[Flock of Nightingales] This was how these things went. People gathered. They ate and drank. They talked of the kinds of easy and blandly entertaining things that one was expected to talk about in mixed company. They played it safe, but they enjoyed themselves for the most part because the setting was beautiful and the weather was nice and for most people it was just good to have a day off and to be in the company of others. People were social creatures, after all. Even the most intrinsically dysfunctional family could manage to behave as if they were normal now and then.
Who knows, maybe Jarod would look back on this and actually call it a good day.
Sooner or later, someone started a game. Because that was also how these things went. It was probably Hugo, who'd already had frisbee on his mind when he'd gotten there, and more than likely had access to a few spare discs. Initially the game began with just he and Maia and a couple of Violet's Boston friends, but within minutes most of the younger generation had joined in. Dana even managed to drag Jarod away from his glass of wine, and this was probably for the best, since it was his third and one never wanted to leave Jarod alone with his parents when all three of them had been drinking.
Violet stayed behind with one of her friends. Any sort of activity that involved flying objects coming at one's face was probably not a good idea for a soon-to-be-bride. They chatted quietly to each other a few feet away from where Ashleigh had left Jim on one of the blankets. Lauren seemed to be busying herself with cleaning up the litter that they'd made, so after awhile, Graham stood up and wandered over to sit down near the only other male of his generation that was present. Ashley's father.
Graham gave a long sigh as he sat down. The kind that older men tended to give when they'd had a long day. He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his arms, glancing up at the sky as if he saw something interesting. "I think if I hear one more person mention anything to do with weddings I'm gonna have to play hookey and go find a good bar." His voice had a lazy drawl to it, and was quiet enough not to be obviously overheard by his wife or daughter.
[Manus Celer Dei] A lot of the people here are cultured and attractive and seem to have the crisp scent of money lingering around them - even Bran and Justine do, to an extent. Bran's mother at least is moderately wealthy, enough to have sent him to a private school for most of his youth, and Justine was born to a pair of Hermetic consors. Jim and his daughter are different in this regard. Jim would probably have liked Thomas, if he'd ever met him in person.
The young woman he was with left him to go play with the others, and since then he's been sitting in a quiet meditative state. His sitting alone doesn't have the air of misery that Ashley's does. Jim, in fact, is happiest when alone. He hasn't learned to live with it: he has become his solitude. He is a part of the world and apart from it at the same time.
He looks younger than Graham, though the two of them are probably close to the same age, and so it's probably no wonder to him that the only other older man should seek him out even though they have next to nothing in common. Graham's lifestyle already seems, to Jim, a lifestyle of excess and extravagance, and he's barely had long enough to form an impression of the man. Maybe he's heard, though, the talk of the wedding and the money being thrown about and he knows that's Graham's daughter everyone is talking about. Maybe he's noticed the quality of the wine even if he wasn't partaking, or maybe he can just hear it in their voices and bearing. It seems like the kind of environment that would have birthed someone like Jarod.
Graham is smalltalking to him, or attempting to. Jim doesn't quite grasp smalltalk. He didn't even before he started to have philosophical objections to it; for him, there's always been something dull and empty about it.
Most talk falls under the heading of smalltalk for Jim, in fact.
He reaches up and scruffs his blunt fingertips through the stubble on his jaw, and then he grunts once at Graham. "My daughter knows the good ones around here. I don't." South Boston is heavy in his voice, and there's a certain strain to his words, as though he has to work to say them. Or remember how.
[Flock of Nightingales] Jim may have said what he'd said because he'd felt as though a response of some kind was expected. That perhaps Graham was looking for someone to point him in the direction of a good drinking establishment, and that was why he'd broached the topic. In actuality, Jarod's father had no intention whatsoever of actually following through on this claim. He was talking to hear himself speak. And to some degree, to find a point of commonality. This was man-talk, complaining about weddings and pining for bars. Jim wasn't wrong in his assumptions about Graham Nightingale. He was a wealthy, powerful man. Even dressed in casual clothes as he was today (in nice jeans and a white polo shirt) he had an air of self-absorbed confidence. Not the kind his son projected, though they did share some similarities. This was board-room confidence. A Texas business-man, born and bred. Someone who was equally comfortable demanding results from co-workers in teleconferences to Dubai as he was standing out in his backyard grilling steaks.
