For five years the estates of the late Mr. Dana Alistair Quillington had remained vacant and empty save for the coming and going of the servants as they went about the keeping of the house and the occasional visits of the caretaker in trust. The once moderately hospitable dwelling had become a dark and silent building, becoming merely a mild curiosity to be spoken of as often as old gossip is; the less informed being told of the scandalous tales of the masters goings on and the sorrows of his poor widowed bride. But the stories had long worn out over the years, and the hollow halls left to echo with their emptiness.

Until, that is, a few months ago when suddenly there had been a flurry of activity: the lady Quillington was said to have recovered from her long illness and was returning home at long last. Old gossip was renewed, forgotten curiosities remembered as the lights went on and the carriages came and went.

For another month, the hall remained silent. The Lady of the house had returned for sure, but word was that she was still in a delicate condition and what with the news of the Dorhaven Massacre, her continued silence and solitude was encouraged for her rattled nerves and continued health. No one came in other than family, and neither did other come out.

Finally, at the turn of Hamis, the letters went out. The Quillington Estates were opening its doors to society once more, her lady, Madam Gladys Jessamine Quillington, of sound mind and fully recovered, was throwing a housewarming party open to any and all of the social circles of Vienda. The raging curiosities could finally be sated at last.

And that, Gladys smirked demurely as she cooled herself with a scented fan, was exactly what she wanted.

Standing upon the top stair overlooking the entrance hall, the lady gazed over the small gathering with a self satisfied air like some predatory feline as she surveyed her territory. Yes, it was so good to be back where she belonged, with the people she belonged with.

It was still early however, the majority of the occupants being those of the young rabble whom had arrived merely to satisfy their fleeting curiosity, no one she would demean herself with holding any meaningful conversation with. Those of true high society know it is near a sin to arrive early to any sort of gathering... still, they should be arriving shortly.

Khymarah didn't often do social gatherings. In particular, galdori social gatherings. However, word had reached her that a one Ms Quillinton was having a get together. Word from her mother in fact, of all people! The raven haired socialite had pestered the Office of Student Affairs on the 13th, until they had finally come to get the young woman. Displeased by the scry, Khymarah had spoken with her estranged parent.

I would dearly love to attend, but I'm afraid the invite is not addressed to myself nor your father. It appears Ms Quillinton prefers a...younger audience.

That had been the start of it. Then came the woeful ranting of a Theraldon scorned, and the tearful pleading of a matriach getting on in the years. Then of course, the finale, her father coming into the scry with his speech of upholding the legacy and-wot-not-and-so-forth of the Theraldon name. Khymarah had said no. They had pleaded. She had still said no. Her mother had cried, yelled, spitefully claimed disownership - again. Khymarah had advised the young affairs officer to end the communication, when Bastine had threatened her. Threatened to ruin her name at Brunnhold.

So it was with shocked disbelief and unbridled anger, she had advised Abeline she would be back by the 17th morning, and taken the first carriage out of the school. Stopping at the gates of her parents disgustingly excessive estate, she took a boxed gown from the young passive waiting for her, then continued on to her own manor. Opening the 'gift' she shook her head, sighed, and changed. It was a gown of anaxi high quality. A lush gold piece, with black filigree embroidery anywhere it appeared unnecessary. The sleeves flared, with decorative black ribbons and around the waist was a wide black band. It looked utterly ridiculous, but apparently was something of calibre. Leaving a fringe and side locks, she pulled the rest of her hair back into a thickly weaved looped design, interlaced with gold and emerald jewelery.

Leaving the house, she tried to shake the scowl from her features. How dare they, how dare they. Her mind repeated the mantra as they went, jaw clenching and unclenching, field simmering hotly. The redhead never got angry, she got upset, but this was different. Her parents had hurt her as a child, shunned her as a teen, and now as an adult they dared to jepordize her name for the sake of a stupid social gathering. Taking a few deep breaths, Khymarah calmed herself as the carriage slowed. Lifting her chin, dual colored eyes shining brightly, she waited till the door was opened, then stepped out. Standing for a moment, she nodded to the young servant with a small smile and followed her into the estate.

