forum Of Quills and Hearts (OxO) {Closed}

Started September 26, 2022 by @ScotchTapeWorm group

tune

(Glad to see you back! Don't worry about length, I think we both need a moment to readjust to this one :D )

Franklyn didn't wave back. She curled her hand back and tried not to let any expression show. He was being serious about this. Was he just this competitive or was it her? Was she being childish again? Delilah took one of her hands and pinched her arm, the flesh turning slightly red. This wasn't sitting in the garden with Kit and Alya. This was a gentleman, and she was ruining it.

Delilah listened to Samuel's voice speak in rhythm for the opening of the game. He used the traditional opener then veered off book, adding his own twists and turns to make sure everyone was engaged. He was quite good at it and Delilah could feel herself relax slightly, as all of her energy slowly drained away. It wasn't all at once, but with the frantic desperate energy just.. Gone. She found it quite pleasant to simply sit with her head down, her eyes closed, hearing the sounds of others breathing. It was reassuring and relaxing and still strangely tense all at once.

And then her head went up. There was something strangely comical about watching everyone with their heads down, she looked around and met the other two "mafia's" eyes and tried to suppress a giggle. For their sakes she couldn't give them away now. Her fellow conspirators were two girls, one with fire red hair and freckles that Delilah had never seen before and another with shorter raven hair and knowing grey-green eyes. The first girl grinned wolfishly at her and they started looking at the group. Who would be the first to go?

Oh this was fun. Delilah tried to keep from bouncing in excitement, today was just so much so fast. Her first time out of the house in months, a reasonable voice told her she'd pay for it later. She'd be so exhausted. She squashed the voice without mercy.

Trying to raise her arms slowly to avoid the rustle of cloth, the girls pointed at different people, making faces to communicate. The dark haired girl pointed at Shelley questioningly and they both wrinkled their noses to say no. That would be rude, especially the first round. She was their host. The red haired one then pointed at Samuel and all the girls had to bite back a short laugh at his startled expression. Did killing the narrator win the game? Finally, not wanting to take up too much time, they finally settled on a brown haired man to her right. He'd seemed the least interested in the game, so Delilah felt briefly pleased about it. The decision was made, and the heads went back down.

Some other things happened, but she didn't pay much attention. She'd never played before, so she wasn't trying to win. Just learn and have fun. By the 'morning', Samuel described the mans death and the towns shock. Everyone appropriately made surprised faces, glancing at each other and making whispering noises like they were a real crowd. Delilah herself raised her hand to her mouth, leaning to the person on her left and making the "shshsh" sounds everyone was doing. Then a town meeting was called. Delilah couldn't hide her excitement much, so she sat on her hands.

She tried grinning at Franklyn and was the first to speak. "A tragedy really. Who do you think did it?"

Franklyn could have sworn he heard someone suppressing giggles near him, but he wasn't entirely sure. The Mafia made their choice relatively quickly, and he had no more clues.
"Sheriff, wake up." He looked up at Samuel, who had an amused expression on his face. "Who would you like to accuse?"
He thought for a moment, glancing around. Nobody seemed out of place, though…. though Delilah seemed entirely too excited. She was sitting still, but only barely.
However, he didn't want to just go with it, so he pointed at the brown haired boy next to her, Nolan. Samuel nearly laughed out loud, before waving him back to 'sleep'.
He managed to act shocked and not disappointed when Nolan happened to have been the man killed the night before. Samuel didn't mention the accusation, which meant he might be able to sway the crowd to accuse someone, though that would risk him being found.
He found that he couldn't help but keep glancing at Delilah. She was clearly enjoying herself, and now that a few minutes had passed since their… moment, Franklyn didn't know how to feel.
She was sitting on her hands, and turned to him immediately. "A tragedy really. Who do you think did it?"
Franklyn shook his head, intentionally widening his eyes to look innocent and clueless. "I have no clue, I'm sure." He held eye contact, unaware of the vulnerability and depth that his current expression communicated.
The crowd discussed around them, and Franklyn forgot to sway them. He couldn't break the eye contact, trying to convey heavier things than the game.
His heart might be the one killed next, if he wasn't careful.