He was almost painfully cliched, but that was intentional. He and Jarod had the same talent for inhabiting the roles they wanted to be seen in.
Maybe Jim had meant to discourage further conversation, but it didn't work. Mostly because Graham never particularly cared whether or not his present company actually found him interesting. He didn't care, because he didn't really give a shit what most people were thinking about. When Jarod had been little, Graham would sometimes call him into the living room to watch a game together, and sometimes he'd tell him stories about things that most people wouldn't think to tell young children. And he never once asked whether his son actually wanted to do these things. It never occurred to him to wonder.
"Lucky you," he offered with a bit of a wry grin. "My kids are too spoiled to know a good bar when they see it. With them it's all cocktail lounges and night-clubs." (That wasn't entirely true, but as far as he was concerned it was.) "Which one's your daughter?"
He asked because he wasn't really sure. Because he didn't know any of these people and frankly didn't much care.
[Manus Celer Dei] It is entirely possible that Jim Novotny regards most people as useless. Not in the sense that he can't use them for anything, but in the sense that they are unable to do much of use or of benefit to the All, absorbed in themselves and set apart. Graham Nightingale is the worst sort of useless person. Jim would probably think so even if he didn't have personal objections to Jarod or the role he plays (played?) in Ashley's life.
But they have some similarities. Like Graham, Jim has never taken an especial interest in what his daughter wanted for herself. Different reasons, of course: Jim's entire philosophy centers around absolving oneself of any sense of self at all. There was no need to encourage it in Vanessa when she was growing up. He let her absorb herself in music because he thought that it was her path to encompassing the All. And perhaps it was.
Graham comments that he's lucky and Jim just grunts, because he'd greatly prefer that Ashley didn't have the knowledge of Boston's bars that she does. He wouldn't like her drinking regardless, but it's become a bad habit. Jim's father was an alcoholic, and his father before him was an alcoholic, and he's disappointed to see their weakness carrying on even if it passed him over. But that's family trouble, much too personal to mention to a stranger, so his heavy brows just draw together.
He nods once in Ashley's direction, seated as she is with Justine and the dogs. Graham might not have actually recognized her as Jim's daughter if he hadn't told him; they don't look much alike. Ashley inherited her mother's fine bone structure and size and thick wavy hair; the color of said hair and her eyes are really the only thing that could mark her as his. And their manner, of course.
"Don't know why she isn't over here," Jim says, in a tone that is as much a shrug as he manages.
[Flock of Nightingales] "Jarod probably did something to piss her off," he said off-handedly, as if this was expected. As if it happened a lot. (It did.) Detached as Graham could be from his family, he wasn't entirely oblivious, and Jarod's habit of causing female-related drama was just a tad difficult to ignore. He also hadn't missed the fact that his son had shown up to the picnic with what looked like a sixteen year old boy in tow. Hopefully said boy was not actually sixteen (he wasn't,) but either way Graham preferred not to think about it too directly. He knew that his middle son slept with pretty much everything that moved. This was a quality that he sometimes praised and sometimes derided, depending upon the partners in question. Everyone knew this about Jarod. So naturally, they'd all assumed that he and Gale were sleeping together. Why else would he be there?
Well, possibly to annoy Lauren. In any case, understanding something wasn't the same as being comfortable with it. So he didn't take this thought to its natural conclusion. Jarod probably would have upset Ashley regardless. It was expected. The only girl who could ever stand him in prolonged doses was Dana, who Graham had grown a grudging respect for over the years, despite the fact that he'd always thought she was beneath his son in many ways. Girl was tenacious at least. Had to give her that.
"Is that one with you?" he asked, pointing at Ashleigh.
[Manus Celer Dei] Jim, too, is aware of other people in a manner that might surprise them, for how detached he is. He has a good sense of them and how they work. What it all really comes down to is that he just doesn't like them very much. He doesn't need them in the way most people need each other - and it's not in the manner that Ashley or Jarod might claim to need other people. Jim could probably spend his life entirely out of their company, hermited away on a mountain, and he wouldn't really notice much of a difference.
