[Moira's eyebrows twitch upward, and she glances at Oliver, a question in her look. Not your usual, Oliver reads, and is pleased he can still catch that much from his mother in a look.
She does, at least, offer Cissie a small smile.] Cissie. It's just as well, really. The Claremont is hideously crowded this time of year.
[Oliver relaxes a fraction. Cissie's accidental unpretentiousness worked in their favor.] She means you're welcome.
[Moira pushes Oliver's shoulder slightly, her smile coming a little more naturally.] You may call me Mrs. Steele. I would introduce you to my husband, but unfortunately Walter is out of the country on business.
[Oliver watches his mother carefully, noticing those little twitches in her face and stance that indicate there's more to Walter's absence than she's saying - but she's getting better at hiding them.]
Mother, if it's all right, I'm going to take Cissie up to the guest suites and help her get settled.
[Moira studies Oliver and then Cissie in careful silence, her face impressively unreadable at first. Then she nods.] I'm going to go check on your sister. Come speak to me once our guest is comfortable.
[Our guest. That could either be a very good or very bad thing, depending on the level of scrutiny his mother decides to level Cissie's way. He touches the latter's elbow gently, an indication to follow, and moves upstairs. The whole place, even with half the lights out and the staff asleep, breathes a history of wealth. Portraits and urns and mahogany. The clichéd trappings of status.
Sometimes Oliver feels like an insect in the nest of some other, bigger monster, unnoticed by his family's own legacy.] This way.
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She does, at least, offer Cissie a small smile.] Cissie. It's just as well, really. The Claremont is hideously crowded this time of year.
[Oliver relaxes a fraction. Cissie's accidental unpretentiousness worked in their favor.] She means you're welcome.
[Moira pushes Oliver's shoulder slightly, her smile coming a little more naturally.] You may call me Mrs. Steele. I would introduce you to my husband, but unfortunately Walter is out of the country on business.
[Oliver watches his mother carefully, noticing those little twitches in her face and stance that indicate there's more to Walter's absence than she's saying - but she's getting better at hiding them.]
Mother, if it's all right, I'm going to take Cissie up to the guest suites and help her get settled.
[Moira studies Oliver and then Cissie in careful silence, her face impressively unreadable at first. Then she nods.] I'm going to go check on your sister. Come speak to me once our guest is comfortable.
[Our guest. That could either be a very good or very bad thing, depending on the level of scrutiny his mother decides to level Cissie's way. He touches the latter's elbow gently, an indication to follow, and moves upstairs. The whole place, even with half the lights out and the staff asleep, breathes a history of wealth. Portraits and urns and mahogany. The clichéd trappings of status.
Sometimes Oliver feels like an insect in the nest of some other, bigger monster, unnoticed by his family's own legacy.] This way.