Delilah looked at the man across from her, someone she'd written to so much she felt as if she could imagine that she knew him, yet his face was still foreign to her. It was a surreal feeling, and the electricity under her skin still hadn't settled down. It was all so strange. Looking at his eyes still broke something inside her, an ever increasing twist in her heart and the expression on his face just stuck the knife in further.

Delilah would be the first to say that.. She wasn't the best with people. It took her a long time to adjust and even longer to understand. Her meeting with Shelley the first time had left her confused and disoriented, but vaguely convinced that it had gone well. Franklyn left her confused and disoriented, but it felt different. She didn't quite know why.

Reading people was so, so hard. It was a skill other people seemed to pick up so easily, noting all the ways a persons face and body moved and intuiting mood and thoughts, Delilah knew Alya was a master at it and often wondered if the girl could read her mind. But everyone did it, all the time, and it didn't seem to bother them one bit, but it was exhausting to Delilah. Just another thing that she couldn't do, another broken piece. She had to constantly watch and guess and hope she got it right. It was why words on pen and paper were so much easier to convey. A letter didn't show where she'd smiled at the wrong time and laughed at something that hadn't been a joke, or stood frozen while someone cried. It was just her thoughts and feeling on the paper with none of her imperfections to get in the way.

It had taken growing up together and practically living hip to hip for her to begin interpreting Kit and Alya's expressions and they had helped her along where they could. Sometimes saying aloud how they felt as well as showing it.

All of this to say. Delilah was hopelessly lost as to why Franklyn was staring at her. His eyes were the first thing she'd noticed about him, just how soft and kind they looked, and now they seemed faintly.. Distressed? Mistrustful? ..Happy? She felt a chill, was he so clever that he'd already figured out she was one of the mafia's? Maybe she should start reading those mystery books he was scarily good at this-

The crowd was chattering, making decisions and alliances and what not. Delilah was just confused, stumped by her own personal puzzle. What was on his mind? Was he trying to tell her something? She glanced around, briefly locking eyes with her chaperone, still watching like a hawk. She broke eye contact quickly and looked back at the group. She felt a bit out of her depth suddenly and she wished Kit were here. She'd know what to do.

Delilah bit down on her lip again, trying not to ruin the make-up. She felt like she was eight again, overwhelmed and intimidated and it was all just so much. Her manic energy had died. Leaving her tired and empty. She wanted to go home- She wanted- Wanted..
What did she want? To be honest with Franklyn? God no, the very thought sent her spiraling into a pit of anxiety. To not have so many people around? Yes, definitely, but that wasn't the main problem. She wanted to eat something, she wanted to go to sleep and never wake up, did she want the earth to swallow her whole? She didn't know. Delilah bit her lip harder, trying not to sink into her chair and hide, not to curl up and vanish. She wanted to be present. She wanted to do this.
But she also wanted to leave.
This had been a bad idea. Her father was right- She couldn't do this, any of it. By herself she was just scared and useless- She bit harder and refused to cry. Anyone glancing at her would maybe notice she was pale, maybe even that she was biting her lip, but her expression was so carefully blank.

She tried digging her nails into her hands, but the gloves stopped it from having any real effect. Nothing felt real, she wasn't here, she wasn't here. She wanted to rip the gloves off, she wanted to take the skin off, she wanted to cry or scream or stop or go and she didn't know when or where or why. Her inner turmoil continued silently until the next "night". Everyone's heads went down and hers went up in panic.

Delilah stood up as quietly as she could, gave a wild-eyed panicked look to Samuel, and left the circle, going into the garden and staring around for a moment. Before she took off running.

She didn't know where she was going, but she needed to get there fast. She took off across the lawn, past the horses, and finally stumbled to a halt by a tree. Honestly some part of her brain was impressed she made it this far, with the dress and her constitution. The fresh air was nice, the sun was nice, so was the shade of the tree. A big oak, very pretty. Delilah slumped against it and tried to take stock of the situation and ended up drawing a blank. Her only real thought was that she wanted to stay here and not go back. A flash of hawk eyes unsettled her, but she pushed it away, it wasn't important.

