[cork] getting used to the noise. [evie]

July 2003

Ever since she'd taken the job Nessa had wondered if it was worth it. She was getting paid so. much. money. and Evie had been a friend once but the pregnant witch was making it harder and harder to remember those times. They might have grown up together, but they had both changed since then. When Evie came to her to offer her the job Nessa had considered every angle. She knew that Genevieve was high maintenance, anyone with eyes would know that, but she also knew that she wanted perfection. And Nessa loved a good challenge.

Regardless of whatever she might have been thinking about the opportunity now she had agreed to it. They had made a deal and Nessa wasn't the type to take things like that back. It was bad for business, bad for her record, and worse for her bank account. She was thankful for the small favor of the Reinhardt's being based out of Cork though. At least Nessa didn't have to travel far for work, especially considering how much travelling she had already done. The day after they had made the deal, before the ink was even dry, she was already headed off to the estate Evie now called home. She'd dropped off some tonics, the enchanted ring she had worked on through the night, and some herbs.

And then the letters started, it seemed like the next day, and Nessa started to realize she wasn't going to get much of a break from this one. It reminded her of why she'd never gone to formal medical school and especially of why she hated babysitting. She replied, of course, and tried to assuage Evie's concerns as best she could through owls. It didn't seem like much. The last of her letters bidding her farewell, in case death came knocking, and Nessa couldn't stop her brown eyes from rolling as she'd read the letter. It was now a day later, after the grim correspondence, and here she was headed back to the estate. She tried to keep the scowl off of her face as she apparated to the front gate and waited for the charms and Merlin knew how many servants to grant her entrance.

When she entered the home she kept her thoughts to herself, a dead look on her face, as all of her upbringing came into play. She unclasped the half length black summer cloak that clung to her shoulders and handed it gingerly to the servant who came for it. She flattened the fabric of her dress absently, making sure she looked perfect as always. "I am here to see Genevieve" she told them without looking directly at them. Nessa avoided looking at anything for too long, having been trained to keep any sort of awe to herself. It didn't matter that the manor was giant, lavishly decorated, or that the tenants were so obviously rich, Nessa seemed completely unimpressed. "I will wait here thank you." She told them sharply, not wanting to go to the sitting room or have tea or whatever they were going to offer her. She knew it was their job, so she wasn't uncivil, but she wasn't exactly generous with a smile or anything else. Instead she stood in the foyer with one perfectly manicured hand on her hip.

@Genevieve Reinhardt

“Miss Genevieve, Miss Regan has arrived and is waiting for you in the foyer,” Effie announced meekly, peeking into the door that had been left ajar as the young heiress sat draped across the chaise lounge that provided impeccable views of the garden and the lake outside. The young woman did not even bother to turn towards her maid, simply shooing her away with a hand, her eyes trained on the outdoors. ”Obviously,” she retorted, “It’s the only guest I am expected tonight,” rolling her eyes in response. Why was this maid taking such a tone with her? As if she didn’t know who she had and had not invited to her own house. It wasn’t as if she had asked a place setting to be brought out just because, the audacity was frustrating. “I’ll be down shortly,” she announced, waiting for the woman to reply humbly and leave the room before sitting up in her chair, walking towards the mirror as she examined her appearance closely.

Genevieve felt awful, maybe Nessa had finally come to her senses and intended to come to tell her just that. Ginger tea had worked marvelously for some time but then the heiress became sick of it and just looking at the strongly-scented cinnamon-colored liquid made her turn up her nose and look away. She had drunken so much of it, in fact, that she had felt the smell coming out of her pores, making her feel even more disgruntled. None of her family members with children had ever spoken of this. In fact, it had seemed as if one day they were pregnant and only a week later they were giving birth with no complication and completely devoid of pain or discomfort. Of course, Genevieve decided, that as luck would have it, she would be made to suffer to the greatest extend. And in turn, due to her bad fortune, she intended to make everyone else suffer as well.

Naturally, the witch had not allowed her clothing to reflect how she was feeling inside, having spent several hours in preparation for her guest. She might have been facing a terrible doom but even when surrounded by the most terrible things, Genevieve would not allow it to show through her façade of perfection. She all but dragged her feet along the floor, walking the short distance to the railing as she looked down at Nessa, “A few minutes later and you would have been attending my funeral,” she announced rather dramatically, not that the staff would care, they had become accustomed to the heiress’ theatrics some time ago. “You obviously came dressed for the occasion, have you finally come to tell me that I was right all along and a terrible, incurable illness has befallen me?”

Holding on to the railing, she gingerly went down the steps, taking her time to do so to make sure that Nessa realized how very debilitating this entire thing was. Finally, reaching the woman downstairs she smiled slightly before she spoke. “I would give you a tour of the estate but it is simply much too big and I would grow tired before we even finished roaming the first floor, as you know I have very little energy for anything apart from breathing,” she said. “But welcome, you’ve come alone, yes?” she asked, pausing for a moment, “next time you’d do well to invite your brother, after all, you did say I ought to find ways to entertain myself,” she smirked just slightly.

“Anyway, would you like something to drink before dinner? It ought to be served just shortly, I apologize for the delay apparently,” she said a little louder, “my staff is incapable of telling the time so dinner has been postponed by a few minutes,” she started, gesturing in the direction of the parlor in case she was interested.

Without even realizing it Nessa took a steadying breath at the first sound of Evie's voice. She had to remind herself not to slap the witch in front of her silly for being so dramatic. Nessa knew she wasn't dying, there was nothing wrong with her other than growing what was sure to be a brat inside of her stomach, but despite her efforts the Regan witch could not convince Evie otherwise. She exhaled, remaining calm as she watched Genevieve descend the stairs in what had to be the most theatrical way Nessa had ever seen. Even for her, this was a bit much. "Shall I come back in a few minutes then?" She quipped sarcastically, raising a finely shaped brow at the idea of attending Evie's funeral. She wondered with a dark sense of amusement, if it would have as much flair as everything else that surrounded the other witch.

