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Post by Ammy on Mar 26, 2011 1:51:18 GMT -5
Location: Bodden Town, Cayman Isle Characters: Barnabus Duffy, Emili, possibly Geary Rating: PG, PG-13(violence) ------------------------------- Barnabus Duffy liked to think of himself as a logical man. He was calculating, he thought things through no matter how long it took. He took the time to do things right the first time around. He checked and rechecked work, references, and paperwork and he filed everything into its proper place before the end of the day. Some called him a workaholic, but he thought of himself as having the qualities required of the head of a major corporation. He was also cool, calm, and generally easy-going when things didn’t go exactly as he planned. Which is why, when he received the report – yet again – that his hired man had failed to accomplish the one simple task he was being paid, upfront, for, Barny surprised even himself by picking up and launching a chair across the room. The wood splintered into pieces against the bricks of the far wall, falling to the ground in a broken heap. Damn, he thought to himself, that had been one of his favorite pieces of furniture. He made a mental note to commission another piece from the Italian woodcrafter that had made the original. A mister Andretti, if he wasn’t mistaken, and he never was. “Please tell Mr. Smith that his services are no longer required,” he said to the messenger, Smith’s man. His voice was level, collected in strong contrast against his outburst. The messenger bowed and left while Barny sat in the high-backed cushiony chair behind his large mahogany desk. Once he was alone in his expansive office, he pressed a hidden lever on the underside of the desk, a secret drawer popping out. He retrieved the stack of papers from inside it, examining the seemingly innocuous list of names for one he hadn’t yet ruled out as a viable option for this very specific task. He was practical, that was something in himself that he valued most. He kept a list of anything and anyone he could eventually use, whether or not he ever actually would, as well at their last known location and any information he had on them. Megaera was on the top of the list, under the name ‘Orchid’, but she was as ever a last resort. She could keep her guise of secrecy, and he would let her so long as she didn’t endanger their family members. The next name down was one of Geary’s associates, a woman named Emili Treusdell. She had an impressive track record and a penchant for working outside the boundaries of political shadows. She had worked for the East India higher-ups before, but from her history he doubted she would have any qualms about fulfilling this particular assignment for him. His spies told him that she had once failed to kill Hunter Costello. It was a mistake he hoped she wouldn’t repeat again. He took the moment he needed to calm himself fully from his frustration before moving on to the task at hand. Pulling a pen from its place in a holder on the right-hand side of his desk, he prepared a letter to her. In customary fashion, he discarded his original draft and wrote a final, eloquent version to be delivered to the potential employee. In strict, orderly handwriting he signed his name at the bottom and read over the letter a last time to make sure that he had put nothing explicitly incriminating in it; it simply asked the woman if she would come to his house to discuss a business proposal. After sealing the letter in an ornately addressed envelope, he pressed the heated wax with the wooden mallet kept on his left side, leaving his family’s crest and ‘Duffy Trading Co.’ in the red. He called a trusted messenger to his office and told him where to deliver the letter to, moving to the fireplace instead of returning to his desk. He needed to see to the broken chair, and he there was still paperwork to be seen to, the matter of finalizing his man’s termination from employment and his last payment. But, for now, he allowed himself a few moments to stare into the fire and plan his rise above the EITC, the legacy he would leave for his son. Yes, it was a bright future indeed.
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Post by PD on Mar 26, 2011 12:36:11 GMT -5
“Gracias,” Emiliana Truesdell took the note from the messenger boy and scanned it for a second or two. “Hmmm,” she hummed something to herself, slamming the door in the messenger's face and turning away from it. A small smile spread over her face; her brown eyes were alight with mischief and curiosity at the seal. “Duffy Trading Co.” she murmured, running her fingers over the embossing before breaking the seal and opening the letter.
Her eyes scanned it for a moment, not really taking in the words. She wandered into the sitting room and lazily threw herself upon the settee. Swinging her legs over the arms of the piece of furniture she laid her back down on it and held the letter up into the air to finish reading it. “Oh, a job!” she kicked her legs carelessly back and forth over the edge; her skirts were hitched up to mid-thigh, exposing her stocking’ed legs. She pushed a loose strand of bleach white hair from her face and carelessly let the paper fall from her fingers and land on the floor where it would, most likely, lie for quite some time before she got the gumption to pick it up and toss it.
