The Vipers' Nest - Court of Lies and Deception - Apps open
 

Welcome one and all to the continuation ofThe Vipers' Nest hosted by Shenanigans, which in turn was the second installment of The Baroque Court RP by eternal_sunshine.


It is 1677, the Baroque Court in France is the pristine pinnacle of fashion, fortune and power... However recently cracks have begun to appear throughout our little world and the people we once trusted are now, plotting and planing things we can only wonder about... these truely are dark days In the Palace of Light and Air.

The power has shifted throughout the court, the advisor has been murdered, the Princess has passed, the Queen whisked away by a mother with a sharp mind and a strong tongue and with the King's quiet nature, power is up for grabs, after all even with his childhood friend, his wife's voice-in-court and his faithful gossip he still needs an advisor....




The Roleplay:
Each roleplay day is split into three; morning, afternoon, and evening. These will be operating on a 5, 5, 4, basis. Which basically means a morning is five real life days, a afternoon is also 5 and an evening is 4. This will maybe tweaked as needed to allow everyone ample time to roleplay their characters. One roleplay day is considered a round.

Rules:
Follow all roleplaying rules of this forum.
All characters must be atleast 16 year of age.
Any titled Courtier can become the King’s Advisor.
All RPs must have a minimum of 8 lines. You are encouraged to build conversations via PM then post them in the thread if need be.
Do your best to stay in the feel of the times. Remember, this is before electricity, running water, and automobiles.

The Rank & Titles:
Duc & Duchess – This is the highest level attainable in court. They have the most money, the best suites, and the most sordid past. Each character of this level starts with 80,000 livres, and a major scandal.
Comte & Comtess – The middle level of power in the court. They’re not the smallest fish in the pond, but they sure don’t rule the roost. Each character of this level starts with 60,000 livres, and either a major or minor scandal, decided by a randomizer.
Baron & Baroness- The lowest level of nobles in court. They are just beginning their journey up the ladder. Each character of this level starts with 40,000 livres and a minor scandal.
Untitled Characters – These characters have no title and are referred to simply as Mr. and Mrs. They may very well think themselves wealthy and important, but they’re nothing compared to the nobles with titles. Each character of this level starts with 20,000 livres and no scandals.

There are two ways to gain a title. You can buy a title, or be given a title from the King. It costs 40,000 to gain the title of Baron/Baroness from an untitled state, 60,000 livres to buy your way up one title from Baron/Baroness to Comte/Comtesse and 80,000 from Comte/Comtesse to Duc/Duchesse.

Scandals:
A scandal can be either a minor scandal or a major scandal. (These are considered levels.)

Minor Scandals: These scandals have to do with flirtations, having relations with a commoner, dueling, and blackmail. If a scandal of this nature reaches the King’s ear, the character will be demoted one rank, and/or given a “morality fine” of 50,000 livres.
Major Scandals: These scandals have to do with infidelity, murder, treason and stealing from the King. If this type of scandal reaches the King’s ear, you may even recieve banishment from court. (Members of the Royal family, Duc d'Lorraine, Baroness Venn, and the advisor are the only ones exempt from this rule.)

When a new character enters the RP they are required to begin with a scandal. These are referred to as given scandals. The level of the given scandal depends on their title and rank. (See section above.) During the RP new scandals are sure to be born. These are referred to as created scandals. All these scandals, both given and created will be put into a scandal database. A created scandal will only stay in the database for one RP week, given scandals stay in there indefinitely. Each round (1 RP day) a randomizer will be ran and a scandal chosen. This scandal will make its way to the ear of Baroness Mercy Venn.

Who is Mercy Venn? She is the court gossip, the court snoop. Each day she will have a scandal told to her. Depending on how the randomiser goes, it may already be old news to her. She will then alert your character that she knows their dirty little secret. It’s up to you to do whatever it takes to earn her silence as each day Mercy Venn has the opportunity to tattle to the King. So if she approaches you, it may be in your best interest to do whatever it takes to appease her. IF you decide to bribe her, you must PM me the amount of money you bribed.

Money:
It’s what makes the world go round. Money, and lots of it. Your character begins with a set amount of money depending on their title. There are two ways to earn more money. If it is suggested to him, the King may gift it to you. The other way is by visiting the Court Accountant (randomiser), in RP formally asking for the money. The request will be denied or approved formally by PM if your request is approved you may recieve, the amount youn ask for or hald the amount, depending , once again, on a randomiser. You can only ask for money four times, and each request is limited to a maximum of 20,000 livres. You must have two rounds between each visit to the accountant. The money is measured in the baroque French currency – livres. Brief details of the accountant are in the listed below under "Untouchables."

Offices:
In this day and age very few Nobles NEED to work, but those who wish too now have the ability to pitch a business to the Court accountant, offer him a some of money and secure yourself an office to run a business, which will pay a small dividend each day, the amount of money will depend on your investment, your business idea, and your character's popularity.

Special Rooms:
Winning the game has changed any courtier can be granted the position, besides the Untouchables (and secondary characters of those RPers), regardless of title as long as they have access to the Rotherham Rooms and the De Mollier Offices.

The Voice-in-Court may now suggest to the King grants of access to the Rotherham Rooms for other Courtiers.

The Old Friend may now suggest to the King grants of access to the De Mollier Offices for other Courtiers.

Rotherham rooms, access is a sign of the Trust of the Royal Family.

De Mollier Offices, access is a sign of Respect from the Royal Family.

Suggestions:
Every round the King will heed a suggestion made by either the Voice-in-Court, or Duc d'Lorraine. (The decision is made with the randomiser.)
Suggestions will consist of:
- Granting titles- they can suggest you go up one title from your own
- Bestowing money – a financial gift of up to 40,000 livres may be given
- Demoting- they can suggest you go down one title
- Fining- a financial reprimand of up to 20,000 livres
- Banishment- if they get mad enough at you, you could be banished from court
- Access- the De Mollier Offices or Rotherham Rooms may be opened to you.

The format:
Each RP Day morning, the King will hold his morning announcements. This is when he will follow through on a suggestion given to him, and deal with any scandals that he has learned about. The afternoon and evening is free time for your character.

Gaining the Prize:
In order to be eligible for the position of Advisor you must gain access to the De Mollier Offices and the Rotherham Rooms. Once you are eligible, you must get the Voice-in-Court or the King's old friend to suggest you be appointed to the King. Once they make the suggestion, the King (a randomiser) will decide if he agrees. If the King does not agree to appoint you, you must wait another three RP days before the suggestion can be given again. The randomiser will be slanted however so A Duc/Duchesse has a much higher chance (50%) of being granted the poisition than an untitled man/woman who will have only a 5% chance when suggested. The other titles will find you a percentage in between these

If the King does appoint you, congratulations, you’re the new advisor. As the advisor you now have the King’s ear and will be able to give suggestions just as the Voice-in-Court and Duc d'Lorraine do. It’s time to pay back all those who helped you get to where you are. However, just because you’ve gotten the position does not mean you’re safe, or the game is over. If the king was to find out about a major scandal of yours, you will be fired and other penalties may be imposed. The position becomes open again for someone else to enjoy their moment of fame. If you become the advisor and are not active for two RP days, (roughly a month real time) a new advisor may be appointed.

Applications:
Though the palace of light and air is indeed grand, there are only fourteen suites available. So if you no longer wish to participate, please have the curtesy to remove your character from the RP to allow others to join. Do not be surprised if your character is banished if you have been inactive for a month’s time.

When you submit an application please include the following:

Name:
Title:
Age:
Bio:
Picture: (Does not have to be sim)

After you submit your application, you must PM me your character’s given scandal. This is the scandal they begin the game with, that will stay in the scandal database. You may not post an RP until after I’ve approved your scandal. Remember, the severiety of the scandal depends on your characters rank.