The girl stared at the ground for a while, then turned her brain off, retreating inwards. It was much nicer inside, there was no stress and no eating and no worrying, and it was just quiet. Delilah tipped her head back and let herself go, it had been coming on this morning but she'd ignored it in her excitement. Ignored the signs till now, her last thought before she shut off entirely was an apology. She didn't know to who, but her heart twisted, so it was probably someone important.

(Jesus, I apparently can't go two posts without Delilah suffering a mental breakdown of some kind. I honestly wasn't planning for this to happen :')

Agatha Margaret Anicilla had been in the employ of many of the nobles across the country. She had a long and illustrious history as a Chaperone of the young ladies, and was shrewd and observant in just all the right ways.

She knew when she was seeing an affair developing.

The way Delilah had looked at that young man, nearly fawned over him was very telling. His response, and the way he was treating her, also spoke volumes. These two had met, or at least talked before. Somehow, they had a connection that was deeper than some kind of childish infatuation-at-sight.
She watched as Delilah slowly wore down in his presence. She watched as he seemed to wilt in hers, but only when she wasn't paying attention to him.
She watched as they acted like she couldn't see what was happening right under her nose.

Reading people was so, so easy. It was a skill Agatha Margeret Anicilla seemed to pick up so easily, noting all the ways a persons face and body moved and intuiting mood and thoughts. Delilah wasn't particularly good at it, and so didn't realize how obvious she was when she was trying to be unreadable.

The look she was giving the boy now, for instance was one of utter confusion, despite her attempts to be subtle and hide it. He, for his part, seemed totally wrapped up in the idea that she didn't like him as much as he'd thought or hoped, maybe.
In another context, Agatha would have laughed and told them both to stop being so selfish and communicate already. But here, and now, and for this girl? This was a serious matter. Her father had been very clear about his expectations.
Delilah began showing clear signs of distress, and Agatha watched as she slowly worked herself into a right tizzy over whatever small slight.
Children.
The girl stood and took off running, running out the patio doors and across the yard. Agatha stood, intending not to lose sight of her, when Delilah stopped, still insight but partially hidden.
The boy leading the game had paused, but he continued on as if nothing had happened, probably trying not to embarrass her, as if she hadn't already made an embarrassment of herself.
The boy who'd been the problem looked up, and noticed Delilah's empty seat. His face blanched, and he immediately stood to go after her.
Agatha cleared her throat, loudly, and he whipped his head around to look at her. They held eye contact for a long moment, before he sat back down and returned to the game.
Agatha stood and went to their host, a young girl named Shelley, if she remembered correctly, and tapped her shoulder. The girl looked up, her expression falling almost immediately. Agatha indicated Delilah, who was out in the yard falling apart. Shelley's eyes bugged, and she made as if to go to her, but Agatha seized her arm and they walked out together.
Out in the middle of the yard, Agatha turned to the girl and asked something.
"I fear Lady Delilah's constitution has been upset by something. I doubt it is your fault, do not be alarmed. However, I do need to ask you something: Who is that boy Lady Delilah had such an interaction with earlier?"

"Who, Franklyn?" Shelley seemed surprised that she was being asked about him.

"Yes. Franklyn." Agatha committed the name to memory, before going on. "Tell me about him."

And poor, sweet, helpful Shelley told all.
………..

