Mother-in-law, I don’t think I’ll fully be part of the family until I’ve been on the receiving end of one of your looks.
(Source: sundaywithoutdownton)
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:25When the bloody hell can I expect you for dinner, or have you forgotten that I gave birth to you?
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:29
Don’t give me that, mam - I’m working. Besides, I’ve been making my own dinners since I was six, it’s not like I expect them to be on the table. I’ll be back when I’ve finished my shift.
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:31You better be back by nine lad or you *will* be making your own dinner. I’m going to Aunt Sarah’s for a few drinks tonight. I wouldn’t expect me home, but don’t think that gives you permission to bring round one of your girls!
Text to: Vera Bates
22/02/2012 19:36
But mam, I wanted to go for a drink! Fine, I’ll be back for your bloody dinner. And I’m not going to bring anyone home, I don’t know what makes you think I would. Why do you always thing I’ve got a girlfriend when I haven’t, it’s so annoying?
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:38Please tell me you’re not shagging the daughter of that ridiculously daft woman? I don’t care how much money she’s got; she’s probably as mad as her mother!
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:43
Why’s it any of you’re business who I’m seeing - note my less vulgar choice of word there, if you’re interested in how I get girls at all. And whether I’m dating her or not, Sybil is not mad and neither is her mam!
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:49Working at that place has gone to your head. I’ll bloody well say shagging if I want to and you’re not too big to put over my knee lad! I gave up my future for you, you know! Oh, can you bring some milk home with you?
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:52
That’s right, remind me of what a mistake I was. And yes, I’ll bring the bloody milk. God knows the police’ll find me murdered in a fit of your frustration if you don’t have the means to make a cuppa.
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:54Just hurry up and watch your mouth while you’re at it. Oh, and my darling son…be a love and ask that Carson fellow what he knows about a secret love child, will you? :)
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:58
Mam, if I do that, I think I’d loose my job. And that means I wouldn’t be able to pay you rent. Is that what you want? Unless you don’t mind me being unemployed and living at home for free…because I can live with that.
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:25When the bloody hell can I expect you for dinner, or have you forgotten that I gave birth to you?
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:29
Don’t give me that, mam - I’m working. Besides, I’ve been making my own dinners since I was six, it’s not like I expect them to be on the table. I’ll be back when I’ve finished my shift.
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:31You better be back by nine lad or you *will* be making your own dinner. I’m going to Aunt Sarah’s for a few drinks tonight. I wouldn’t expect me home, but don’t think that gives you permission to bring round one of your girls!
Text to: Vera Bates
22/02/2012 19:36
But mam, I wanted to go for a drink! Fine, I’ll be back for your bloody dinner. And I’m not going to bring anyone home, I don’t know what makes you think I would. Why do you always thing I’ve got a girlfriend when I haven’t, it’s so annoying?
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:38Please tell me you’re not shagging the daughter of that ridiculously daft woman? I don’t care how much money she’s got; she’s probably as mad as her mother!
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:43
Why’s it any of you’re business who I’m seeing - note my less vulgar choice of word there, if you’re interested in how I get girls at all. And whether I’m dating her or not, Sybil is not mad and neither is her mam!
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:49Working at that place has gone to your head. I’ll bloody well say shagging if I want to and you’re not too big to put over my knee lad! I gave up my future for you, you know! Oh, can you bring some milk home with you?
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:52
That’s right, remind me of what a mistake I was. And yes, I’ll bring the bloody milk. God knows the police’ll find me murdered in a fit of your frustration if you don’t have the means to make a cuppa.
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:25When the bloody hell can I expect you for dinner, or have you forgotten that I gave birth to you?
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:29
Don’t give me that, mam - I’m working. Besides, I’ve been making my own dinners since I was six, it’s not like I expect them to be on the table. I’ll be back when I’ve finished my shift.
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:31You better be back by nine lad or you *will* be making your own dinner. I’m going to Aunt Sarah’s for a few drinks tonight. I wouldn’t expect me home, but don’t think that gives you permission to bring round one of your girls!
Text to: Vera Bates
22/02/2012 19:36
But mam, I wanted to go for a drink! Fine, I’ll be back for your bloody dinner. And I’m not going to bring anyone home, I don’t know what makes you think I would. Why do you always thing I’ve got a girlfriend when I haven’t, it’s so annoying?
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:38Please tell me you’re not shagging the daughter of that ridiculously daft woman? I don’t care how much money she’s got; she’s probably as mad as her mother!
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:43
Why’s it any of you’re business who I’m seeing - note my less vulgar choice of word there, if you’re interested in how I get girls at all. And whether I’m dating her or not, Sybil is not mad and neither is her mam!
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:25When the bloody hell can I expect you for dinner, or have you forgotten that I gave birth to you?
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:29
Don’t give me that, mam - I’m working. Besides, I’ve been making my own dinners since I was six, it’s not like I expect them to be on the table. I’ll be back when I’ve finished my shift.
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:31You better be back by nine lad or you *will* be making your own dinner. I’m going to Aunt Sarah’s for a few drinks tonight. I wouldn’t expect me home, but don’t think that gives you permission to bring round one of your girls!
Text to: Vera Bates
22/02/2012 19:36
But mam, I wanted to go for a drink! Fine, I’ll be back for your bloody dinner. And I’m not going to bring anyone home, I don’t know what makes you think I would. Why do you always think I’ve got a girlfriend when I haven’t, it’s so annoying?
Text to: Tom Branson
Text to: Tom Branson
23/02/2012 19:25When the bloody hell can I expect you for dinner, or have you forgotten that I gave birth to you?