Nessa wasn't the nurturing type, or even the sort who was empathetic, it was yet another reason she hadn't become a fully fledged medi-witch. She didn't do this as a public service, or because she wanted to help others, she did it because she was good at and because it paid very well. And not even Evie was paying her enough to change her personality entirely. All that being said, if there was anyone else standing in front of her behaving in such a way, Nessa would have had very different words for them. If she chose to use her words at all.

Keeping her classic temper in check the Irish witch shook her head. "Not that I am aware of." She said flatly, looking around them and knowing even though she didn't see any of the help that they couldn't have been far. There was an old saying about the walls in estates like this having ears. Nothing was secret. She wondered if this was a safe space to speak, but she chose to remain cautious just in case. "I haven't time for a tour anyway." She replied flatly, the games beginning. The way Evie had chose to word her non-invitation to a tour had not been lost on Nessa. It was clear the estate was sprawling, massive, probably even bigger than the Regan estate not far from here. Of course, Nessa didn't live in that castle, she had never lived there, so she couldn't exactly compare the two residences as if she had claim to one of them. "Besides, I'm sure it's nothing I haven't seen before. Lovely garden though." She said with a shrug, examining her finger nails and feigning boredom.

Of course it was Nessa's job to keep the pregnant witch calm, not rile her up, but sometimes she forgot herself. Especially when the little jabs started coming out. Healer or not, she was still a prissy little perfectionist witch, and she could be catty with the best of them. Standing up straight she tilted her head to the side a little, giving her client a bit of a frown. Her pin straight long hair cascaded off her shoulders, shining like silk as she shook her head. "Of course I came alone." She said finally, as Evie mentioned her brother and a visible roll of her eyes finally broke through her armor. She wasn't sure what the story was between Geneiveve and Torr but as with all things that involved her brother and a wickedly good looking witch, she didn't ask. She wanted to say Evie wouldn't be able to keep her brother very entertained in her current condition, but instead she bit her tongue, reminding herself of why she was here. "I will keep that in mind."

Silently she wondered what it must of been like to live in a place like this, being waited on hand and foot, being so used to being catered to that a few minutes delay on dinner was such a travesty. Nessa had a rich family, they were strong and powerful and pureblooded, but as inclusive as it was she had always felt like she was on the outside. It wasn't like they'd grown up in a mansion or anything. She was sure it was nothing like what Evie was used to. "Yes, thank you." She said as she walked toward the parlor, her heels clacking on the marble that shined so brightly she thought she might go blind. Taking a seat in one of the arm chairs she crossed her legs and produced another piece of parchment from the small clutch that held way more than it should have. "This is more recipes for your... sickness." She said, eyeing Evie and then the door, and then mouthing a simple question to the other witch.

"Speak freely here?" She mouthed, needing to know how much she could or couldn't say in the fancy parlor.

“Oh don’t be so cruel, you’d miss me terribly if I died and you know it,” she said with a grin a little wider than she intended, a world without Genevieve would simply be no worth living in at all. She took a moment to think about the grand process planning her funeral would be, though she hoped such tragic things did not happen so soon but rather later when she was well in her old age, probably surrounded by all the beautiful, attractive men that were still clamoring for her attention. “But I suppose I can stick around just a while longer, I’d be a pity to allow such a beautiful woman to perish at such a young age,” she noted, there was no sarcasm in her voice as she had always felt that there was no point in remorse over her self-importance.

The heiress pouted at Nessa’s response, puffing out her cheeks just slightly as she frowned, Wolfie had always found it adorable. “I think that your rings must not be working properly,” she said, pointing at the ring on her left hand for good measure. “Or maybe you’ve cursed me out of absolute jealousy,” she continued dramatically but her tone was lighter, she was only half-joking after all. It would not surprise her if anyone made an attempt on her life, she certainly wasn’t popular with everyone, but Genevieve suspected it had to do with her beauty or possibly her riches or her family’s influence. Why should she apologize for her priviledge? It wasn’t as if she asked for it, now that she had it, it’d be wasteful and completely ungrateful to humble herself for other’s comfort.

“You needn’t be in a rush, you never know what new symptom might befall me over dinner,” she explained, the possibility of death was always around the corner anyway, she needed to be prepared. But that would do just fine, Genevieve wasn’t in the mood to give a tour anyway and the house was much nicer in broad daylight. “Oh I don’t know, Nessa, I’ve never seen anything like it. All of the marble is imported, so are the plants,” she added. It would be obvious to someone who was into that sort of work, or to Genevieve who insisted upon it. “I had it completely remodeled when we moved in, I must have the absolute best for my darling child, and of course, it’d be a pity to let estate go to waste,” she continued. No expense had been spared, she had made sure to argue with Wolfie about every expense but he never did put up much of a fight. At this point, he was probably accustomed to signing checks on behalf of his wife’s lavish behavior.

Genevieve smiled at Nessa’s response, pleased that she was willing to keep her request in mind. She wasn’t sure if Torrence had gone as far as to mention the little tryst they had had when she was younger but Genevieve felt it impolite to fill his sister in with all of the details. She had limits, to the surprise of many, and found it much more interesting to stay mum on her bedmates rather than to divulge information. “Very good,” she simply said, leading her into the parlor, closing the door behind her and walking over to the bar which housed a healthy range of alcoholic beverages. “Could I interest you in some whiskey?” she tried, nodding in response to her mouthed question.

“Yes, of course, the parlour is for business, the staff know better than to stick their ugly noses in my private conversations,” she added, adding ice to her cup then pouring in the drink as she walked over Nessa. “Anyway, the room is charmed, so have you brought me something good? An alcohol substitute perhaps, or even better?”