When Reggie had recieved the invitation, she was at first quite surprised, considering she hadn't heard from Gladys Quillington for quite some time, due to the latter's extended illness. But that surprise was one of a pleased nature. 'Quill', as Reggie had always referred to her friend, was a socialite to the 't', and a loyal follower of Reggie's styles and mannerisms. The two had become close friends in their school days, and Reggie had all of Quill's marvelous books (each well-read and loved).

So it was with great relish that Reggie donned a dress of rose mauve with cream-colored petticoats and a high ruffled collar, pinned a small black glengarry in the middle of her hair, and took up her walking stick. Quill's estate was not far from her own, and she decided it would be nice to get a bit of exercise despite the rain. Chauncey accompanied her in his rain gear, holding a massive umbrella over the lady's head as he did; if ever Reggie wished to walk someplace, her faithful butler now insisted to go with her because of certain recent events. Needless to say, Reggie was grateful, even if she didn't show it or say so.

She was trying to image how Quill would react as she approached the front steps and nodded to Chauncey to let him know he could return home. She hadn't realized until now just how much she'd missed her light-hearted friend, and her excitement grew; her face showed no other signs of emotion than her usual demure, half-lidded gaze.

The servants were different, but they seemed to perceive that the older woman ascending the steps was one of great importance, and they graciously opened the front doors for Reggie. As the socialite stepped inside, she took a moment to gaze around. Nothing had changed here - spotless and exquisite tastes, per usual. And there, at the top of the grand staircase, was --

"Quill, dahling!" Reggie's expression still hadn't changed, but the tone of her raised voice and the gloved hand she placed upon her chest was enough to prove that she didn't care who was looking or who would talk later. She smiled sincerely up at her dear friend and let memories of old wash over her anew.

“Lady Khymarah Theraldon,” The voice of the servant was clear and distinct without calling any obtuse attentions as she announced the new arrival. All of her servants had been drilled with the proper pronunciation of all the names on her guest list, there would be no embarrassing mangling of human accents this night should the rare opportunity for her servants to speak so directly to her genteel guests. Not that it was expected, of course, servants are only to speak when spoken to.

“Ah if it is not the young Ms. Theraldon,” Quill murmured to herself as she gave the young woman a leisurely once over from her perch on the stairs. It seems Mrs. Theraldon was more attentive than she had given her credit for. Despite the noble woman's good breeding and social status, Quill had always found the Mrs. Theraldon's company to be most tiresome, and the lady herself far to flighty a personality for a her liking. A couple subtle hints had taken care of that unfortunate occurrence from reoccurring, and the Lord and Lady had leapt at the opportunity for their young daughter to be entered into this particular coterie.

Lady Quillington had not had the pleasure of meeting the young Khymarah as of yet, the young lady having been very young when Gladys had been active in society, and her prolonged absence had not lent itself to the pandering of the young hopefuls in the meantime. Rumor had it that the young lady was of a more timorous nature than that of her progenitors, although with the child still ensconced at Brunnhold such rumors could easily be denounced. However it may be, Quill was disposed to find the truth of the matter firsthand.

Turning unhurriedly, Gladys gracefully began her decent, intent on introducing herself to the young student and perhaps easing the child should the rumor of her diffidence be true when a second herald-cry quickly ended that though in its tracks.

“Reggie, dearest, its been simply ages!” Gladys' eyes shone with pleasure, the only outward display of her deep pleasure at the sight of her beloved friend as she continued down the stairs with smooth ease.

“Five years, my goodness. You have not aged a day, distinguished as ever I last saw you. How have you been dahling?”

