InsaneJournal

:: rp sample - phillip cordon ::
WHO: Whitney de Winter [YOUNGEST DAUGHTER] and Phillip Cordon [PUSS IN BOOTS]
WHERE: Whit's hotel
WHEN: Wednesday, March 19, 2008; evening
SUMMARY: Family crisis in the making. Incomplete threaded play.
RATING: PG-13


Currently, Whitney stood in the middle of the living room of her hotel suite, several open suitcases around her, half-dressed as she was still partially clad in her pyjamas. It was an incongruous combination at present, a striped button-down shirt done up two buttons off and her loudly printed silk pants, but it seemed to fit her state as she stared at the suitcases before her with a completely lost look. She should be packing, Phillip said he was coming, but the effort to get what she needed was ridiculously difficult right now. She didn't much care for that, the feeling of hampered thought and movement, but seemed helpless to stop it just the same.

This was her mother. The woman couldn't be happy unless she was controlling everything and everyone in her life, she was the last kind of person to be in a hospital. A car wouldn't dare hit Bianca de Winter without her permission and a detailed itinerary of the entire event, a germ wouldn't have the gall to make her sick because she would see it scrubbed out of her immaculate world first and... though she did not want to think the worse, it still didn't change her mother would likely tell God himself to wait until she was ready to go.

This just wasn't happening.

It had taken some doing and several very assertive phone calls, but Phillip had done it without complaint. He had never heard Whitney quite so...unraveled as he had on the voice mails...messages that he had, for whatever reason, still not deleted.

"Sorry, sir, there's a little traffic up ahead."

The driver generously ignored Phillip as he swore under his breath. It wasn't the driver's fault that the traffic was going to make him a bit later than he had wanted to be. He had done everything he could to hurry. He'd not packed a thing, certain that if he needed something he would buy it there. He had debated the merits of driving himself like a maniac and having to deal with airport parking and calling a more cautious driver who could handle the car for him before deciding to go with the driver. He had even called the airport several times while on the way to check on the status of the company jet and make certain that it was ready.

All of these actions were admittedly nervous ones, and he couldn't determine exactly why he was being so anxious. Granted, Mrs. de Winter had always been kind to him, but that wasn't entirely it. Perhaps part of it had to do with the way Whitney was behaving. She was always so cynical about her mother, strong in general from what he knew of her. Wildly independent. It was concerning to hear her so shaken.

And yet who could blame her? Regardless of the flaws a parent might have, they're still the only parent you will ever have. He sighed in relief when the driver finally pulled up in front of the hotel. Though it took more time, he reasoned that she might need help with her bags, so he asked the driver to wait and sprinted into the hotel. Pushing past the other guests even though it was rude, Phillip cut the time normally necessary to get to Whitney's suite in half.

"Whitney?" he knocked gently on the door, then once again slightly louder in case she hadn't heard the first time. "It's me."

The second knock had gotten Whitney's attention, though the first, as well as him saying her name, had not. She stood there for a moment, processing who 'me' was, as – oh, Phillip. She turned and made her way to the door to open it, running a hand through her hair and tousling further the messy ponytail it had been in. She had been ready for a night in, had even been calling Phillip over to throw popcorn at bad movies on the hotel's selection of channels, when this had happened.

She wasn't even sure why she had called Phillip back once she had listened to Bridgette's useless message. She hadn't really thought about it, she had just acted. Yes, they were sleeping together again – or rather, had slept together several times in the last week – but that wasn't quite it. Perhaps it was that he was so dependable and such a constant in her life. There were times she had intensely disliked that in him, but it was also something that part of her found incredibly appealing at other times. There was more, of course, but right now that dependability was key.

She looked at him for only a moment when she pulled the door open, then moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face to the middle of his chest.

Phillip had intended to say a great many things when the door opened, but seeing her made all of them vanish. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, holding her near. He heard her start crying, and that put him at an even bigger loss. What was he supposed to say to that?

So he didn't say anything. He whispered soft nonsensical things about how things were going to be just fine and how he had taken care of everything and how she had nothing to worry about. He whispered and pressed a kiss or two into her hair and held her until her tears had slowed a bit. "Now..." he said softly, pulling back a bit. "Now then, Whitney, we're going to grab your things, and we're going to go down to the car, and one of our jets is going to take us to Philadelphia. We're going to see your mother and she's going to be just fine. Where did you put your bag?"

Whitney hadn't meant to cry. She had done that earlier but had made herself stop because it had become difficult to function while doing it and she knew she had to pack. Packing was important to leaving and she really had to leave. Leaving was the only thing she could do right now, the only thing she had always been able to control, which was perhaps the most stupidly frustrating, that for once she wanted to leave and go to Philadelphia without excessive bitching and she hadn't been able to do it. She was beginning to think she might be losing her mind over how awkward her thoughts felt in her head.

But his arms closing around her was a bit too much, as it was comfort and familiarity and security and right now it was the first thing that was all of those. Her mother in the hospital certainly wasn't any of them and Phillip not answering his damned phone wasn't, but now that he was here, it was. So she cried, right there in the doorway to her hotel suite, until that wave of panicky tears had passed and she could wave awkwardly behind her when he questioned her.

She really shouldn't be falling apart like this. She never had anything nice to say about her mother, ever. But perhaps that was the problem.

Phillip had no idea what to do, so rather than try to stop the tears entirely, which he knew was impossible, he instead led her to a chair, gently leading her to sit.