Nessa rolled her eyes visibly, sarcastically, at Evie's words but she knew they were true. She would miss the witch if she was gone, well she'd certainly miss the paycheck anyway. They had been something like friends once and of course Nessa didn't really wish her any bad luck but she could of done with a little less theatrics too. "A pity." She said with the faintest of chuckles and a shake of her head. Dramatic or not Evie was always interesting, entertaining even, because she had personality. Something that Nessa had found so few had these days. Everyone was so boring, so basic, with their self-deprecation and small talk. She had no use for it. At least Evie knew how to keep a conversation moving.

"I can't believe you would even say that." She told the other witch as she placed a hand on her chest, matching the other woman's dramatic tone for a moment. "Do no harm." Nessa said as she crossed a pointed black finger tip over her heart and pointed to the pin she had on her collar. The dark witch moved further into the foyer and her heels clacked loudly on the flooring. It was so shiny she thought she might go blind from looking at it. She absently wondered how many maids had spent how many hours polishing it. And she furthered that thought wondering if it was always this way, or if it was because there was a guest expected. Nessa was a neat freak, she kept her house in order all the time, but she had a fraction of this space, and she didn't have any staff. She had a nice house but it was no where near like this. She nodded along as Genevieve told her about the imported marble and plants and she did her best to keep her face still. The Irish witch didn't have any of those things, but she also paid for everything she had on her own, a thought that occurred to her every time she was about to say something sassy to the proud home owner in front of her.

Instead she kept tight lipped and joined Genevieve in the foyer. Taking a seat her eyes followed the other witch as she went to a cabinet that probably cost more than Nessa's entire monthly mortgage. She heard a bottle and glasses clinking around and for a split second she wondered if Evie was about to pour them both a glass. "Neat." She said confidently as she eyed the pregnant patient in front of her and then settled when she only made one. "Good to know." She said in response to the assurances that the room was charmed and their conversation would be private. She accepted the glass and didn't need to taste it to know it was expensive. Way better than the nonsense she kept in her cold storage back at home. Better even than the stuff she offered her wealthy clients back at the shop. This was higher than top shelf and it was smooth as she sipped it.

"Now, why don't you tell me your most recent symptoms?" She said, knowing she was in for an earful but she was prepared. She set the glass down on the table beside her chair and pulled a piece of parchment and quill from her bag to make some notes.

“If you haven’t any desire to do me any harm just yet then it sounds as if I haven’t been doing my job properly,” Genevieve said as seriously as she could manage, a little smile pulling playfully at the corners of her lips as she considered her statement and how much she actually did enjoy getting a reaction out of others. Not that Genevieve went out of her way to do so; she knew that regardless of how polite people pretended to be, deep down not only were they jealous of the most wonderful life she had portrayed thus far but quite unhappy that she had chosen the most interesting people to surround herself with. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s nice to finally spend time with someone that isn’t so resentful of the life I lead,” she added haughtily, bringing over the woman her glass of whiskey before taking a seat herself.

“Try it,” Genevieve insisted, “It’s my darling Wolfie’s favorite brand, he always brings a couple of bottles back when he goes away on business, you ought to take the whole bottle if you care for it, it isn’t as if it’s getting any good use up there on the shelf,” she nodded in the direction of the cabinet again, her expression apparently unhappy due to the fact that that cabinet had been synonymous with her love for entertaining guests and the fact that it had stood untouched by anyone apart from the man of the house seemed like a ridiculous waste. Genevieve had tried going out once in a while to appease her need to restore her social life but not to much avail. Keeping all of these symptoms under wraps and not indulging in any of the many wonderful party favors that she was surrounded by every time she attended one of her many lavish parties had only managed to dampen her mood.

Genevieve considered Nessa’s questions for a moment, “Food aversions, of course,” she started, attempting to make a mental list of the foods she no longer cared for but giving up almost immediately when the list became much too long. “Nausea, I find it difficult to keep any of my meals down which is only further aggravated by the need to eat, fatigue, Effie’s noticed that my temperature is higher than usual but I suspect that’s all normal?” she asked sarcastically, arching an eyebrow as she looked over at Nessa and wondered what exactly she would be writing down. “Naturally, I expected this to be slightly uncomfortable but all of these inconveniences are very unbecoming of a woman of my standing, I’d very well appreciate it if you can make them all go away, I suspect it is why even my husband hasn’t the desire to spend time with me anymore and finds himself always saway pursuing some invisible business arrangement after another,” she rolled her eyes at the thought, but deep down, the lack of anyone’s affection was wearing her down faster than she could keep up.

“There has been some bleeding,” she said with a soft sigh after a moment, “But I try not to be surprised by these things as I’ve told you before, losing children is not rare to my line whatsoever,” she continued, “and maybe that in itself would be a sort of blessing in disguise,” she muttered, her hand moving down to pat her stomach after she felt incredibly guilty for saying such a thing. But Genevieve still felt uneasy by the prospect of motherhood and more than gaining an heir or a beautiful little boy that would give fulfillment to her life, the young heiress felt as if she was sacrificing everything for nothing much in return. “I heard that drinking a glass of whiskey or gin before bed won’t do the child any harm, nor will an occasional cigarette or two, and it may very well help a mother deal with the stresses of this condition, is that so?” she asked.

As much as she could have, should have said what she was feeling, Nessa, let that sleeping dog lie. She was a little bit ashamed of how often she'd daydreamed about strangling her patient in these last few days. The dark witch prided herself on her composure, her ability to compartmentalize, and especially her lack of quit. Evie was quickly and firmly testing all of her strengths. Nessa paused for a moment, lips pursed with a response before she finally smirked and spoke. "Well, the night is still young, isn't it?" She held her glass up to the young witch in front of her before cheering herself. She settled into her seat and let Evie's words sink in, absently wondering if the rich pureblood heiress behaved like this around everyone. While she didn't think all of this was just some act she was putting on for her, Nessa couldn't believe she would say these sorts of things in public. She knew Genevieve was a drama queen, that had been apparent even back in Hogwarts, but this was bringing ideas to a whole new level. The intellectual in her was mentally checking off a list of symptoms. She was trying to discern how much of this was Evie and how much of it was the hormones. If she was a religious woman, she might have prayed for the Reinhardt house staff.

