[identity profile] mister-foxton.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] estdeus_innobis
Thursday, May 20th
The Manqueller residence and the streets of Excolo


I was woken early by the kittens, the vile brute-beasts. I have asked and asked Mrs Betton to make sure she keeps the door to my bedroom closed, but there they were, tumbling across the bed quilt and climbing on the pillow to stand on my face.

"You are infernal creatures," I tell them as I dress. The weather has cooled, but none the less I fold the well-pressed sleeves of shirt to just below my elbows and leave the collar of my shirt unfastened: after a long winter, there is a great pleasure to be had in feeling the air upon my skin.

"Mrs Betton," I say, sitting down to the breakfast she has provided, "I fear I must remonstrate with you again. Those confounded animals woke me up again - I would swear that they do it on purpose."

"I can't tell you how it happens, Mr Manqueller," she says calmly, setting salt and pepper in front of me with my eggs. "I do my best to keep them out." I am quite sure that she does it on purpose, to make sure I keep hours she approves of.

Her excellent coffee improves my morning peevishness, however. "I think I will go into town," I tell her. "I have an engagement tonight," with a most pleasant gentleman, though there is no need to say that to her, "but I will take the air this morning, and perhaps take a cup of coffee or chocolate at the cafe later. So there is no need for you to prepare dinner, but if you might provide me with some small meal for my luncheon I would be most grateful."

"And for Mrs Manqueller?" I see her expression. Oh, dear.

"Ah. Is she in a - less than pleasant temper again? I shall see if I can jolly her along a little." I finish my food, blot my lips with my napkin and tell her, "I shall see to that now."

Grandmama is indeed in one of her tempers. The curtains in the library are firmly closed, and she is pretending to be asleep when I go in. "Good morning, Grandmama," I say, pulling back the curtains and letting some light in. "Have you had some breakfast?"

She ignores me peevishly. She can be so very trying. "Come, now," I say briskly, "I will have Mrs Betton bring you through a little tray. A cup of tea will set you up pleasantly." I rearrange the blanket over her knees, as best I can with Mibbit purring in her lap. Really, one cannot hold her moods against her: she is so very old, and in such poor health.

"I don't want tea," she said pettishly, and I pat her hand.

"I shall have her bring it anyway. You might find you want it later." I kiss her cheek; In her extreme age her skin holds so tight to her skull that she looks almost mummified, but it feels very soft.

I wave away the coat Mrs Betton brandishes at me. "A light jacket will be quite sufficient," I tell her, pulling it on, and step out into morning sunlight that makes me squint and smile together.

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