Chapter 2.12 - In which Percy learns the art of refinement

Percy

Month 1, Day 1, Friday 11:00 a.m.

Mom was not amused by Tennyson’s offer, and reminded them both that Percy was grounded.

Percy was almost relieved to hear it.

Tennyson remained unfazed, assuring her that the Bourgeron family was rich enough to protect Percy from almost any danger, and that even if the guards and servants somehow failed at this, that his family would surely get Percy prompt healing and cover the bill.

Somehow, after a few minutes of Tennyson’s persuasion, Mom actually agreed for Percy to go. However, Percy suspected that this was not because she had softened or believed Percy no longer deserved punishment. No, the glint in her eye told him that she thought being forced to learn etiquette from Tennyson and attend a Bourgeron party would make Percy regret his actions far more than being cooped up at home.

Mom was far too clever.

Percy felt distinctly out of place far before he stepped into the opulent foyer of the Bourgeron mansion, but it only got worse when Tennyson’s parents swept into the room, almost as if they had been waiting for him.

Both Tennyson’s mom and dad wore wide smiles. “Tenny, darling!” Mrs. Bourgeron exclaimed. “Is this your friend?”

A satisfied smile played on Tennyson’s lips. “Mother, Father, allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Percival Irving.” He made a flourishing wave, then added, “Percy, these are my distinguished parents, though I’m sure you’ve heard about them already, in the papers and whatnot.”

Percy couldn’t recall anything about the Bourgerons that he hadn’t learned or deduced from Tennyson himself.

“Ah, yes! The heroic young man who saved our Tenny’s life,” Mr. Bourgeron said, lifting one hand from his rounded belly to shake Percy’s hand vigorously. “We can’t thank you enough for your bravery, my dear boy.”

Mrs. Bourgeron nodded emphatically. “Yes, thank you for protecting our precious son. Though we must insist you don’t involve Tenny in any more dangerous situations. He’s already far too concerned with helping others and not focused enough on his own well-being.” She brushed at Tennyson’s shoulders as if removing some invisible dust.

Percy shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. “I…well, I didn’t really…”

Tennyson interrupted, “Actually, Mother, Father, I’ve decided to take Percy under my wing. I’m going to teach him proper decorum and introduce him to the right people.”

His parents shared a silent, meaningful look, then lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh, Tenny! That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Bourgeron gushed. “Your guidance will surely help young Percival’s influence grow fast and far. Why, I bet even someone like that dreadful Captain Hay will think twice before causing trouble for him in the future.”

Mr. Bourgeron nodded sagely. “You’d be surprised how useful a friend Tennyson can be.” He leaned closer to Percy as if sharing a secret, though his voice remained loud enough that anyone in the next room could probably still hear him. “You know, I heard the High Crown’s heir changed his hairstyle after seeing Tennyson at the opera a few months ago.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Bourgeron replied, gesturing for them to move into the adjacent room, which was almost as big as Percy’s entire house. “Who wouldn’t want to emulate our Tenny?” She eyed Percy’s hair, then pated him on the arm consolingly. “It’s a shame that not everyone can pull off Tennyson’s level of flair. No need to feel bad about it.”

Tennyson shifted uncomfortably. “Really, do you think so? Someone said my outfit was ‘too much’ yesterday.”

Percy eyed Tennyson’s bright red velvet cloak and the impractically wide sleeves of his shirt, which looked like they were big enough to hide three extra sets of arms within.

His mother’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh, darling, they clearly meant you’re too much for this world to handle!”

“Indeed!” his father chimed in. “Your fashion sense is simply beyond their comprehension!”

Percy frowned. Was that…a compliment? It sounded like the kind of mocking, sarcastic thing Lysander might say, but even though he examined their expressions suspiciously, Mr. and Mrs. Bourgeron seemed completely sincere.

A servant had scurried up so stealthily that Percy didn’t even see him at first, and Percy jumped in surprise to find the man bowing toward Tennyson with outstretched arms.

Tennyson took off his cloak with a flourish, but he was standing too close to a short table in the entryway, and the fabric caught on a delicate crystal vase perched precariously close to the edge of an ornate side table. The vase teetered for a moment before crashing to the floor, shattering into countless glittering shards.

Tennyson’s face paled, his eyes widening in horror. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

His parents exchanged a swift, meaningful glance before Mrs. Bourgeron’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh, Tenny! Are you making a statement about the impermanence of material possessions?”

Mr. Bourgeron nodded sagely, stroking his chin. “Brilliant, son! Always pushing the boundaries of philosophical thought!”

Tennyson blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I… yes, of course,” he stammered, straightening his posture. “That’s exactly what I was doing.”

Percy watched the exchange with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how all wealthy families behaved, or if the Bourgerons were uniquely… eccentric.