Franklyn was in mortal terror. They'd been playing, all had been well. He'd looked at Delilah, perhaps a moment longer than he ought to, but she was just so beautiful, and his heart was trying to burst out of his chest. There were so many things he wanted to say, and now, questions he wanted to ask.
And then, suddenly, she'd been running to escape. Scrambling to get away.
He'd heard the rustling of her dress and had looked up to see Samuel cut him an odd look. He turned, and Delilah was fleeing across the yard.
Without thinking about it, Franklyn stood to follow, to go comfort her, to help, to give her something stable to get a grip on, to tell her she was loved and appreciated and-

That vicious ahem had stopped him cold, and he'd looked straight into the eyes of the Chaperone. She had skewered him on the spot, nailed his feet to the floor, and he'd sat back down. He put his head down, like everyone else, but he couldn't play.
There was too much worry, too much concern, and beneath it all, a deep fear. Fear that somehow, this would lead to them being exposed. They had joked about scandal, and it wasn't everyone else's opinion that Franklyn feared, it was their parents'. The people who had the power to make their lives a living hell.
The Chaperone moved by, smelling of mothballs and starch and an ancient sort of mean, and there was another set of footsteps with her. He dare not look up, but when the next round progressed, Shelley was missing as well. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw her gesturing at him and talking animatedly.
Oh… oh no…
He stood, gave Samuel a look, and left.
The hansom wouldn't be back till later, and they could tell the driver he wasn't there. Instead, he took off walking. The sun was still out, but somehow, the day had turned cold, if not dark. Franklyn could feel it beginning to seep into his lungs, but at the moment, he could not have cared less.
The ten minute ride to the Berg household was more like an hour's walk, especially with Franklyn's current lifeless stride. He spent the entire time berating himself and thinking about how differently things could have gone, how he should have handled things, and now… thinking about the consequences. That blasted Chaperone was going to ruin their lives, he was sure of it.