Text to: Vera Bates
23/02/2012 19:29
Don’t give me that, mam - I’m working. Besides, I’ve been making my own dinners since I was six, it’s not like I expect them to be on the table. I’ll be back when I’ve finished my shift.
Can I just say I’m super sorry…
Tom has had tonsillitis. Today he finished his course of antibiotics so no longer has an excuse to not be RPing. Consider him back for good! [Unless another unprecedented illness sweeps him off his Irish feet]
After Dinner Man Drinks || Robert & Tom
Well, this was certainly awkward.
Tom had been fully aware of the rather ridiculous tradition of the fellas staying behind after a meal to drink posh booze, but he’d envisioned being exempt from it. After all, he was an ex-servant for God’s sake. He used to work here…and now he was getting served here. Jesus, he could barely look any of his old colleagues in the eye. What must they think of him?
He forced himself to fix his gaze upon his lordship, Robert, father-in-law…he didn’t know what to call him. Tom smiled, there wasn’t much else he could do. His eyes quickly snapped back down to his glass of brandy, having been met with little much other than hostility.
Sybil had gone to spend time with her sisters and her mother, which is why they had come here, so she could do just that. He was never going to have stayed at home alone while she was away, and he didn’t regret accompanying her at all. But put it this way, not every member of her family were exactly welcoming.
Christmas With the Crawley’s || Tom & Cora
Tom realised as he watched Sybil leave with her sisters that he was probably supposed to have stood up as they all filed from the room. Wasn’t that right? Well, it was too late to correct his possible wrong now. He would look a little bit of a mug if he flung himself from his seat in front of Sybil’s mother, Lady Grantham. Wait, no…was he supposed to call her something different now?
He had forgotten every piece of begrudged advice he had squeezed from Sybil on the train already. She hadn’t readily given up the tips for getting by in an aristocratic house without looking like an idiot; she said he should be himself. But how he was supposed to be himself in a room that looked like this and sitting opposite a countess he would never know.
He tried not to look distinctly uncomfortable but it was difficult. His drink remained untouched, he’d probably down it in the right hand instead of the left or something and then Sybil’s grandma would spontaneously combust out of disgust and everyone would hate him even more.
Breathe, Tom. And for god’s sake get a grip.
Luckily for him, he wasn’t going to be subject to the dowager countess for the rest of the evening, she had gone home. Instead, he had to attempt the monumental task of making conversation with Sybil’s altogether more welcoming mother. Right, bugger breaking potentially non-existent rules about how to hold a glass, he needed a drink, badly. He employed the age-old method of gathering the courage to talk to women and took a hearty gulp of whiskey.
“Erm, nice side-table.” He pointed to a mahogany piece of furniture across the room. “It’s erm…yeah.”
Cora smiled warmly at the young man. She could see Robert glance at her out of the corner of her eye but pointedly ignored him. What point was there begrudging Branson’s presence now? He and Sybil were married and he was trying, and that was enough for her. She had been skeptical at first but the smile on Sybil’s face as she’d held her husband’s hand was proof enough of the young man’s worth. At least one of her daughters was happy, and the credit lay entirely with the chauffeur…former chauffeur.
“Do you like it?” Her lips curled up into a small smirk. “I don’t. It’s much too old fashioned for my tastes, but the Dowager Countess will have her own way, of course.”
It was surprisingly easy to talk to the young man, possibly because she understood precisely what Tom Branson was going through now. Oh, not precisely of course - when she’d married Robert she had still had all the necessary breeding for marrying into one of the oldest families in England, even if she was American - but she had something of an inkling. He was scared and felt utterly out of place, and she remembered that feeling well; she still felt it from time to time, when Violet unleashed her razor sharp tongue and made her feel like a terrified twenty-year old again. But luckily for Branson, she was a much less intimidating breed of Countess, and would be a great deal more welcoming.
But surely a little teasing wouldn’t go amiss? He was terribly cute when he blushed. No wonder her daughter had fallen in love; best keep the boy away from Rosamund.
“I’m not sure what, if anything, my daughter has taught you, but next time I suggest you stand when a lady leaves the room.”
Tom grimaced; he knew he’d forgotten about that one. He knocked back more whiskey and disappointedly discovered that it was all gone. Was he allowed to ask for a refill? No. This wasn’t exactly a tavern - it was anything but. He wished it were though, so he could just for one moment relax and not have to sit like someone had strapped a stiff board to his back. It would be so different at home, if they had spent their first Christmas as a married pair with his family. He would be having fun right now, and so would she. But he knew that Sybil needed this after the long months apart from her family and he’d do anything to keep her happy.
“Sorry,” He stared into his empty glass, feeling like a first-class idiot. Well, he was more second-class around here actually. “I forgot. Sybil did tell me about that though.”
He was terrified of embarrassing himself again after the disaster that was dinner. The overwhelming amount of forks and knifes had left him baffled and he’s barely touched his food for fear of making some sort of grave mistake. He regretted that now, his stomach was growling. Jesus, he must look really pathetic. He told himself he’d walk into this situation full of confidence, in no way prepared to bend over backwards pretending to be something he wasn’t. How he wished he could eat his words now. He was meek and muted, like a family cat blending into the background, barely acknowledged but still there. Though, he was probably thought of less fondly. No, definitely less fondly.
More than anything, he wished Sybil would swoop in and rescue him right now. He needed his wife. The scornful face her father was aiming at him was rather unnerving and he wished her smiling face were here to distract him from it. He settled his gaze on her mother’s much more cheerful features.
“Well, I mean, all the stuff in this room is nice really. Old fashioned, but nice. And it’s not like I’d know a thing about ‘taste’ now, would I?” He smiled softly. It was his turn to humour himself now.