If there are any question, please feel free to PM me.

The Untouchable and The Courtiers....
 

The Untouchable characters currently in play

The King Edouard Auguste Louis Rotherham IV
Age: 42

King Edouard is a private man who spends most of his time in his Salon, or in his private suite. He leant heavily upon his wife and his friend Duc d'Lorraine for advice after the loss of his beloved Duc of Mollier. With Isabella also temporarily indisposed, the Voice-in-Court had taken her place.
He is an NPC whos actions depend on a randomizer. The only people who have access to him are the Duc d'Lorraine, the Voice-in-Court, the Prince, Juliet de Margoles and, on occassion, Baroness Venn, afterall you never know what she has to say.

Baroness Mercy Venn (Flight)
Age:44

((The picture is the marvellous Judy Dench and the blonde sim is my version made especially for Mercy... looking rather annoyed with one of our other Courtiers.))
"What can I say? Life is life and other peoples are so much more interesting. I can be sworn to secrecy... if we're friends or if there is something in it for me."
Mercy is very loud and insists it is the public's right to know, this point of view may have come from her deceased husbands constant affairs that she knew nothing of until a relative made it rather clear. She at the moment lacks good friends, which she craves this makes her an excellent target for flattery, or occasional bribery. She is friends with Isabella, and quite likes the way that sounds, arguing with Mercy is not really advised...

Mercy is the court gossip, having access to scandals of all sorts, she has made her self immune from being banished from the court.


Dimitri-Josèphe, Duc d'Lorraine
Age: 48

The King's old friend, Dimitri, is quite opposite of the King in nearly every way imaginable, fortunately this means you can in deed talk to him, and perhaps sway him, you want him to like you really...

Baron Larkin d'Marius
Age:34
An ambassador to a far flung place and the much younger brother of the Duc d'Margoles, hand picked by Juliet (see further down list) to be her Daughter's Voice-in-Court.

Prince Octavien Lahance
Age: 21

Octavien came to this court as an untitled man. Thanks to his luck in happening across the Queen when she was in need he found himself in her favor, eventually moving up the ranks to the title of a Comte. Though he does not have direct access to the king, his marriage to the princess makes him ineligible for the advisor’s position. Now she has passed away however he is looking like a favourable choice.

Duchesse Juliet de Margoles
Age:???
The Mother of Queen Isabella, she comes and leaves as she pleases as of recent. (She looks like an aging Cybil Sheppard.)

Mister Tobias Benedetti
Age: 28
The court's accountant, money lender and general financial guru. Relatively handsome, short black hair and blue eyes.



Princess Adalita
The King’s only heir, she was a rebellious young lady until her untimely demise.

Queen Isabella Rotherham
Age: 23
King Edouards second wife, she is often called the most powerful woman of the kingdom. It is a title that she enjoys living up to immensely. Whilst still living she is currently residing in the family home with her parents and her older brother (the next Duc de Margoles.)

Queen Susanna Rotherham
Age:32 at death
King Edouards first wife, Adalita's mother and a strong believer that even a gossip has her uses..


Ducs and Duchesses

Christine Du Fontaine

Comte and Comtesses

Marie-Elisabeth Valois

Barons and Baronesses

Isabella Devine

Untitled

Miss Padme Castilla

Other Titled Characters

Lady Charmaine de Mollier
Marquis César de la Vallière
Marquise Joséphine de la Vallière
Elena Sánchez

The Court
 

Here are the new maps, some new features are present on each map which are explained beneath it.





Ground Floor

The east wing is for the higher titled courtiers, Larkin, is also there due to the Influence of his Sister-in-Law





The Upper Floor

The De Margoles Suite and Salon used to be the queen's room, they remain in that capacity officially but they are currently being put to use by Juliet de Margoles, the Queen's mother.
The Rotherham Rooms once the Princess's chambers they are now the meeting point for those trusted by the Royal family, access can be granted and taken away.
The De Mollier Offices once, the rooms of the past advisor, access to these rooms, shows you are intelligent and respected.





The Bottom Floor

The servant's rooms, and other facilities including the Palace Accountant's office and four more vacant offices just looking for entrepreneurs.





The Palace Grounds

Various places including the Blackmail clearing some of you may be invited to.

The History
 

Asteriks mark things you may know but your characters will not know.

A young boy, is born into a world of power, he proves to be a quiet man and during his young days is already pressured, after all he is to grow up to be king.

The young Edouard befriends an intelligent young man with a great eye for detail and understanding of social politics. The King encounters Duc c'Lorraine.

Within the Palace of light and air a fitting young woman is found for Edouard to court.

Love blossoms *thanks to the aid of Duc d'Lorraine* and The King marries.

The Princess is born, the future Queen of the Kingdom.

The Duc d'Lorraine leaves the court to return to his family estate.

The Duc de Mollier becomes increasingly popular and becomes the King's advisor.

A widow arrives in the court, under the name of Madame Mercy Flight, her past is widely known and her reputation begins to build.

A friendship of sorts is struck up between the first Queen and the court gossip.

The first Queen passes away and the Duchess of Champagne, Juliet de Margoles brings her daughter the court.

The young Isabella de Margoles becomes the second Queen.

Duc d’Mollier is found dead, the court is in chaos and a new advisor must be located.

The Princess begins to show her true colours by spending her time in the company of young men.

A Duc by the name of Silvius attracts the attention of several female courtiers including the Princess.

The Queen forms a friendship with a courtier named Octavien who is giving her harpsichord lessons.

*Both relationships progress.*

The Queen seems to strike up a friendship with the court gossip Mme Flight.

The Princess announces her engagement to Silvius.

*The Princess falls pregnant.*

*Mme Flight Blackmails her way into a title, Silvius out of an engagement and gains the Queen’s favour.*

The Princess engagement is now to Octavien Lahance. *The Queens lover.*

The Princess and Octavien are married.

The Princess falls Ill.

Duc d’Lorraine arrives to comfort his life long friend, the King and nearly runs over Baroness Flight.

Baroness Flight, reverts to her Maiden name, Venn.

The Queen plays the doting step mother.

The Princess dies.

The Queen’s Mother Juliet de Margoles arrives to attend the funeral.

After the funeral the Queen collapses and Juliet demands her return to the family home.

Juliet desires for a relative to come to the palace to represent the Queen. The Voice-in-Court.

Re-Application : Marie-Elisabeth, Comtesse de Valois
 

Application
 

Name: Charmaine de Mollier
Title: Lady
Age: 32
Bio: Charmaine is a member of the English artistocracy hense the title of Lady, her English name and status are what makes her act just as she does, strong, determined, aloof and quite formidable.
Charmaine is married to a cousin of the last advisor which I fear may serve only to spur on her feelings of superiority. She does not plan to stay at the court long, merely long enough to make her husband regret taking a long hunting holiday in Scotland. After all nobody does anything without having permission first, I mean this is the 1670's, people need to get with the times and realise a woman's job is to co-ordinate her family...
Picture:




((Charmaine is the Brunette... And no I'm aware it is not period costume, but I play without cc... so it's harder for me ))

Re-application - Octavien Lahance
 

Name: Octavien Lahance

Age: 21

Title: Has gone from untitled, to Baron, to Comte, to Prince.

