Blood Ties

potassiumboron

~I'm drinking coffee on a trampoline~
Original poster
MYTHICAL MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
  2. 1-3 posts per day
  3. One post per day
Online Availability
3pm - 1am (GMT / BST)
Writing Levels
  1. Beginner
  2. Elementary
  3. Intermediate
  4. Adept
  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Nonbinary
  4. Transgender
  5. No Preferences
Genres
Monsters, supernatural, fantasy, romance, criminality, slice-of-life (modern or set in past, usually with some twists)
blood ties.png


When Dante set off from France to England, he imagined that nothing would go wrong. In all his years of travelling and documenting his experiences, there had inevitably been problems, but nothing that generally set fear into him. He had once found himself in the middle of the Amazon without his tour guide. Rather than panicking, he set up his tent and found some fruit to eat for the night - and his editors back at the office had found that experience translated perfectly into print. He would never make anything up just for a story, wanting his experiences to be real and organic, but Dante did have a habit of attracting these unique experiences. It was what got him attention on his blog and, later, for his travel articles.

So he knew how to survive for a night in the wilderness if he needed to, and he had made sure to pack plenty of supplies if something did happen. He just didn't expect everything to go so wrong at once - it caught him off guard and, for the first time in his journey, he felt a mild panic settle in. He had been caught up in a storm in the middle of the moors, underestimating the unpredictability of the British weather. He also underestimated how dark it got so quickly, leaving him all but stranded amongst the rocky vales as the wind and rain picked up. His phone died, he couldn't see his map and he highly doubted the tent he had with him would be worth struggling to put up when the wind was as ferocious as it was. His only hope was to gingerly continue to walk, taking small steps to ensure he didn't fall off the face of one of the hills to the rocks below.

Eventually, it paid off. He stumbled upon Rembrandt's village, and once finding some light under the old street lamp, eventually discovered the boy's house offered rest and breakfast for a surprisingly affordable price. As happy as Dante was to soak up nature, he didn't want to get sick by napping in an alley for the night. Not when he could soak up some luxury and use it within his article. It made a change from his usual sleeping arrangements, and he knew his readers and his editors at home would find it interesting.

With his heavy rucksack making his limbs ache, the venture up to the mansion felt like hell, especially when the rain coming down felt like bullets pelting him time and time again. He was sure that he looked a mess, but he didn't care enough to spend time trying to rectify it - it was useless when the weather was as unrelenting as it. Any effort to make himself more presentable would be ruined in mere seconds. Instead, he knocked on the door, silently marvelling at the size and genuine beauty of the home. He could only imagine it was more beautiful during the day, when he could actually make out the details of the architecture.

"Oh, hi there-- god, I'm sorry about the time, I know this is inconvenient-- it says here you have beds for the night?" He began as he pointed to the guide in his hand for evidence, smiling politely at the woman who had answered the door. He felt awful when he acknowledged how late it was, which was made evident for him by the sight of the woman in her nightgown and slippers, though relief flooded through him when she smiled and opened the door wider.

"Oh yes, we offer a lovely bed for the night and a nice, hearty breakfast in the morning. Bacon, sausages, the works. No need to worry about payment until the morning, you look soaked through-- Rembrandt, my son, will take you to your room for the night. Come on now, get in out of the cold," she hushed, simultaneously beckoning in the traveller whilst glancing back for her youngest child. "He'll be along in a moment, he and I usually handle the welcomes, you see. He's a darling, he won't mind disturbing his sleep to welcome a nice young traveller such as yourself."

"Uh yeah-- look, thanks for this, this is ace of you," he beamed, his eyes wide at the decoration of the home. It was all old and vintage, but he liked that - it fit the exterior of the home well. He assumed it fit the woman too. From the brief introduction, she seemed nice, though he could tell she was probably as characterful as her home was.
 
Rembrandt was never one to sleep well. Most nights, he would spend his time reading or simply staring out the window curiously. He loved the rain, always finding the way the streetlights illuminated the puddles. He had gotten some modern items in their home, naturally, like lighting and proper plumbing. Hell, they even got a large television for the main living room. The first time they owned one he was in complete awe, having found the radio to be the best invention ever. Now all of his crime dramas were replaced with modern pop music and television was his only relief from that need. It had no imagination to it though and Rembrandt had babbled on to his sisters about his distaste plenty of times... though he still ends up watching a show or two consistently.