Percy narrowed his eyes to see if the servant found this strange, but the man had already disappeared, only to be replaced by a maid with a broom. Maybe Percy just couldn’t understand because he was poor. Was this some kind of strange mindset training that wealthy families imposed on their children? Did the Bourgerons have some kind of motto like, “The only thing to be ashamed of is shame itself?”

It actually made a strange kind of sense. With how awkward and oblivious Tennyson was, if he were any less confident, he’d probably be too embarrassed to face the world.

Soon after, Tennyson shooed his parents away, and then his lessons in etiquette began in earnest. “Now, Percy,” he declared, pacing in front of the entrance to their ballroom, which was so large the ceiling needed to be reinforced by extra marble columns, “we’ll practice the proper way to enter a party. It’s a twelve-step process.”

Percy’s eyebrows shot up. “Twelve steps?” he repeated incredulously.

Tennyson nodded solemnly, his hands clasped behind his back like some kind of wise elder. “I’ve broken it down so that you have an easier time remembering. This is all hard-won knowledge, some of which I deduced myself through trial and error.” He paused. “You’re very lucky to have me, Percy. I hope you know that.”

Percy tried to smile, though he feared it looked more like a grimace.

Tennyson was unbothered. “First, you must bow at precisely a thirty-degree angle. Unless the host is a commoner who you don’t mind offending, and then a nod will suffice. No nod, or something crude like a wave means you’re trying to offend the other person.” He stopped and gave Percy a hard stare. “There’s never a good excuse for rudeness, and I would be ashamed if a student of mine were to treat even the lowliest street urchin in such a manner.”

Percy nodded back. “Of course not.”

Satisfied, Tennyson continued. “If you’re being hosted by one of the Thirteen Crowns, bow at a fifty degree angle and sweep your leg back, like this.” He demonstrated something graceful and flourishing that looked more like a stretch or calisthenic workout move than a bow. “Usually, there will be an announcer at the door. If they don’t know who you are, whisper your name and title to them surreptitiously. However, if there is no announcer, and you have no accompanying friends or family to announce you, you must announce yourself, making sure to enunciate each syllable of your name. Next, you must compliment the decor…”

Percy couldn’t help it. Tennyson’s voice receded into a buzzing, incomprehensible drone, and Percy’s eyes glazed over.

The lessons continued, each more bewildering than the last. Tennyson insisted on coaching Percy on the finer points of conversation. Discussing the weather for too long was a sign of inferior social skills, but it was just good manners to do so for for exactly ninety seconds before transitioning to other “acceptable” topics.

“Remember, Percy,” Tennyson said earnestly, “after you and your conversation partner have agreed about your feelings on the weather, you must smoothly move to either horse breeding, imports and exports, or the social and magical achievements of people you can claim some affiliation with. These are the pillars of sophisticated conversation!” He smacked a fist into his open palm.

Percy rubbed the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “And what if I don’t know anything about horse breeding?”

Tennyson waved his hand dismissively. “Details, schmetails, Percy! It’s all about the illusion of knowledge. Now, let’s practice your curtain compliments.”

“Curtain compliments?” Percy knew he sounded stupid, like some sort of parrot, but nothing Tennyson was saying made sense.

“Yes, you must always compliment the host’s curtains, even if there are no curtains present. It’s a mark of true refinement, and…”—he winked—“something of an inside joke!”

As Percy dutifully repeated Tennyson’s increasingly outlandish instructions, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was even real, proper etiquette. Did the wealthy and influential truly adhere to such strange customs, or was Tennyson as out of place in high society as he was among “normal” people?

When Tennyson reassured Percy that he would purchase a suit for him so that he wouldn’t be embarrassed at the party, Percy finally couldn’t repress his doubt any more. “I am perfectly capably of selecting my own clothes.”

Tennyson looked at him sadly. “I know you think that, Percy, but you should trust me just this once, okay? You’ll change your mind once you see the results.”

Author Note: I wanted to have a chapter of PGTS ready this Thursday, but I've been in too much pain these last couple of days. I'm posting this instead, a bit early today and will go lie down afterward. 

I've still been working on PGTS this week, so unless I'm bedridden for the next week, I should definitely have a chapter for you next Thursday. 

I promised health/writing updates once I knew more: I spoke to the doctor today, and got some mixed news that's left me feeling pretty tired. The good news is, they're fairly certain (but still not totally, 100% sure) that I don't have cancer. Surgery is still the next step (and will confirm my diagnosis one way or another), and will likely happen in February or March, at which point I'll likely take a short hiatus (2 weeks) from posting. For those of you who will no doubt read this and be worried, I can assure you that I don't seem to be in any immediate danger, just dealing with pain and general sensations that something's wrong with my body. 

I'm still okay, and will be okay. :)

Weekly discussion thread on the Alcove: https://alcove.azaleaellis.com/t/chapter-2-12-weekly-discussion-in-which-percy-learns-the-art-of-refinement/885