Personality:
Octavien was a young man with a hunger for nothing more than fun and adventure. Unfortunately, this lead to quite a few precarious situations, and after having been seen leaving the bedroom of one too many married women, his parents sent him away from home, to the court, in the hopes of having him discover that there's more to life than just having "fun". And he did. He discovered power, and the perks of having friends in high places. Now he has his mind set on earning a title, one way or another, and although still a carefree thrill-seeker, he can also be a cunning, ambitious trickster. He's watching the aristocrats and learning what he can from them. And the higher the title, the bigger his interest. Thus, he has taken a special interest in the Queen herself.

Picture:



And one and two more, just because. :P

((Thank you for posting your new applications guys Atropa, I feel like I have failed to tell you just how handssoem Octavien is...))

Re-application: César de la Vallière, Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan
 

Name: César de la Vallière
Title: Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan (visitor)
Age: 23
Bio: Imagine for a moment the untitled Octavien Lahance, not yet a courtier at the Palace of Light and Air, as a cartoon character, with the classical angel on one shoulder, beseeching him to behave and be good, and a tiny devil on the other, constantly tempting him to be naughty and bad.
That tiny devil, would be César de la Vallière; Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan and one of Octavien's best friends since childhood. Good-natured, charismatic, and with eyes rarely lacking a spark of humor and mischief, the two years older César was the ringleader of sorts, of what one could call the late 17th century 'brat pack' - the circle of friends - that Octavien was part of before being sent to the court by his parents, to mature.

César is very much a man of his time, and his social standing. With his father having died a few years ago, he's now the man of the house and the estate, and the head of the family, consisting of his mother, his wife, and two (legitimate) daughters, whom he adores. He spends a great deal of his time on the favorite past times of the young and the wealthy, such as riding, horse racing, fencing, hunting, parties and balls, playing cards, visiting the opera and the theatre, etcetera, and despite being married at the age of seventeen - an arranged marriage, but not one he objected to, or even minded much - he's still a ladies man. However, he's not the kind of man to leave a woman's bed, never to return. The affairs he has are rarely 'one-time' things, and do not limit themselves to nothing but bedroom activities. Over the years, he's had a few select mistresses, to whom he keeps returning, and has only occasionally had brief flings. But even with his wandering eye, and even though his mistresses tend to end up rather well off - recieving gifts of money, dresses, jewelry and perhaps even a small mansion - he would never flirt with another woman or look at her excessively, while in the presence of his wife. Despite his affairs, he does love her - her wits, her passion, her beauty, not to mention the firey temper that he so loves to tease - and he will never spend too many nights in a row away from her bed. He simply believes it's a man's privilege to have a mistress or two. Still, he might have a tendency to neglect her and take her for granted every now and then. They are married after all, and so in a way he's already and always entitled to her, whereas a mistress isn't bound to him by anything but interest alone. Thus, Josephine might not recieve as many and as romantic gestures as her rivals.


Picture:

(Expect another pic later. I was trying to get him to flash that mischievous smile of his, but I'm not quite happy with it, it makes his face look a bit weird.)

(((ooc: Fayre & slytherin - Why, thank you. I'm kind of fond of him myself. But I made him, so I'm partial.)))

"Re" - App: Padme Castilla
 

Re-App: Dimitri-Josèphe, duc d'Lorraine
 

Name: Dimitri-Josèphe, duc d'Lorraine
Age: 48
Title: Duc

Personality: The second son and fourth child of the Lords of Lorraine, Dimitri studied with King Edouard and became among the young Prince's closest confidants since. His home province of Lorraine is located at the border with the Germanic states. It thus seemed only natural that, at 15, he participated in the brutal Thirty Years War, returning to the Palace of Light and Air four years later with riches, scars, and a reputation.

Compared to the light King, Dimitri is as a skeleton of steel patched in earth and clay, with a similarly inscrutable disposition. It would be more accurate to label him the product of his family, rather than just his generation. Growing up in the belief of a strong King for a strong kingdom, he dedicated his early years to securing the foundations from which Edouard would rule. His preparations were interrupted by the death of his older brother, after which Dimitri was recalled to his family's estate.

Although he has remained away from the Court for over a decade, it was no loss to this strict man, who scoffed at the frivolities of the younger nobles and their nonexistent sense of duty to the throne. He has a propensity for rules and the abiding of them, but Dimitri can make decisions that throw others for a loop, as long as the ends aligned with his own principles.

Description (close-up profile): Grey eyes. Tanned. Dimitri is of above average height and build, but has become skinnier compared to his days in the army. He has several scars on the left side of his face. Light wrinkles line the corners of his eyes and forehead.


Random Pictures :D

Dimitri pays his respects at a grave.
Jehanne explains her new invention, the "eye ring". Enthusiastically.



((Third thread around for this RP! Think we broke any records? XD))

(((OOC: Maybe And GAH I just realized I had Marie-Elisabeth's mother's last name (and therefore her own maiden name) as Lorraine. I better go change that)))

Joséphine de la Vallière, Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan
 

Elena Sánchez de Suárez y Torre
 

Larkin d'Marius App
 

Title:Baron d'Aurvilies
Age: 34
Bio: Larkin, the queen's paternal uncle, was rather awkward for his parents [the queen's grandparents] to deal with. As a small child he was told, in no uncertain terms by a governess that being the youngest son meant that there was no way he would inherit anything useful and was essentially another mouth. Not that the nobility of France couldn't handle it, she had said, but it had a profund effect on young Larkin. He proceeded to ignore the lessons of fine statecraft imparted to his older brothers, and instead study the more... abstruse sciences. Those of ambition, of greed, of efficeincy.

Upon his twentieth birthday Larkin's father died, and, as expected, gave the eldest brother most of the duchy, and leaving small, infertile, essentially useless baronies and marquedoms to the younger brothers. Larkin, being thoroughly uninterested in any of the day to day administration of his barony, went to court, where after a year he was appointed ambassador to Zimbabwe.

While there he maneuvered brilliantly amongst the natives, bearing technology to them and piles of gold and trade goods away, all for the good of France. He has been there for well over a decade, missing his brother's wedding, said brother's daughter's birth, and said daughter's rise to queen. However in his capacity as ambassador he was able to cultivate a firm freindship with the king. Due to some small insurrections in Zimbabwe, Larkin was exiled from there and has returned to the court, as he still has no interest in his barony, and it is capably run by a steward, who leaves the appropriate revenues to his Baron's disposal.

Larkin d'Marius is rather pleased to return to his native land, self imposed exile does get tedious after more than a decade. He remains ambitious, wanting a better parcel of land for his long suffering steward to administer to, but at the moment is quite content to enjoy real food that is not spiced to death, and real women that go about leaving something for a man to think about during the occasional dull days. As opposed to the ladies of Zimbabwe... who provided things other than thought.

Picture: Forthcoming
((OOC: Hope thats aright, if not, let me know and I'll go right ahead and change it!))

((Ok you may now start to roleplay the new morning, the announcements will start again tomorrow.

And I shall have a long post up later involving the Royal's, plus new a new installment for Mercy AND Charmaine's entrance... :insane: :insane: :insane: what a lot of work :insane: :insane: :insane: ))

César - previous evening / not a morning person
 

César couldn't quite remember the last time it had happened, but for once, he had actually been relieved to see a beautiful and pleasant young woman depart from his company. And not a moment too soon either. Three, in this case, had most definately been a crowd.
It was nothing against the Comtesse de Valois herself. Not in the least, as César quite regretted not having gotten the chance to talk to her some more. She was as sweet as could be, and since last they had met, he had found himself occasionally wondering if that mischievous streak that seemed to surface every now and then was for real, a sign of a true impish nature, or simply an act, something that young women were taught in order to entice equally young men, without fully realizing the forces of nature they set into motion by doing so. Many girls had had their hearts broken and their innocence stripped away that way.
But the more he thought about it, the more he doubted that this would be the case with Marie-Elisabeth. She had been married already, she had a son, and thus was obviously no stranger to the somewhat more primal side of human nature. And she did play the game between men and women like a true expert. She even seemed like the kind of lady that would offer a challenge even when the initial chase was over.