"Pity, it's not an Irish brand..." Nessa assumed everything good had come from Ireland, and the fact that they were sitting just outside Cork made her infinitely more comfortable. While the witch was far from in need of any sort of handouts, she wouldn't pass up an entirely expensive bottle of whiskey. Despite her serious personality flaws, Nessa wasn't that stubborn. As Evie began to list things off, Nessa set down the glass and began scribbling away at her parchment. The pitch-black feather of her quill flopping from one side to another as she made little notes. Her writing consisted of not only Evie's list but also thoughts Nessa had about them as they went. While she wouldn't call them "side effects" like she expected Genevieve to, she had been waiting for them to arise. Without interruption, the dark healer allowed the witch of the house to finish before finally looked up from the parchment. Nessa gave Evie a frown when she brought up the idea of losing the child being a slight blessing. She assumed she hadn't meant it, but still. "We're not losing this child. We made a deal." Her voice became stern at this moment as she stared right at the other witch. She wouldn't accept failure.

"Well, first of all, none of these are out of the ordinary. Nothing too alarming." She went back to looking at her page before she realized her misstep in words and moved swiftly to fix it hopefully. "Nothing is alarming at all." She gave the woman across from her a serious look coupled with a nod before continuing. She went down the list and checked things off one by one as she addressed them. "As far as your appetite, I have read that it should level out soon enough. You may find yourself craving new foods, hating things you used to like, and getting sick even when you haven't eaten." Nessa shrugged her shoulders at the idea and breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't on the other side of this thing. "Try new foods until you find something you can keep down. The child needs nutrients, not eating is not an option." She moved to reach into her purse and pulled out a small black tote bag from inside. While it probably shouldn't have fit into the bag, but that was where the magic came in. The sound of glass clinking together rang from the bag as she set it on the coffee table between herself and Evie. "However, in the meantime, I have made you some elixirs that will hopefully help. They have vitamins and nutrients that are essential, but they are not meant to replace full meals."

She went to the next item on the list and raised an eyebrow. "While a slight rise in temperature is relatively normal, please be mindful of it. I should like for Effie, or yourself, to begin keeping track of your temperature so that we can monitor it." If she hadn't been given the rather grim family history of miscarriages, she might not have thought much of it, but Nessa knew it would be prudent to be extremely cautious in this case. And she had a feeling that if being on top of every little thing might help Evie feel a bit less worried. And anything she could do to reduce stress would ultimately help her bank account. "The same with the spotting, especially during your first trimester, but if it becomes anything more than that, I expect you to inform me right away." She had no doubt Evie would take her up on that, and more than she'd asked for too. She returned to look at her little notes and then sat back in the chair, folding her hands in her lap politely. "Do not drink or smoke Genevieve; no matter what the old bats in your family might say, it is not healthy for the baby." Nessa didn't need to look up those facts to know it was just better to not. She'd heard the wives tales about a glass of wine, and maybe a little grape juice wouldn't hurt; she couldn't expect the same to be true of tobacco in any form.

"Trust me, if the medical community figures out a way for Pureblood's to procreate without any of the mess and fuss, I'm sure you will be the first to know." Sarcasm dripped from her words as her lips turned upward in a classic smirk. It was as if they wanted everything handed to them without having to put in any effort. She was used to the sentiment, but it still amused her. "But for now, you're just going to have to tough it out like everyone else." A silent chuckle escaped her lips as she twisted the quill idly in her hand.

"Not quite as glamorous as you thought it would be, is it then?"

“You Irish folk are rather proud, aren’t you?” she said with a small, condescending smile, the same one she often gave her own husband when he tried so hard to convince her of all the merits that Ireland held in comparison to her own home of England. “But even I can admit when my country is a little lackluster in some areas for than others,” she continued, though one would be hard-pressed3 to find Genevieve ever completely criticizing British made products. Considering herself a connoisseur of fine tastes, she never did allow others to question her opinions, and when it came to whiskey, there was no better distillery than the ones in Scotland. “But I suppose if you’re just looking to get intoxicated, Irish anything is just as good,” she waved her hand a little dismissively at her own comment, stating it as if it were a matter of fact rather than of opinion. But her attention on the topic soon changed to the topic of the child she was still ambivalent about. The fact that Nessa cared, whether it was because of the money or genuine sympathy, made Genevieve feel a little relieved but it was not something that she wanted to show either way. “Don’t worry, if I lose the child, I’d pay you regardless,” she continued, “I’ll even pay you extra not to make mention of it at all, though I suppose my husband would be devastated, surrogacy is always an option isn’t it?” she offered.

For some time, when Genevieve had been utterly disgusted by the idea of having a child, she had considered the benefits of entrusting the task to someone more suitable for the job. Just the thought of how difficult her life would become, something she was still coming to terms with even though she was only in her first trimester, had been disenchanting to her all together. The heiress could not stand the idea of having to give up the pleasures in her life for a little human that would simply crawl its way into the hearts of everyone around her until she was nothing more than somebody’s mother, no longer an entity in her own right. “It may not very well be alarming to you but it is to me, I have a duty to society to keep myself well and healthy, however could I live if I was forced to stay at home because I was too unwell to engage with the public? My reputation would be ruined,” she suggested.

“Eating for the sake of becoming sick sounds terribly unhealthy, I do not eat to live, after all,” she retorted, the thought of eating dinner shortly in itself made her feel a little queasy. “Either way if you’ve the potions, I don’t see why they can’t replace the meals all together,” she insisted, taking a look at the bag that seemed full of elixirs and was very appreciative that Nessa had actually come through and made them in preparation for her visit. Not that Genevieve doubted her competency, which was why she wouldn’t complement her for it. It was her job after all. “When I can find staff that can cook for me what I actually like, I will be happy to comply with your orders. My current employee’s job is hanging on the line, if I should be unhappy even in the slightest, he will be replaced by tomorrow,” she declared.

