Caecey storms in to see her father twirling her ring. "What are you doing in my room?" *She suddenly recognises the ring. Her eyes narrow to slits* "Put that down." she hisses softly. "It's my last remnant of my brother, since you've smashed up his wing." *She knows that her father didn't know the spell she put on it to make it open, and she was sure her protective charms would hold.*
*Arcturus fastidiously drops the ring back into the tray of knick-knacks on her dressing table, as if the strange locking mechanism wasn't curiously provocative, just like the defiance of his little Princess, trying so hard to be - her brother. The ingrate was gone, but his absence nagged at the building, like an abscess in a tooth, and they really must strive for renewed - equilibrium.* "I wasn't attempting to invade, daughter, merely to learn. What is this compulsion you feel to push and pull - to defy me head-on and simultaneously withdraw as demonstration of your "independence"? We are blood, what more could there be needed to bind us? Surely, as a Rookou, you can see that."
*Caecey rolls her eyes* "A lot of things. You say Dumbledore was a fool. His portrait told me that there is more to close relationship than blood alone. You are blinded by this obsession with it, and Ciaran *she flinches* saw that. You need love and kindness, and your whole family with you to be truly bound. It tug hard at her heartstrings to use her brother as an example, but she ignored it.
*His tone is arctic, due to the invocation of Dumbledore's name, and each word falls into place like a two-ton stone slab.* "So, despite being a Slytherin, forsaking family, and wretchedly hiding behind the name I have commanded shall not be spoken here, you compound your entire, pointless defiance with a throwaway line about the other ingrate. Your status as a true Rookou now hangs from the minimal, dwindling thread provided by your mother's unquestioned virtue - otherwise I should think both of you of another's getting, some sycophant of the Muggle-lover you cited."
The last person who wanted wizard supremacy died at the hands of a half-blood. And as for Dumbledore being a "Muggle-Lover" that's your opinion, not mine. If you can call him that, a man who did such great things that benefitted the wizarding world in such a positive way, I am perfectly entitled to call you a wizard-lover." She trembles in fury, glares at her father and snarls softly. "Ingrate!" she spat. "What a horrible name to call my brother, whom I truly loved, one of the few I ever did!"
"Anyway, I don't see any point in staying. I wanted friends, I've expressed this several times, and you don't let me go out, any time, not even my own birthday. You don't even let me hex snowballs to chase the annoying Muggles that leave rubbish on our street!"
*Arcturus' brow furrows in seemingly genuine perplexity* "What is this abuse of "love"? You can know nothing of it, a girl barely eighteen with no real acquaintance beyond these walls. I respect Wizardkind as the paramount form it so self-evidently is, but only my true blood do I love, and the former resident who sloped off into the night left behind him his name and his integrity, so far as I am concerned - and your mother also. You spout all this love, but whatever you - now clearly - think of me, you cannot deny she has done all she could to protect your interests and guarantee your free growth. Indeed, we have obviously been too liberal when aberrations of this order are, seemingly, the order of the day."
"You think that's all he left behind...." She stuffs some things into her bag, but forgets the ring, being distracted by her anger. "I don't think I can live here any more." she murmurs, half to herself, and begins to stalk out.
*Arcturus is not remotely impressed by this clearly idle threat, wrapped up in a temper tantrum.* "And where, pray tell, do you believe you are suited to go? Where would take you in? You are a Rookou, and we take care of our own because, quite simply, we have sense enough to know that the world at large does not give a fig about us. Why do you think I stopped you hexing the snowballs? So as not to pointlessly draw the eyes of the Ministry this way, a Ministry which adheres so reverently to the policy of miscegenation, to permitting and promoting the dilution of true Wizarding blood, and power, with the mongrel methanol-based substitute which flows in the veins of the Mudbloods. We do not have power, child, we ARE power, and, when the time is right all that strength will be focused and unleashed."
*Arcturus actually bothers to knock before barging in this time, speaking to his clearly distraught daughter. He attempts a conciliatory tone, but it's truly not in his nature.* "My dear, I'm sorry. You just got between the two of us once more, and as ever, the crossfire was worse than the direct consequences. I apologise for my - abruptness, and hope to see you at supper." *With this, he closes the door once more, and Apparates back to his own wing.*
Caecey eats her ice-cream, thinking about her father's reaction. Surely he should have been more expressive about his gratefulness... Caecey dismissed this thought immediately. It was far too soon for him to act like that, else it would be like she'd never left. She wonders what she would fix up next... maybe she would do with another chair, to go in the library, just in case she fancied reading by the light of her wand, and maybe a velvet cushion to go in it. Come to think of it, she wondered what her father was doing; she couldn't hear him in the house. She looks in her wardrobe, and picks out a pair of emerald green robes. She puts them on; they still fitted. It felt like being home again; but then she abruptly reminds herself she already was. The sense of dread she'd held for several days finally faded; her father seemed to be in no rush to kill her, and this was generally a patriarchal family. She wonders how Hebath takes being worked so much. He wasn't young, and was still as conscientious as he had ever been. She wouldn't admit this in front of Hebath, of course, his head might get swollen; but the fact was, he was. It was strangely reassuring, being back home. She puts her communication Galleon, disguised as a normal Galleon, in her purse; in its own section so she doesn't accidentally spend it. She becomes bored quickly, and looks in the "Bag" section of her wardrobe, picks out a silver one, and puts her purse and a few other valuables in it hastily. She puts on a pair of silver slip-ons, and looks in the mirror, hastily smoothing down a few stray hairs. Her eyes sparkle as she walks out of her wing, over the neatly cropped grass of the garden. At the gate, she Apparates to Diagon Alley, heading to Flourish and Blotts, as apparently they have a copy of her favourite book, and another that she has heard about that sounds like an interesting read; there are still several empty shelves in the Library. She does not notice that her Gillyweed and Dittany plants are still alive; Hebath had most likely been sneakily watering them for her.
HebathThe Rookery -"As you say." – 11:44, September 30, 2012 (UTC)
*He Apparates in.* "Mistress Caecey! We have visitor, says Cousin Octavia. Dining Room."