And there she had been, in the Blue Salon, face to face with a lady he knew would never cease to be a challenge. Joséphine, his wife. The one thing he had always tried to avoid, as far as his extra conjugal activities were concerned, playing out before his very eyes.
Beautiful and pleasant young lady or not, the situation at the time had been far from ideal. It was a good thing they had been interrupted not only once, but twice, by different members of the royal family. First Octavien, and then the King and Queen themselves, who by requesting a moment of silence for their daughter had provided César with a chance to decide how to handle the matter of Joséphine and Marie-Elisabeth.

It was a plan he would end up not needing, however, as once again the Comtesse decided to assist him in resolving the situation. As soon as the King and Queen retired from the Blue Salon, so did she, excusing herself that she had an important letter to read. Truth or not, he didn't know, but he was relieved none the less.
And with her gone, along with the Royal couple, and Octavien still engaged in conversation, there was little reason for the Marquise and Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan to stay in the Blue Salon. For while César had gone there to get acquianted with the other courtiers, he no longer held such desires after seeing how most of them had treated Octavien. Not then, at least. If he was to be introduced to anyone, it would be only once the gall presently threatening to spill forth from his tongue, had had a chance to ebb away.

However, had he thought the awkward incident involving Marie-Elisabeth was over, he was sadly mistaken. Once back safely in the privacy of their own suite, Joséphine had brought up the subject of the young Comtesse. Though just barely, as she did it in such an indirect, roundabout way, that it left him unsure of whether she had sensed something, or was merely making conversation. He was very much aware of the fact that those that were looking for something, would often found it, even when it was not there. Joséphine's reasons for bringing up Marie-Elisabeth might have him sensing a trap where there was none. Which was why he felt it was safer to just give some generic, borderline disinterested reply, and then change the subject.

It wasn't until later, in bed and after a little while of trying to silence his mind enough so that he could go to sleep, that it had dawned on him what she had really said to Marie-Elisabeth back there in the Blue Salon; "When César and I have a son"...
It wasn't as much what she had said, as it was the tone of voice in which she had said it. He already knew she wanted a son. As did he. But that "when"... It had sounded rather confident. More so than that of someone who 'merely' wished.
Or was it him that was wishing? Was his currently rebelliously loud mind making him read too much into it? Did he want a son more badly than he himself was aware of? So bad, that all it took was something that may have been just a simple and casual statement, to make him imagine things?
No... It hadn't feel right. He wanted a son, but he was neither living nor breathing that wish.

Still, going over it back and forth in his mind like this had done little good, and there had really only been one way to find out what she had meant.

"Joséphine?" he'd said, turning his head to the side to look at the lovely brunette that had been laying next to him, as though he'd thought she might still be awake.

She hadn't been, and with a slight sigh, he had resigned. But only for a moment. The thought of what she might have meant had refused to leave him alone, and so finally, he had just submitted to it, and simply woken her up, by pressing against her from behind, and nuzzling into the thick chocolate curls in the back of her neck while at the same time pressing his lips against the softness of her skin. She had woken up with a slight smile on her lips, though it had soon turned to slight surprise instead when she had realized it was still in the middle of the night. Not that it had never happened before, that her husband was overcome by certain feelings during the night, but this time, that had not been his reason for rousing her from her sleep. This time, instead of being met with passionate kisses, she had been met with the question "What did you mean?".
Needless to say, she had been confused to say the least, her head still groggy and heavy, and César had had to explain just what he had meant, before she even knew just what on earth he was talking about. Not that it had done him much good, as she had sleepily requested that they'd talk about it in the morning, before promptly drifting off to sleep again, leaving her husband feeling rather impatient and frustrated.
But, he had resigned, and eventually, after a bit of tossing and turning, even fallen asleep himself.

With a night like that, he was bound to sleep late, and the only reason why he awoke when he did, was because the sun decided to find a small crack between the heavy curtains covering the windows, and send a few bright rays to ruin his morning by hitting him square in the face. A frown upon those sunkissed features became the first sign of life from the young Marquis, followed by a few moments of malcontent squinting and a hand raised limply to protect his eyes from the bright light, before he tossed himself onto his other side, turning his back towards the window with a wordless grunt.


(((ooc: Just something to try and get the thread going again. I guess he's only approachable to Joséphine, should Ghanima have no other plans (I don't mind in the least if you do)... Or is someone for some reason would come waltzing in. Or come knocking, at least. )))

Marie-Elisabeth: Writing in the Salon
 

That morning found Marie-Elisabeth heading towards the Blue Salon, letters and the materials needed to write them clutched in her hands. She had made up her mind to answer the letters she had received nice and early, so she could send a reply off before her sister sent a lynch mob after her.

She had gotten a rather early start that morning, surprising for someone who generally liked to stay in bed until noon hour. But she did have a lot of things on her mind, and she had figured she may as well stop lying around in bed and do something useful.

Marie-Elisabeth had decided to wear the pretty blue dress Charles had spoken of in his letter, when she had spotted said letter when she got out of bed. She knew she looked good in the gown; it was nearly the exact shade of her eyes and had a little hat to match it. This, of course, was why she had had the portrait of her wearing it done in the first place.

She reached the salon quickly, and settled herself down at a small table to begin writing. The room was completely empty now, and she quite appreciated that. She wanted a place free of distractions to write in. Especially distractions of the tall, handsome, brown haired variety that had occupied her thoughts for the last few days.

Yesterday had been another story; she had initially been quite pleased to have the distraction. She was even looking forward to it, not really wishing to spend the entire evening in the company of boring old courtiers she hardly knew. Neither of which, to her great relief, César was.

Not that she knew him overly well, but what she did know she liked. And she really wouldn’t have minded getting to know him a little bit better but that plan had gone awry the second his wife walked into the room. And Marie-Elisabeth had wisely decided to remove herself from what she was sure could turn into a very awkward and embarrassing situation for everyone involved.

She sighed and shook her head to clear her thoughts, deciding to write to her sister first.



To my most darling and beloved of older sisters,

You wouldn’t believe how glad I was to have a letter from you. I really needed a good laugh yesterday.

I hope you’re feeling all right, I know how sick you tend to get when you’re with child. I think twins would be lovely, though I fear for you if it is indeed a pair of boys. I’m run ragged just having one. How you manage all seven of yours I will never understand.

The court so far hasn’t really been a place for gossip or anything interesting. The poor Princess passed away the day after I got here. She was so very young and it was quite a shock to everyone here. Most of all to her father I would imagine. I don’t want to bring bad luck by thinking about it, but I can only imagine how devastating it must be to loose your only child.

And as to the first thing in your letter, well that would be gossiping and well bred young ladies like me don’t do that. Though I will say that you’re indeed correct with that analogy.

You be sure to give my love to all my nieces and nephews, especially my little namesake. And I had better be the first one you write to after the baby or babies are born or else.

Love you always, your sister

Marie-Elisabeth, Comtesse de Valois


Marie-Elisabeth smiled as she finished and carefully folded the letter up. She then sealed it with some wax and placed it down on the table next to her. She quickly picked up another piece of paper and started on a reply to her son.

(((OOC: Figured I’d end it there. I’ve typed enough letters lately LOL)))

The wheels of a carriage were clacking against cobbles, Juliet was already very much awake even at this hour, she pondered if this was the arrival she had been expecting.