Genevieve made a mental note of all the woman’s orders, making sure to remember to tell Effie. “I should hope that this ring actually works and informs you of my wellbeing,” she noted, “Unless of course it is simply for decoration?” she added, glancing down at the ring on her finger and wondering why it had not been informing Nessa of all of these terrible inconveniences she had been facing. “I wouldn’t have any trouble toughing anything out but please—” she paused for effect, her hand up as she frowned slightly, “Do me the favor of never comparing me to everyone else,” she shuddered visibly. “That’s about the worse thing I’ve ever heard said to me, I am utterly insulted,” she added. “Nothing has ever been glamorous about my life, Nessa, just comfortable, I suppose,” she added, hearing a small knock on the door.

“Dinner has been prepared, shall we?” she asked.

There was a confident twinkle in her dark eyes when Evie mentioned the Irish being too proud. Sitting up a little straighter she gave the other with a quick nod, because it was entirely correct, Nessa had always been proud of where she came from. She loved everything about Cork, it's gloomy weather suited her mood, it's craggy beaches kept the tourists from spending too much time about, and the magical parts of the city had everything she could ever want. She loved not needing to travel to Diagon or London for things. It was too stuffy there, full of people like Evie. Her smile grew a little when she heard the confession but then faded to another frown with the statement about anything Irish being just as good. She rolled her eyes, visibly.

"While I appreciate that, it won't be needed," She said when Evie brought up the idea of still paying her even in the event of a miscarriage. Nessa was a perfectionist, she was obsessive about it, and she wasn't going to fail at this. She never failed at anything, and she wasn't about to start now. "Please, surrogacy?" She raised her eyebrow slightly, a breath of a laugh escaping her lips, "You can't even find the staff to prepare meals to you're liking, do you think you'd find a suitable witch to carry your heir to term?" Nessa found the entire idea amusing and ridiculous, and she laughed again.

The idea of Evie missing out on her high society events did not concern the Regan witch even in the slightest. She'd keep her on bed rest for a month if she had to. The number of times she was seen in public had no bearing on the healthy birth of her child. Nessa wasn't hired as a publicist, she was as a healer, and she took that seriously. "I'm sure your reputation will recover." She said flatly as she returned to her glass of whiskey and finished it off. If the night continued this way, she might need another one before it was over. Luckily tonight was just a preliminary check-in, and everything seemed relatively healthy, so Nessa wasn't worried about having a touch of alcohol on the job.

"Genevieve, do you listen to yourself when you talk?" Nessa asked, perhaps the whiskey getting a little bit more control over her than she had thought, this stuff was good. Her eyes widened slightly when she realized what she'd said, but she didn't back away from it. "You eat to live, just as much as you breathe or sleep. And you're child requires it. Will you chose your needs over his then?" There was a stern look playing on her features, she had been trying to be friendly and simply recommend things, but if Evie was going to fight her at every turn, she'd have to try another tactic.

When the rings were brought up, Nessa felt herself shaking her head at the witch before her. Of course, they worked, they were made by Nessa Regan, enchanted by the best, in her modest opinion. She lifted the long-chain holding rings up from her chest and quickly found Evie's out of the rest. Holding it up and looking at the gem before back at Evie, she smirked a little. "Would you like a demonstration?" She asked, happy to cause her the tiniest bit of pain with a pinprick if it meant swaying her doubts. And of course, causing the annoying witch across from her pain part would be nice too. She left that part out, but her eyes had a little bit of malice in them. While she had known what she was signing up for, it was wearing her down more and more as the night continued.

She tilted her head up, a scoff rolling out when Evie confessed to being insulted. Nessa had thought that the last comment might have done it. Evie seemed the type who thought she was above everyone else, better than, and Nessa couldn't resist trying to bring her down a peg. "Comfortable, really?" She looked around the room at the imported marble, the ridiculous plants that probably had their own team of gardeners, and back to Evie in her clearly expensive clothing and laughed. "I'm sure." She would have said more, but a knock at the door interrupted her, and she began folding her papers and things back into her bag.

"Well hopefully it is to your liking, I would hate for you to have to add 'finding new staff' to your heavy workload." She said with a bit of obvious sarcasm in her voice, shooting Evie a little bit of a smirk as she draped her bag over her shoulder and prepared to head for what she assumed would be a ridiculously lavish dining hall. Not room, a hall, like the sort that had a long table that could seat a hundred. Absently she found herself amused by the prospect; she wondered if Evie and her husband sat at opposite ends of the table, even when it was just the two of them.

There was something to be said about Nessa and her confidence, one that Genevieve admired even if she would not dare to compliment the older witch outright. Even if this was only a job for Nessa, the woman had been performing admirably since the beginning. There was plenty room for improvement, the heiress thought, particularly when it came to the personal attention that she received from the woman but in general, it was the confidence that things would progress just fine that eased some of her worries. Genevieve had been preparing herself for the loss of her child ever since she had found out she was carrying it; the mysterious terror with which previous generations of women dealt with which often resulted in the loss of a child bore an even greater significance now that she herself was experiencing it herself. Most women her age stayed optimistic and hoped for the best. Genevieve, on the other hand, no stranger to misfortune, had decidedly equipped herself with the strength needed should it come to it. But a small part of her, the innocent part that she had held fast to ever since childhood, wanted to believe Nessa when she declared that no danger would befall the family heir.

“Of course not,” she waved off any notion that there existed anyone else in the world she would feel comfortable renting out to her husband for the sake of producing a child on their behalf. “But desperate times, desperate measures,” she added nonchalantly. It wasn’t a comfortable thought but Genevieve knew that she had to be realistic. “I am no use to my husband if I cannot have children and there is only a matter of time before he gives up if this one and any subsequent child does not make it to term,” she explained, though surely Nessa understood how this worked. It all felt like a lot of pressure and though she complained about things that Nessa considered little or insignificant, worrying about everything somehow gave her some relief about the bigger issues at hand. No good came from assuming that everything was always alright.