Reggie studied her friend’s face as Gladys made her way down the stairs. Gone was the quiet, unassuming nature that was once evident in Gladys’ face; it had been replaced with a strange sense of daring pride, as if she wanted people to gossip about her and ask about her mysterious absence from society (even though such a thing was generally a social taboo despite being ignored). This was not the woman Reggie remembered, and yet it somehow seemed a good change nonetheless.

Reggie thought back to when Gladys had first disappeared some five years prior – it was around the same time Alexander had succumbed to his illness. Something had happened in the Quillington household, and though Gladys had always confided in Reggie, this time there had been no talk whatsoever. And then she’d left without even so much as a goodbye; Reggie had managed to be nonchalant about her friend’s absence at her own husband’s funeral. She didn’t even know if Gladys knew about Alexander’s death, since she’d been so absorbed in her own issues. It was because of that that Reggie couldn’t harbor a grudge – Gladys had left for a reason. A nervous breakdown, the doctors and circling gossip had said. From what, Reggie had yet to find out.

“It has been too long, dear,” was what the outward Reggie was saying. “Come, come, let me look at you. Wherever you’ve been, it’s done wonders for your complexion. I declare, you look far younger than you actually are! I’ll have to fill you in on everything that’s been going on these past five years, and what’s brewing lately in the old town, wot?” As Gladys approached, Reggie plied her usual “kiss-kiss, hug-hug” routine that she used in public, though normally she would have forgone such formalities and hugged Gladys. But because of the evident change in her old friend, Reggie decided to keep things simple until she knew what had happened – no sense in bombarding a person who was reported to have had a nervous breakdown.

“But of course dearest,” Quill said with a demure smile upon her lips at her dear friends response, “I wouldn't even dream of having any other impart such important information.”

Upon closer inspection, Gladys was shocked to see that her initial assessment of her friend had not been entirely correct. Five years had aged Reggie, not to the point of being haggard or unbecoming of course, but the passage of time had left clear marks upon her beloved and beautiful face. However the majority of her statements remained true, Reggie was as distinguished as ever, the white in her hair and the lines upon her face seeming to only emphasize her importance and right of status.

Closing her fan with a flick of her wrist, Quill partially hid the amused uplift that threatened to betray her delight at seeing her old friend ply that 'public greeting' towards her. She remembered the day Reggie had come up with that little trick, halfway inside joke and entirely Reggie. It had been years since she had been on the receiving end of the socialites quirk... How wonderful it was to be in respectable company once more.

Releasing the fan, it dangled from her wrist by a black ribbon as with practiced ease Gladys looped her arm together with Reggie's, “It has been utterly dreadful without your company dear, you haven't a wit of the trials I have had to endure- But all in due time. I promise you shall have a full account before the eve is out- Right now we must mingle.”

A corner of her smile tipped upwards briefly as Gladys arced an elegant eyebrow, glancing askance at what Reggie's response to her uncharacteristic display of audaciousness.

“Ms. Theraldon was ever so considerate in sending her daughter to attend my little gathering this evening, don't you think? Come, we mustn't let the poor dear believe she has been forgotten.”

“I await your news with all eagerness, dahling,” Reggie replied, patting her friend’s arm that she now held in the crook of her own. Reggie was indeed excited to talk with Quill – she hadn’t had a decent conversation with another woman for some time.



“Oh was she now?” Reggie muttered behind a conveniently placed hand with a sly smirk. “I was of the opinion that the lady Theraldon and the word ‘considerate’ had never once been placed in the same sentence together. I wouldn’t be surprised if the old girl threatened her daughter with disownment or some such nonsense to force her to come.” She hesitated, and glanced knowingly at Quill. “Not that she wouldn’t want to come to your delightful soirée in the first place, dahling – it’s the fact that not everyone was invited, and so therefore an invitation would be of the utmost importance.” She eyed the young red-headed woman in question. “I’ve never met the child, but she must have the patience of the gods to put up with a mother like Theraldon. Indeed, I don’t want to miss this opportunity to meet her. Lead the way, Quill dear.”