Click Clack Click Clack

The Duchess rose and waved a hand to the young Lady who Edouard had sent to take care of her, the girl was young, very young and quite pretty, she smiled inwardly, life could change so rapidly....

Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack

The young girl moved slowly across the room, she was carrying a pair of black lace gloves, for even though the official day of mourning was over, today was a sombre occasion, the Queen was leaving her Palace and the heir to the throne was STILL dead so surely everyone would realise the sombreness of the occasion.

Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack

Juliet put on her gloves, and then wearing her Charcoal dress stepped outside of her room and carried along the corridor.

Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack

Danielle, the young girl sighed, for how could a woman hold such power? she thought was she watched Juliet move swiftly and effortlessly down the corridor, she was head for the front door surely to greet some important, some man of true wisdom, Danielle smiled ran to the window, whoever this was, she was determined to get close to them.

Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack

Upstairs curtains twitched and a small window of light fell across Isabella's pale face, she was surveying the grounds of her Palace, for what would be the last time in such a long time. Edouard moved about in the semi-dark behind her, for some obscure reason he was checking the packing Margaret, Helena and the Baroness had done for her. Was this his way of showing her cared?

Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click ClackClick Clack Click Clack Click Clack

Edouard looked at his wife, she did not look well, he felt rather protective over her, but whilst he could stop her leaving, he knew getting her away from this place would be what is best. He refelcted his family were leaving and made a mental note to speak to Dimitri about his Son-in-Law something had to be done surely....

Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click ClackClick Clack Click Clack Click Clack Click Clack

Mercy knew the carriage was now within the court grounds and moved slightly, so she could view it from one of the long windows outside the Queen's suite, the carriage was grand, a magestic pale blue affair with black detailing, she inhaled sharply.

Click

Juliet reached the front door.

Clack

Danielle carned her neck to see down, and out of the window. To see who was causing such a stir.

Click

Isabella turned from the window.

Clack

Edouard gently kissed his wife, for what he felt would be the last time in an eternity.

Click

The carriage door swung open.

Smack

The door hit the side of the carriage from the force which had opened it.

Suprise fell across Juliet's face.

Danielle focused hard on the figure with delight showing on her face.

Mercy moved away from the window, this was not the person she was expecting...

Isabella jumped slightly at her husbands touch.

Edouard paused, how had the years slipped right by them?

Isabella bit her lip.

Charmaine de Mollier stepped from her Carriage. "Well?" She asked.

The question was simple, impolite and in English... this was not a good sign.

((There you go people! I hope you don't mind a little of suspense building, or two overlapping stories. As you can see I have tried to offer some sign Isabella is up and about without writing too much, as my writing style does not fit her character, and I would have no idea how to descride her thoughts and feelings, or even what they may be, she truely is lost without Shenan...

Oh and the new character is approachable.))

Edouard, in all his thoughtfulness, had prepared for the Duc the suite deepest in the right wing—with its tall windows opening to the neatly-tended garden expanse, the peaceful stables and gentle forests stretching beyond. The sunlight, whether freshly morning or tender evening, would always skirt across the gleaming glass, allowing just enough light and heat to illuminate the mahogany suite without straining one’s senses. The room was furthest away from the hustle and bustle of the main hall, where the palace doors seemed to open innumerably to welcome new visitors, and the rustle of servants’ skirts and shoes coalesced into the most mind-numbing symphony of early morning and pre-dinner household chores.

It was very kind of the King to consider his old friend’s tendency for solitude when choosing his suite; Dimitri was, simply, very lucky he always had an extra pair of eyes to watch the hustle and bustle when he could not.

He had been in the middle of penning a letter—or, rather, staring at the waxy, watery remnants of a dying candle while mulling for the past hour or so over what he should (and could and was safe to) express in writing—when those extra eyes came knocking at his door.

Dimitri recognised the rhythm so immediately that he did not think twice about allowing entry.

Rukov bounded in, the devil’s gleam in his dark eyes and lips. “Thy worthless subject bringeth thee fine news for thy lordship ‘tis ominous morning.”

Dimitri looked at the sky through his tall windows. The heavens were perfectly clear. “The Queen’s uncle has arrived?”

“Wha… Oh. No, my lord.”

The Duc merely smiled at the sight of his aid’s stocky shoulders slumping dramatically. There was obvious amusement, but also a strain of exasperated resignment. He had been struggling since sunrise—even before that, hence the death of his candle—to pen to paper a concise, safely worded yet fully informative account of everything that had happened thus far. And, thus far, he had only gotten as far as preliminary greetings. He was already at such a loss for words, what was one more bit of news to add to his unwritten letter?

“What is it then?” He paused, considering Rukov’s excitement. “It must be a woman.”

“Aye!” The gleam was back. “Better than that—an Englishwoman. Or, at least, that was the first godforsaken word outta her mouth! All the palace is in a uproar if I do say so myself, and I do. Luckily the footman’s got a good enough grasp on the language, but my God, you should’ve seen their faces, my lord!”

Dimitri frowned, but his reply was merely thoughtful. “I see… And I take it you wish to drag me there now to see her?”

“If only!” Rukov sighed, before bowing and presenting his lord with an elegant note. “But His Majesty wishes to meet with the Duc before the morning announcements, and if I do say so, it seems quite urgent. Didn’t even use the steward, His Majesty’s guard just pushed it right into my hands.”

There was nothing unusual with Edouard wanting to see Dimitri in the mornings, although there had been a remarkable lack of productiveness in their morning talks since he arrived. The first time or so witnessed the King putting up a valiant show, inquiring as to progress of finding his next Advisor, duly listening as Dimitri duly reported his observations… but it hadn’t taken long for Edouard to simply skip over that part and delve straight to the nonsensical topics only friends talked about. Not for the first time, Dimitri wondered how the man was going to weather being without his wife and his daughter.

Then again, they had been talking most mornings even when Isabella was here. Perhaps, the Duc sighed, nothing was unusual at all.

There was that glint in Rukov’s eye—he was a man whose life had tempered and broken and re-sharpened his deepest instincts, and he must have picked up on that sliver of agitation which slipped from the King’s hand to the guard’s to the note.

Dimitri recognised the glint so naturally that he did not think twice to question it. “I shall meet His Majesty, then. You may show me your Englishwoman after today’s announcements.”

_____

((lol, Fay, I had the Jaws theme playing through my head while reading your post! So just to clarify, Charmaine de Mollier is an Englishwoman who married the cousin of the Duc d'Mollier?

BTW, I just saw-- you didn't post the map of the servants' quarters

Dimitri will just disappear for a bit into the King's salon until after the morning announcements. After which... Octavien, be prepared~

[EDIT] Holy Shiznit, Ghanima, sim!Elena looks WICKED AWESOME. Josephine is so pretty too-- I especially love the little family portrait you have behind her! Who be the girl seated beside Cesar (if that is Cesar)?))

((Yes that is correct, and I know I tried to post it but it complained of a broken image link... But i have started on the new maps so that shall soon be remedied.))

Name: Isabella Devine
Title: Baroness
Age: 19
Bio: Her father's masterpiece, Isabella is the only legitimate daughter of the formidable Baron Ashton Devine. While the Devine bloodline is among the most powerful and 'pure' in all of Europe, Ashton cares little for social divides and consequently, Isabella cares little for anything but her own advancement in society.
Once minor royalty in Europe, Ashton's recent ancestors saw their titles stripped down due to extensive scandals. However, the family has recovered remarkably since, drawing upon the strengths of age old bloodties, the strongest of these being to the Italian House of Savoy. While Ashton has his minor indiscretions, he is armed which frightening business acumen, which his daughter uses for purposes extending beyond business. Beautiful and charming, she is chameleon like at times, but smooth enough not to get caught.
Her father's long business trips saw the young Isabella sent to the acclaimed Abbey Huntingdon to be educated before her entrance into society. However, Isabella took this opportunity to extend her education beyond simple poetry and novels and was soon packaged off as one of Queen Catherine's many ladies in waiting due to her rebellion and anarchy at the abbey. Returning to her native homeland after her absence, she is determined to make her place in the court.
Picture:

(((OOC: One tiny thing Alissa, the year is 1677, and Elizabeth I died in 1603. At the time, the King of England would have been Charles II )))

((OOC: Gah, my knowledge of history sucks beyond belief. Really. Okey-dokey, I'll change it to her being a lady in waiting to Catherine. Thanks for letting me know!)