He knows that Ashley is looking for something that he can't give her, and something that possibly no one can, even if she continues to look. There is no one in the world who is going to convince her that she is worth something without music but herself. But he doesn't know how to guide her in that any more than he already has: Jim isn't an unhappy man, but he's not particularly happy either, and as far as he is concerned the only things he knows that would fill the void are methods she has utterly, totally rejected. That might explain why he's over here instead of over there, and why his only response to what Graham says is a noncommittal noise that is at once acceptance and agreement and indifference.
When Graham refers to Ashleigh, he looks over toward the young woman, who is laughing and chasing after the other people her age. It's youthful behavior. He likes that. He always has. It's not something he did even when he was young. "Yes," he says, simply.
[Flock of Nightingales] "My second wife was Chinese. You have good taste." There was a bit of a wry smirk at that - nothing too leering or offensive, merely a man giving another man a compliment on his taste in women while silently acknowledging the fact that said woman was obviously something of a trophy. Ashleigh looked a great deal younger than Jim, for all his youthful appearance, and judging by the man's demeanor, it was a fair bet that the two of them probably didn't have all that much in common. If Graham were the type to wonder about such things, he'd probably ask if they managed to find things to talk about. If they even talked at all. But he wasn't the type to wonder about that. If he'd been with a girl like Ashleigh, talking would not be the first thing on his mind. He didn't even talk much with his wife, though he and Lauren got on better than he had with either Vickie or Bai-Lin. (Though they were perhaps less in-love, in some ways.)
Graham was a good-looking man. You could see where Jarod had gotten some of his features, and they weren't all from his mother. Still, it was obvious that he wasn't the Asian half of Jarod's genetic material, so one would assume that somewhere out there was a Chinese woman who'd birthed three of this man's children. He didn't really need to say so for people to make that assumption, but it was the kind of thing that people talked about. Another point of commonality.
(Perhaps he missed her - Jarod's mother. Perhaps that was why he kept looking in Ashleigh's direction.)
[Manus Celer Dei] For all Jim knows, he has extra children floating around somewhere unbeknownst to him. Some Akashics swear themselves to a celibate lifestyle, and he's never been of that variety - though he's no Jarod, either. But Ashley was accidental - and probably not terribly wanted. Jim isn't the sort of man one could ever have imagined would become a father, or at the very least attempt to be one and attempt to be present.
It's a fair bet that part of Jim's attraction to Asian women is that there aren't very many Akashics that are like him, easterners who fought their way in. It's becoming more frequent now with increasing globalization, but if he does look for commonalities in belief at all, it would explain some of it. He seems all right with Graham assuming that she is a trophy; perhaps she is. Perhaps he's just the sort of emotionally stunted man that only very young or very insecure women tend to fall in love with.
Jim lets out a grunt of acknowledgement at Graham's words, though he has little else to say to them. The conversation is perhaps already stretching his limits. Until he adds, with equally wry humor, "It horrifies my daughter so I must be doing something right."
[Flock of Nightingales] Graham laughed at that, warming to the taciturn stranger almost instantly. Unlike his current wife, Graham didn't much care if the people he hung around with were possessed of a sunny or talkative character. He was used to interacting with corporate executives. Most of them were not even remotely friendly. The extroverted ones were hard-pressed not to be overtly obnoxious. Compared to many of his co-workers, Graham was actually rather pleasant and relaxed. (None of his children would have thought so, though.) This was, after all, a man who used to work for Dick Cheney.
So he took what he could get from people, and seldom expected anything else. Jim's dry humor amused him, in part because Graham liked dry humor, and in part because they both knew what it was like to have children who were strong-willed and rebellious. "Amen," he said to that, sitting up so that he could land a light thump with his hand on the back of Jim's shoulder. But it was time to move on, much though he might have preferred Jim's company to anyone else's here. Lauren, the middle-aged blond who still retained some of her beauty-queen qualities despite looking a bit worn around the edges, was shooting him meaningful looks. The kinds of looks that said: you're ignoring me. Why are you talking to that... whatever he is.