To be given a good reason to have stayed up, he watched as the soaked human seemed to drag himself to the door. He had met plenty of humans over the years and every year, they seemed to get more interesting. This one seemed particularly shaggy, he noted, and the added drenched clothes only made him think of something similar to a swamp monster. The minute he saw the human use the knocker, he was on his way down the extensive staircase with a controlled smile. Adjusting the sweater that covered his own silk pajamas, he obediently stood beside his mother, glancing up at her patiently. After a moment, Rembrandt bowed his head politely.

"I will show you to your room," he quietly reassured, avoiding the other's eyes as he kept his smile back as much as possible. Not only was he going to be given a new meal, but he would also be lying if he said Dante wasn't incredibly attractive. Particularly ugly victims could often get a very rude side of Rembrandt, knowing that it all would lead to the human's death. If a particularly attractive man came to visit, he fully intended to get as much as possible from the experience. Offering his mother a quick bow as well, Rembrandt patiently waited for Dante to follow suit.

"You look like you could use a hot bath," he commented once a bit further away from his mother. "You look like a drowned rat, really. I promise you will find our home the perfect place to get dry. In fact, I just changed the linen," he explained before offering, his smile finally making an appearance as he took in Dante's appearance curiously.
 
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"i may just take you up on that. I could do with a bath, I didn't think it'd be so wild out there! My own fault, really. I could have prepared for the weather here better than I did," laughed the traveller as he hitched his bag off his shoulders and proceeded up the lavish staircase after the other, marvelling admirably at the individual portraits hanging on the walls during the journey upstairs. He took in every painting, from Rembrandt's father to the boy himself, absently grinning at how old-fashioned everything seemed to be. He had no doubt that the family were well-off, potentially even members of the aristocracy, and that was highly interesting.

It was also intimidating. Dante was from a successful family, but they weren't incredibly rich; they were comfortable and his mother especially had moderate fame for her novels, but they were nothing compared to Rembrandt, and how his family lived their lives. Dante was determined not to feel insecure and inferior, but it difficult not to self-assess himself and how poorly he was representing himself currently.

"...Lovely home you got here. Your family, I mean. Real nice. I imagine you're booked a lot, this place is ace," he spoke, just to fill the silence and to try and be polite. He was more aware of his manners than he would usually be, trying to do what he thought was polite. He doubted himself moments later, assuming he was being too nosy, but covering his back to try and excuse his behaviour would come off as pathetic. "Ah, anyway... it's real nice you took me in without me booking first, some places are fussy like that. And you're sure it's only £50, right? Because that's... pretty cheap. I stayed at a B&B a day ago, a few miles away, and they charged me double what you're charging."
 
"That's horrendous!" He gasped in horror. While his mother and father knew about inflation, Rembrandt was still wary about it. He knew 50 pounds wasn't nearly the same as it used to be but the idea of paying 100 for a day sounded ridiculous. "See, we don't really need the money much. It's just nice to help out others, especially wary travelers. I love to hear stories from those who stay, they're always so fascinating," he admitted, his eyes sparkling at the idea.

"I'm going, to be honest with you, I always wanted to travel," he admitted with a soft hum, pausing to take the other's bags before heading up the stairs. "I find it so fascinating, other countries and cultures and whatnot. To spend just one day by the ocean would be lovely, but... my mummy and daddy insist that it's dangerous outside," he explained, making sure to keep the details vague.

"I would love to hear some stories if you have any. You mustn't delay on the bath, though, that is the number one priority. Wouldn't want you catching a cold, would we?" He questioned, his voice growing quiet as he led the other to his room. It was grand, naturally, featuring a Queen sized bed and a beautiful view of the village. The sheets were pressed and pristine, the room - while incredibly simple - still radiated a sense of wealth. His family wanted to lure others into a false sense of comfort and thus meant taking intense care of the surroundings. "It's best I leave you to your bath, I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate me staying around," he teased with a small smile.
 