Larkin's gloriously sumptuous carraige had finally borne him to the palace. Disinclined to get up from the extremely comfortable cushions he lazed for the extra moment until the drivver respectfully poked his head in to say they had arrived. Lazily Larkin got to his feet and stepped out. He directed the driver to find someone to take care of his luggage and then walked up the lawn to the palace. It seemed smaller than the last time he'd been there, but he did not mind terribly, the palace was plenty huge, and very, very opulent.

Another carraigie was sitting right on the central path by the door, and Larkin was somewhat amused. Provincial bumpkin he, it had never occured to him to drive all the way up. The door was opened by a somewhat flustered looking footman and Larkin entered into the most opulent room he'd seen in ages.

The country he had traveled to had been beautiful in its way, but not rich. Far from rich. Here... painted walls and ceiling, marble everywhere, carvings thereon. He gave an admiring swear under his breath, it was glorious.

The next thing he noticed was there were lots of people in the room, all looking a bit panicked. One of them was a tall woman with regal bearing that looked vaguely like Larkin's older brother, that would be Isabella then,and the woman next to ehr, also with noble bearing, was probably Juliet, said brother's wife. Not being completely sure, and not having all that much interest in his sister in law or neice, especially since they both looked in a state of startlement, Larkin kept looking around.

He quickly saw the source of the unrest in the room, the only other person who looked a bit unperturbed, the woman who appeared to have just gotten out of the other carraige, if her ever-so slightly rumpled outfit was anything to go by. He walked over and asked, "Whole place seems a bit perturbed, any idea why, madamesoille?"

He waited for her to answer and thought vaguely to himself, "So much for subtle."

((OOC: Hope thats aright, and he's talking to charmaine))

"By the looks of it I would say it is my fault sir." Charmaine gave a small smile to the man who had just descended from his own carriage. she stop and then repeated herself, this time in French with an English accent. "By the appearance of it I would admit, it is my fault dear gentleman." Charmaine finished that sentence and shook her head, she really either needed French lessons or an interpreter.

She held her hand out to the man "Charmaine de Mollier, Lady Charmaine de Mollier." Whether he spoke English or not he, would obviously recognise a name and and title. After all France was not THAT far from civilisation. She was unsure as to where to go from here, but she did not have to wonder any longer as a Pair of women descended down the stairs, followed at a slowetr pace by a man. From the way they carried themselves, these were the Royal's. Charmaine gave a gentle bow of her head, but, they aknowledged her for the briefest of moments before surrounding the new gentleman.



"Larkin my dear, you are looking well." Juliet gave a bright smile, as long as he did not let slip that they were not as close as she intended to imply everything would be fine. He recieved a kiss on the cheek from his siter-in-law and niece and a rather distant handshake from the King before they began to move him up the steps, with Juliet talking at great length, as they moved Chamine remained stood outside the carriage looking rather lost.

One of the door men had made a quick mental note of these details, and had found it higly amusing, good luck my friend he thought as he disappeared into the castle in search of a certain Baroness who would desire this news...

((Hope that welcome is ok FurryPanda, Charmaine clearly expects you to treat her like Royalty and kiss her hand... silly woman... Oh and sorry for the Royal mobbing but Juliet is trying to take control. I say trying, yopu don't have to let her, I mean aftr today she will be disappaearing fopr a while back home.

Oh and a quick note, I am writing Charmaine to sound like a character from "'Allo 'Allo" If any character has the strength to act as a translator or tutor feel free to offer.))

César & Joséphine - de la Valliére suite
 

Disgruntled at having been forced out of blissful sleep, and trying his darndest to undo the damage done by the blasted sun, there were few things César could think of, that he hated more than mornings. Or at the very least the things that went hand in hand with them, such as waking up from peaceful slumber, and be expected to leave the warm and soothing comfort of a place where he was perfectly happy, and would have remained perfectly happy for a few hours yet, if only given the chance. Having spent hours of the night pondering and analyzing one simple sentence that had come out of his wife's mouth, in a way rather similar to how she herself used to contemplate most anything, he still did not feel fully rested, and thus was simply not in the mood for mornings. Not that the chances were very big that he would have been even if he had gotten all the hours of sleep he desired. It was plain and simple fact that no matter how one saw it, César de la Valliére just was not a morning person. Not even the fact that the spot next to him in bed was cold and empty, the absence of Joséphine's slender form signalling to him that it was late indeed, made him admit that it might really be time to climb out of bed and get ready for a new day, before the majority of it was over. Instead, he hugged the pillow even more tightly in his arms, and once again surrendered to the loving embrace of the bed.

Just as he was about to cross that delicate border seperating reality from dream, a slight movement of the mattress intruded on his senses, and was soon follwed by a somewhat chilled but undoubtedly female and thus most welcome body pressing against him from behind.
Joséphine.
Even with his eyes closed, and his mind foggy with misty whisps of sleep, he could still tell it was her. And not just because she was the only one he could've really expected, considering this bedroom was her domain. He knew her touch, the gentle brush of her fingertips against his skin, and he knew the sweetness of her scent. He even recognized her presence, as though it itself communicated with his very senses. Among a thousand women, he would still have known her from the rest.

Still, her touch as her finger traced his jawline came as a bit of a surprise to him. He had been somewhere far off in the twilight zone between sleep and wakeful awareness, and the realness of her caress pried away the loving, beckoning arms of slumber from his mind, and began pulling him away from them. Far more gentle than that obnoxious ray of sunlight a moment ago, but also far more difficult to fight, simply because Joséphine would not be as easily ignored.
Not that it made César any more willing to comply. A stubborn man he was, and thus determined to try. Destined to fail or not.

"Good morning, mon cher".

The warmth of Joséphine's breath brushed against his ear, causing his shoulder to rise slightly as a reflex of trying to escape the tickling sensation.

"Mind you", she added, "good afternoon will seem more appropriate soon."

Those words had as much effect on César as they would have on a brick wall. He didn't budge, and he absolutely refused to acknowledge his reluctantly wakeful state. However, one of the reasons why he had become infatuated with Joséphine in the first place, was because she too could have an iron will, and at the same time, wield it with kid gloves. Her sharpest weapon in the battle of the wills was her masterful ability to appeal to his senses and have him surrender to her, rather than defeat him with sheer force. And when it came to her female charms, more often than not, César was a willing pushover.
This time was no exception, and so when she nuzzled into his hair and pressed her soft lips against his ear lobe, his eyes slowly opened, finally, and the look in them was that of a semi-amused glare.

"César, last night... what was it that you wished to know?”

That, in turn, was a question that made his expression change into slight confusion, as it forced his not yet ready mind to try and recall what she was referring to. Though only for a moment, and soon the glare returned to his eyes, only this time not quite as amused.
So, now she wanted to talk, did she? When she was bright and perky, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and go back to sleep?
Or was that her point? To get back at him for waking her up in the middle of the night, by doing the same to him. It would be just like a woman to do something like that.
Well, alright then, fine. Two could play that game.

