I'm sorry. [He means it, even if he's essentially saying 'no'. Ollie takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, managing ten whole steps inside with Cissie in tow. The grand stairways flank the entrance, and the interior is all dark woods, brown marble, and red cloth.
And one very thunderous-looking blonde woman bearing down on Oliver and Cissie, wrapped in a silk bathrobe over what looks like a pair of Walter's pajamas. At the very least they're too big for her.
Oliver stops, bracing himself with stillness, and Moira makes the opening volley:] Thank God. You can't keep doing this, Oliver, you aren't an irresponsible child any more. Where have you been?
Out. [The word is soothing. Oliver takes his mother's arms by the elbows, feeling the tension in every part of her like a bowstring with the arrow drawn back against it.] Ma. Relax. Is Thea all right?
[Moira exhales hard through her nostrils, locking on to Cissie over Oliver's shoulder and narrowing her eyes in an expression Oliver recognizes as suspicion about to be unleashed. He heads her off before she can say anything, voice still calm. He sounds a little like he's talking to a riled animal.] This is Cissie. Ran into her downtown. We knew each other, before the wreck. She's in town, airport lost her bags, the Claremont messed up her reservation, so I thought she could stay with us for a night or two.
[Oliver's mother looks at least slightly mollified.] Miss - Cissie what?
King. King-Jones, actually. [Better to go with the truth there, at least. Keep this mess as simple as possible. Oliver steps to one side, so the two women can get a better look at each other.] Mom. Thea?
[Moira pauses, then curls her hand gently around Oliver's wrist.] She'll be all right. Taking after her brother, unfortunately. And she's grounded again.
[A small smile lights Oliver's face at the last part, smothered just as quickly. Thea will pretend not to be happy about the restriction, but any attention from Moira is good, and that his mother is getting better at discipline is even better.]
[Moira nods to Cissie, very slowly.] Miss King. Or do you prefer King-Jones?
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And one very thunderous-looking blonde woman bearing down on Oliver and Cissie, wrapped in a silk bathrobe over what looks like a pair of Walter's pajamas. At the very least they're too big for her.
Oliver stops, bracing himself with stillness, and Moira makes the opening volley:] Thank God. You can't keep doing this, Oliver, you aren't an irresponsible child any more. Where have you been?
Out. [The word is soothing. Oliver takes his mother's arms by the elbows, feeling the tension in every part of her like a bowstring with the arrow drawn back against it.] Ma. Relax. Is Thea all right?
[Moira exhales hard through her nostrils, locking on to Cissie over Oliver's shoulder and narrowing her eyes in an expression Oliver recognizes as suspicion about to be unleashed. He heads her off before she can say anything, voice still calm. He sounds a little like he's talking to a riled animal.] This is Cissie. Ran into her downtown. We knew each other, before the wreck. She's in town, airport lost her bags, the Claremont messed up her reservation, so I thought she could stay with us for a night or two.
[Oliver's mother looks at least slightly mollified.] Miss - Cissie what?
King. King-Jones, actually. [Better to go with the truth there, at least. Keep this mess as simple as possible. Oliver steps to one side, so the two women can get a better look at each other.] Mom. Thea?
[Moira pauses, then curls her hand gently around Oliver's wrist.] She'll be all right. Taking after her brother, unfortunately. And she's grounded again.
[A small smile lights Oliver's face at the last part, smothered just as quickly. Thea will pretend not to be happy about the restriction, but any attention from Moira is good, and that his mother is getting better at discipline is even better.]
[Moira nods to Cissie, very slowly.] Miss King. Or do you prefer King-Jones?