Topic: Isidore Phineas Grey II - Lost Heir to Grey Manor.

(Lost To Time)

Date: 2007-01-13 05:02 EST
Isidore rode swiftly on horseback, through painful brush and bark alike, his cloak flowing behind him like the winds of a tempest. He smacked his horse lightly on the head, his brow furrowing in despair. "Don't go blind on me now, Georgie-Boy!" But his brief exclamation was of no use, as the horse suffered his usual bout of amaurosis fugax. As the horse's legs buckled, Isidore went flying headlong into the outer walls of the Red Dragon Inn, his body crumpled in a mess in the dry leaves and scattered snow.

".....Good heavens....."

Isidore brushed himself off slowly, carefully, while examining the building before him. He exhaled deeply, thinking back to the night prior.

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"Yes, you take the eastern woodland road, until you reach the fork in the path." The woman with dark black hair forced a smile, her arm being tightly held by her newly-wed husband, who was squeezing it rather forcefully, teeth clenched in a fake smile directed in Isidore's general direction.

"I see. And when I get to the fork?"

The black-haired woman fumbled over her words, looking between her husband and the man. The newlywed squeezed her arm, until she rose in her chair a bit, brow raised in surprise. She uttered, eyes wide in pain, "Just keep going!"

Isidore nodded obliviously, even going so for as to take meticulous notes and to draw himself a detailed map. He was dilligent, but also very naive. The couple, his sister and her newly married husband, did not want him at their wedding celebration, an omission to which he was hopelessly unaware and would only come to realize weeks later.

Nodding to the couple, he smiled. "Thank you! These directions should prove most helpful in my safe, secure, and timely arrival at this, the juncture of my sister and her -most- fitting beau's wedding celebration." He nodded, as if to seal the arrangement with amiability.

The couple before him nodded, exchanging distraught glances as Isidore stood, adorning himself with his tophat and scarf in their fitting slots, heading out the door via his usual limping traipse, the weight of his body dependant upon his cane. He raised his voice to his horse. "Come, Georgie-Boy! We sit upon the eve of a grand promenade, as it has been described to me just moments prior." He lead the horse away, deciding to offer it some leisure and himself some exertion as he lead it away down the path he came by.

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Isidore stood from his spot on the ground. His hair was thrown about in a frenzy, hat and scarf scattered several yards away, leaves bellowing out of his coat like a scarecrow. "Georgie-Boy!" he exclaimed forcefully, in a manner of scolding. He glanced behind him at the Inn, squinting slightly, applying his crooked reading glasses to examine the welcoming sign, "Red Dragon Inn."

As he brushed the remainder of leaves from his garb, he tied his horse securely to a post, petting it lovingly. "I'll return shortly."

And with that, spidery and uneven legs, the left supported via his old birchwood cane, lead him up the stairs of the Red Dragon Inn. At the top, he pushed open the door to step inside.

(Lost To Time)

Date: 2007-01-14 17:35 EST
His gaunt silhouette paced back and forth before the conflagrancy of the hearth, udulating shadows passing up and over the walls of the study. The night was now silent and blanketed in the amenity of a new-fallen snow, the sound of those raspy croups and coughs from the first floor of Grey Manor finally subsiding. His heart sank a bit. As the clock struck eleven, Isidore took it as his cue for another spot of brandy.

Pouring the glass halfway, he was alarmed by the sound of knocking at the door. He finished the drink, adding the garnish and ice, moving over to apprehensively but swiftly throw open the large oak slabs. The form of Mr. Crowley, the groundskeeper, stood shakenly amidst the large, twisting and hollow expanse of corridors. He seemed fatigued, the small, grey-haired man's forehead glistening, his sweatervest heaving up and down in a winded fervor.

Isidore stood there, one eyebrow raised high. He appeared almost birdlike as he looked down at the man, with one hand on his hip and the other on his cane, puffing his chest out while staring inquisitively.

"Come in, Mr. Crowl-..." as Isidore was gesturing for the man to come inside, Mr. Crowley interrupted him.

"Sir, your father...." Mr. Crowley twisted his fedora in his hands, frowning sternly. "He passed, sir."

Isidore paused for a moment, then slowly nodded, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Crowley. I trust you will pass along the last of his invocations to Mr. Roth." A slight pause. "He'll be handling the estate, et cetera. Never fret, I will make it high priority that your job shall remain scatheless."

Mr. Crowley shook his head slightly. "Needn't concern y-...yourself with such things now, sir....the grieving process takes t-..." Isidore interrupted him.

"Yes, thank you, Albert." He nodded. "Take a week off, spend it with your family, and give Ambrose my warm regards." He rapped on the old walls of his study with his cane, distantly, his eyes a bit glazed. "A change of scenery would do you well, away from this dreary place." A forced smile, nodding to Mr. Crowley as he shuffled over to the window, gazing out at the rolling expanse of mountains through the curtain of falling snow.

Mr. Crowley hesitated for a moment, seemingly wishing to express something else, but decided to close the oak doors as he'd found them and shuffle off down the hallway.

