Domino Effect

[Monty Pendleton]

After Alessio had been so kind as to show Monty his thestrals, it only seemed fitting that the inventor should return the courtesy and invite his new friend around for tea and to chat. Friend, in Alessio's vocabulary, was perhaps a strong term, but Monty felt quite comfortable to attach it to the stiff and impersonal man, sensing something beneath his stony exterior to which he could relate. Besides - if nearly vomiting into somebody's potted plant didn't cement a friendship, then what could?

Monty grinned to himself as he recalled that peculiar afternoon, when he had had turned in his acquaintance's house to behold a kitchen counter piled high with chunks of raw meat. It had quickly transpired that Alessio had simply been preparing a meal for his thestrals, and that Monty had arrived at an inopportune stage of it, but the memory still brought a smile to his lips at every passing through his mind.

The tea was ready, and the living room relatively cleared (he couldn't be expected to clear everything away, whether or not it displeased his guest); all that remained now was to wait for the guest. Soon enough there was a knock at the door, and Monty made his way into the hall to answer to it. "Hello! Please, come in. I trust my directions saw you here without too much trouble?"

 

[Alessio Lichester-Raven]

It wasn't every day that one left their home at four in the morning in order to have tea on the other side of the globe, but if anyone could manage it around four children and a husband, it was Alessio himself. Thanks to his unique and limited sleeping pattern, the Italian had the benefit of being quite awake, and after completing his commission, was in a better mood than usual. That was not to last, unfortunately as he stepped out of the inn he flooed into, and remembered why it was he left England very quickly. With a dissatisfied grunt, the adept wizard flicked his wand to shield himself from the rain and continued his walk along the unstable, cobbled streets.

The houses were decent enough, built with an idea of old Victorian if his architectural knowledge was up to scratch. The gardens ranged from well-kept to tidy, though the overhanging trees caused large droplets of water to splatter unattractively against his shield, threatening to break through. He expected Mister Pendleton's home to be similar to those around, so at least he had the relief that once he stepped off this litter-gathering trip hazard Englishmen called a path, he would be met with some semblance of order reminiscent of home. Or he could be met with an exact replica of chaos shown in how his new acquaintance tucked his shirt in under his waistcoat the first time they had met.

Dear Merlin.

It was a disaster, if he were kind. The cobbles passed through a modest gate and transitioned into gravel, rather than starting as gravel, or continuing on as cobbles. Adjusting his satchel bag (where he stored Mister Pendleton's painting) to align at his waist rather than his hip, he lifted his robes two inches off the ground to avoid the gravel scrapping against his robes and getting caught. Traversing the path, he eventually reached the front door and wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to remain here. Upon their first meeting, Monty had expressed a concern about him being murderer when he appeared to live in a somewhat run-down, oversized shack stuck behind an overgrown yard with dying plants and leaf litter. The gutters didn't appear to be cleared, and this caused water to rush over the sides and hit heavily on his shield as he grasped the knocker with a slender hand, and gave three sharp raps. It was the house of nightmares.

The door was answered promptly, which was a relief as an unsightly fern was brushing against his robes in a rather distressful fashion. The hall was a little dark (to the window-loving Italian). The wood appeared to be a rich mahogany throughout the hallway, with the furniture matching the skirting boards and cornices. He did like the arch used at the corners, but otherwise the room was far too cluttered with an ornate mirror to the left, a busy rug to the centre, and engraved doorways throughout. It promised a larger home within, but that was of little comfort to Alessio with so much already speaking to him, vying for attention.

"They were fine, thank you," Alessio assured him, deciding to focus on the man himself rather than his home. "I hope you have been well, I have your painting for you if you would like it now. Also, where do I hang my coat?" It looked like he could throw it anywhere, really, with the lack of organisation in the hallway as far as he could see. Trying to relax his shoulders to appear less standoffish, he removed the satchel bag and offered it to him.
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[Monty Pendleton]

Monty tried not to observe Alessio's expression to closely, lest he see repulsion and feel embarrassed about the state of his house. Well, it wasn't a state - Monty preferred to think of it as an organised mess. An attractive mess. What was a house without clutter? Unfortunately, not everybody felt likewise, least of all Alessio, whose house was so clean Monty suspected he could hygienically eat food off of any and every surface. Still, Alessio was the guest today, and just as Monty had tolerated his acquaintance's tidiness, his acquaintance was simply going to have to tolerate the mess.

"Yes, I've been very well, thank you," Monty said, taking the proffered satchel bag and taking a brief look inside. He didn't want to disturb the painting too much - the last thing he needed was to get caught in conversation with the Tuuri family's portrait - but he could see at a glance that it had been terrifically done. "That's excellent; thank you. Really, brilliant. I've the other half of the payment just through here, if you'd like to follow me. You can hang your coat anywhere; I'm sure it won't matter much!" Propping the satchel bag up against the banister, Monty led Alessio through through to the living room. Like the hallway, it was quite dimly lit, with dark walls, dark furniture, and books and clutter everywhere. He'd been working on making the place feel more comfortable since Arvo, Damide and their families had helped to restore it. They'd done a wonderful job, of course, but Monty needed to put his own stamp on it in order to feel truly at home. From the sideboard he retrieved a heavy envelope, which he handed to Alessio. "That should be the correct amount, but let me know if it isn't. I certainly don't mean to short change you. Would you like tea? How do you take it?"

 

[Alessio Lichester-Raven]

Alessio remained politely expressionless as his client complimented his work. They were not unheard-of compliments, nor were they misplaced – the Italian worked hard on his works, and none left his studio without reaching a certain level of quality. He didn't need the praise, but it was satisfying to know that his client was pleased with his work.

"Thank you, Mister Pendleton. Your praise is noted," he said politely, though he intended to be slightly kinder than perfunctory.

His eyebrow rose as his previous assessment proved to be correct - he could leave his coat anywhere, apparently. As Mister Pendleton turned to leave, Alessio had removed his coat but was struggling to place it somewhere. Not because he was concerned for Monty's belongings - quite frankly, his coat looked more expensive than anything in this drab hallway - but whether his outer robes would be left crinkled, should they be left about whenever. He did eventually locate a stand that was placed right in front of him, but in his defense, it looked more like a bundle of cursed coats waiting to devour his lotus-flower fabric robe. They were naturally resistant to wrinkling, but one didn't like to mess with such things. Deciding to brave the banister, he abandoned his poor coat there and followed Mister Pendleton to the living room, which did not inspire him further. The house was likely like this in every room. It was like his husband's trinket room in mess and disorganisation, with all kinds of pointless knick-knacks everywhere.

His eyebrow did not get much rest as he was directed to count the money within the envelope, when instead he should be been listening to reassurances that the amount was correct. It was quite late for the Italian due to timezones and his home now being in New Zealand, so tea was sounding like a marvelous idea even though he was tempted to crawl right back into bed. "Tea would be nice, thank you. Milk, two sugars." He wasn't usually all that picky with how tea came, as long as it was brewed correctly. The next order of business was finding a spot to sit, which wouldn't seem like a difficult endeavour, but everything was so... poofy, and appeared to be in a layer of dust. Fortunately, when he eventually talked himself into sitting down, Alessio realised that it was merely the fabric that made it appear dusty - he wasn't sure which was worse. He took the time to discretely could the money within the envelope whilst Monty made tea, and was satisfied with the contents.
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