Passing Ships PV Closed

@Pericles Dralt

The Dralts would receive a quarter less than those they invited through no fault of their own. Pavlina Stavrou, now a woman, had seemed to take a step back from this lifestyle now that she could. Unfortunate for her, but on the bright side, Giannis Stavrou had no such excuses to avoid convening with one of his oldest familial ties. He and his wife, Chrysanthi, regarded few as friends, and even fewer as worth maintaining generational alliances with. In the very same manner that Giannis and his brothers were introduced to Isaac all those years ago, it was deemed beneficial to do the same with their own. Alas, the families marked the date to meet.

The ride to Plymouth was delicately planned. Despite residing halfway across the country in Manchester, the Stavrous temporarily stationed in Bristol for business earlier that week, less than an hour away from their destination today. Instead of immediately heading back north, the trip was extended for convenience; the opportunity for additional sight-seeing delighting the eight-year-old Phaedra plenty. Even in the bumpy carriage with a window just barely too tall, she drank in the scenery of the English channel as they rode past, questioning if it was the very one that launched the Mayflower.

Focus came to the Dralt Estate the moment it was seen in the distance, surrounded by gate and lovely acreage. Every family brought something unique to the table of home décor and the Dralts were no exception. Phaedra would have found herself smitten with her hosts’ orchard, apples ripened in their prime seasonality, but time called for mirroring her parents in smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes and leaving the carriage. She followed quietly, yet intrigued at the new territory, as Dralt attendants and Stavrou coachmen bustled to their duties around her. Beautiful as the garden was, indoors was were these gatherings were held.

Up the stone inclines, through the double-doors, and they were welcomed in. Phaedra studied the gargoyle to her right, aware from experience that sometimes they liked to talk back. This one only stared—in fact, they both only stared—but she trekked on until led into a hall of marble and mahogany, the combination surely exuding an aura of class to those old enough to care about such a thing. Her full attention, however, was granted to the dozens of portraits lining their walls. Unlike the existence of gargoyles, this was one shared similarity of the two families’ residences. If her assumptions were correct, these men and women would be Dralt ancestors, just as her own were honoured in the same way.

Phaedra ceased her scanning of the interior once Isaac Dralt stood before them, her fists preemptively reaching for skirt to dip into her best curtsy with. Although young, the girl understood the intricacies of hierarchy, and therefore had only expected a passing acknowledgment of her presence. Instead, the man took her tiny hand in greeting and knelt to better meet her height, proclaiming that he’d last seen her as a wee babe. She smiled shyly, more than used to this kind of reminiscing on her infancy from great-aunts and uncles, but that didn’t make drawing up a response now any easier. A glance over her shoulder was met with an encouraging press to her back, and only then was she able to return her own clasp, albeit timid, to the man, just as her parents had.

Once in the lounge, her coat safely left in the hands of an attendant to store elsewhere, she took a seat between her parents, settling a bit harder than intended in the soft cushions. While her father’s telling of Stavrou & Stannings’ latest commissions went in one ear and out the other, she spotted a large Augurey across the room, perched on a stand. Her mouth dropped to form an “o”, innocently accompanied by a twinkle in her eyes. The bird was rather unusual-looking—certainly resembling no owls like Hypatia and Diogenes, even when the latter was molting from illness—but she’d been alive long enough to know that “unusual-looking” in pure-blood circles was often synonymous with exotic and rare. Phaedra made a mental note to ask someone its name and species later, her nose suddenly picking up the scent of something savory. The plate of hors d'œuvres was passed in front of her face and she helped herself to a small canapé, feet bouncing in contentment. Her attention fell back to the bird as the adults continued to converse. Perhaps if she bonded with it now, by the end of the night, it’d like her enough to let her pet it.

The talk of business underwent a seamless transition and all Stavrou heads turned to gaze at the new point of interest; the archway where a lanky, ghostly pale boy stood. Phaedra sat up mid-bite to peek past her father. Even with Isaac’s help, his son’s identity was no trouble at all. The Dralts only had one boy, and Phaedra had rehearsed his name plenty before arriving. Her mother wouldn’t have had otherwise. It’s rude to forget the names of your hosts, the woman reminded her, but Phaedra had a feeling her concern was just avoiding embarrassment.

If either of her parents noticed his unkempt appearance, they promptly ignored it in favour of greetings. Phaedra was able to discern that this was as much a first encounter for them as it was for her, but being a child, the brunt of the interaction with the six-year-old was her responsibility, eventually. For now, Chrysanthi was the first to verbally respond to Pericles’ entrance, her own caviar-topped hors d'œuvre pinched between manicured fingers. “Isaac, I’m astonished. Your boy undoubtedly favours his mother.”

“Bah! Too early to tell that, Chrysa. He’s just a boy. Come here, lad. Nice to meet you.”

“Nonsense. I have an eye for these things!”

Having never seen Cenedril, she couldn’t verify the claims of either of her parents. But knowing her mother and her hawk-like eyes, she was probably right. Phaedra sat back against the couch, glad that she was no longer the youngest in the room for this very reason. Adults always got a kick out of playing spot the difference between each other and their children. Mouth curled in deep thought, she still sent a look Pericles' way though, wondering if he was the quiet type or if she’d have to rouse it out of him. There was nothing worse than being dragged along to meet another kid who didn’t even want to play.