“Well, then,” she mused to herself, “let’s see what this is all about!” she flounced out of the settee in a quick and graceful leap, straightened her skirts, cursing at them like a sailor. “Bloody things anyway,” she murmured, “oh, oops,” she almost tripped over a knife she had left lying on the plush carpeted floor beside the settee, “why do I leave such dangerous things lying about?” she moved by it, not bothering to pick it up.
She had been staying with some friends while here in the Caribbean and their home was extraordinarily posh. Fortunately for her, she had friends everywhere… rich or poor they all seemed to adore her. Of course! She grinned as she hurried by the ornate furnishings.
She picked up her skirts and held them in a bundle around her ankles, exposing her knees just barely and walked outside, neglecting the ever popular hat and parasol that ladies used to keep themselves porcelain white. She cared naught for any of that; her skin was already tarnished in so many ways anyway. She hurried down the streets, lifting her skirts helped her make better time. She recalled the address written on the note and scurried her way through the town, feeling her knives jiggling around in her skirt pockets.
“Here at last!” she let her skirts down, glaring at the women passing by who were scowling darkly at her indecency. She straightened everything, knowing full well that she could never look the role of a proper woman… then again, that was not what Mr. Duffy wanted, now was it?
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Post by Ammy on Mar 26, 2011 13:20:42 GMT -5
A stoic-faced servant opened the door for the woman, too used to seeing strange people in and out of the house to be surprised or to comment. He pulled a cord that would alert Barnabus to the woman's arrival before leading her inside the expensively-furnished home.
"Through here, Miss."
The servant led her through the entrance hall to a sitting room decked out in deep reds and golds. This, like most of the other common areas of the house, had a fireplace with an ornately-carved marble mantle, bookshelves lining the walls on either side. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall, facing out towards the docks.
"Monsieur Duffy should be with you soon. Would you like something to drink? Tea, perhaps?"
"Miss Truesdell. You were very prompt." Barnabus came into the room, smiling in greeting.
Barny had taken a moment to stand in the doorway, gauging the woman. She didn't look like any of the ladies he'd encountered. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair a mess, and he could see tattoos on her arms - a shade darker than the appropriate skin tone for a woman. He wondered, briefly, how Geary had become friends with her. Megaera, he knew, expertly kept her guise as a lady and only acted out of turn around him and, occasionally, Dierdre. Still, he didn't need a lady of the court.
He needed a killer.
With this particular woman, he opted for a more casual approach, not wearing his usual buttoned coat or wig and smiling instead of acting coldly. He was often told by his best friend that his ability to change his moods and demeanor wholly and completely at whim was frightening at best and terrifyingly eerie at worst. Barny, however, was too used to using it to his advantage to bother with the implications.
When he changed his mood to fit a situation, he changed his entire self, no hint of acting because he wasn't. And that was a very valuable trait when one had to deal with nobles, criminals, and sailors alike.
"Do have a seat, get comfortable. Edward, some tea? Black for me, sugar for the lady."
Edward disappeared silently and Barny sat in one of the big arm chairs by the fireplace, gesturing for her to take the other. Instead of rigidity, he relaxed casually, at ease in his home and in his role as potential employer. Still, he detested small talk and preferred getting straight to the point.
"I was told that you have a specific....range of talents. Talents that I require. This is a contract-based assignment but, should you wish to refuse at any point the contract will be voided and you will have no obligations to finish the job. You will be paid handsomely," he added, smirking. "Half up front, the rest once it is done."
The servant came back, appearing silently at his elbow all of a sudden and setting the tray or tea on the settee. Barny kept his eyes on Emili while Edward again disappeared.
"Well?"
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Post by PD on Mar 26, 2011 14:39:33 GMT -5
A lively, manipulative smirk graced Em’s face when she spied the butler. He was the typical type, the absolutely perfect type one would expect upon visiting such a home. It satisfied her greatly. After all, some places were so disappointing when the butler turned out to be a dashing young fellow there to lead you off into the night. Dreary, old butlers though... so fascinating and excellent. She flounced inside, walking right beside him.