"Your 'mummy and daddy'?" He repeated with a wide grin, assuming that it was said as a self-aware joke of some sorts. When he realised the other was deadly serious, he stopped smiling, doing his best to pass the moment without drawing any more attention to it. It was weird that the other spoke of his parents like that, but Dante didn't think it was something he had to dwell on. Everyone was different, and sure, while he thought it was weird, he wasn't going to start judging him about it. The family was close and that was a good thing, wasn't it?

"Ah, if you ever want to hear my stories, I have a bunch of 'em. I went trekking through the Amazon rainforest a few years back, went hunting with an Amazonian tribe. That was an experience. I also almost got my hand taken off by a croc in Florida too, that wasn't so fun. So yeah, got plenty of stories-- I write for a newspaper, have my own blog. It's sort of what I do," he explained casually, shrugging as though it wasn't a big deal. He hated people who boasted about themselves and who believed every word they uttered ought to be marvelled at. He'd gladly downplay his career to avoid sounding like God's greatest gift.

"I take it you haven't got wifi here? This place is... it's pretty cool, and hey, I can do without tapping away on my laptop tonight," the other smiled, only to slap his forehead in dramatic annoyance. "God, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dante-- like the poet. My folks are into all that literary stuff. You're Rembrandt, yeah? Cool name."
 
“I was named after the artist. You have seen the portraits of my family, yes? My mummy and daddy are big fans of traditional art,” he lied easily, a smile on his face as he listened to the other with his undivided attention. In reality it was a complete coincidence that he was born only a few years after the famous artist though it was a good conversation starter, right?

“It’s best I leave you alone, you need sleep,” he eventually decided, his tone of disappointment not being very subtle as he held his hands behind his back. “We can speak more about your travels in the morning, for your breakfast,” he explained before pausing briefly to whisper, “and I’ll make sure I’m the one to serve you.”
 
"Oh, I don't mind chatting for a little while. My sleep pattern has gone to shit since I started this whole European journey. Don't think I've had more than 6 hours sleep since I landed in Spain," he laughed, mentally reminding himself not to be too loud. The other's well-to-do mannerisms and accent was intimidating, and he consciously tried to alter how he himself spoke in an effort to not sound like a complete fool. Admittedly, his attempt wasn't very good and he soon abandoned any attempt of changing how he spoke, consoling himself by acknowledging that he had no need to try and impress these people if he was only staying a day. Besides, they weren't any better than he was, just because they were posh and lived in some huge home. That didn't count for anything.

"I did see the portraits, yeah. You have a nice family. I assume the girls were your sisters? That's neat. I don't have siblings. My mom had me and she said I fucked up her body so she wasn't gonna go through it again. She said it less bluntly than that, but it's what she meant," he shrugged, taking a seat on the large bed with a hum of approval setting his laptop on the space beside him. He could still take notes on a word document, even if he didn't have wifi to research the details he needed or contact people from the newspaper with information about where he was. "I'll do some work, take that bath and then get some sleep-- again, thanks for this, buddy. I didn't wanna have to sleep out in that storm out there, I don't think I'd last the night."
 
Curiously peering over at the laptop, it was fair that Rembrandt wanted to learn more. Once again, his mother and father had a computer but they used it sparingly to set up a website for their B&B that he wasn’t allowed to use and he never really interacted with them. Taking a careful seat beside the human, his eyes kept switching from the laptop and to Dante out of curiosity. He wouldn’t press, it wasn’t in his nature... though he hoped his body language indicated his silent need to see more.

“So you’re on tour of Europe now? Where have you been so far?” He questioned quietly, his hands folding neatly. “Where would you go back to? What sort of food do other countries make? Oh, I would love to try Spanish food,” He babbled, his cheeks growing pink at the thought. “You are lucky, Dante. You are most likely so cultured - is that why you wear baggy clothes? Is that from another country?” He questioned obliviously, babbling on with childish wonder.
 
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He had the idea that Rembrandt and his family might be slightly sheltered, considering they lived so far away from the general hustle and bustle of modern day cities, but surely the other wasn't so sheltered that he had a curiosity over a laptop? If it was a new model, Dante would understand - he often showed similar fascination over his friends who could afford the latest laptops on the market. However, his was old, heavy and barely functioning - he needed a charger in at all times for it to run properly. He didn't understand the other's intrigue in such a clunky piece of technology, but he wasn't one to let him go unfulfilled; not when Rembrandt and his family were so accommodating by allowing him to stay without a reservation first.

