Chapter Text
She’s pacing the front porch of the estate, simmering with annoyance at her great-great-great grandson, when she hears the soft, cautious footsteps in the grass.
A head appears just over the bushes just around the corner, lit only by the pale light of the waning quarter moon and a dim incandescent glow from some of the windows. He looks toward the house, tilts his head as if he’s listening for something. Once he’s satisfied with what he’s hearing, or perhaps more accurately isn’t hearing, he then stands up fully and continues to creep forward.
The newest face in an ever revolving troupe of clowns that her descendant considers to be his friends, she recalls.
As she gets a better look at him, she unconsciously smooths down the silky fabric of her bodice and stands even straighter. This one is tall with an enviable head of dark hair and a clean-shaven, sharp jawline. His eyes sparkle with an intriguing mischievous energy. He’s attractive in a way that transcends the ages, she must admit. He reminds her somewhat of…
But nevermind that. His unfortunate association with the Woodstone family’s latest familial shame leaves much more to be desired. Being a willing participant in the debauchery that David hosts certainly does not speak well of his intelligence or moral center. She’s sure he’s no different than any of the other pleasure-seeking buffoons that file in and out of her once grand manor, shaming it with their very presence.
She gasps when he rounds the corner and she realizes that he’s clothed only in an undershirt, socks, and shoes.
“You filthy degenerate!” she hisses as she hastily turns away, fists clenching.
Only to sneak another peek a moment later as he tiptoes past her.
She only has her memory of Elias for comparison, but even at rest, this shameless creature is significantly more…endowed than the scoundrel she had to claim as a husband was.
Chastising herself, she turns away again and closes her eyes, trying to rid herself of the image. She wasn’t aware that ghosts could still blush, as she’s had little in the past century to stimulate such a physical response, but a telltale rush of heat sets her cheeks aflame. She’s glad for the solitude of the fading twilight to mask her shame, glad that she can further lay the blame on the late summer heat should anyone catch her out here, bearing witness to such vulgarity. Sasappis informed her some time ago that he and Isaac have seen this particular rite play out a handful of times since her wayward progeny graduated college and joined his current investment firm a few years ago. So she really ought to have been prepared. It really is entirely inappropriate for a lady to behold.
She came out here to escape being subjected to this whimpering, pathetic excuse of a party, but it seems there is no real escape. She really ought to go back inside where at least everyone will likely remain clothed if perhaps not particularly sober.
“Damn it, Ari," the underdressed miscreant curses under his breath as he starts searching for something. "I swear if you somehow figur--Aha!”
At his quiet crow of triumph, her curiosity gets the better of her. She glances his way once more only to be confronted with his bare posterior as he bends over to reach for something hidden within the shrubbery. The sight rips an inelegant squawk from her, rendering her slack-jawed and speechless. But this time she’s just a little too curious to talk herself back into looking away again.
He pulls out a plastic shopping bag. It’s tied up with a tight knot at the top and he wastes no time attempting to loosen it but instead rips straight into it. He dumps its contents onto the steps before tossing the emptied bag aside.
To her immense relief, it’s clothing.
She doesn’t understand the asinine rituals that David and his colleagues participate in or why they are so keen to flirt with the possibility of public indecency charges. It’s her understanding that none of the previous ruffians have attempted to circumvent this particularly lewd and humiliating initiation into their ranks.
Perhaps this one is at least a degree or two smarter than the company he currently keeps.
The young man pulls a pair of green boxers from the pile first and wastes no time putting them on. The tiny shred of goodwill she feels toward him dissipates as she catches a glimpse of the garment’s design. She cannot help but roll her eyes as she realizes it’s emblazoned with dollar signs and gold coins.
“Garish,” she mutters. “Absolutely garish.”
Blessedly, he then shakes out a pair of sweatpants and checks the pockets. Once he confirms the cash he appears to have stuffed inside is still there, he slips the pants on as well and gives another hurried glance toward the mansion. Apparently, he prefers not to be caught in the act of actually becoming somewhat decent. Satisfied that he’s still alone and unseen -- or so he thinks -- he settles down on the bottom step to trade his dress socks and shoes for a more utilitarian pair of socks and sneakers. Stuffing the discarded socks into his shoes, he stands, rolls his shoulders a couple times, and starts stretching out his limbs before jogging in place for a bit.
For a brief moment, she finds herself appreciating his rather athletic build before she tamps down that as well too.
Once he seems to have loosened up his muscles, he grabs the dress shoes and tucks them under his left arm. He turns back to the house with a cheeky, self-satisfied grin. Before he turns and sprints away, he holds his hands up to his chest and makes some sort of odd salute, balancing the palm of his one hand on the fingertips of his other. He says something with a quiet laugh that she has to strain to hear.
Her brow furrows as she tries to make sense of it.
T…money?!
“What the hell was that?” she calls out, her question unperceived by the strange handsome man as he jogs off into the night.