“Damn,” she swore, looking up, at and around. “Some view! And so many hiding places!” her face was glowing as she turned to the butler. She had been in many expensive homes but this topped all… it was just plain sumptuous.
“te---" she was about to reply when she heard Barnabus’ words. “Oh, well, I try,” she grinned shrugging her shoulders carelessly. She disliked being scrutinized like a piece of livestock so she shifted as she felt his eyes taking every inch of her in. Em glared at him, commanding him to stop with her eyes. “Do you like what you see or should I just leave right now? Because I can go right out that door just as easily as I walked in.” her eyebrows were raised expectantly, speaking out of place and unladylike to such a high standing man. She cared little for standings. Rich or poor, old or youthful they were all the same really.
“I’d prefer to stand, but if you insist.” She flopped herself on one of the silken chairs, slumping in it slightly. She had no need of corsets. They were restricting and kept her from slumping which was something she greatly enjoyed doing. And who were the inventors of corsets? Men, most likely. The only thing they did was give men something to drool over. It was ridiculousness.
“Tea? You flatter me but I take no tea, thank you, Edward darling,” she smiled sweetly at the butler. “but do run and get this man’s black tea for him else his throat will run dry.”
“I like that you did not try to pass the time beating around the bush,” she smiled, glancing down at her fingernails as if they held more interest to her than the conversation. Her eyes went from there, wandering around the place before finally settling on Barny as if deciding that he must be the most important piece in this room – the focal point, as it were. “I do have many talents,” she smirked, “especially where money is involved. Actually, only where money is involved but I digress.” She waved her hand as if waving her own thoughts aside. “How much money?” she leaned toward him with a spark in her brown eye.
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Post by Ammy on Mar 28, 2011 0:01:27 GMT -5
How much money?
His lips curved upwards, he leaned forward towards her.
"A lot of money."
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Months later, Barnabus Duffy hadn't gotten his money's worth, not even close. He got the reports weekly, and each one was more disappointing than the last. She was trailing him. She was figuring out his schedule, waiting for the right time to strike. She had him captured, was questioning him for trade secrets. She had to abandon the place she had him tied up at because his people found them.
He was getting sick and tired of waiting. Hell, he was on the verge of going after Hunter Costello and the rest of the EITC himself. He could, too. He was the best swordsman he knew of, he was prestigious enough to get alone with most of them. He wouldn't be found out right away, and by the time they discovered that half their bloody officers had suddenly been killed, he would be back in the comfort of his home with the evidence hidden safely away.
No, he told himself - ordered himself. He'd never killed another person, at least not directly, and he wasn't about to start now. He wanted to, badly, but what would it resolve? He would have blood on his hands, and his son would have a murderer for a father. He couldn't have that.
Instead of running his cutlass through an all-too-deserving gut, he sat down and did what he did even better than fighting:
He wrote a letter.
Addressing it to Miss Truesdell, he wrote requesting her presence at his home, trying to convey the crucial importance of the meeting. Sealing it, he sent it off with his messenger as he'd done three months prior.
Standing and pacing, he didn't sit around waiting for her to show up and be seated in the sitting room. Instead, when he heard the bell ring - he still admired her promptness, as it saved him a lot of brooding time - he went down the stairs to answer the door himself. Waving Edward off, he straightened his clothes, his attitude carefully controlled.
"Miss Truesdell, do come in."
He stepped aside for her to enter, shutting the door with a distinct click behind her, waiting for her to turn and face him before beginning the speech that he'd carefully prepared while he'd been waiting.
"Miss Truesdell," he began formally, his voice low and deadly, "I have paid you to perform one simple task, a task which you assured me would be completed quickly and efficiently."
He took a step towards her, raising his voice a decibel.
"You have failed in that task, and the one thing that I detest above all else is failure. Now, without 'beating around the bush' as you so eloquently put it at our first meeting, can you please explain to me why it is so bloody hard for you to kill one Hunter Costello?"
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Post by PD on Mar 28, 2011 22:11:47 GMT -5
The note was not at all unexpected. In fact, Emili had predicted it would arrive the very day she returned to Bodden Town. Ah, so he wasn’t as punctual as she had dreaded… he had waited a whole day before inquiring after her failure.