"Here, have a look, yeah? Here are the photos from Spain-- that's where I started this trip. Went to France, now I'm here. Scotland's up next, then I'm getting a plane up to the Scandinavian countries, explore them a bit," he babbled, sliding his laptop across with his gallery loaded up for the other to browse. "I guess I'm lucky? I dunno, you're lucky to live in a place like this and be surrounded by all these hills and stuff. Most people would find your life kinda exciting, buddy."
 
“Staying in the same place for as long as I have starts to lose its appeal,” he replied quietly, his fascination with the pictures overtaking the reminder of how boring his life was. Pausing, he dared to try and click to see the next picture while hiding his excitement.

“I’m aware I am very privileged. I live in a lovely home with lovely amenities, and my family are pleasant.... but there’s so much more I would love to see. I’ve dreamt of seeing Japan, their art is fascinating,” he admitted as he tugged on his sweater’s arms. “Though I know this is my place. I could never imagine being anywhere else, to be honest.”
 
"You know, I used to feel like that, but then one day I was just like, 'what am I doing?', you know? Life's too short. I didn't want to be 82 years old, regretting how I lived my life. Can't think of anything worse than that," he admitted with a faint frown, only broken by the sight of the photos. He had seen a few pictures of him and an ex-boyfriend simply sat about on the beach, but it didn't sadden him or anger him that they were broken up. He put it down as an experience that helped him realise what he wanted from a partner, and what he didn't. Every experience was valuable in one way or another - he found that adopting that aspect on life helped him a lot.

"Take the plunge, you know? Jump on a plane and see Japan. You don't want to get old and regret it," he encouraged, reaching for his bag to search for a pair of clean pyjamas. "Eh, I'm being bossy, aren't I? Live life the way you want, I'm not imposing my philosophy on 'ya. I'd hate to do that. I'm all about living in the moment, but... hey, that's not the only way to do things."
 
“I don’t know what would I would do without my parents, though,” he admitted, his feet kicking off the side of the bed absently. “Where would I even go when I was there? It’s just... I couldn’t. My mummy knows the best for me a-and I don’t think I could really feed myself,” he laughed before slipping off the bed.

“I apologize, I don’t mean to keep you waiting. You need a bath, certainly, standing about soaked will only make you ill,” he reminded before offering both an apologetic and polite bow. “Take a bath and get to sleep, you’ll enjoy breakfast in the morning.”
 
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Deciding that he needed a long soak in the bath, Dante did little to prevent the other from making his leave. He was sociable, but after a long day of trekking through the hills in cold weather, and then being caught out in the storm, he didn't have the required capabilities to be as chatty and friendly as he usually was. There was the added culture shock and the intimidation he felt from it, which he knew a long sleep would help with. Hell, a few hours rest in a comfortable bed was precisely what he needed before a hot breakfast in the morning to help build his strength up.

Dante was the only guest currently staying in the home at the moment, though it didn't mean the family could afford to grow lax in their usual hosting duties. Charlotte had been up early preparing the breakfast and fetching out the homemade jams. She had no need to eat it, or anything on the breakfast menu, but her guests weren't likely to tuck into raw venison her husband had shot and brought home, were they? In order to lull them into a false sense of security, she went through incredible effort, making pastries and all sorts of items for them. The family had no staff to assist them, and her husband wasn't likely to help her in the kitchen, so she often had no option but to roll her sleeves up and take on the role by herself. Admittedly, the woman didn't mind. She and Rembrandt were more involved with the hosting than the other members of the family, after all.

"What's he like, this guest? Is he exotic? I adore foreign accents. I do hope he's Australian, they're so quaint and funny--"

"I don't think he mentioned, dear. I'm sure he'll tell us over breakfast. Can you get your sister to place the cutlery down? Your father can sit down and relax at breakfast; we don't have that luxury," sighed Charlotte, resting her hands on her hips as she took in her youngest children, eyeing Amelia before turning to Rembrandt. "Did you hide his things away in the basement? We can't have him scooping his bag up and rushing out of here now, can we?"

