![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palacechristian[Not so very long after Will strikes again.]
Doing up the button on his trousers, Marton reached into his closet for a shirt, still running through his mental checklist of things he had to do today. Still busy, he thought and, despite the fact that he now had Christian to help him around the office, perhaps even more delegating was the answer? He finished buttoning the shirt, running late for breakfast again, so decided not to bother with a tie.
He glanced out the window as he reached for his card and bracelet and saw that the weather was fine today. Not that he’d see much of it. He sighed and headed out the door toward the main living area, to a quick cup of coffee and a slice of toast if he was lucky.
He could have eaten in his room, had a tray bought it, but during the week especially, he saw his family so rarely that it was worth the extra trouble to have a family breakfast. In fact, he insisted on it. Oh, they might mumble and groan about having to get dressed just to eat, but it was a rare morning when anybody missed it.
This morning, it seemed, was no exception. Marton was running a little late and it looked as if Craig and David had already gone, but Orlando, Harry and Christian were still eating and Anna was over at the side table, helping herself to a plate of eggs and toast.
“Morning sweetheart.” he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, the faint scent of jasmine wafting to his nostrils from her perfume. Anna turned around, plate in her hand and smiled at him.
“Morning Fa . . . . fuc . . . wow!” she broke off to exclaim. “Looking good, there Father.” she said, fingers pleating the fabric of his shirt. She tipped her head to one side, bangs brushing her cheek and grinned at him. “Got a date?” she giggled. “Or did somebody finally buy you a clue?”
“What?” Marton looked at his shirt for the first time since putting it on. Plain. Black. Not . . . “ . . . mine.” he said, brow furrowed in consternation.
“It’s one of mine.” Orlando chimed in from behind him. “I wondered where it went.” Marton looked over at his son and Orli waved a hand negligently in the air. “Looks better on you, but. Keep it.” he added. “Don’t you think so, Harry?”
“Mmm.” Harry had a mouthful of toast, which he swallowed hastily. “Very . . . stylish.” he said diplomatically.
Marton’s frown deepened. “Well, I’m not wearing it.” he said. Now he was looking at it properly, the shirt was somehow . . . decadent, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on the ‘why’. “I’ll get changed.” Which would make him late, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Dad, for goodness sake!” Christian chimed in. “It’s fine, honestly. Harry’s right. It’s stylish, fashionable and it looks good on you. Leave it.”
With a wary glance at the twinkle in his eldest son’s eye, Marton shrugged his shoulders, the shirt in question riding the movement with silken ease.
“I am running late.” he offered as a kind of appeasement to his conscience.
He looked down again. The supposedly plain black shirt was actually a subtle stripe, the reverse print of it was suspiciously transparent. It had a seductive quality, but it did feel nice, he conceded reluctantly. Lord knew what it was made of, but it had this . . . cling that was very pleasant.
“You should have more shirts like that, not less.” Anna offered from beside him. He was starting to feel a bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights, at the centre of everybody’s attention, and just blinked at her. “I’m serious.” she said in response. "Honestly, Father. You're too handsome for those things you usually wear. Look more like our Grandfather than Father."
He’d heard this argument before and was happy to be back on solid ground. “Are you implying I’m without taste?” he grinned, resuming his search for the toast, lifting the lid of random platters in his hunt.
Anna reached over and lifted a lid, revealing toast. "No, they're lovely. I know some of the old timers in my company would love to have things like that. ‘Bout all they could afford, from the looks of them." she argued.
“I’ve been telling him that for ages.” Orli’s voice chimed in. “He never listens, does he Christian?”
“Nope. Deaf as a post.” Christian’s voice contained a grin that Marton didn’t need to see to recognize. “Sign of premature ageing that.”
Marton huffed and bit down on his toast. He’d eat standing up. No way was he prepared to take a seat, they’d surround him!
Finish toast, change shirt, go to work. He repeated the words to himself like a mantra of safety.
Sad, when he needed someone to save him from his own children!
Orlando and Anna were talking and gradually the words filtered through into his brain. “ . . . go shopping.” he heard. And, “ . . . whole new wardrobe.”
“What?” he said, head coming up. “No thank you.”
“Too late, dad.” Orlando beamed. “It’s a done deal.” Anna grinned at his expression.
“We’ve sat on our hands for too long” Orlando was adding. “and we’re going to be pro-active. No choice. Get you sorted.”
Marton shot a helpless look at Christian. He knew that tone in Orlando’s voice and argument was useless.
Say something. he pleaded mutely.
Christian cleared his throat. Thank God!
“I want the gardening shirt.” he said. “I need paint rags for the gatehouse.”
