meetings mixolydian
| E | ✧  ✧location. the LeBlanc estate in Rioux-Martin, France. date. 8th of april. mentions. @Koko Riddle.  It was not common for Esme to approach social situations with cautious optimism. She understood what was required of her, mechanically. She knew what the point was: networking, making connections, making a good impression. Appearances. She was, she’d like to think, decently good at it, even; yet the fact remained, there was a lingering anxiety to every event and social which she attended. Esme, though now used to just about every affair in the book, was not blessed with her parents’ innate skill for navigating society. She had learned. She had studied: had plenty of books of etiquette, little or big, plenty textbooks, and once, a tutor exclusively dedicated to her posture. She knew what she was doing now. Knew so in the same way she knew the incantation and wand movement of a charm or the steps in a potion recipe. A mortar and pestle, copper scales, crystal vials, and a cauldron — all instruments and tools in the same way that tailored clothes, nicely polished shoes, a well-timed laugh, and a handshake were. When Esme saw her mother don a designer gown for a gala and greet business associates, she saw little difference between that and her father at work, putting the cauldron on medium heat or gathering ingredients. Tasks to be completed to ensure high performance and good opportunities. There was a checklist to each gala, ball, or dinner. Esme was just trying to tick things off. Well styled hair, pristine clothing, polite expression — greetings, conversation, a smile and nod when the situation called for it. An exit. She had distilled everything down into routine. And though the anxiety remained, it was tempered, brought down to only a low simmer, by the rote memorisation and categorisation of each action and interaction. It was not common for this to not work, and even less common for it to not be needed. It seemed, however, that it was actually rendered downright useless by one Koko Riddle of the LeBlanc family. Esme met her at the last of the annual Hestridge Brewing Company galas, introduced to her as someone who Esme could look up to: she graduated with a variety of sports distincts on the house team’s behalf, and was now a professional Quidditch player. Esme had, for a moment, trouble understanding why her father decided to introduce them so readily. Thomas Hestridge was undeniably business-oriented and shrewd, but he did not make too big a habit of forcing Esme into interactions with his business partners, after all. She had her job to do — greet adults politely and smile nicely — but beyond those necessities, she was only ever expected to play nice with any potential playmates. Koko was far from a child. Add to that Esme’s mild antipathy towards Quidditch (and broom sports in general, thanks to bouts of nausea that came with getting up and off the ground), and the rest of the reason was unlocked. Koko had graduated as a Slytherin — not only that, she had a long tenure of being prefect under her belt. The house Esme’s father knew she had… rather mixed feelings on being sorted into, and the position she gave up just two months after ascending to it, thanks to general exhaustion. It was a nice gesture, she supposed, for her father to find someone in a similar situation for her to look up to; and, in spite of Esme’s mild apprehension, it turned out that Koko was, for lack of a better word, pretty cool. Even that failed to encompass what Esme thought, though it came close. Koko was stylish, chic, and refined — there was an effortlessness to everything she did. She checked every box that Esme had on her list. During their first meeting, Esme did what she always did during an event, especially when meeting new people: observe, dissect, and pick apart. When doing so with Koko, she found there was nothing there for her to latch onto; no rule of etiquette or proper behavior and presentation broken. An appropriate outfit with tasteful accessories, polite greeting to both host and family mixed with candour and the precise level of familiarity that the occasion permitted. Koko Riddle radiated elegance instead of the gaudiness that Esme would have expected, however uncharitable that might have been. More surprisingly, Koko was nice, too. It’s not like Esme was stupid. She knew that adults didn’t usually care to converse with kids, and Esme, despite her intelligence, was still a kid. If Koko had done the bare minimum and precisely nothing more, Esme would have accepted it without batting an eye. It didn’t really matter whether her parents’ guest of honour was interested in stories from a schoolchild; hell, there were plenty of business associates that she had met in the past that very obviously weren’t, and Esme had never taken offense to it before. It was just how it was with adults — except for Koko, who not only listened during the gala, but after. Prompted to by none other than Thomas Hestridge, Esme had sent Koko a letter in the new year, and got an actual response. One without condescension or infantilization, but conversation, answers to questions Esme had asked, and later, when she built up the courage to, requests for advice. Thus, when two weeks ago, among these letters that had now become semi-regular correspondence, Esme found an invitation to the LeBlanc Estate in Rioux-Martin, she was surprised. At the invitation, sure, a little — but mostly at the fact that this invitation felt… different. There was none of the usual anxiety present at the prospect of a social call with proper adults, a fact made even odder by the fact that she would be the only child there. She had heard, vaguely, of the rest of the LeBlanc family, sure, but as far as she knew, no one her age would be attending. This was doubled by the fact that though her parents were, of course, also invited, she had received an invitation addressed to her, directly: not to the family as a whole, not to Thomas and Eleonora Hestridge and also their daughter, but to Esme