With both of her parents seemingly in good moods and talking, she supposed she should follow suit. No prompting was necessary to get her to speak. She wasn’t shy in the slightest when it came to children her age and the lounge had done wonders at relaxation. As her broad-shouldered father prepared to stand and offer a handshake to the small Dralt heir, she rest her hands on her lap and called over the man's shoulder to address Pericles personally. “Hello, Pericles!”

Reducio

@Phaedra Stavrou

The parlour was designed for optimal comfort and entertainment. Aside from ample exotic amuse-gueules, this room was strategically void of portraits, namely due to the former Lord, whose likeness loved to talk the ears off of company. Pericles' grandfather, Albus, was perfectly strange and sweet in equal measure. The stout fellow (and now, his portrait) had a passion for recounting old expeditions, favoring the ones which sounded improbable at best, impossible otherwise. He was also a hugger. His son, Isaac, clearly didn't take after him. The long lean gentleman valued his space, as well as that of his guests, though he had held on to a valuable lesson which Albus insisted on: treat your allies as your friends until given a reason not to. There was a warmth to the way the Dralts conducted business. It was all very personal, from the heart, though the present patriarch wasn't nearly so mushy about it as his predecessor. He hung on every word with genuine engagement. What some misconstrued as business prattle was, to him, the prime opportunity for evolving his fleet. Who was commissioning what, and why, and should he consider seeking the same alterations? In exchange he would gladly talk trade routes, the influence of weather, complications at sea. Meanwhile, the augury basked in the attention afforded by the tiniest person present. Once it was certain someone was staring at it, it began to use its great hooked beak to carefully comb its mourn-grey plumage, sneaking an aloof glance here and there towards Phaedra to ensure she was still witnessing its magnificence. It resented the fact that soon, all attention was on a gangly little boy standing in the entryway.

Pericles was rooted to the spot. Only when he was in their sights did he realize the severity of the situation. All the importance his parents and baroness had tried to warn him about was wafting off of these people, well dressed and well-to-do, overwhelmed upon remembering how significant the Stavrous were to the business he was intended to inherit. Peri merely managed to mumble in response: "Pleasure to meet you, sir." He obediently inched towards their guests, sending a shy smile towards Chrysa, with a happiness as dear and innocent as they come. He had taken her likening of him to his mother as a kind compliment. Peri was vaguely aware of his father resonating a proud confirmation, jokingly lamenting that all Dralt men tended to take after their mothers, only to smoothly state himself fortunate to have married someone with such stellar traits. Hearing his father boast about his mother's many virtues was all familiar white noise. More excitingly, The Girl Stavrou had greeted him! That was wonderful news. Most visiting children did not speak, or worse, had a very uninspired way of speaking, only rehearsing what their parents permitted. This one sounded nice. A tiny light shone through his shyness as he met Phaedra's gaze. "Hello." A curious, kind, hopeful hello. Plain and relatively timid- he never knew exactly what to do around other children- but packed with promise. He wanted to play, too. Ah, if only he wasn't on such an important mission, the one which no one else understood! The heir came to a standstill in front of Giannis, a lion of a man, only to shoot a wary look over his shoulder towards his father. Isaac knew his son as prone to eccentricities and fiddly awkwardness, but the lad was capable of at least a polite handshake. Unless, of course, something was wrong. "Pericles?" the household's sovereign repeated, only this time, it was not a casually curious drawl. It was a quiet, cautious sort of murmur, accompanied by a steady stare. His father realized that anything could be inside those little hands, but judging from his son's stiffness, it was exactly the sort of thing one should not bring to a meeting of houses.

At least he finally had an adult's attention. His father looked ready to listen to him. Pericles drew a deep breath, only to gracelessly blurt the words he'd been trying to get his baroness to understand: "Argus knocked over Calamity's tank. It broke, so I stuck her in with Hairyman, but I couldn't put her babies there too because he would surely try to eat them. I need a new tank from the cellar." What sounded like perfect nonsense to foreign ears was announced with unshakeable purpose. To make it clear he was telling the truth, Pericles opened his hands. "See?" Out stumbled half a dozen or so baby tarantulas, a couple of which clumsily toppled onto the parlour floor, others onto Giannis' fine footwear.

(TW: Arachnophobia)

Reducio

A number of things happened all at once. Pericles cried out quietly, lamenting "Oh no! Babies!" He sat on his heels, cupping the remaining spiderlings to his chest while trying to scoop their fallen siblings away from The Mister Stavrou's shoe. The augury ceased its preening and puffed, head raised, gaze locked, feathers fluffed, and wings slowly starting to spread. It saw many morsels skittering around the carpet. Isaac watched with the grade of exhaustion that can only come from raising a person like Pericles. The dead look in his eyes implied he was already accepting the demise of this old family bond, wondering who he could possibly trust to construct and repair the family vessels moving forward. His spindly fingers plucked a sugar dish from a nearby tea tray, emptied its contents, and prepared to use it for housing spiderlings instead of sweets.