now they were alone. No outside eyes, no conflicts to come between.

She smiled in her bliss as she looked at Rush, giggling ever-so-softly as the woman with the magic tongue faltered in her words. Reagan's hand started to reach for her love's cheek, interrupted by the wonderful lips meeting her own, a simple word uttered between them.

Reagan simply purred, wriggling against the sheets, against her Rush, another laugh attempted to be stifled down as teeth found her ear. Try to stay quiet, she reminded herself. She felt like a little girl at a sleepover; up past their bedtimes to take part in silly mischief. Not so little the girls, but certainly the mischief....

Her eyes widened slightly as Rush pulled away, moving so quickly to take a stance like a predator appraising its prey.

"Making ourselves at home, darlin'?" Reagan smiled a bit more at that, leaning back and propping herself up with one hand, the other raising to curl fingers in a welcoming, daring gesture. "I'm up for that... Very, very up for that."

She reached out, one finger hooking into the strap of that beautiful bra as she looked up at her. "Call it what you want," She whispered playfully, grinning as she snapped the strap.

Alone time.
Celebration time.

They were together, alone, free finally to let it all flow as they wished. A shiver ran through her with that realization. The storm had given her the escape and sanctuary she had wanted to find so many other times; buried beside her Rush.

Or other... placements.

"You've got the devil in your eyes," She noted, shaking her head with a smirk as she watched Rush.