Where oh where would Darius and even his … strong stomach hesitate to tread? There was Mother’s favored side of the house, if he wanted to hear about all the neighbors’ inadequacies (and in contrast, his own). There was Pearl’s recently vacated room, but … it was farther, and there was nothing unpleasant enough to deter dear Darius.

Olivia was probably only half-drowned in liquor so far, but even then he doubted Darius would want to risk hearing about her beloved fiance until no sooner than next meal.

This would technically be trespass were it not their childhood home. He felt positively naughty! Roderick slipped in and eased the door quietly closed behind himself, head turning forward to take in the unfamiliar room...

Olivia was nowhere to be seen, though her bed was neatly made and everything was in order. Somehow, despite her constant nipping at the bottle, the woman held herself together surprisingly well--unless, of course, her betrothed was brought up. And oh did she bring him up every chance she got. Looks of sorrow followed in her wake, and the tsking of gossipmongers was a constant whisper hovering behind her back.

The intruder would be given free rein of the room in her absence. Two nightstands flanked the four-poster bed located with its head against one wall, and a few books rested upon one while several bottles of whiskey at varying levels of filling cluttered the other one.  To the left, was the entrance to a large closet, and to the right a vanity dresser. A letter was attached to its mirror, signed with her fiance's looping signature. It was one of many--if he were to peer into the drawers, he'd find more. Every single one, in fact.

Her closet was probably the best place, for one seeking to hide from another, but within it, there were fewer clothes and more of a shrine to her missing fiance--as well as several letters to her betrothed in Olivia's familiar flowing script. Every gift he'd ever bought her was stacked around it, neatly and decoratively placed within their respective gift boxes. Some of the items were worn from constant fondling.

Outside her room, there came the gentle footfalls of someone light, and preceding it, if one had a particularly sensitive nose, was the rank smell of alcohol. Olivia was back.

In hindsight, he might be surprised that there were not more strange smells, that the room did not look every inch the mess that Olivia sounded. But, Roderick had priorities! Under the bed? In the closet? In the closet was easier to justify to Darius than under the bed – after the 26th foreign coin ‘lost’ under one, it began to look suspicious.

His eyes landed on the mirror, and he almost groaned aloud. It was the risk he took, Roderick supposed: wherever he turned in Olivia’s domain, the ghost of a fiance not even dead was apt to haunt every corner. He had not realized just how solidly this ‘ghost’ permeated every corner of her life.

Roderick cast a brief look of judgment upon the alcohol bottles. He had no idea what they actually were: just that his sister could easily drink him under the table. Hmph.

He opened the closet door. His face fell further. He stepped in anyway.

… What was that smell? Was that cologne? It smelled fantastic. Until that faint, faint smell of woman and alcohol wafted down the hall. Curse his lot in life, for he could practically smell a fart two blocks away and feel worse for it. He drew back against... whatever that cologne scent was coming from.

The smell originated from a coat hanging from the rack. One that had been custom-tailored to fit Olivia's form perfectly. It hadn't been worn since the wedding, but it certainly had been doused in her betrothed's cologne. Roderick probably didn't want to know exactly what he was leaning back against, but it was the soft silken cloths of Olivia's undergarments. Awkward. 

Just as he closed the door, the knob on the entrance to Olivia's room twisted and she stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. Under her arm was a brown package--no doubt another bottle to add to her collection. If that was one's guess, they'd be proven right moments later when she laid it down on her bed. Removing her shawl, the woman reached into the package and withdrew a bottle of aged whiskey, imported from Ireland. She opened it without hesitance and poured a few fingers into the short glass upon the nightstand. Snaring the cup, she turned away with it and went to her closet.


"You wouldn't believe what Pearl had the audacity to say to me, my love," she sighed dramatically as she opened the door. She knelt in front of the alter she'd built and set the glass down before hiking up her dress in an unladylike manner and sitting cross-legged in front of it. Reaching for a match, the sound of faint breathing alerted her to someone's presence and immediately the woman became paranoid.