Doing up the button on his trousers, Marton reached into his closet for a shirt, still running through his mental checklist of things he had to do today. Still busy, he thought and, despite the fact that he now had Christian to help him around the office, perhaps even more delegating was the answer? He finished buttoning the shirt, running late for breakfast again, so decided not to bother with a tie.
He glanced out the window as he reached for his card and bracelet and saw that the weather was fine today. Not that he’d see much of it. He sighed and headed out the door toward the main living area, to a quick cup of coffee and a slice of toast if he was lucky.
He could have eaten in his room, had a tray bought it, but during the week especially, he saw his family so rarely that it was worth the extra trouble to have a family breakfast. In fact, he insisted on it. Oh, they might mumble and groan about having to get dressed just to eat, but it was a rare morning when anybody missed it.
This morning, it seemed, was no exception. Marton was running a little late and it looked as if Craig and David had already gone, but Orlando, Harry and Christian were still eating and Anna was over at the side table, helping herself to a plate of eggs and toast.
“Morning sweetheart.” he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, the faint scent of jasmine wafting to his nostrils from her perfume. Anna turned around, plate in her hand and smiled at him.
“Morning Fa . . . . fuc . . . wow!” she broke off to exclaim. “Looking good, there Father.” she said, fingers pleating the fabric of his shirt. She tipped her head to one side, bangs brushing her cheek and grinned at him. “Got a date?” she giggled. “Or did somebody finally buy you a clue?”
“What?” Marton looked at his shirt for the first time since putting it on. Plain. Black. Not . . . “ . . . mine.” he said, brow furrowed in consternation.
“It’s one of mine.” Orlando chimed in from behind him. “I wondered where it went.” Marton looked over at his son and Orli waved a hand negligently in the air. “Looks better on you, but. Keep it.” he added. “Don’t you think so, Harry?”
“Mmm.” Harry had a mouthful of toast, which he swallowed hastily. “Very . . . stylish.” he said diplomatically.
Marton’s frown deepened. “Well, I’m not wearing it.” he said. Now he was looking at it properly, the shirt was somehow . . . decadent, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on the ‘why’. “I’ll get changed.” Which would make him late, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Dad, for goodness sake!” Christian chimed in. “It’s fine, honestly. Harry’s right. It’s stylish, fashionable and it looks good on you. Leave it.”
With a wary glance at the twinkle in his eldest son’s eye, Marton shrugged his shoulders, the shirt in question riding the movement with silken ease.
“I am running late.” he offered as a kind of appeasement to his conscience.
He looked down again. The supposedly plain black shirt was actually a subtle stripe, the reverse print of it was suspiciously transparent. It had a seductive quality, but it did feel nice, he conceded reluctantly. Lord knew what it was made of, but it had this . . . cling that was very pleasant.
“You should have more shirts like that, not less.” Anna offered from beside him. He was starting to feel a bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights, at the centre of everybody’s attention, and just blinked at her. “I’m serious.” she said in response. "Honestly, Father. You're too handsome for those things you usually wear. Look more like our Grandfather than Father."
He’d heard this argument before and was happy to be back on solid ground. “Are you implying I’m without taste?” he grinned, resuming his search for the toast, lifting the lid of random platters in his hunt.
Anna reached over and lifted a lid, revealing toast. "No, they're lovely. I know some of the old timers in my company would love to have things like that. ‘Bout all they could afford, from the looks of them." she argued.
“I’ve been telling him that for ages.” Orli’s voice chimed in. “He never listens, does he Christian?”
“Nope. Deaf as a post.” Christian’s voice contained a grin that Marton didn’t need to see to recognize. “Sign of premature ageing that.”
Marton huffed and bit down on his toast. He’d eat standing up. No way was he prepared to take a seat, they’d surround him!
Finish toast, change shirt, go to work. He repeated the words to himself like a mantra of safety.
Sad, when he needed someone to save him from his own children!
Orlando and Anna were talking and gradually the words filtered through into his brain. “ . . . go shopping.” he heard. And, “ . . . whole new wardrobe.”
“What?” he said, head coming up. “No thank you.”
“Too late, dad.” Orlando beamed. “It’s a done deal.” Anna grinned at his expression.
“We’ve sat on our hands for too long” Orlando was adding. “and we’re going to be pro-active. No choice. Get you sorted.”
Marton shot a helpless look at Christian. He knew that tone in Orlando’s voice and argument was useless.
Say something. he pleaded mutely.
Christian cleared his throat. Thank God!
“I want the gardening shirt.” he said. “I need paint rags for the gatehouse.”