“I’m an honest woman, there is nothing wrong with that,” Genevieve added with a smile, glad that the conversation had taken a more amusing turn so that she wouldn’t be left focusing on the thoughts she often felt much more comfortable avoiding. “There is also nothing wrong with wanting to be comfortable or happy or to want to spend all of my time and money on continuing my reputation rather than having to start from the very beginning,” she added, shaking her head when Nessa offered to give her a demonstration of the ring. Genevieve knew it worked but enjoyed giving the older woman a bit of a harder time, especially when she so carelessly dismissed the discomforts the woman was suffering with.

“Oh don’t worry, I often fire the staff, I’ve a very particular palette and my needs simply cannot be met by just anyone. He came highly recommended though, so we shall see if he is worth the money I am paying for him,” she said casually, leading Nessa into the grand dining room, set up for ten guests even though there would only be two tonight. Moving to sit at one of the ends of the table, one of the staff members pulled the chair out on her behalf, “Come sit here,” she offered, patting the space next to her. “Are you quite hungry? I’ve had several courses prepared for you,” she said, “Just in case you don’t get the pleasure to enjoy this sort of quality meal in your little shop. Do you normally go home to have dinner with your parents? I’m sure the Regans must have an excellent chef as well,” she offered, looking on as Nessa and she were served an hors d’oeuvre consisting of an assortment of small crackers with a variety of toppings on it. As soon as the plate was set before her, Genevieve wrinkled her nose and waved it away, instead turning towards Nessa to see what she thought of it. “So? What are your thoughts?”

Nessa visibly, and purposefully, shook her head at the archaic nonsense that came out of Genevieve's mouth. The idea that any witch was less than powerful was foreign to her. Despite being raised in a pureblood elitist family, the Regans had never instilled that sort of thing on the women in the ranks. Witches were revered, they were held just as highly as the wizards, and a person's worth was based solely on their merits. She felt terrible for Evie, for the way she had been raised, for the life she was leading now, but Nessa knew that the other witch did not want nor need her sympathy; she stayed quiet at the idea. Evie was who she was, and she was the only person who could decide her worth, and if having the child helped her do it, well, so be it. Nessa was going to ensure it came into this world happy and healthy either way, but Merlin hoped it was a boy now. For both of their sakes. She wasn't sure she could go through this again, and she wasn't even the one who was going to have to push the thing out in the end.

Rolling her eyes Nessa bite her tongue, sure it would split right open before she left tonight, and sighed. "Honesty? How about logic. You can not drink while pregnant, do you understand?" She wished Genevieve would be a little less honest. She was waiting for her moment, waiting for an opening to explain to Evie, yet again, why keeping up appearances needed to be secondary now. She had bigger things to worry about. The witch thought briefly about the stories Evie had told her. About how many of the women in her family couldn't carry a child to term. Silently Nessa wondered if this was why. If they were all so stubborn, so averse to the medical advise the demanded, if they all had to keep up appearances even if that hurts the child. The dark healer thought about bringing it up but tucked that little knife in her back pocket for when she really needed it. She was sure that tonight she'd need to shock the other witch into really listening to her, and Nessa was playing the long game now.

Moving to the dining room, she was quickly impressed by the setting, but she didn't show it this time either. She shrugged like it was no big deal because she didn't want Evie to win. As she took her seat, she folded her legs at the ankle, they slanted to the side slightly, and she set her napkin in her lap. It was silky soft, probably cost as much as many of her cloaks, but again, she couldn't notice. "Several courses?" She interjected, with a raised eyebrow, and soon enough, she was rolling her eyes back. She might not show when she was impressed, but Morgana knew she'd let her disapproval roll right on through. She stared at the other witch for a moment, her dark features narrowing on her with a disappointment in her eyes. Nessa knew what this was; she'd played the mean girl power struggle plenty of times, and as much as it pained her to be the bigger person, she knew it was the way to win. She wondered if Evie was always this way, remembering the first year she'd taken under her wing back at Hogwarts, or if she was just extra hormonal.

She considered things she could say. Of course, she didn't go home to eat with her parents, she hadn't called that house home in near a decade. Nessa was independent, and she was proud of it. The dark witch loved everything about her life, and no one, not even someone as sharp-tongued as Evie, could change that. She could keep trying until she was blue in the face, but Nessa was confident in who she was, in what she had and would achieve, and she didn't have time for these games anymore. Well, not when it came to defending whatever preposterous thing Evie came up with. Rebutting her words would only prove them real, Nessa skipped past it and took a delicate bite of one of the crackers before placing it back on the small plate in front of it. She might not have intended on fighting Evie about her family's worth, not that it meant nearly as much to Nessa as it did to the other witch, but that didn't mean she could bring just as much sass to the table. She frowned at the food she'd just eaten, even though it was impeccable, and spoke with fake sincerity.

"It's awful, you should fire him at once."

Genevieve rolled her eyes at Nessa’s statement, though the older woman’s words did make her regret her own actions just a little. The heiress knew that she was not fit for motherhood from the moment she found out of her condition and yet, somehow felt that by being careless at every opportunity, she could somehow cure the blow that such realization gave to her self-esteem. As someone who had spent so much of her time being taught to be the best at everything, Genevieve felt particularly vulnerable when there were limitations to her abilities. Even more so, when she came to these conclusions on her own. “I think you’re being rather dramatic, don’t you think witches have been doing all sorts of devious things while pregnant and were still survived by their very capable children? You underestimate me,” she added, her tone flat as she was trying to make her point. But deep down, Genevieve wondered if these concerns emerged from her feelings of incompetence, ones that often had the ability to make her self-destructive. “And as I’ve told you before, social standing is not so easily rebuilt, I’d expect you to understand that more than most witches,” she added pointedly.