"We know that, Mummy. We're not foolish dummies. We know what we're doing," sighed Amelia, moving to brew the tea in the china teapot to offer her mother some assistance. "I'll take the tea in to Daddy. Remmie, be a darling and carry the pastries in for me, would you? That boy can eat them first before he gets his hot meal."

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“He isn’t Australian, I don’t believe. In fact, I’m certain he’s American,” Rembrandt replied, unable to hide the smile on his face as he neatly assembled the plate of pastries, beyond pleased at the fancy arrangement he spent so much effort on. Lifting the tray, he smiled proudly at it all.

“I spoke to him last night, it’s quite interesting,” he admitted, standing straight as he was often scolded for not doing. “He’s a ‘blogger’ and an editor for a newspaper, I believe. I might be wrong, though. It was just so... fascinating, mummy. It’s unfortunate that I won’t have more time with him. He’s been to Spain, isn’t that amazing?” He gushed, his cheeks growing rosy at the thought. He didn’t dwell on it too much, instead hurrying up the stairs to avoid his sister scolding him.
 
"Mummy isn't naive, you know. As fascinating as I'm sure this man is, I do hope you aren't setting your eyes on him? Mummy questioned me countless times about your closeness with previous guests, Remmie. I do hate lying to her, though I'm not sure she'd like to know the truth that her dearest baby boy had sexual relations with some of the men that stayed here. Of course, I made sure she remained oblivious, but do yourself a favour and try not to sound so gushing about this one. You don't help yourself, Rembrandt," warned his sister as she trailed after him with the teapot, deciding to advise him before they entered the dining room. Amelia was aware of Rembrandt's closeness with some of the men that had visited the B&B, as their sisters were, but she wasn't as strict about it as their older siblings were. They had expressed their disappointment plenty of times, whereas Amelia had no problem, providing her brother managed to be subtle about it.

Admittedly, she didn't care that much because she had done the same - it would be hypocritical if she started judging her younger brother for thing she had done with guests too.

Smiling politely at their father, she set the teapot down and took her seat at the table, calmly glancing outside at the pouring rain. "We can tell the guest it's too dangerous to leave, that'll buy us some time while Mummy finds the herbs to feed him."
 
"Of course it will. I have full confidence in your mother's plan," Samuel replied, his tone quiet as he leaned back in his chair. He was exhausted, having gone hunting early as to avoid the chance of having the human catch him. It kept him busy but he wasn't a spring chicken anymore, carrying two deer back alone wasn't as easy as it used to be. Taking hold of the kettle, he offered a smile to his children in appreciation. He had been harsh with them while they grew up, sure, but that didn't mean he didn't love them with all his heart.

"I heard you babbling on, is he really that interesting or are you just sleep deprived, Rembrandt?" He questioned slowly, sipping the tea to test it. With a nod of approval, he decided to take a baked good. They had no real reason to eat normal food but it wasn't like they would grow ill if they did. "I've seen you up far too late, it isn't good for you. We can't have you getting ill because you don't understand how to take care of your body."

"I... apologize," Rembrandt quietly replied, his eyes avoiding the man as he held the tray tight. Bowing in addition, he instead locked his eyes on his sister to at least act as if he wasn't embarrassed by both his father and his sister's comments. "I promise to improve."

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"...It was awfully stormy last night, and Rembrandt's a notoriously light sleeper. His awful sleeping routine has its benefits sometimes - he was able to assist Mummy in getting that traveller settled in, and that means that we all get to feed in a month or so. Even a poor sleeping schedule has its advantages sometimes, Daddy," grinned Amelia as she automatically jumped to defend her brother. She was subjected to the same strictness as he was; as their sisters were, but she had often been able to get away with being more outspoken by offering a sweet smile and placing an affectionate kiss on her parents' cheek before they could reprimand her. If she didn't get a chance to do that, she often jumped to a new conversation to avoid being corrected, pouring herself out some tea with a hum. Fortunately, Dante's presence meant she didn't need to find something else to say, the Canadian wandering into the breakfast hall with an awkward smile.

