Who

Tommin, D'wane

What

AU: Doctor Tommin and Commander D'wane find themselves at the Yuletide Manor for the holidays, making small talk while they wait on their hosts to arrive.

When

Christmas Time, 1845

Where

AU - Yuletide Manor, 1845

OOC Date 01 Dec 2017 06:00

 

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AU: Yuletide Manor

Welcome to the Manor House for the Christmas of 1845! The drawing room has plenty of space for our guests to sit and converse, or share in convivial entertainments. It's a high room with ornate plaster ceilings, oak-panelled to half-height and with a hand-printed wallpaper above, fleur-de-lis on terra cotta, with a frieze below the coving. The curtains are red velvet with fringes, and there are lace nets at the windows. The room is lit by beeswax candles and oil lamps; we don't trust the new gas lights. The focal point is a huge stone fireplace, recently updated with a tiled surround. A log fire burns in the grate, making the room warm and comfortable; if you're chilly after a stroll in the grounds, the armchairs that surround it are very cosy! On the wide mantelpiece, candelabras add to the light, while ornaments and framed daguerrotype portraits crowd the rest of the surface, as well as several small tables. You can even see the greeting card that someone has sent us by the new Penny Post! There's a mirror above the hearth and family portraits on the walls. This year, we have followed the Royal example: a Christmas Tree, so recently introduced to this country by Prince Albert, stands in one corner of the room, gaily decorated and lit with white candles - a fine supplement to the sprigs of holly and other greenery that wreathe the fireplace and hang from the walls. Look out for the mistletoe! There are comfortable places to sit: padded, wooden-armed chairs and and a pair of chaise longues are placed around the room, while the cushioned window seats in the leaded windows provide more casual accommodation. You might like to use a card-table for a hand of whist, or play chess or backgammon. Of course, you are welcome to use the library, the billiard room, or the smoking room. In the evenings, we might gather round the piano to sing carols - if you sing or play, perhaps you will entertain us? And do take a look at the children's toy theatre, with its cardboard scenery and figures! During the afternoon, mulled wine will be served, or negus for the children, and of course, tea. Small minced-meat pies, cold cuts and sugar plums are among the delicacies laid out on the side-board. Or perhaps you would like a glass of claret? When the village carol-singers arrive, though, the wassail punch-bowl will make an appearance. If you lack anything, please avail yourself of the bell-pull, and the parlour-maid will assist you.


It's a late evening, around eight, and fresh snow has hampered most of the carriages calling to the Manor. But tea has passed and now the new doctor in town, young Doctor Tommin, is calling, brushing snow from his suit and handing his overcoat to a maid who bustles away with it. He's shown first to the drawing room, cheeks still pink with the cold and adjusting his necktie. Instead of taking up some food, he accepts a small glass of wine, He sits close enough to hearth to absorb some of the warm where the windows and walls of a manor can't keep the chill out, and studies the other manor guests through the mirror, awaiting the hosts.

"Here we come a-wassailing, among the leaves so green…" The sound heralds this man's arrival long before he actually makes his arrival into the drawing room, snow being brushed off hat and coat and gloves which are removed and handed off to waiting maid. D'wane might not be the host, but he's definitely not a guest. A few freindly greetings accompanied with hearty pats on the back are handed out before he starts properly mingling. It's a meandering path that eventually works himself towards the window, a glass of mulled wine somehow appearing in his hand. "Evening, Doctor. How was the trip from…." Yeah, he probably should have paid more attention when his mother was announcing who all was coming for this season.

D'wane's music precedes him and the utter noise of it over the low murmurs of other guests has everyone's head turning, Tommin's most of all. "Good evening, Sir," he replies in shy but cheerful tones, and rushes to fill the blanks, "France, sir. France." Even though everyone knows how France has whispers these days, Tommin brightly mentions, "Things are happening there. But I am so glad to be home, among my countrymen." Suddenly, Tommin shifts aside and asks, "And what brings you this harrowing night, but the company of our hosts?" Which would be AMAZINg, except where ARE they?

D'wane nods quickly at the mention of well… continental happenings, which happens to bring a frown to his face which is not fitting to their festive surroundings. It's only on momentarily before he attempts to wash it down quickly with his wine. "Orders bring me home. The Centurion is due for some maintenance and so…" The officer waves a hand at their posh surroundings. "Must say… this is much better than the last Christmas. Spent it in Hong Kong. I think…"

Freezing momentarily as D'wane frowns, Tommin's own glass pauses on the way to his lips. The explanation loosens him a bit, the Doctor nodding along. "Best to keep those ships, ship shape!" It's an awful joke, but politeness demands Tommin raise his glass, before it droops at the mention of Hong Kong. "But, good to be home, eh?" he rallies a bit, sipping a bit but his smile is wan. A maid passes by, foottread silent as it can be on hard wood flooring and Tommin takes an offered biscuit. Almost out of thin air, he asks, "What do you find the best part of being home?" As if D'wane knows no other home than Brave Britannia.

Honestly, considering how young D'wane was when he was sent off for a glorious adventurous life in the service of Her Royal Majesty's Navy. Another of the servers passes around and D'wane exchanges empty glass for a new one. As awful as the joke might be, it gets a laugh. And why not? The air is full of Yuletide cheer. And all those glasses full of liquid cheer as well to help out too. "To tell you true, It feels strange not to be on something that rocks a bit. Should have seen me those first few days off…" He'll give a small pantomime that more resembles a hopeless drunk than one might expect of the upright officer. "But there's so many things to be thankful for. Not hardtack for one." D'wane waggles one of the biscuits he also snagged. "Much tastier."

There's a little unholy pleasure at how Tommin made a funny, raising his glass at D'wane's laugh. The murmur in the background fades as Tommin looks up into D'wane's face, smiling as he takes a sip; "Hardtack, I've heard, is better used in housing material," and that's totally not a comment as a stiff wind blows cross to the fireplace. Nibbling on his own, the young doctor ponders, "If one added enough water to make it into some kind of cement, would it be secure enough to sail on?"

"There are definitely some… colorful phrases, that have been used to describe the ship's menu," D'wane will confess, but it seems a sudden burst of giggling from some nearby debutantes making their first official appearance this holiday season reminds him that he is among gentle company again and so he won't actually enlighten the good doctor on what those terms might be. The suggestion of sailing gets a right proper guffaw of laughter. "Rumor says you can!" But then it looks like there's a sudden new arrival that catches D'wane's attention at the entrance. "If you would excuse me…" And before any response can be given, he's off.

It's most indubitably a lovely lady and the good doctor is relegated to the couch until other company appears. Such is the way of socializing in Victorian times; some may enter your sphere, some may go. But everyone, from eyelash to the last note of the swan's soulful song, must see a healer. Tommin awaits.

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