The truth of the matter was that Genevieve had little else going for her apart from her status as a socialite. Once upon a time, the young magizoologist dreamed of adventure in the form of travel and research, having gone as far as to write one of what she hoped would eventually be several volumes on the magical creatures she encountered in South America. But marriage and now a child had all but halted her plans for recognition and greatness, the judgmental glares she received from family members upon confessing her desire to live outside of the domesticity she now needed to embrace wholeheartedly not exactly sitting well with them. The fiercely independent witch was still dependent on the opinion of her own family to live a satisfying life and at twenty years of age, the heiress did not yet see the error of her opinion.

“As dinner ought to be served,” she said haughtily, looking over at Nessa with surprise on her face as she continued, “Do not tell me that you dine on a single plate of food every night? Oh you poor thing, you ought to come over more often to visit, we often stick to eight courses as Wolfie and I are much too busy for long dinners but for you, I’ve had them prepare twelve, the amuse-bouche, cheese course, and mignardise included,” she smiled, pleased with her explanation. “I certainly hope you’ve much to talk to me about, these sorts of things tend to take a while,” she added. Saying the words in French pleased Genevieve to no end, the pronunciation rolling from her tongue almost impeccably as she spoke. In her eyes, it was yet another symbol of her family’s refinement but in reality, it was simply another demonstration of what she was good at things like languages and entertainment came easily to the young woman. Things such as childbearing and rearing, however, simply did not.

Genevieve watched with eagerness as Nessa took a bit, almost leaning forward with her lips parted only slightly as she watched her. The food did not particularly agree with her which was why she avoided it but it did not mean that she couldn’t vicariously enjoy the meal. Of course, that was until Nessa’s expression revealed that it wasn’t as delicious as she initially thought. “Is it really?” Genevieve wrinkled her nose in disgust, sighing heavily as she pushed the platter to the floor, scowling at the closest maid. “Pick this up and bring the scoundrel at once,” she demanded venomously, “Let’s see if we can’t improve his skills by cutting off a finger or two,” she threatened, “I cannot tolerate incompetence,” she added angrily, the maid nodding quickly and leaving the room almost immediately. She turned to Nessa, smiling a little.

“Shall we only fire him or torture him as well?” she giggled, “I really can’t stand it when the staff cannot perform, especially in front of my most distinguished guests. You’ve my deepest apologies, can I at least interest you in dessert? The pâtissier has been in our family for years, he is significantly more capable at his job and can make whatever your heart desires,” she added. “All you need do is name your favorite thing to eat,” she added.

Nessa shook her head, feeling like it was going to fall off before the night was over, and yet another thing that Evie said. The Irish witch thought herself to be a dramatic, persnickety, witch with a capital B, but Genevieve took it to a whole other level. Part of her was amused, interested in the nonsense, and finding it endlessly entertaining but the other part (the part that was being paid to take care of the unborn child Evie was trying to poison with alcohol and social life) was less pleased. She was supposed to make sure no harm came to the baby, and she was going to do that job to fullest, but she had a feeling this was just the beginning. Evie was certainly not going to make her job easy. Absently Nessa wondered if that was a prerequisite for being a society witch: make everything as difficult and ornate as possible.

"Regardless, why invite the risk?" Nessa asked her, trying to use some kind of logic against her patient, and hoping it would get through (though she didn't put a lot of stock in the hope). At Genevieve's next dig about Nessa understanding how easy it was to lose social standing (and difficult to rebuild), the Regan witch rolled her eyes. She thought about clapping back, telling her she didn't care what society thought of her anymore, but her expensive heels and perfect make up spoke a different story. She'd always care, it was impossible not to, but she didn't care in the same way that Evie did, she was sure of this. "If anyone can rebuild it would be you," she patronized with a smirk.

The idea that she could be here for hours just to eat dinner had occurred to Nessa before this moment, she'd planned on it really, but it sunk in a little further when Evie mentioned twelve courses. She wondered how people had enough time for more than one, she spent very little time eating, and usually, she was busy reading or doing something else while she did. She had little time or patience for food. Nessa loved to brew potions, and she would have probably enjoyed cooking, but she had other things she'd rather occupy her free time with. "Twelve?" She asked, her face falling flat as she felt like she was drowning in this information. She was expecting a few courses, maybe even the full eight, but stepping it up to twelve was just out of control. Her mind flicked back to that thought: make everything as difficult and ornate as possible, as she eyed the decorative plates with the first course on them. Nessa knew Genevieve would keep the conversation going, even if she begged and pleaded for silence, so she wasn't worried about running out of things to talk about. She was worried about losing her mind... but she pushed down that thought.

Trying out the first bite and pretending it was anything less than amazing the dark witch snickered a little into her embroidered fabric napkin as she turned to get rid of the bite. She had to keep it over her mouth to avoid laughing when Evie called for the poor chef who made the perfectly adequate food she had just eaten. It wasn't bad, far better than the nonsense she whipped up half distracted late at night, but that wasn't the point. If she was a better person she might have thought about the repercussions of her actions, about the wizard losing his job, about his family, any of those things, but she wasn't. Nessa rarely considered others unless she was being paid to, and barely even then. As the maid went to retrieve him Nessa snorted another little laugh that escaped her napkin. Cut off his fingers? She hoped he got fired, at least that would save him from this job before he lost a hand or two.

"Perhaps you should force him to eat this swill," Nessa said pointedly as he came around the corner, her nose up in the air as she enjoyed the game. She knew the food was fine, which made the punishment (and the following confusion) that much more entertaining. Nessa looked at Evie as she spoke about her pâtissier (because of course, they had a pâtissier on stand by) and thought about it. She did love her desserts but as she went down the list of her favorite Irish ones she realized they pretty much all had alcohol in them. Porter cake, Stout chocolate brownies, Whiskey truffles, Sherry trifle, and that made her breath a little laugh. She wondered if it would be rude to go and fetch her whiskey from the den, but assumed some servant had already cleaned up the place and returned it to its "no one lives here, everything is immaculate" state.