So with that, Graham got to his feet and walked over to lower himself down dutifully beside his wife, who sighed and said to no-one in particular, "I really wish all of us could be here."
This implied that there were even more members of this family than were present here, which, if it were true, would make a person wonder just precisely how large the Nightingale clan actually was. Graham didn't respond, and poured himself another glass of wine. Violet stopped talking to her friend and shot her mother a silent look.
"It's just so sad that we can't all be here as one family, like we used to," Lauren elaborated once more, meeting Violet's gaze. There was something a bit passive aggressive about her - the way she insinuated things without actually saying them.
And then, for the first time that day, Violet broke out of her shell and said, "Give it a rest, mother. No one cares."
The look of shocked offense that appeared on the older woman's face suggested that her eldest step-daughter probably did not talk back to her (or maybe anyone) very often, but before she could respond, Graham sighed and said, "It's her fucking wedding, Lauren. She can invite who she wants."
(Perhaps this was an argument that they'd been having for awhile now.) In any case, she let the matter drop, though with a silent display of wounded outrage that gave away her WASPy roots.
Violet's companion glanced between them, but didn't say anything. After a few moments of silence, Violet nicely suggested that she go join everyone in the game, and so she did so, leaving the soon-to-be-bride alone with her thoughts as she watched everyone else enjoying the day.
[Manus Celer Dei] The undercurrents of family drama are strong here, and it isn't lost on Jim even if he's hard pressed to particularly care. He likes Graham well enough - as much as Jim can like anyone, one would assume - but he doesn't seem terribly interested in getting up to follow him when he moves back to his wife and daughter. He's comfortable where he is, and he's just as happy without anyone to talk to.
Perhaps it even makes him a little glad that he and Ashley are their own family, dysfunctional though their dynamic may be even by itself. They can avoid this sort of thing entirely.
He makes himself comfortable and he watches the others play and he listens to the conversations going on around him, catching snatches. His gaze wanders over to Ashley and Justine by the water with the dogs, and he observes the two of them: how they're talking, Ashley's head in Justine's lap, and how that talking turns into Ashley being tickled until she's desperately trying to get away, overcome with convulsions of hysterical laughter that don't quite reach his ears. How Zane appears to be helping and how Justine is much, much stronger than his daughter is. (If she'd been a proper Akashic, she'd probably know how to handle things like this, even in play.)
Ashley, trashing, makes it away from Justine only for a few moments before Justine laughs and simply...hauls her up off the ground and slings her over one arm, locking her in tight. She proceeds to carry Ashley back over toward the group, speaking what one can only assume are threats to use Ashley in place of the frisbee. Jim smiles a little in spite of himself.
When she reaches everyone else with an exhausted Ashley still dangling from her arms, Justine deposits her without ceremony on the blanket next to Violet and then smiles at Jarod's sister, her long brown hair only slightly disheveled and not even breathless. "Hello again, Violet."
Ashley eyes Violet silently as she picks herself back up, reaching up to smooth her hair back into place.
[Flock of Nightingales] Justine might notice the tension in the air when she returned to them with Ashley in tow. Ashley herself often missed these things, but a perceptive person would be able to note the agitated and chill silence that hung in the air between step-mother and daughter, and perhaps she'd wonder about it. Perhaps that was why she made a point of saying hello to Violet, who could be very icy and removed when she wasn't pleased about something.
Violet glanced over at the two of them and, after a moment, she smiled in a manner that was flawlessly pretty (really, if she'd had his charisma, Violet would have made an equally good model as her brother) but very detached. "Hello Justine. Ashley."
Evidently she had a good memory too, since Ashley had not yet been formally introduced to her beyond a brief explanation that the girl by the lagoon was a friend of Jarod's, and that these strangers belonged to her. Violet was dressed in a sleeveless white shirt with a ruffled collar and a knee-length black skirt. The lines of the outfit were clean and classic elegance. More mature and refined than her younger sister. A diamond bracelet circled one of her ankles (a very pricey piece of decoration to leave so near the ground) and a very expensive-looking engagement ring glittered on her left hand.