With a sinking heart, she tore the note from the messenger's hand and, yet again, only this time with more force, slammed the door in his face.
Em slouched down into the settee, her shoulders slumping in front of her and her knees drawn up to her chin. She was wearing a simpler gown today. A plain cream colored one which made her dark locks stand out in contrast. Her attire was far more plain as a whole… she just did not have it within her to get dolled up this day.
She had failed and she tasted it bitterly upon her tongue; the taste would not go away. How had she failed? And she could not even return his money… she had spent it all. Her self-confidence was always such that she spent her money immediately, knowing she would pull through. But she couldn’t… not this time. What is wrong with you? She beat herself up mentally. All you had to do was kill him! You’ve killed so many men before! It shouldn’t matter! But it did. Oh, it did.
She broke the seal and read what she already knew would be there. He was not pleased… not at all. In fact, he was more like livid. He kept a good face about it but she could read between those fancy cursive letters of his. And how she loathed going to dissatisfied customers. What would she say? Her mind began formulating a mishmash of lies and half truths to tell him… anything to make him believe that she had, indeed, done her very best… or even that she had wounded Costello. Anything.
With some courage, she pulled herself out of her comfy seat and hurried out the door. Her feet were nowhere near as light this time around, instead they treaded heavily upon the cobblestones. Her eyes were downcast as she searched the innermost recesses of her mind for a viable excuse.
Taking a deep breath she waited for Edward to answer the door. And there he was, looking the same as he always had… no doubt he had been born looking that way. The thought lightened her spirits slightly.
“Mr. Duffy,” she said, staring at him straight on as Edward left them alone together. It did not go unnoticed by her that the formalities from before were long gone - quite dead. She had been having a horrible few months, that much she knew. She just wanted to be out of there. Shortly after meeting him for the first time, she had recalled a Barnabus Duffy from her past… one she had been betrothed to… one she had desperately hated with her whole heart. How could her parents have expected her to marry a Barnabus Duffy? The very name had made bile rise to her throat. And then Costello… he was striking in every way, he was her bane in every way as well. She was drawn to him – as unhealthy as he was, she couldn’t bear the thought of killing him. She was so confused… and now looking at Mr. Duffy only added to her confusion.
“I did indeed,” her voice was dry, her usual mirth was dormant there. For once in her life there was seriousness. She glanced down at her fingers which were twisting her gown and wrinkling it dreadfully. Again, she hated just standing there as he looked her over expectantly. It was as if he expected her to come crawling in, begging mercy of him. Well, that she would never do. Not ever. Her throat felt dry, for once she actually would have accepted the tea… but it was not offered.
Looking up, she met his eye, keeping her cool. She would not lie... so she took a deep inhale and let it out slowly and steadily. “I cannot kill him.” She said simply, her jaw jutting out defiantly. She didn’t have to tell him anything… actually, her feelings were still a mystery to herself for the most part. How was she to make sense in front of this… this man? This man who she was suppose to wed but who now… now she served. “I could kill anyone you desired me to kill… but I cannot take his life.”
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Post by Ammy on Mar 28, 2011 23:04:08 GMT -5
Looking at her now, without all her elaborate clothes or bouncing personality, Barny was caught between wanting to beat something senseless and wanting to pull her to him in a very angry, very heated embrace. Good lord, Dusty was starting to rub off on him. He buried the latter urge, propriety and the matter of business taking priority while he made a mental note to sort out those confusing feelings later.
She made no excuses, made no plea or promise. Just a simple 'I can't' that grated on his nerves like dull knives.
She was one of the best, and he'd taken a great risk inviting her here, running the risk of revealing Geary for her secret and bringing a known murderer into his home. She could destroy his perfect order, and she had absolutely no idea. No idea that, because of her failure, he would be forced to turn someone's life upside down in order to meet his goals. Really, it was all her fault.
"What do you mean, 'you can't'?" he asked, running a hand through his hair in his frustration.
"The man has no tactical training, and I've heard from several sources that he never does his own fighting! Either you are completely incompetent as a human being, or this man is secretly a wizard capable of rendering you useless!"
