Your move.

Desdemona Rookwood managed a sad smile for the blonde girl before turning back to her son, her hands draping into the pockets of the tailored trousers she’d had recently taken in. She arched her severe eyebrows, her lips coming to a rouge point as she looked at him, questioning his direction and his search for her over anyone else who would have rather had their ear bent by Theodore Rookwood.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Theo snapped, shaking his head derisively before stalking over to the decanter and glasses half buried beneath the sheet music on the piano. Determined, seemingly, to drink in every room of the house, Theodore poured out another few fingers of scotch and moved into the window, staring out over the frozen grounds, catching sight of Athena’s dog romping after a few rabbits that had been foolish enough to rear their heads. Other than that, it was all very still, much like the house, in that sense.

“Theodore Raghnall Tritonos Aeron Rookwood how else do you expect me to look at you?” Desdemona broke out pitifully, removing her hands and holding them up in the air briefly, as though daring him to hold her accountable. He could almost hear the commas in the unruly list of legacies that made up his name. It wasn’t his own, Merlin knew that and so did the rest of them. Somehow they wanted him to live up to the rest of them, the ones that had worn the name before him. But they hadn’t married Half-Bloods. It was a little tricky trying to live up to a name when your family disowns you.

“Des, leave it.” He scolded, sipping at the scotch before resuming his glare out through the panes.

Desdemona threw up her hands again, washing them with her son for the moment before crossing the room to the piano, turning her back to Hallie as Theodore did also in order to clear up her mess. For a moment they looked very alike with their sturdy, stress and exasperation filled shoulders and their dark hair. The distinctions between them were stark and clear but there was no doubting that the woman was his mother, most definitely not.

“I am not going to argue with you, Teddy,” Desdemona pointed out airily, turning half-way towards her son, letting her profile be seen with the flick away of her hair.

“Don’t, then,” he muttered under his breath, inspecting the scotch in his glass.

Desdemona shook her head and finished shuffling her pages before turning to Hallie, a bright smile alighting on her features, making her look all the world for that one single moment less weathered and beaten down by the storminess of the Rookwood men. Even her own son had tired her and written lines into her cheeks, her darling Teddy who had been her companion throughout his childhood. He’d never really had one in that sense but had certainly seen the world despite it.

“He always gets like this, you see,” Desdemona explained, taking her wand from her pocket. With a flick she summoned a tray of tea and toast and, with another, set it down on the table before the fire.

“Sit with me if you like,” she encouraged Hallie before taking a seat and charming the teapot to pour out a brew. She used her own hands to pour in the milk but dipped her wand into the tea to stir it. Then, she set the wand down and picked up her cup, gesturing for Hallie to make herself a cup at her leisure.

“When he was a little boy and he used to have a bad time of it he’d always sit in the window seat with … I think it was Bewick’s Birds or something of the like and he’d have hot chocolate with far too much cream and one of those flaky chocolate bars stuck in the foam of it and he’d come out all sticky and in a fairer mood. Of course, Bewick’s Birds is stained with little Teddy-Bear’s finger prints, bless his heart. His father was livid when he found the book and, to spite him, even then my Teddy was a moody little thing, he had the biggest cup of hot chocolate he could convince the Elves to make him and made a special effort to write his name in his fingerprints in the front. I think I have it around here somewhere.”

As it was, Desdemona kept it close to her while her son was away but made a great show of it seeming just a flyaway thing she didn’t look at often. She produced the book from a sideboard drawer and took a moment to tweak the flowers that were still alive in the vase atop the sideboard before resuming her place before the fire, handing over the book to Hallie.

Desdemona opened the book in the younger girl’s hands and showed her the crude yet somewhat stylistic expression of Theo’s name. Even then he liked to twirl his T’s, unsure of quite how to form the rest of the letters with finesse. That one he had to a fine art, however, and while the rest of the letters lolloped and flailed, even Desdemona had to admit that the beginning of his name was a flawless piece of calligraphy despite the chocolate and the fingers. Her son was not a man who had scruffy handwriting. No, she’d seen to that early – even in chocolate-form. But of course, then he’d been very young and already very angry with his father and his brother.

“I saved the book lest it too bear Thaddeus’ wrath but, nevertheless, there it is. Not in perfect condition, I grant you, but it’s well-loved. Of course, when he got too big for the window seat to be comfortable completely, too long he was, he chose to stand and he’d stare. He wouldn’t read. When he was old enough, too young for my taste, I found him with a glass in his hand and thus, he became a Rookwood man, I suppose.”

Desdemona smiled sadly for a moment, wondering where her smiling Teddy had gone, but brushed the thoughts of her little baby away.