"Ah", he said dismissively. "It was nothing. Like you said, it wasn't important."

With that, he took her hand and brought it to his lips for a swift kiss, before he gently pushed her back a little bit, just enough to allow him the room needed to sit up, and begin scooting over to the edge of the bed in order to stand.


(((ooc: 'Petulant as a child' indeed. *lol* Oh, and another Isabella. *s* Now, that's bound to cause some confusion. )))

Dimitri >>> Octavien's Suite
 

((Got some extra time, so here be a post!

@FP: Bartholomew Diaz (Gah, why do I know that?! D8) lol, at least your project came in handy for this RP! Zimbabwe! Dimitri would be seething with jealousy if he ever talked to Larkin.

ajfl;dfla; I just realised-- omg, if Shenan was here, this would've been a PERFECT chance to catch Octavien and Isabella together. Unsuccessfully, I figure. But, oh! The frantic scrambling and hiding in closets that could ensue! (Yeah yeah, I figure Isabella would've had some qualms and stayed with Edouard on the night of his daughter's funeral... but I can dream!)))
______


When Dimitri exited the King’s Salon, he realised their talk this time had only taken a few urgent minutes. There had been much shuffling on the King’s part, and much staring on Dimitri’s; who knew all that could go by so quickly? Edouard had, by virtue of having an important guest and family member to greet at the most opportune time, unceremoniously left the Duc with the task of delivering the result of this morning’s talk to its intended recipient. Just before the steward opened the doors, the King gave his old friend something between a sheepish and grateful glance.

This would certainly be… awkward.

He hadn’t made any appointments with the Prince, but surely the King was expecting him to speak to Octavien as soon as possible. Who knew when their next guest would arrive, and how long the widower had to prepare himself?

Although, Dimitri noted dryly, he won’t be widower for much longer.

Approaching the Prince’s suite, he requested an immediate audience with His Royal Highness if he was not otherwise occupied. The guard, visibly surprised, looked uncertainly at the Duc just standing before him. “R… Right now, Duc?”

“If possible, yes,” Dimitri confirmed, finding no problem with standing in the empty royal hallway as long as he needed to so very early in the morning. He added, pleasantly, “I will wait as long as necessary.”

“Wait here…?”

“Yes.”

The guard knocked on the gleaming doors, and an old grey head appeared. Dimitri thought he recognised it as the Prince’s loyal manservant. There was some frantic whispering, and the head ducked back into the royal suite. Dimitri adjusted his cravat, the very picture of patience, while his mind frantically put together some coherently comforting speech for the young Prince.

Octavien & Dimitri - Prince's suite
 

Unbeknownst to the both of them, Octavien had started his day in a manner very similar to Joséphine's. Though perhaps it would the other way around, since Octavien had risen with the sun, and even though he had taken the time to dress first, he had still retreated to the windowsill of one of the large windows in his suite long before there was even a sign of life in the de la Valliére one. He had been sitting there for hours now, sometimes reading, sometimes stopping to watch the enourmous court yard, where carriages had kept pulling up and taking off for almost as long now. New people of various social standing were arriving, and those that that had come for the funeral were leaving. There was one carriage in particular that he had been keeping an eye on, a thorn of melancholy jabbing at his heart every time he beheld it's lavish extravagance. It was one of the royal carriages, and lined up after it were quite a few smaller ones; the cortege that was to bring Isabella from the Palace, to her parent's estate. Wherever that was. Octavien hadn't found a suitable opportunity to ask anyone, perhaps because since learning she would be leaving, he had been reluctant to talk to anyone unaware of the effect her absence would really have on him. There were many watchful eyes in court right now, and alot it them, it seemed, were looking his way. For a variety of reasons.

A deep sigh - one of many this morning - caused the young Prince's chest and shoulders to heave, as he turned his attention back to the book in his hands, 'Metamorphoses' by Lucius Apuleius, and made yet another attempt to focus on the rather amusing and witty story it told. There was nothing more to see in the court yeard at the moment. Things around the cortege had been still for a little while now. Everything, and everyone was ready, awaiting the moment when Isabella and her mother would step out onto the grand marble steps, and it would be time.

It took him a few tries, but eventually, Octavien had finally found the last part he remembered reading, and had just gotten back into the story when there was a knock on the door. With his usual quiet steps, Gilles swiftly made his way over to the door and opened it, upon which a short exchange of whispers ensued with whoever it was outside. Then the door closed again, and Gilles turned to Octavien, who had been watching the small intermezzo from his makeshift seat.

"You Highness", Gilles said. "Duc d'Lorraine is requesting an audience, promptly. He is waiting outside."

At that announcement, one of Octavien's blonde brows drifted upward in a look of slight surprise, but was shortly disspelled by a mental shrug. It was a somewhat unconventional method to seek an audience, but as the King's confidant, he did have the privilege of enjoying a bit more respect than the others of equal rank around here. And Octavien could think of at least one good reason why he would come seeking the Prince. The display in the Blue Salon the previous night. Octavien was well aware that he had made a somewhat flawed impression, and so figured that the Duc had probably come to correct him for not behaving in a way that he had not even been taught in the first place. Isabella and he had never gotten around to such things, and apparently - and here his thoughts along with the look on his face turned slightly more acidic - far be it from the King to take an interest in his son-in-law.

"By all means", he said and snapped book shut, before rising from the windowsill.

While Gilles ducked back out to forward the Prince's agreement, Octavien himself strode over to the small table and group of armchairs that in the short time he had been Prince had seen their fair share of memorable meetings; the very first meeting between him and Duc d'Lorraine, the setup conversation with Marquess Berini, now deceased, and that fateful encounter with Baroness Flight, who, since that very meeting, he had on occasion found himself wishing to be deceased. Now it only remained to be seen if this would be another such memorable conversation as well.

"Duc d'Lorraine", he greeted the older man once he had passed through the double doors, opened by Gilles, and he made no attempt to hide the guarded stance visible in his eyes.

Further courtesies and/or pleasantries would have to wait, as when seeing the look in the Duc's own eyes, he got the distinct impression that yes, this would indeed be one memorable conversation, and most likely not because it was enjoyable.


(((ooc: Alright. Claws are sharpened, fangs ready to be bared. He's ready. Bring it on. )))

Dimitri, Bringer of Bridal Bad News, and Octavien, Resident Poor Sod - Prince's suite
 

In the short span of time it had taken for the manservant to return to the door, Dimitri had shifted through multiple ways of explaining firmly yet compassionately to the Prince what had been planned on his behalf. He was no stranger to the intricacies of diplomatic exchanges, even if he himself was fonder of retiring in the privacy of two men and cognac; and, surely, he would have found some way to deliver his message while making it seem the best possible thing to happen to Octavien since buttered bread.

Then Dimitri remembered he had never been a particularly compassionate figure; that such a diplomatic side was five… oh, six years’ too old; and the doors opened.

Octavien was standing by that familiar cluster of expensive seating and delicate chinaware, but while he had been generally welcoming and slightly cautious during their first meeting—this time, he was merely cautious.

Dimitri hadn’t tried very hard to mask his expression after passing the guards. It seemed it would be easier to approach the topic if Octavien knew, from the beginning, that he was not here for a casual breakfast. Even so, the Duc could not help but note the unhidden, unrevealing curtain now lying over the younger man’s dark eyes. They were sheer enough to reveal he had not just woken up, but offered nothing more. In many ways, it was nothing extraordinarily different from the other times the Prince had appeared with that unruffled exterior. Yet something… Perhaps the lack of an invitation to sit, or the almost tangible anticipation hanging in the air between them…

Octavien was as wary as a highly strung cat. Dimitri had been but a boy when he last encountered such a miniature beast, and he never forgot the bleeding fingers made by such claws.