"There..." he gave her hands a squeeze. "Sit right here and let me take care of this, alright?" He cast a doubtful look at the disarray of the room, including the haphazardly packed suit cases. It looked as though a tornado had blown things at random across the room and in the general direction of her bags. He had next to no idea what to throw in the bags, but he thought that perhaps it would be best to start from scratch. He turned the largest bag upside down, grabbing two pairs of mismatched pajamas, a few odd shirts and slacks, some odd pieces of lingerie that were already on the bed, and other miscalaneous items that he thought might help. There was always the possibility to buy things when they got there, he reasoned, after all, that's what he was going to do. However, as she was going to stay longer than him, more than likely, she should go prepared.

Satisfied that the one bag had at least a few things that would help, he grabbed it and went back to her. "Come on..." He extended his hand to her. "The car's waiting."

Fully compliant, Whitney sat where he led her, head in her hands rather than watching him. This had shaken her badly, more than she would have ever assumed had anyone posed the situation to her in the form of a hypothetical 'what if' scenario. It wasn't as though she and her mother had ever really gotten along, ever, and that had only gotten worse with age, but this was her mother and the most terrifying part was the unknown. What was waiting in Philly once she had reached there?

Taking her phone out of the pocket of the wrongly-button shirt, she proceeded to once more dial the numbers of all relevant cell phones and house phones with no response. Frustrated again even while realizing there were possibly legitimate reasons not all of them could answer phones right now, she tucked away the phone again and rubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands. She had to keep it together for now.

When Phillip spoke a moment later, there was a slight reaction of surprise, as she had, well not forgotten him, but she had been focused elsewhere again.

"Right." She rose from the chair and started toward the door, then looked down at her bare feet. "I need shoes. And a coat."

It was only when Whitney drew attention to her lack of shoes and a coat that he realized the haphazard way that she was dressed. While he didn't expect her to get dressed up in business attire to go see her mother in the hospital, perhaps he shouldn't be able to see flashes of her bare belly through her missbuttoned shirt.

"Come here." he said quietly, his fingers working quickly, in an almost businesslike way as he unbuttoned the shirt and then rebuttoned it correctly. It wasn't as though he had not seen her nude before, and right no he didn't know that she was capable of it given the circumstances. He knew that he wouldn't be. "It's going to be fine." He smoothed his hand over her shoulders, making the shirt lay right on her. Perhaps, he thought, he should encourage her to change out of the pajama pants as well, but they looked comfortable and they DID have a flight to catch. Deciding on a middle ground of sorts he grabbed a coat for her from atop a pile of clothing and helped her into it as well. It wasn't that he thought her incapable, rather, it was that he thought her attention should rightfully be focused elsewhere. He grabbed what looked like a comfortable pair of pants just in case, as there would be room in the company jet if she chose to change there. "There are your shoes..." he pointed out the first pair of non-heeled shoes that he could see both mates for.

"Ready?"

It wasn't fun to feel as helpless as a child, but that couldn't be helped right now. Thus, Whitney stood quietly as he rebuttoned her shirt, giving him a grateful but still lost look when he helped her on with her coat, then went to get her shoes. This was probably the worst dressed she had been since college – or maybe not even then – but she couldn't really bring herself to care. If this was bad, there wouldn't be anyone to bitch about her clothing choices and if it weren't bad, then the bitching would be a welcome relief. That was a potentially disturbing thought.

Once shod, she looked up at him and then gave him a weak sort of half shrug. "No." He hadn't been asking if she was ready to go do this, only if she was ready to go, but it was all the same.

"I know.." Phillip whispered, feeling quite helpless himself. No matter what he did, he couldn't make things right for her. He couldn't protect Mrs. de Winter, a woman who he had grown increasingly fond of as his role in the company had increased, he couldn't get Whitney there any faster than the plane would go. There was little he COULD do, but he could do his part, his small piece. He could walk her from here to the car, from the car to the plane, and from the plane to the car that would take them to the hospital.

"I know you're not, but we have to go now. I'm right here, Whitney, I'm going to stay with you until we get there." He gave her a quick hug, pulling back half way so that one arm was still around her. He let it settle in the small of her back and gave her a gentle sort of push forward. "Come on, you can tell me what you know in the car, and we can try again to get a hold of someone."

There wasn't much to tell, but once they had gotten downstairs and inside the car, she repeated Bridgette's message word for word, then proceeded through her systematic dialing of all family numbers in her phone. Not even an answer at the house, which was the most frustrating of all, as one of several staff members should have been close to at least one extension to answer her call. That they weren't made her feel panicky, so much at one point she put her head between her knees in the car until the light-headed fluttery feeling had passed.

"This is insane," she said, the words muffled by fabric.

Phillip listened attentively as Whitney relayed Bridgette's message, and watched her once again go through her method of dialing everyone. Something just wasn't right, he though as his mind mirrored hers for a moment. SOMEONE would be there at her house, whether it was friend or family or one of the staff. Not all of them would be at the hospital.

Pulling out his own phone, he called his secretary. Helen was an efficient woman who was like a grandmother to him, and if anyone could be trusted with so delicate a matter as this one, it was her. Thankfully she answered her own home phone quickly and assured him that she would personally drive to the de Winter residence and inform him of what she found.

"My secretary's on her way." He rested his hand on Whitney's back, rubbing back and fort awkwardly as he tried to figure out what else to say to make it better. "She'll figure it out."