“I expect his grandfather started and Theodore ended it?” Desdemona inquired, casting a wary glance at her son who had refilled his glass beyond the measure propriety insisted upon.

Desdemona shook herself briefly before sipping her tea and setting it back down. She then called with a twitch of her fingers one of the photographs. She caught it and opened up the frame, taking one of the pictures tucked in the back, behind the one on show, out to hand to Hallie. It was dog-eared and old but in it, Theodore grinned, all chubby and curly of hair and bright of eye. It had been just before he’d gotten the pesky little deformity removed but even in the picture, they were hidden from sight. He had still been happy then, light and easy, without burden. His smile was toothy. He was still but a baby.

“He wasn’t always so hard and difficult, I promise you. The best thing to do in times like these is to take the scotch away but then he tends to take after his uncle and turn to absinthe and it all gets very odd and awful and I would certainly prefer him sitting in a sweetshop than in a bar. It is much less lethal. Or, at least, not as immediately so.”

Desdemona looked over at her son who had abandoned his glass with a clatter on the piano as if to prove a point, yet he did not join them. He remained standing in the window, seeing things in his mind that he had little choice but to relive, and whether he noticed or not, he had begun to rub at his hands.

Hallie simply watched 'Des', as Theodore called her, shared few words but appeared to be holding a full conversation. Des. Yet again Theo had addressed a parent by their first name. She wasn't overly surprised at why he hadn't called his Father 'Dad', but his Mother. It wasn't as if there was no love there, Hallie could sense love as all Mothers and their children had it. An inaudible sigh vacated from Hallie's mouth. The Rookwood's really were one complicated family. 

Hallie surpassed a smile before accepting yet another invitation to sit. The difference being, this was an open invitation compared to Raghnell's instruction to sit. Mrs Rookwood's request was also filled with food, toast, as opposed to the alcohol that Mr Rookwood had brushed upon them. Hallie did enjoy a good drink of firewhiskey, in fact it was her drink of choice, but getting drink in front of the  in-laws wasn't something Hallie intended to do.

On the other hand she'd much rather have had another glass of firewhiskey than a teacup full of tea. For some reason Hallie had never associated with the warm, tasteless drink. Of course her Mother had about four mugs a day but Hallie could never taste the attraction. Grasping the handle of the teapot and holding the lip down whilst she poured her teacup soon was full to the brim. It wasn't a pleasant sight in the cup, nor did the aroma live up to that which hot chocolate gave but nonetheless Hallie spooned two readings of sugar into the drink, allowing it to mix well. She'd leave it to cool for a while.

A smile flashed across Hallie's face, the most genuine smiles of the day. The cup of hot chocolate Mrs Rookwood was describing was all to familiar, it was the same mug that Theodore had made for him and her before they were married. It was refreshing to see that, despite the being treated like a King and being given any job under the sun he wanted, he hadn't completely changed. There was still that little boy inside of him, that child-like innocence.

This moment in time was exactly the reason Hallie had come to visit the Rookwood's. To find stories about him, silly little stories that didn't mean anything yet mean't everything at the same time. Mrs Rookwood understood. She'd kept a book Theodore had wrote with chocolate-stained fingers in when he had been a tad troublesome. It was small, insignificant but it had mean't something to his Mother. It had mean't enough to keep a physical memory of the incident. 

There were so many things Hallie could say but as of now her mind was blank. All apart from a bubble, a bubble of optimism. Perhaps Theodore would be a good husband after all, he certainly didn't show the characteristics his Father and Brother had shown and if he took after his Mother, Hallie had a feeling he did, then maybe they would have a happy family. What was Hallie doing? She was daydreaming of an image, Theodore in her arm with a cat being cuddled by a little boy. Refocusing her attention Hallie noticed the photograph Mrs Rookwood was showing her. That wasn't helping. The children in her head were all curly haired and chubby now. 

Reaching for her drink Hallie took two gulps of the tea. Yuck. That had distracted her from her sudden broodiness. 'I don't think he's like them.' Hallie stated, returning the tea cup to it's saucer. 'His Father, I mean. He's warm, sweet and although he is having a drink and acting like a Rookwood man right now he still has a sweet tooth for the hot chocolate. Behind the rugged, facial-haired handsomeness I'd say it's all you.'

Hallie had been speaking as though Theodore wasn't there, yet her eyes were pressed deeply onto his figure by the window. 'Sorry.' She apologised, turning her attention to Mrs Rookwood. 'Maybe I'm wrong, I haven't known him long, I just... Have a feeling.' Once again her eyes diverted back to Theodore as she spoke the final three words. 

(OOC: sorry if it's a bit of a rubbish reply and typo-dominant I'm on my phone)