By the time he got home, Franklyn had a racking cough and a splitting headache. He still hadn't eaten much, and he stumbled as he walked in the front door. He made it up the stairs by the sheer desire not to have to explain himself just now, and collapsed in bed. His body hurt, and was screaming at him to do something about it.
His heart and his head, though, were in agreement. He should just lie here and never move again, never try to live again, never try anything again.
In his head, the fog descended on his mind, and took up what promised to be a long residence.
And in his chest, his heart ached, and ached, and ached…

~~~~
The Chaperone got all the relevant information she could from Shelley, before excusing herself and Lady Delilah, with the excuse of Delilah being unwell. When she got to the girl, she was right. Delilah was listless, practicing her long stare, and pale. Agatha took her arm and pulled her along, the girl's feet functioning despite her mind shutting off. They made it to the carriage, and were on their way home.
Agatha allowed herself a small smile. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out the exact nature of the connection between this low-born merchant's boy, Franklyn Berg, and her noble employer's daughter. And once she had it figured out?

Well. The Duke paid nicely for a full report.

(Good lord I’ve been gone for a minute! Honestly this rp was probably the only reason I emerged from my hiatus, the idea has just been stuck in my head. :’)

Delilah could always remember things from her long pauses. It was always distorted and filmy, like something you could half remember from a dream if you squinted. All of it was strange and unpleasant, a harsh light that was too bright.
She could remember slipping away.
She could remember being found leaning against a tree.
She could remember being led by the arm.
She could remember getting in the carriage.
She could remember the conversation inside.

The carriage was quiet and dark. That was nice. Delilah sat in the comfortable seats, wiggling slightly to get into a good sitting position. She folded her hands in her lap and tried to stare at the opposite wall and not think for a while. Unfortunately there wasn’t just a wall in her vision. She frowned slightly, just a minor twitch of her lips, trying to not see.
The woman looked at her and she stared back. Why wouldn’t she move? Delilah tried turning her head and that worked, she couldn’t see her anymore, that was nice. For the most part, Delilah couldn’t feel anything, it was a nice kind of numb, completely detached, focused only on little things.

Little things like tapping. Repeated, sharp, and breaking the nice silence. She moved her head again, her frown spreading out to the corners of her eyes. And was met with cold ones. Delilah stirred a bit, uncomfortable, she wanted to leave again.

“Did you have a good time dear?” The cold spoke and Delilah shivered. She gave a small nod. She felt like a small animal with a hawk circling overhead.
“That’s good! Your father did warn me that you had an unseemly constitution, it’s a shame you had to leave early, but that is more than fine.” The voice had gotten warmer and Delilah relaxed a little, this was a friend then.

She nodded again, the frown smoothing back over into impassiveness. That was nice.

“Did you make any new acquaintances?” There was an edge to this question that Delilah missed, even fully aware it was doubtful she would have caught it. Instead her lips pressed into a line. She’d answered the first question, why was she still talking? The girl shifted in her seat trying to get comfortable again. Then raised her shoulders in a tiny shrug.

The chaperone made an inhaling noise, almost disappointed as she sucked air through her teeth. The older matron started tapping her finger again, shaking her head.
“Really? I thought you seemed to get along quite well with a few of your peers. The girl who hosted seemed anxious to be in your good graces and those two young men you chatted with. The Vonnifer child seemed to like you, and the other one. Franklyn wasn’t it?”

Delilah shifted again, her hands starting to grip the fabric of her dress. She didn’t like this. She wanted to cover her ears, but just why eluded her. All of her body seemed to be made of pins and needles, and her stomach had dropped. She felt nauseous, sick, unwell.
She didn’t like that at all. She’d run away from the stress, why was it following her here? Delilah turned her head away, hearing a small hum from across from her.

“Oh, was I wrong?” A head shake. The voice somehow got softer. “Then what distresses you child?” Silence.

The matron across from her shifted, then moved, settling in next to her, reaching out to grip one of the girl's hands, giving it a squeeze. She even sounded genuine when she spoke. “You can tell me anything, I’m here to help.”
Delilah froze. Then started shaking gently, tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. She allowed herself to be pulled into a weak hug, a hand placed on her hair.
This was.. Nice?

She dully felt a perfunctory pat on her head. Delilah didn’t allow herself to cry, even like this, she wouldn’t, couldn’t cry. She allowed herself to be hugged, then released.

“Will you help me to understand?”
A tiny nod.

This was easier.

-

The cache of letters was smaller than the chaperone had been expecting. Less than a dozen, but she supposed children didn’t need much to entertain themselves with their ideas.
It was hidden poorly, a crack in the wall in a rarely used part of the manor. Large enough to slip envelopes into. Agatha removed them carefully with a gloved hand, humming once as she leafed through the papers.
The girl had only deteriorated further over the course of their ride, she stood fixed to one spot, pale as a sheet, and gently moving back and forth like there was a breeze.

The matron slipped the letters into her bag, making sure there wasn’t one hidden in another crack. The contents were immaterial, the fact that they existed was damning enough. The letters were addressed to Delilah specifically, with a name that seemed to at least partially match that of the merchant boy.

She turned to the girl, allowing herself to smile.
“You did the right thing telling me about this. I’ll see to it that these are taken care of.” Delilah stared right past her, her shoulders curling in on themselves. Agatha’s lips thinned to a line, breathing out through her nose, gently grabbing the girl's elbow and leading her away. Her own servants could take care of her. Her job was done.

-

Delilah slept for the next day and the next she wasn’t aware of much. She’d been laid up in bed, staring at the painted ceiling. Breathing was just about the only thing she could manage, in and out. At one point she tried counting them. Then stopped. It was too hard.

The week passed by slowly for her.

Despite the young lady’s lethargy however, the house was anything but slow. Excuses and apologies were drawn up and sent out, written by Alya in Delilah’s hand. They’d spent years practicing so the forgery was practically perfect. In it, she apologized for leaving early, citing her ill health for the early departure and that hopefully the small gift sent would make up for the indiscretion. Alya was left to look after her mistress alone, requiring about as much care as a houseplant.

Katherine took the week off to visit her family, there wasn’t much she could do for her lady in this state, though she was practically ready to explode with questions about how it all went. Her first time out of the house in weeks, and they’d all missed the signs that a fit was coming on. Alya told her not to blame herself.

The house continued on as always, everything cared for and jobs completed. There were no rumors being passed around that hadn’t been said before and life went on. They were used to Delilah going catatonic, it was unusual, but even the strangest thing became commonplace if it happened often enough. Life went on.

~~~~~~~

(And here’s where I got really demotivated and then everything went downhill lol. I tried working past this point and just couldn’t. But I did want to share what I’d worked on so far? So sorry for disappearing haha.)