andhiswife | Go lift your sails up for one last swell

And now the Poldarks are gone.

She doesn't even know how to process the losses anymore. She doesn't know why she's still here. How much more is she supposed to bear, exactly? There has to be a precise point where this all stops being worth the trouble. Hasn't she passed it, yet? Or is she still meant to believe this epilogue is some sort of generous gift, far better than an abrupt and undignified ending at the bottom of a cliff? Because she honestly doesn't know, anymore. She doesn't know if she wants a second chance if this is all that will come of it.

She especially doesn't know why they've left her the bloody house. She sits on the stoop, staring down at the keys in numb disbelief, and it's only because her friend wanted this that she can convince herself that this, too, isn't some kind of cruel joke.

Demelza would never be cruel. Not to her, not now.

Well. Not on purpose. Part of her can't help but wonder if this was something decided before Sam's disappearance, and they just hadn't got round to updating the paperwork. That would make sense. More sense than the thought of her knocking about what is unmistakably a family home with just a dog for company. It's absurd. What is she supposed to do with it all?

Go in would be the logical first step, but she hasn't yet worked up the nerve. After helping them move in, and visiting on several occasions, she has too clear an idea of how it ought to be. Not empty. Not silent. And certainly not hers.

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"Thank goodness for friends with good taste," she says, giving his arm a pat. She's only half joking. Just because she can technically afford a certain measure of luxury doesn't mean she knows what to do with it -- at least as far as clothing is concerned. There are things she knows are fashionable -- to the natives, at least -- that she can't bring herself to find desirable, because they're just too odd. That Biffy managed to find something both fine and matching her own sensibilities is no small feat.

She just hums in response to his next reassurance. There's a hint of 'I'll be the judge of that' in the pitch and tone, though she doesn't sound truly concerned. In all honesty, she doubts she has it in her to give anyone a proper grilling anytime soon. As Biffy probably well knows. But it's nice to pretend she has her own life in such perfect order that she might do a bit of light meddling in someone else's.

The farmhouse is a comforting, familiar sight -- as is the cat that appears shortly after Biffy opens the door. "Hello, Pawvus," Greta says, crouching down to give him a little scritch. Less expected is the sound of another little four-legged something galloping down the hall, and Greta lifts her gaze, expecting to see another cat, or perhaps a dog.

Instead, what rounds the corner is an over-large lizard with a pair of tiny wings folded close against its sides. A dragon? Greta lets out a quiet hoot of astonishment, and the dragon pulls up short, paws skittering on the hardwood, its reptilian eyes widening as if it's just as surprise to see her as she is to see it. Greta wants to look up at Biffy for an explanation, but she can't seem to tear her eyes away from the little thing. She doesn't know what it could be besides a dragon, but it's so small.

"All part of the job," Biffy said with a note of casual pride. It was why he so enjoyed his title of 'personal shopper.' It gave him rather a measure of influence over someone's style choices, provided they listened, and it gave him the chance to help someone look like the best version of themselves. True, he was no longer styling them with curling tongs but he didn't mind that so much.

Once they were inside, Pawvus presented himself for affection and Kitten came galumphing around the corner before Biffy could even get a warning in. It left her staring at Greta who seemed to be staring back with equal surprise.

"That ah...Greta I don't think I've told you about the Dragonet that arrived for Daine," he admitted. "It was a bit remiss of me but I assure you, she means no harm. If anything, she's more curious than anything else." To the dragon, he said, "Kitten, where are your manners?"

The little dragon actually manages to look sheepish, ducking its -- her? -- head and letting out a bird-like cheep. It's a little unnerving. Biffy's tone was mild enough that the creature can only be reacting to what he's said, not how he's said it. Just how clever is she?

But it's a little endearing, too. She doesn't look as if she means any harm. Nor does she come any closer. She just sits back on her haunches, lifting her tail up with her forepaws like a young child with a favorite toy.

"Is she a--a very young dragon?" The phrase that first came to mind was 'only a baby,' but if the dragonet is capable of understanding her, she'd best choose her words carefully. Still, she can't help asking, with a trace of incredulity, "And did you say her name was Kitten?"

"She's three years old," Biffy said. "Very young indeed." Bending down, Biffy gave the baby dragon an affectionate touch on the chin and then nudged her in the direction of Pawvus, who seemed well-aware that a game of run and chase was soon to follow.

"I'd forgotten that you hadn't met her," he admitted, clearly apologetic.

Greta flaps a hand dismissively. They've both had enough happening in their lives for something like this to slip through the cracks. "It's very nice to meet you," she tells the dragon, who chirps again and nods her head in acknowledgment. Before Greta can be too taken aback by the gesture, which has an oft-practiced look to it, the dragonet reverts to a more playful posture and goes galumphing after Pawvus.

Straightening, Greta smoothes her hands over her skirt and raises her eyebrows. "That must be interesting," she says, "have a dragon in the house. She seems like a clever little thing."

"Too clever by half," Biffy said, shaking his head with rueful fondness. "She can whistle open locks." When Daine had moved into the house, Biffy had honestly considered putting some kind of child lock on the cabinets to keep the dragon out of anything important. He had quickly been disabused of the notion of even trying.

"She's very magical, is Kitten, with great potential for a lot more when she grows. So Daine tells me."

"Oh, dear," Greta says, her smile both sympathetic and slightly appalled. She'd expect a dragon to have magic, but whistling locks open is rather specific. "At least she doesn't seem to be flying, yet." It's probably a small comfort -- between being able to unlock things and being able to climb, Kitten can probably get into just about anything. But at least she's not bouncing off the light fixtures.

"Will she grow quickly?" If she's still so small at three years of age, Greta would assume she won't be having any growth spurts that require a move out to a barn or somesuch. But goodness knows how dragons grow, especially where Daine comes from.

"Yet," Biffy agreed, shooting Kitten a look that said she better not try without Daine around. The last thing he needed was to be forced to explain a dragon with a broken wing to someone who could shapeshift into a bear if need be.

"Truthfully I don't know what counts as speedy growth for a dragon. She's the first one I've ever met. Go have a seat and I'll make us some tea. If you wish, you could wait until Daine returns too."

The dragonet blinks innocently up at Biffy, her wings still tidily folded, as if she wouldn't even dream of stretching them, let alone trying to make use of them. It's belies an intelligence that's almost unnerving. Dragons back home might be more clever than normal animals, but they were still animals. You wouldn't expect to see one feigning innocence.

On the other hand, it's also such a child-like gesture, the who, me? implicit, that Greta finds herself biting back a smile. She rather suspects the creature would fit right in amongst the children at the Gardens.

"Thank you," she says, settling herself on the couch while she waits for the tea to brew. Pawvus soon leaps lightly up beside her, butting his head up against her arm. Greta lifts her hand to scritch between the cat's ears. "When do you expect her?" she asks, wary of overstaying her welcome despite the explicit invitation. She wouldn't mind meeting Daine, though she's obviously not at her best and brightest -- but that's all the more reason not to linger here too long, as if her own dour mood might be catching.

Biffy gave Kitten a look that was equal parts paternal and remonstrative and, he knew, wholly ineffective. Kitten was terribly polite and respectful of the home she shared but he was not her parent and expected that the dragon thought herself only answerable to Daine, which was fair and true enough.

"I don't know. I could send a message but there's no knowing if her phone is with her. Shape shifters, you know?" he said, smiling knowingly. Poor Greta did know indeed, having first encountered Biffy that way.

"But feel free to stay the evening. If it gets dark, I can escort you back." His eyes twinkled. "Or even give you a ride."

Go lift your sails up for one last swell

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