He didn't even realize he'd been yelling, but his voice echoed off the walls and high ceiling, making the effect that much more sinister. When silence fell again, he heard his son behind him, politely clearing his throat.
Julian Duffy was five years old and tall for his age, with his father's dark hair and his late mother Adele's dark eyes. He wore the proper clothes of his station, his back straight and his hands folded behind him like a tiny diplomat instead of a boy barely out of his toddler stage.
"Father, are you alright? I heard you yelling." He spoke to his father, but he was eying Emili curiously, her strange hair and tattoos something he'd never before been exposed to.
Barny's demeanor, in that instant, completely changed. He got to spend so little time with his son, even a few moments after an unruly outburst were precious. He immediately dropped to one knee in front of him, smiling.
"We're fine, Julian. Are you done with your lessons today? We can go to the shore."
"Grandmother says I shall learn piano next. Why were you yelling at the lady? She looks distraught."
"What?" Barny looked up as if only just realizing that she was there, standing and brushing himself off needlessly. "This is Miss Truesdell. We were discussing...business. You'd better get to your piano lesson or your grandmother will have my hide."
"You shouldn't yell at people, father. Like you told me," he said, apparently reciting something he'd heard often enough to memorize, "'don't say anything unless you'd enjoy having it repeated back to you in kind'. I don't think you'd like very much for Miss Truesdell to call you useless."
With the presence of an adult and the authority of a prince, he stepped around his father and took Emili's hand.
"Come, listen to my piano lesson. Father or one of the servants can bring us tea and biscuits, and then you can both speak about business. Nicely, so as not to scare Blackbeard."
With that, he led Emili back into the family wing of the house, leaving his father standing dumbfounded in the entrance hall.
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Post by PD on Apr 3, 2011 14:08:31 GMT -5
Mutely, Emili sat there through his ruthless scolding, thoroughly distraught and fighting back the urge to cry out. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, clenching her fists tightly in order to divert her attention from him. Over and over in her head she had to tell herself to control the urge, fight the tears, to act placid about it all. But lately, lately it had become so very hard to fight the raging emotions coursing through her. And that, in and of itself, made it even worse. She knew she was not usually this hormonal; she had a hunch, a horrifying one, of what had happened. No, she chided herself, don’t go there. Not when he’s here.
Her saving grace just then was the appearance of a small boy. She looked up as she heard his sweet and childlike voice break through his father’s sudden temper. She watched as the father transformed right in front of both of them, the transformation practically alarming but at the same time… it caused Em jealously. She couldn’t even explain it but… she was jealous of Julian’s position. She would love to have someone dote on her and turn into a complete father-figure to her. She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully while observing them.
She adored children with her whole heart – they were one of the few joys she had in the whole world. The sight of Julian made her heart soar, lifting it up from the dark place it had been sinking toward.
“No,” she ventured toward the pair but stopped, hesitant, “I don’t mind being called useless… it’s what I have been, after all.” Her face darkened but she kept up a strong spirit. Regardless, she allowed him to take her hand, giving his a little squeeze in return. It had been years since she had felt a child’s hands in hers and… it lifted her spirits.
“Oh that would be lovely… but I don’t drink tea. It’s horrible stuff if you ask me… I would take some hot chocolate though.” She knew it was a bold request but, then again, she was never exactly one for manners or knowing her place. She happily allowed him to lead her away, adoring his hand in hers and quite content to be away from Barny for now. She had to just… let herself go and forget about the situation for a time – else ways, she wasn’t sure what she would do.
It was all Hunter Costello’s fault anyway… what WAS it about him that made it hard to resist him?
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Post by Ammy on Apr 3, 2011 19:11:56 GMT -5
If there was one thing that Julian Tiberius John Duffy couldn't stand in his limited little world, it was self-degradation. Even at five he knew well the difference between desperate self-pity and jokingly poking fun at one's self, and his tolerance waned incredibly at the former. His kinder, politer side, however, kept him from calling Miss Treusdell out on her annoying plea to uselessness.
"Everyone is useful for something, Miss Treusdell," he said as he led her down the hall.
He brightened when she said she didn't like tea. He hadn't met a lady yet who didn't like tea, and it was even better that she preferred chocolate to the often volatile adult drink.
