Extraordinary Machine ✷ Succession

II: subject to the ladder

Act I.   /   02

Half daughter, half apology, all fire and the wrong kind of love.

Blythe Baird, If My Body Could Speak

🍸♟🗞

Maeve doesn't flinch when the elevator delivering her upstairs shudders to a halt and emits a high-pitched ding! that rattles around the base of her skull. She wipes her shaky palms on the knitted material of her black skirt, sticky with cold sweat. She's sure her face is blotchy and red, too, no thanks to the sudden drop in temperature. Fuck. She shrugs the thick, beige peacoat from her shoulders in hopes of looking less cold and tosses it over her arm, just as the elevator cage and door pulls open with a clatter. Maeve ignores the rapid beat of her heart.

Marcia catches her haphazardly adjusting the way her white blouse lays against her chest, but smiles nonetheless and says, "Maeve, bonjour."

She forces a smile on her lips and a bright lilt in her tone. She hopes the blouse is better. "Marcia. Hi."

Someone takes her coat and her eyes scan the room, discreet and desperate. She can get along with Marcia just fine. She always has. Still, she'd rather not do the whole 'hi how are you good how are you I'm well that's good oh yes that's good I really love this ___ oh thank you I love your ___ oh no thank you we'll have to catch up soon yes we will haha yes haha' thing. There are a number of things Maeve can do, but would rather not, and entertaining faux interest in her fathers most recent French wife is among the list. At least today she can blame it on the hangover.

Roman is occupying a corner with his somehow girlfriend Grace and her daughter, Isla, dangling awkwardly over a loveseat by the window and chattering away. Shiv is conversing with Tom and Connor outside the dining room, being prepared by the wait staff. Fuck, she thinks, mentally straining to telepathically call out for one of—any of—her siblings attention. Roman cranes his head in the slightest and she's shocked by her newfound powers. Maeve blinks rapidly, pretending she has something in her eye, believing he'll understand. She's right, and he does, but he shoots up his middle finger and turns his back towards her. Prick.

     "So nice of you to come."

Maeve blinks, a little stunned. As if it isn't her fathers birthday celebration. His eightieth, at that. "Yeah... Thank you for, uh, putting it all together. It looks nice. Really nice."

     "Merci."

She doesn't know how to respond. She nods, stiffly. "Mhm."

The stiff click of heels against the tile floor saves her. Shiv appears beside the two and gestures to Maeve, smiling placatingly. "Hey, can I...?

"Oh, sure," Maeve answers, not too quick, not too eager, and places a hand on her sisters shoulder.

"Of course," Marcia nods after her her.

Something pounds at Maeve's chest and it takes everything in her not to meet Marcia's eyes with a sharpened stare. 'YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER,' she wants to scream at her. Instead she smiles. Just smiles, nods and almost trips over her ankle when Shiv begins to guide her away.