herself. It was not common for Esme to approach social situations with cautious optimism, but when faced with everything leading up to the tea party, there was little a term better suited to describe what she felt. The drop in her stomach she usually experienced when loading into a flying carriage was now replaced with a far more pleasant sense of anticipation. Still with a hint of anxiety, yes, but one that was now undercolored with curiosity, and, dare Esme say, excitement. April had brought with it pleasant weather. The sun lit the expanse of grass and ocean underneath as the coach made its way all the way over to France, and Esme busied herself with looking out the window, big eyes staring out to watch the hues of aquamarine and green that shifted outside. Though the last time they had taken a flying carriage as opposed to using floo powder, she was made anxious by all the spectacle, now she could say she actually understood the choice to do so. She had insisted on it, even. It was a longer distance, yes, but for once, Esme had a vested interest in wanting to look good, this time around: the rationale of it being for appearances’ sake made sense on a more personal level, now. There was something about the prospect of meeting Koko on a far more even plane than she was used to with other adults that demanded the extra flair, she supposed — that seemed to be a general theme with Koko, really. Her presence held a subtle insistence to itself, the kind that made Esme aware of all she did and all she could be doing. The kind of pressure that made diamonds. After a few hours of leisurely travel, they finally descended outside of the Rioux-Martin estate. The thestrals attached to the front of the carriage would then move further, though on solid land this time — taking the Hestridge family on a stroll through part of the sprawling grounds before stopping a short ways away from the estate itself. Esme did not waste any time, stepping out after her parents, looking around with wide eyes as gravel gently crunched under her impeccably polished shoes. The gardens were, for lack of a word that would better describe their sheer beauty and grandeur, gorgeous. Neatly organised and clearly pristinely maintained, they went on for miles, bigger than even those that the Hestridge home boasted. As they turned and walked, the house was equally grand, in a sense imposing: calling it anything but a chateau seemed inadequate, with its small towers that reached up like slender fingers towards the sky and rows of ornate windows making up the larger form. Esme had seen her fair share of beautiful manors and the gardens surrounding them, but the LeBlancs’ home was clearly in a league of its own. It made sense, for someone so refined as Koko to be spending her spring break here, Esme decided. Once they entered, let inside by one of the help, the interior was just as beautiful as the exterior would have suggested. “Merci,” Esme murmured quietly as some other house staff member took the elegant steel blue coat off her shoulders — but her attention was split. She wasn’t even sure what to look at, really: the glistening tile on the floor, the strength and gentle curve of the staircase that led to upper floors, or the decor of the room, with masterful oil paintings in elaborate frames and obvious craftsmanship in every single piece that filled the grand hall. Though it was not common for Esme to approach social situations with anything but preparation and mild disrelish, all she felt then was awe.  wc. 1650 notes. none. ✧✦✧ |
H |
thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |
meetings mixolydian
pv with @esme hestridge
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Returning to southern France after nearly a year in Cork felt like a grand homecoming. Koko had arrived early in the morning, the sun beginning to peek over the horizon, coating the gardens with gold, and something warm had twisted within her heart. She'd smiled at her family – including her little brother Charles, who sometimes made her want to throttle him.
'Huh. You've grown,' she'd offered him, not sure how to take the fact that he now towered over her, even while she was wearing heels.
Even Holmes had decided to spend his spring break in France. This had surprised both Koko and Charlie, but neither had been particularly disappointed. In fact, Koko might have thought Charles and Holmes had stopped bickering quite as much. She knew she certainly had.
Adulthood hadn't been as innately glamorous as she'd hoped – yes, there were parties, and there was prestige, and there were connections, but there was not really as much of the thrill she'd anticipated. It had been odd, acclimating to a climate where the tap of her shoes upon stone flooring did not send others scurrying away or staring at her in awe. She'd spent the few months trying to find something to do with herself, finally finding hobbies in the form of shopping and dabbling deeper into potioneering. However, as long as she was relegated to the bench in large games, Koko hadn't felt truly whole.
She'd never thought of herself as ambitious – not in the way Slytherins were supposed to be: cutthroat, relentless, always chasing one thing or another. The aftermath of her graduation had changed her self-perception, though. When she'd been invited to the Hestridge family's annual charity gala, something had shifted. Someone had seen her as she'd wanted to be seen – glamorous, composed, a perfect model socialite. It was true that charity was not exactly her forte, but it wasn't the charity that had drawn her to the event. No, it was the moniker of 'guest of honour', the acknowledgement, the limelight, even if it had lasted for only an evening.
Since then, she'd found herself chasing the feeling, reaching out with her soul and grasping for whatever threads of stardom deigned to dip towards her. Perhaps she lacked ambition in the traditional sense of setting productive goals, but that didn't mean she hadn't perfected the art of pursuing prominence, of reaching renown.