He looked back at his father, smiling sweetly.
"Miss Treusdell and I have changed our minds. Instead of tea we would like hot chocolate with our biscuits. It is a special occasion, since I have learned a new song on the piano."
Barny, looking bemused, slipped off to the kitchen.
The family wing was filled with rooms much like the parlor Barny had first met Emili in; they were all ornately furnished, elegantly tailored to suit the man of the house but also welcoming to house his loved ones comfortably. The baby grand piano stood on a raised section of the wooden floor, the obvious centerpiece of a room which could otherwise be called a sitting room. Like most rooms in the house, this one's walls were lined with bookshelves that held not only books but treasures from around the world, placed on the shelves for all to see and admire.
This was home to Julian, the only one he'd ever known, and it didn't seem unusual to him to walk into a room so ornately decorated, hand in hand with a tattooed mercenary.
"Grandmama, this is Miss Treusdell. She's to listen to me play the song I learned."
Whereas the same sentence, said previously to his father, was an obvious statement of fact, this one was more a question of permission. The woman, tall and straight-backed with a coif of fiery red hair streaked in white, dressed in an unassuming deep purple gown, turned to face them.
Abigail Duffy's Irish roots showed in the freckles on her pale face and the color of her hair, but she was otherwise the picture of English elegance. She, if nothing else, matched the house and its contents perfectly. The coldness inherent in most of her class melted upon seeing Julian, though she watched Emili more closely, curiously, than she did him.
"And who, pray tell, is Miss Treusdell?" She asked, still looking at Emili with a delicate wrinkle between her brows though she was obviously addressing Julian.
Julian stood straight, chin out. "She is papa's employee and possibly my new friend. Papa yelled at her and she was going to cry, so I told her she could watch me play."
"I suppose, then, that that settles it. Welcome, Miss Treusdell. You may call me Abigail, or Miss Duffy, whatever suits you best."
Appeased, Julian ran to the piano and climbed up onto the seat while Abigail led Emili to a sofa, sitting on one end of it with her hands folded in her lap. While Julian began to play, clumsily at first and then with more skill, she continued to examine her.
"You very much remind me of someone I once knew, Miss Treusdell. Where is it you come from?"
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Post by PD on Apr 5, 2011 22:48:12 GMT -5
“Why thank you, love,” Em beamed down on the lad, thoroughly delighted with him. She glanced back at Barny as they passed into the other room, catching the fond look on his face and feeling her heart swell for him and his son. Their bond was everything a parent-child bond should be – sweet, caring, kind, endearing, everything. Unconsciously she felt her spare hand go to her stomach, feeling slightly nauseous she pulling it away again.
Em awkwardly faced Julian’s grandmother. She seemed put together, lovely, perfect… everything she, Emili, was not. She chewed on her lower lip, biting it several times over as Julian replied for her. She disliked being the center of attention… she much preferred keeping in the shadows and going unnoticed. Then again, her choices with her hair and skin didn’t exactly reflect that. She rubbed her hand over one of her exposed tattoos as if she was trying to cover it.
“I actually wasn’t going to cry,” comes out muttered as her tanned face flushes slightly with embarrassment.
She flinched as Julian left her. The child gave her strength but now alone with the older lady she felt oddly out of place. She sat on the sofa, not even bothering to keep from slumping. It was habit now… a bad one, perhaps, one that would destroy her back as her mother would say, but a habit she indulged never-the-less.
“Oh,” she turned to Mrs. Duffy, “the Canary Islands,” her own voice sounded cold and forced, she hated it. She disliked feeling rigid and stuffy… especially when there was a child present and they should be having fun. The piano music bored her. She wouldn’t want to disappoint the lad but it was a tedious melody. She yearned for something lively, not depressing; something that would lighten her spirits, not sink them.
“If I may,” she slipped from Mrs. Duffy and sat on the bench beside Julian, “love that is a handsome piece you’re playing there. I love it but… don’t you think we should go for something a little more lively?” she smirked, giving him a playful wink and lying her fingers on the keys. It had been years since she had played and she doubted very much whether she could remember the tune properly but, after a little bit, her fingers nimbly danced around the keys, playing a lighthearted tune that echoed happily through the house.
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