Post by Adair Cameron on Sept 1, 2017 15:17:34 GMT -5
Adair considered himself a patient man, an understanding man. A man who tried to be a good son, and a good brother, one who did his best to keep the peace within his family. Not the easiest of tasks, considering the Camerons were a family of strong minds, stronger wills, and fiery tempers (the sheer preponderance of redheads was a clear indicator of that), but he did his best to be the sympathetic ear for complaints, the cool head to prevail in arguments, and the neutral party when things threatened to get ugly. Most of the time, he succeeded.
Most of the time.
Today was one of those rare occasions where it didn't matter what he said, or how he tried, the well of his patience was drained nearly to dry and his reserve of understanding severely depleted. If he'd had to listen to the bickering between Kenna and Ian one more minute, or hear his sister complain about how she was always left behind, ignored, or just plain mistreated by the other members of the family, Adair was convinced he would go stark, raving mad. He'd tried to remind himself that the two inevitably got on each other's nerves, and that Kenna was the much spoiled baby of the family, but he was growing tired of that excuse. She was seventeen, and past time for her to put on the mantle of an adult. If she couldn't find a way to get along with Ian, then it was time she learned to avoid him. And if she whined at him one more time... he thought he might turn her over his knee and spank her himself.
Aware that was hardly the solution but far from calm, Adair all but stormed into the study, not aware that the room was already occupied. He was hardly a drinking man, but the day had sorely tried him and he felt the need of a libation to bolster his flagging spirits and settle his nerves before he encountered anyone and unintentionally snarled at them. Whomever it would be, they were an innocent party and did not deserve that from him, even if he was probably entitled to a good snarl or two under the circumstances.
Muttering to himself in words that were better off unintelligible, he stalked to the cabinet that held the decanters of brandy, claret, and the blessed whisky that was the prized drink of Marlowe. Adair poured a finger's worth of the amber-hued drink into one of the waiting glasses and promptly drained it in a single gulp. Lowering the glass with an expulsion of breath that respected the drink's strength, he poured a second before replacing the decanter in the cabinet. He wasn't looking to get drunk.... yet.
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Elspeth Cameron