He was freshly bathed and clothed. He had on some aftershave, his hair was styled back and he managed to shave before heading down too. He had assumed he'd meet the rest of the family, and he wanted to make a good impression, but he hadn't imagined this. The formal breakfast scene unnerved him deeply, being suddenly aware of his slouched posture. Carefully taking a seat, he tried to replicate the upright posture of the others, even if he knew he'd only fail in any attempt to copy their table manners.

"...Morning. I... this all looks wonderful," he greeted, smiling in an attempt to break out of his awkwardness. "This place is huge, I almost got lost, y'know? But wow, it's beautiful in here-- I bet that's real china, yeah? Dude, that's... ace, really. I'm Dante. I met Rembrandt, but... I haven't met you all, so..."

"I'm Amelia. That's Daddy, and our other sisters won't be long. They're just sorting out their bedding, I imagine. All frightfully trivial. Now, you travel, don't you? How wonderful is that! Daddy, he's a traveller, isn't that just exciting~?"
 
"It's... interesting," Samuel replied as he took a sip of his tea, motioning Rembrandt to fill Dante's tea as well once he sat. "Where have you been? I haven't traveled in years. I'm sure you wouldn't relate, raising a family takes quite a bit of time out of your day," he drawled quietly, though offered a comforting smile before taking another bite of the baked good. He then motioned to the food.

"Please, take a treat. I'm sure you're starving," he pushed before shooting a glance to his son. "I'm glad my darling wife and son were able to give you a proper introduction. I hope you enjoyed your sleep. I don't mean to be particularly pompous but we try our hardest to make our guests as comfortable as possible."

Sitting neatly beside Dante, Rembrandt's curiosity wasn't as subtle as it should have been as he watched the human intently. It was clear that the other wasn't used to their strict manners, that of which were so strict that Samuel neatly corrected the silverware. He forced back the urge to giggle, only waiting for his father's call to grab a treat himself to nibble. "You should eat up. Wouldn't want you to catch a sickness."
 
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"Uh... South America, mostly. Brazil's one of my favourite places to visit, I love it there. I've just come over to Europe, doing a whole tour across the continent, y'know? England was on my to-do list, my boss told me to get my butt up here to check out the Dales and stuff, and... hey, he wasn't wrong, they're pretty spectacular," he praised as he took the tea, not knowing if there was a particular way to hold it or sip at it, so he quietly spent a few seconds observing the others before going ahead. He didn't want to make himself look like an idiot if he could avoid it, even if the others were clearly educated far more on table manners than he ever would be - or wanted to be. Life was too short to care about how to set a table properly.

"Ah, you're here, wonderful. Tuck into the pastries, and I'll fetch you a hearty breakfast when this course is done," smiled Charlotte, the mother arriving with the last tray of croissants and homemade jams. The fact two of her children were missing from the table infuriated her beyond belief, though she kept her anger behind a smile as she gracefully took her seat, placing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Oh, eat up, don't wait for me. I never eat in the mornings, I can't bring myself to have an appetite so early. I'm quite alright with my tea."

"Ah sure-- you made these? These are delicious," grinned Dante, wiping crumbs from his mouth with his hand before he could help himself; a fact that made Amelia grin wide in amusement. "Uh, so... it's nice, y'know? Your family dynamic. My folks never ate a meal at the table with me; they'd order in a takeaway and eat at their desks to get their work done. This is different for me, but it's... nice. I'm envious."
 
"Ah, interesting. I believe the furthest I've traveled was to India for a quick business trip," Samuel replied, his eyes locked on the ceiling in contemplation. "Do you remember that, dear? That was before we had our children. It was interesting, I've still taken care of the things I had collected all those years ago," he admitted before chuckling quietly, both from the happy memories and the poor mannerisms the Canadian seemed to show.

"My wife is quite the cook," he admitted, raising his tea for emphasis. "We don't have staff, it was always unnecessary. We all work hard to keep this home working, its much like a well-oiled machine. Nonetheless - please eat, but don't eat too much. My wife hand-makes all of our meat and I hunt. It would be a shame if you couldn't try it."

"It's quite yummy," urged Rembrandt in a whisper, a small smile on his lips as he took a sip of his own tea. "The weather is terrible outside, I would love to show you the rest of the home if you'd like? It's vast, I will admit, but I promise there are some lovely rooms here. We have a wonderful library," he bragged, only growing quiet when his father shot him a look.
 
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