"Who's here?" she barked.

Oh, wow. Something felt so soft against his cheek! He rubbed his face absently against it.

Little did he know that this, of all things, would be his closest encounter yet with a woman’s unmentionables. (Awkward.)

He stiffened when the door opened, trying hard not to breathe too audibly.

An unfortunate attempt, for he had smoked just last night to try and clear up his asthma and oh! was he still rattling!

“No one,” he croaked feebly in answer.

Wait. No. Yes? Too late now.

Olivia froze, her dark gaze staring in the direction of Roderick's voice. Her lips pursed and it was a wonder it didn't stick that way with how often her features drew together so unbecomingly. The young woman's innermost sanctum was violated--by her brother of all people. A frustrated sigh left her lips and she tilted her head forward, using her free hand to massage the bridge of her nose.

"How could you do this to me? Why are you in my room? And why, for the love of all that is holy, are you hiding in my underwear?" she asked, exasperated. The stench of whiskey rolled from her mouth, permeating the air around her so thoroughly it's a wonder Roderick didn't have a contact buzz. She brought her glass to her mouth a moment later and took a large gulp of the amber liquid before shifting her legs and skirts in a manner that was much more appropriate. Then she struck a match and began lighting the candles, which were perilously close to her clothes. As the light flickered, a drawn portrait of her betrothed appeared in the orange glow. One might argue that Olivia lost her mind.

Wide-eyed and owlish, Olivia could probably all but see the gears turning in his eyes as he feebly struggled to come up with a less emasculating excuse.

“Uhhhhhh.”

It was taking a bit.

“Nnnn uhhh errrr, heh, uh...” his sister’s words finally melted some of his shock to make way for something far worse: realization. “Oh. Oh!”

He jerked away from the fabric touching his cheek, eyes unblinking and watering just a bit for it.

“Oh my goodness.”

Then, she lit the … wardrobe? No. The strange pagan altar in her closet, which made things smell not an iota more pleasant.

“Oh my goodness, Olivia.”

In any, any other situation, Roderick would have been the weird one. Minus Darius and his new dead animal fascination. Or Pearl’s New Woman escapade. Or, well. Alright. He was fairly average at home.

“You know,” he cleared his throat, holding onto his tenuous grasp of what passed as a ‘high ground’ here, “there is no shame in discreetly visiting a psychologist. Discreetly. Discreetly.”

Olivia's stare immediately hardened as she cast a sideways glance at her younger brother. Her vision swam before her eyes and she lifted the candle, poking it in his direction. At that moment, she didn't much care about the garments that could catch fire from brandishing a flame in such a manner. In fact, she seemed... annoyed. Vexed. Bothered.

"Have you been talking to Pearl?" she accused, her tone bitter and slurred. Dark eyes were wide with what was certainly madness. "You have, haven't you? How did she know about this? Did she tell you about my closet? I bet saying I ought to see the psychologist was her idea, too. Get you all together and try and force me to get help. I'm not stupid, Roderick."

She returned the candle to its holder and grabbed her glass, draining the last few drops before she weighed it in the palm of her hand.

"I'm going to give you two seconds to get out of my room. Then I am going to scream at you. Don't think I won't throw this glass at you, either!"

Tears sprung up along the rims of her eyes, ones that came from a place of darkness and hurt that gave weight to her heart. She finally looked away from Roderick to stare at the drawing. She grabbed it, crumbled it up, and shoved it into her glass before lighting it with a candle and watching the flames eat away at the paper.

"There, now you can go tell her what I did and that I don't need any help!" she shouted at him.

All the calm he was trying to exude by force of holding his breath (which, in reality, just made him a telltale red in the face) fled at the brandished, lit candle. His eyelids all but retreated into his skull, letting out a nervous laugh that might as well have been a sob.

There was a brief, startled pause, like a mouse just realizing the cat that had caught him sneezed mid-kill and he was still alive. He bolted before she lit the paper on fire, but he certainly smelt it in his retreat ... to Mother.