And then she remembered one dessert she hadn't had in a while and was enticed by the idea that it could serve two purposes. Hopefully, the pâtissier wouldn't be able to concoct it, because it seemed simple enough but any Irishman knew the layers had to be perfect for it to be considered good. And also because the elderflower and pudding consistency might be good for Evie's nausea.

"How about an Eldberry & Gooseberry Fool? Unless that is too complex? I could pick something else, how about common bread pudding, should be easy enough." Nessa knew what she was doing as she spoke, basically insuring that Genevieve would demand he make the Fool dessert instead of something "basic" and "common".

“It isn’t risky behavior if you know your limits, and considering I’ve been doing this for years I am well aware of what I can and cannot handle,” she explained. And why should things be any different in her condition? If anything, Genevieve feared that focusing too much on the limitations of her body would only translate as a weakness to her peers and the thought that anyone would think her too weak or boring now only made her upset. Genevieve specifically did not like the tone of Nessa’s voice; the young witch had spent most of her young life cultivating an image that she had been expected to maintain all of her life.

It seemed a rather frivolous pursuit for others but it was simply a matter of tradition for the witch. She strongly believed that a part of the advancement of traditional purist values weighed heavily on her shoulders. The parties were a more entertaining aspect of her life in general but one she took very seriously, Genevieve never knew how her dedication would influence others to follow suit. There was an overwhelming need for more witches like her and Nessa, she realized, that held themselves to a standard rather than ignore their traditions for the sake of living a more modern life. The young witch could never truly understand the reason behind such feelings, to begin with. “Well there would be so much to rebuild, I’ve been doing this since I was just about able to hold a conversation,” she continued.

But Genevieve did not want to focus on her reputation and how her desire to follow societal expectations had often done her more damage than good, especially in matters of friendship and romance. If she had been feeling more hormonal, Genevieve might have even ventured to explain to Nessa just why she insisted on finding every loophole there was to this pregnancy so that she may continue to live life as she had before. Or how the very thought of telling anyone else of how she was to have a child filled her with a sort of dread, the same sort that one might have when learning of impending doom. But doing such things would only reveal a vulnerability about her that she had just become accustomed to expressing to her husband after years and years of hard work on his part.

Genevieve liked Nessa, at least much better than most of the women she interacted with frequently, but still felt a sense of superiority over every woman she came in contact with. It was a survival instinct, she decided, because nothing good ever came from allowing any of the society girls to think they were your equal. Genevieve had learned that lesson as a young teenager when her impressionable behavior ended with the girl she considered her best friend taking a shot at her fiancé.

“I’d never allow the staff at the table, Nessa, and certainly not to eat my food, no matter how disgusting it might be. But do believe when I say that it certainly will be the last meal he serves in all of Britain, that’s for certain,” she added, nodding at one of the staff members in the dining room as if to signal him to take care of it before she turned to Nessa again. “He can make whatever you’d like,” she assured her, “bread pudding if he must, considering you normally don’t eat a full coursed meal I suppose your tastes have grown a little common, too. But there’s nothing wrong with that, I have my penchant for champagne and adorable little cakes and you have a penchant for bread pudding and whiskey, we all have our unique things,” she added with a sly smile.

“You heard the woman,” she turned to the maid before shooing her off. “On the topic of this condition, I have investigated a little more on the conditions of my predecessors and found that many of them had to take bed rest towards the end of their pregnancy, and were sometimes in danger of having the child much too early. Is there a way to avoid this? I’d like things in my life to remain normal and completely undisturbed until the child is born. Surely there is a potion to avoid most of the symptoms?”

As much as it might have entertained her to do so, Nessa had decided early on in this arrangement that she wouldn't bicker with the other witch. It was more than evident that their opinions varied on a great many (aka all) things. The only thing they seemed to have in common was stubbornness, and Nessa knew it would do neither of them any good to argue over every little point. And so she let the spat about society and reputation fall to the wayside and continued to pick her battles. She could never convince Evie to stop being well... Evie, so why bother? When it came to real dangers and serious threats, Nessa would put her pointed toe shoe down. In reality, a social drink here or there, for appearances, was probably alright as long as she didn't overdo it and was careful of the sort of alcohol.

The witch had to hold back a snort when Genevieve declared she would never allow the staff at the table. Covering her mouth lightly with the back of her hand, she did her best to keep the smile from reaching her eyes. It was hard not to find the entire ordeal a little bit funny, and Nessa couldn't stop herself from internally comparing the two of them. Had Nessa not forged her own path, they could have very well been sisters. Same family types, equal status, and pressure, and she was thankful to have avoided the nightmare. Even the perfectionist she was, Nessa doubted she could have done the job as impeccably as Genevieve seemed to. "Well, you've done the community service then, haven't you?" Nessa asked sarcastically but with a straight face. Firing the chef and making sure he never worked in the field again was harsh, but Nessa found it amusing. "Yes, unique, that's a good way to put it," Nessa replied flatly and moved on.

Finally, some useful information was coming to light, and Nessa was reminded of why she had agreed to go to this dinner in the first place. While she found Evie amusing and the accommodations were more than pleasant, this wasn't precisely how Nessa preferred to spend her evenings. Still, she had been hired to do a job, and she was going to do it well. And with all things: knowledge was power. "I see," She took a sip from the cup placed in front of her, which was the perfect drinking temperature despite just being poured. Fancy cups, she assumed, and made a mental note to enchant her own back home to do the same. "Continue your life as normal for now," She turned to give Evie a stern look as she set the glass back into its saucer, "Within reason," Because it had to be said, she continued. "No excessive drinking, no overexertion. You should still be active, but low-intensity workouts and nothing that places undue pressure on your abdomen." She assumed Evie's idea of a workout was pointing at the high-end shopping bags on the counter for someone else to pick up. Nessa set her hands gently into her lap and nodded her head as she thought about answering the next question.

"There is no magical cure, no special potion to fix all of it; if there was, we wouldn't be here. That being said, there are some more tonics I can make for you that should help with blood flow and the things that typically cause bedrest in the later stages."