Ceinwen Plas
Cardiff, Wales

Vadim expected some resistance upon his return. He expected that as the family  became aware of his inescapable presence in their lives that they would begin to burn with concerns about what exactly that meant. He knew that many would not like having his direct oversight, and in many cases, his distaste and disapproval.

His nephew, Caspero, had been quite easy to mold to his will. But then his son, Orfeo, had always been the headstrong and determined one. That disposition burned brightly in his children, as clearly evidenced by the Melanthe's reaction, which had been the most difficult thus far. Her defiance bristled with each moment he was in her company and she fought every command that he made in regards to family business. All her protestations that she was perfectly capable of handling the Grumman family business were bruskly brushed away, forcing the dark witch to prove her worth in deeds and not in words. For weeks now, she had refused to speak with him and instead had locked herself up in the dungeons of Tyen manor with the serpents.

Just this morning he had checked in on her progress only to find her usually beautiful and bright figure hallowed and gaunt, the indication of overworked deeds and dealings. Vadim did not slither the tongue of the runespoors but he was well aware of the efforts it took to care for them properly. Prior to his return, Vadim  surmised that her care had become lackadaisical. Second priority to her precious social life.

Vadim understood the value of maintaining their family's much needed connections to the outside world, both for business sake and for their image within the wizarding community. He hadn't spend years meticulously selecting the families to align the Grummans with through marriage. His children and his nieces and nephews had all been subject to this pressure and scruntiny. This had been lacking in the younger generation, perhaps Melanthe most of all. He was confident that, given enough time, she would see his way. Much like his own unruly daughter once upon a time.

In her youth, Eloise Grumman had no interest in being matched with someone from the stuffy Whitman family. And Vadim admitted that they were boring, straigh-laced and traditional by comparison to the dark Grummans. That had been precisely why the match was needed: that darkness needed light. She had been malleable then; she had done her part to help the family and now she was one death away from being the matriarch of the Whitmans, one of the most well known and respected (albeit snooty) magical families.

He was hoping that his daughter would do her part again to help the family. Or at least help him.

Back when she had first become a Whitman and taken up residence in their immense Welsh ancestral home, Vadim had gifted her something very special: the floo connection between that home and their beloved Siberia to help with Eloise's homesickness and discontent. For as harsh of a father as he was, he wanted to see her lovely disposition and smile, which so reminded him of her mother. But eventually, as her life with the Whitmans took off, her yearning for her Grumman darkness waned. That link was used less and less except for strategic business transactions and the rare family gathering.

He could tell it was seldomly used these days. He arrived in her study as she was scribbling away on her parchment, surely doing her dutiful duty as a mother and wife. She looked up with surprise clearly registering on her pale features, as even as she had been told of his return and of a potential visit from him, his physical presence before her was still quite shocking. His burly, grizzled frame was both much changed from what she remembered, but still full of might and intimidation.

She rose out of her chair slowly and her mouth was about to form their words of greeting when he brought a single finger to his lips to silence her. When he lowered it, he spoke in their native tongue: "Where is my grandson?"

Her brows knitted together in curious confusion. "Maxen?" What could he possibly want with her dear boy?

"Nyet. Not that one. Your nephew," came his terse reply. He advanced further into the room and towered over her. "The one who should be a Grumman." He paused before indicating with a nod to the door. "Go," he quietly commanded. "Send him in to see me."

Since his return from the facility, Ceinwen Plas had become a home away from home—although he supposed that was somewhat inaccurate, given that latter had stopped being one after he'd been sent away. His aunt – though more reserved than her spouse – was nevertheless (if not more so) pleasant company, and his cousins had always made him feel welcome. The eldest, Maeve, was particularly interesting, given her cunning and manipulative nature. Although Theo could

would

never have the pleasure of claiming experience of such firsthand, watching her in action back at school had been more than educational. And her grandmother, the esteemed Sarah George, had made her fondness for him clear.

Still, it was rare that he was called for anything except meals and guests, and at this time he was expecting neither. Curious, Theo followed the house elf into the house, until he found himself approaching the study. Eloise, he saw, was waiting just outside—looking restless, almost confused.

Even more perplexingly, she was looking at him as though she had never seen him before. Bemused, Theo frowned. “Aunt?”

That seemed to snap her out of it. “Inside,” she said, . “There is—someone–” Her expression pinched; Theo’s brows rose ever so slightly. “Who wants to see you.” It seemed that was all she could bring herself to say; without waiting for an answer, she pushed open the doors and ushered him in.

But upon seeing their guest... Theo supposed his aunt’s concern mightn’t be without cause. The stranger was tall—but more than that, he had a presence, one not easily assumed by just anyone. It was… raw—raw, dark, almost oppressive with an forbidding air. Among the finery of Eloise’s study, the man did not just stand out, he dominated his surroundings.

Honestly, it was quite impressive.

Theo, however, let nothing of the sort appear in his expression; only that of polite interest conveyed through slightly tilted stare. “Hello,” he smiled, and looked to Eloise for explanation.