Slowly, Isidore's mind drifted to a different place, his eyes fixed upon an unknown destination.

_________________________________________________

"Isidore!"

The man across the long, candle-donned dining table with the mutton-chop sideburns and the fleeting grey hair yelled aloud. "Sit up straight, how many times MUST I tell you."

The small child straightened his bow-tie, sitting as upright as he could in the immense oak chair. "Yes father." The tiny voice drifted out into the great hall, getting lost in the stiff air and the bleak silence, only penetrated here and there by the clank of forks and spoons against ceramic dinnerware.

The man was Isidore Phineas Grey I, the stern and unmoving owner of a dual logging-and-mining outfit in the town below. He had built the Grey Manor for himself in the mountains several years after he had come to accrue a vast amount of wealth in both industries. However, in recent years the need for his management was no longer, as all decisions were made by a board of appointed trustees. Consequentially, he had found other things to occupy his time - most prominently his fondness for drink and women.

The small boy sipped his soup as quietly as possible, thinking back to the times when his mother would sit near him at that same table, tucking those itchy napkins into the front of his shirt and combing his hair while he ate. During her illness, she was unable to tend to him as much as he would've liked, but he loved her dearly and sat by her bedside throughout her illness to tend to her in kind.

The dinner went on in silence for the next half hour until both were finished. Shortly after, Mr. Grey took his son up by the hand, leading the boy down that same, dark corridor. "You will behave while I am gone. Mrs. Dunleavy will be giving me a full report when I arrive home." The man removed a small silver key from his pocket, unlocking the doors to the library of the manor's east wing. He leaned down to whisper to the boy, meeting him at eye level.

"And since it is your birthday, I have instructed her that you are to receive a lemondrop before bed." He forced a toothy grin, patted the boy on the head coldly, pushed open the door. "Thank you, Mrs. Dunleavy" was shouted behind him as he stormed off down the hall, muttering something to a passing servant as he headed down the staircase.

The young boy stepped inside, noting the usual lack of Mrs. Dunleavy. Taking the rather large and bulky book he'd been reading into his lap and opening it up to the middle, a tiny sigh escaped his chest as he pined over the pages by the light of his candle.

______________________________________________

Isidore shook himself out of his daydream, rubbing his eyes with a yawn. Heading over to the desk of his study, he retrieved a small brown package on the table, which he opened delicately and procured a small one-sided note from.

"Dearest Isidore,

I would like to congratulate you on the splendid news of your sister's wedding engagement. I look forward to seeing you at the ceremony.

P.S. - I hope my father is well, and his work proving satisfactory. Please give him my love and warmest regards.

Most sincerely, Ambrose Crowley, Esq."

His eyes squinted slightly in confusion as he made his way out of the study with a determined, limping stride.

Isidore's voice thundered down the corridors with a great echo, his shoes drumming across the old wood floors as his heart fluttered with angst. "Mr. Crowley!"

(Lost To Time)

Date: 2008-04-14 16:01 EST
Some notable portion of time had passed, since the wedding and arrival. Mr. Crowley had resigned some months prior, and such, the sward grew, green and weedy, and the spinney had begun to stretch its leafy limbs around the old dark house.

One leg was crossed gently over the other as he slouched in his high-backed oak chair. The supported leg bobbed nervously on its beam, bouncing in subtle half-time with the ticking of the grandfather clock. Burly-smoke billowed up from the bowl of his pipe, rolling upwards and folding upon itself, parting around his narrow and tilted chin. Downcast eyes hid beneath the shadow of his brow as he skimmed the lines of the old leather book.

"Mm." A furrowed brow, his mind wrested in thought.

He stood from his chair with the aid of his old stick, curling his fingers around the bent handle, and the other around a brass snifter. Shuffling towards the window to glance up at the moon and the pirouetting stars, he twirled his cane absent-mindedly, watching ; argent, glinting, antiquated. It conjured memories from youth- a jeweled carcanet on an old wool blanket, with the jade eye, his mother's. He'd purloined in uncharacteristically mischievous fashion and tossed it down the well past the vineyard, hoping it'd serve as jetsam for a pirate's fancy in some off-ways colorful story. The memory coaxed a smirk, until it softened, and faded to a gentle frown upon further nostalgia.

A long while he stared, an occasional sip, that clock's old tick seeming all-the-louder in the otherwise silent and high-walled room. A foursome of parapets, his armored vassals which abided so faithfully, shrouding him in solitude. No thought was so vested, protected or poignant, however as his heed for Wren ; she called to him in his dreams, too oft and few between, and the bulwark that was Grey Manor, with its enveloping walls and locked gates, couldn't safeguard him from pining.

He turned from the window and paced towards the fireplace, taking his overcoat from the fender and putting out the kindling flame. Slipping into it, and placing his hat crookedly upon his head, he regarded those high parapets with a parting nod, making his way towards the exit and into the night ; a decided plan, to carouse, and to evade himself.