She'd wanted to set her gaze on bigger and better things, but it was kindness that always brought her back to earth. After the gala, she'd exchanged letters with the Hestridges' daughter. The girl was a bit odd – seemingly confused with regard to the simplest of interactions, but altogether intelligent and composed. Koko saw potential in her. What was there already could be moulded into something useful. That was, at least, what she told herself; really, though, she was nothing if not a big sister. That she would protect her own was a sentiment she'd felt since someone made a pointed comment at Charles's fashion a few years ago; since then, the feeling had expanded to include various mentees she'd taken on at school, as well as the Slytherin Quidditch team. It was no surprise that, after actually taking the effort to converse with Esme (out of the kindness of her heart, no less!), that affection began to allow the other girl, too, to reap its benefits.
It was not a rash decision to invite the Hestridges to enjoy the beauty of Leblanc Estates in the spring. Koko had penned a letter to her grandfather suggesting it, marketing it as a splendid opportunity for networking. He had, of course, obliged. She had requested he send Eleonora and Thomas an invitation separate from that for their daughter, Esme. She'd imagined it might make the youngest Hestridge feel appreciated, which was always nice.
Koko woke early – as always – on the 8th of April. Although she would be the only one awake for quite some time in the early morning, she still performed her usual routine. Concealer, foundation and fine powder dusted her face until her freckles were no longer visible. Dusty red, rose-tinged rouge graced her cheeks. The specific shade of red on her lips was nearly a trademark by this point.
She clad herself in a floral wrap cardigan, black trousers and boots that nearly matched the cardigan. After having spent a great deal of the early morning in the gardens, letting the sun soak into her waiting skin, she'd gone indoors, only to observe her brothers complaining amidst panic.
'Why couldn't they have a kid our age?' Charles muttered. He'd unbuttoned his plain shirt at the top and glanced down at it disgust.
'Or a guy,' Holmes added dejectedly.
Koko, the ever-supportive older sister that she was, rolled her eyes.
Despite their protesting, her brothers, once sufficiently dressed and organised, stood tall and did not try to insult any of the Hestridges once they'd arrived. Holmes, in fact, even offered each family member a small bow and a polite greeting. Charles did not, but he was silent, which was, in itself, a kindness.
Alphonse had initially led the way to the parlour, walking at a slower pace that Koko was used to; she lingered near him, sure to avoid making him look weak, but cautious, wanting to keep an eye on him. He had begun using a cane since she had last visited – a nice one, yes, all metal and wood and fine embossments, but still a cane nonetheless. Despite that, though, he kept his gait steady, and his stride as smooth as could be. Koko smiled.
She was quick to greet the Hestridges with that same practised, winning smile that she'd grown so used to sporting. In a flash, she was herself again – not the playfully-annoyed older sister; not the dutiful, caring, ever-helpful granddaughter; but someone a bit more curated, although altogether still real.
(After all, what was artifice when you'd honed yourself into something beautiful?)
'Mr and Mrs Hestridge,' she said fondly, only after Alphonse had greeted them in warm, gravelly French. She gave both Thomas and Eleonora a once-over, appraising them like one might a finely-wrought necklace. 'It's a pleasure to see you again! It was so lovely last time. As I'm sure you're aware, these are my family – mon grand-pèremy grandfather, Alphonse, ma maman my mother, Rosalie and ma tatamy aunt, Vienna. And, well, I suppose my brothers are important, too –' She retained her pleasant smile and ignored Charles's indignation. '—Charles and Holmes, both Hogwarts attendees in the sixth year.'
Etiquette having been accomplished, and Charles having been playfully insulted, Koko would offer a polite (and genuine), 'You all look lovely,' as Rosalie took over with Thomas and Eleonora, offering to show them around the manor and the grounds. Vienna and Alphonse would join the gaggle of older adults, all while Charles and Holmes would hang back, hesitant (and, perhaps, grateful). They would eventually seat themselves in lush chairs and discuss the morning's limited happenings as if they were old men drinking coffee over a printed newspaper.
Regardless of Thomas's or Eleonora's response, Koko would turn to Esme. She had noticed the look in the girl's stormcloud-blue eyes and had relished it. Awe. Admiration. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was as warm as light emanating from a golden chandelier. She let the smile fade into normalcy – just a quaint, red, upward curve of her lips, no more teeth. 'Esme, dear, it's lovely to see you here. I trust the journey was comfortable?'
She eyed Esme, checking for any sign of discontent or unease. A hint of concern would bleed through her honeyed amber gaze. Then, she would gesture towards the grand doors leading to the gardens. 'I think it would be quite enjoyable – that is, if you wouldn't mind – to walk through the gardens. There are plenty of beautiful roses, and there's one fountain in particular that I think you might appreciate the look of. Plus, of course, that would give us some time to catch up, wouldn't it?'
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[pc] koko riddle · 'pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.'
'it always starts and ends with birds.' · cyrus darsel [inpc]