And then she asked, softly but pointedly, "who's watching my niece's puppy?"
Zane she didn't particularly care about. He was Ashley's dog, and presumably well-trained enough to look after himself.
[Manus Celer Dei] Whatever good humor Ashley might have had while she was being brought over here has vanished entirely. It's not because she's displeased to see or meet Violet - it's that Violet is unknown to her, as is almost everyone else here. Joy is one of the things Ashley tends to keep private and strictly locked away from almost everyone else. Her eyes now are solemn and sharp. She wouldn't even have known Violet's name if Justine hadn't said it seconds ago.
Violet asks that pointed question and Justine says, "Go get the puppy, Ashley," perhaps knowing that Ashley will be happy to have a reason to escape back to the lake. Ashley, perhaps surprisingly, gets up and goes to do what she's told without any complaint whatsoever. She probably isn't coming back.
Justine's smile is a gentle one, soft and friendly and not the least bit affected. She hasn't been so presumptuous as to seat herself next to Violet, but she remains a comfortable distance as she reaches up to rake her fingers through her hair to straighten it back into place. "Are you all right?" she asks Violet after a moment. The chill in the air was not, indeed, lost on her in the slightest.
[Flock of Nightingales] They were not alone here. Graham and Lauren were seated together about ten feet away, and Jim's unavoidable presence remained silent and foreboding behind them. Aaron had finally pulled the receiver out of his ear and was tossing the frisbee around with the rest, but his pregnant wife and their two-year old son were playing together beneath a tree not far away. In Violet's universe, one did not ask a personal question like this in public unless something was seriously amiss, and neither did one ask these sorts of questions of people who they didn't know. But she wasn't the type to get angry over that sort of thing. She simply looked at Justine and smiled again. "Of course."
And then she picked up her half-empty wine glass, which had been resting atop one of the fancy-looking picnic baskets, and took a slow sip of its contents. She watched Ashley return to the lake without comment.
Lauren also watched Ashley go, but she didn't keep her thoughts so contained. "Honestly, you'd think we had something wrong with us."
Violet glanced at her step-mother coolly. "She's watching the dogs."
"Good thing, too," Graham interjected. "You wanna deal with muddy paw-prints all over the damn place? Cause I sure as shit don't." And then before Lauren could say anything else to stir the pot, he stood up and offered her his hand. "Come on beautiful, let's go take a walk."
And then there were three. Violet glanced briefly back at Jim, eying him softly for a moment (perhaps out of concern that he might not take too kindly to Lauren's insinuation about his daughter.) Then she watched her parents as they wandered off toward the bridge. Finally she inclined her head toward the basket containing the remaining bottles of wine and asked of Justine, "would you like another glass?"
[Manus Celer Dei] Over the years, Justine has gotten entirely used to defending Ashley. The younger woman hasn't always made it easy; Justine, as much as anyone, is quite aware of Ashley's faults, which are myriad in number and encompass a quite flawed personality. She's like Dana in some ways, perhaps: she understands why Ashley's like that, and she's too loyal to keep herself from speaking up most of the time, however politely she does it.
"She's shy," she tells Lauren, which is true even if she strongly suspects that Ashley has other reasons for avoiding the rest of the group just now. Jim seems to have no reaction. He might not even have heard. "Please don't take it personally."
It's just as well for Graham's interjection, though, as Justine is spared further comment. While Justine couldn't rightfully be termed passive-aggressive (she is, always will be, Flambeau) she has a skilled way of making a point without making a point, of smoothing things over by trying to reassure everyone involved. Merely tactful, perhaps.
Then Violet asks if she'd like more wine; she'd finished her first and only one a while ago. She smiles and, at that point, goes to seat herself. "I'd love one," she says. And if she'd been suspect of Violet saying that she was all right, well, she doesn't press the matter.
---
[Editor's Note: Due to the site closing without warning, the transcripts for the latter half of this scene have been lost to the ether. :( But it did include some Violet/Justine and some Jarod/Ashleigh.]
