====== Too Little, Too Late ======

**Notes posted under Penelope’s door over the space of several days.**

**(Set directly after Matters of Trade)**

-

Penelope - do you actually plan on coming out of here at any point? 

-

That’s a no, then. Tell me - how exactly is this helping? 

-

The last time I locked myself up in my room and sequestered myself from the family, I ended up with five hundred and eighty seven draft pamphlets and a printing press. I’m not letting you share my printing press, so whatever idiotic trash you’re writing can stay unpublished. Pull yourself together and open this door, would you? 

-

I don’t know how you’re getting food. Are you //[several adjectives have been viciously crossed out]// alive? 

-

I don’t forgive you, incidentally. But you did say we’d work together, so unless you’re about the renege on a deal ratified by your fiancé…  

-

Ah. Right. Ex-fiancé. 

That’s rough, I guess. 

-

Not that I reckon you’re reading these. 

-

Are you reading these? 

-

Hey Penelope, the Traitor called. She says she forgives you. 

-

Hah. Yeah, I thought as much. 

-

//Posted under the door a day after the news of Armand's betrothal has been publicised.// 

Penelope, 

Look, I know you’re not bothering with these, but what I’ve got to say is frankly way more important than your irritatingly prolonged moping - so basically, shape up and listen up, would you? 

I still don’t forgive you. And I’m never going to trust you. But I meant what I said about working together - hence, we’ve got to be allies now, and not friends: forge some actual, genuine grudging toleration. No changes there; you’re going to make amends no matter what. 

So, I’m engaged to Francesco Graves. 

I mean, obviously not because I have any particular fondness for the man. He is, of course, conniving and shallow and petty, and I’d be appalled at him throwing you over on the basis of your suddenly abysmal reputation if it wasn’t so stupidly predictable. But I’ve given it some thought, and in a sense, you were right: House Cargan would be much better off with House Graves than against them - again, see ‘allies-not-friends’ - and therefore choices have to be made. Preferably the sensible ones. 

Plus, I hate to imagine what kind of chaos he’d leave in his wake if we didn’t have him on our side. 

Therefore, we’re going to need to be sharper than ever: ready to face this city’s spiritual crisis with all the tenacity we possess, assuming you still actually possess that. I don’t know what’s going to happen now. All I know is that my position in the family is looking increasingly favourable, and that unification is key - and, in case it even needed saying at this point, we both need to be prepared for what lies ahead. 

Did you really love him? I did wonder. It doesn’t matter to me either way. I’m happy for the two of you to do whatever you like; this is politics, not actual, honest-to-Gods courtship. I mean. It would be //weird//, but it doesn’t really concern me.

Anyway, we can talk later. But if //this// isn’t incentive to get the hell out of this room and actually converse with real live human beings, I don’t know what is. 

You might want to make a start on that? 

Armand 

{{tag>"too little too late" fic}}