“Your Highness.” He bowed in return, gesturing to an empty seat silently, steadily, as if assuring a wounded animal of his peaceable intentions. He was not particularly emphatic, but he had hunted enough times to know how to carry himself around such creatures. The Prince nodded—Dimitri did not catch any other emotion, for he was looking only for panic—and they sat. Since he felt he lacked the delicate diplomacy needed for this encounter, stored with many other things in the treasure chest of the past, he dived straight in.

“As I am aware of the unseemliness of directly requesting this meeting, so I anticipate that Your Highness senses its urgency and… importance that you hear of it now.”

It might have been a suitable time for a pause, to let the weight of his words settle in. But for a man like Dimitri, it was the worst—it showed hesitation, discomfort; and he little doubted the Prince would pick up on it, wary as his eyes now were. Nonetheless, they needed to move past the giving of the news, to the dealing of it.

“I met with the King this morning. Throughout this ordeal with Her Highness’ illness, His Majesty has been communicating with important personages beyond our borders. You would have seen some of them here, yesterday night.” Dimitri put no extra emphasis on the Blue Salon, distracted as he was by more important matters. But there was a shift in grey shade over his eyes, indicating the memory had returned to him.

“His Majesty wishes me to inform you that he has invited Her Excellency Elena Sánchez de Suárez y Torre, daughter of the illustrious Grande of Spain, Duque Carlos Sánchez de Suárez y Torre, to... join you at the Palace.”

He could remember the name, so burningly had he stared at the letter in Edouard’s hand. It had not been the whole letter, just enough to satisfy the Duc that the signature was authentic—but those few minutes had been all he needed.

But—the Prince’s cautious gaze notwithstanding—there was very little chance that his own displeasure would shine through in this instance. Every chain attaching him to his composure had been clasped, every barricade raised to portray nothing more than the steady deliverance of news he, clearly, must surely agree with. For it was delivered from the King’s own hand, and far be it for a lord of Lorraine to openly rebuke his monarch.

Dimitri reached for a glass, wondering if the Prince had caught on.


((*puts up hurricane buffers*

So while Cesar gets felt up by a gorgeous young chica, Octavien gets another morning of bad news from an unsympathetic Duc. Just another day at the palace! ))

César & Joséphine - de la Valliére suite, round 2
 

By gently freeing himself from Joséphine's nestling form, César had intended to gain the upper hand of the conversation that was starting to develop. Withdrawing from her as well as standing from the bed would have provided him with just that, as it put him in the power seat, and made it so that it would be he who had created the new set of terms of how it would all play out.
Unfortunately, for him at least, he never got that far, as just when he prepared to push himself up from the bed, a pair of slender arms latched themselves around his waist, and put an end to the motion before it even began. Though not by force, not by gripping him tightly to fight any attempt he might make to break free, but with such gentle, beckoning persuasion that it bound him even more firmly than any iron shackles ever could. And before he even had a chance to regroup his own forces and fend off the effect of her advances, tender arms were joined by her chin coming to rest in the nook of his neck and shoulder, and her upper body pressing against his back once more.
Damn that woman! Damn her for knowing exactly how to crack his offenses, and his defenses too, and make them crumble into dust.

"Mhmm", she purred in his ear, her voice so smooth and enticing it alone threatened to tempt him into succumbing, and yet at the same time encouraged him to keep resisting her, simply to allow her the pleasure of a somewhat more hard-earned but still inevitable victory. "I know you, César de la Vallière; there are few things that would keep you awake at night, and something of no importance isn't one of them."

That, he had to admit to himself, was true. He had fallen on his own sword on that one. Not that he would admit it to her though. Not just yet. Despite her efforts, he still had a little bit of fight in him.

"Besides, mon amour", Joséphine added, "you do not play fair. How could I possibly discern the importance of a matter from your mysterious question alone?"

Turning his head ever so slightly, just enough for him to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, a faint smirk came and went on his lips. Then he suddenly turned his head the other way, and let out a wide yawn, as if not only trying to wake himself up, but also hinting at just how disinterested he had grown in the conversation.
Once that was done, however, he shifted slightly in her arms, so that when he turned back to look at her, he could do so without breaking his neck.

"You're one to talk", he stated dryly, calling her on her own choice of method.

Though a moment later, a faint smirk appeared once again, and he cocked his head slightly in provocative defiance.

"If fair play is what you want, I suggest you, my dear, set the example," he said, and raised a challenging brow; a clear signal that he would not give in to her, unless she submitted to him first by asking nicely.


(((ooc: Gah! Won't have a chance to type something up for Octavien until tomorrow. Sorry Seiza. )))

Larkin was extremely surprised to find the calm woman answer him in English. He quickly tried to remeber if France and England were at war at the moment or just bad realtions. The reports that he had gotten in Zimbabwe had made it perfectly clear that it was always one or the other, but he decided that if the woman was standing there so calmly, and no one seemed to be inclined to do anything but gossip about her presence- and no one was doing anything much else it looked like- then there was probably no war. Bad relations then.

Not that Larkin had anything agaisnt the English, in Africa they were all over the place with their own trade routes, and an ambassador from England, who had asked to be taught French in exchange for English and letting Larkin have first choice of the spice markets. After several years of this Larkin thought himself passable at the language, and the poor englishwoman was quite obviously not perfectly fluent in French. She held out her hand and introduced herself as "Lady Charmaine de Mollier." Larkin waited a full second, wondering what was expected. He really hd forgotten all of his manners in Africa it seemed. So he shook Lady Charmaine's hand, and answered, in English, "Pleasure to meet you." smiling winningly. He wondered if the English had gotten so barbarous as to teach their women to shake hands with men. Or worse, if he had forgotten some very obvious courtesy to the lady.

He was not able to give it much thought, or even get a good look at her reaction, because the two women he had noticed earlier converged on him, with a man, who was by bearing and reputation obviously King Edouard. That would make his initial impression of who was Juliet and Isabella correct. The two women proceeded to both kiss him on the cheek and Juliet smiling away, said, "Larkin my dear, you are looking well."

He very nearly let his mild expression slip at that; he found it amusing. He was indeed doing well, but Juliet had never met him, he having left well before she and his brother had gotten married. A pleasantry then.

The royal family proceeded to chivvy him upstairs, and Larkin was sorely tempted to follow- he did want to meet his neice- but even after more than a decade's seperation from the court he knew that if he wanted any autonomy he couldn't immediately follow the king and queen, much though he'd like to. Carefully he extricated himself by saying, "Indeed sister-in-law, neice, and it is wondeful to be back. I suppose I ought to reacquaint myself with the palace, reconcile boyhood memories if you would. If you would excuse me..."

Dextrously he slipped out of the tiny press of royalty and traveled down the staircase, mayhaps a bit faster than was dignified or polite. He paused dramatically at the bottom to readjust his coat, and then walked off slowly towards a hallway, going leisurely to admire the wall decorations. He strongly hoped that the whole thing hadn't been damningly impolite, and that he hadn't laid it on too thick.

((OOC: Approachable))

(OOC: Could my character please be known as Bella from here on due to any confusion that might arise (or has already arisen)? Thanks! :D)

((I see no problem with that Alissa, go ahead!))

(OOC: Assuming Larkin wasn't talking about Bella when he said 'Isabella'. Hope I dothis right!)
The morning light pried its way into the carriage as it came to a slow, prolonged stop on the gravel. Bella lay back on the leather backrest of the seat, waiting patiently while the men outside clambered to get themselves in order. The door of the carriage finally open, barely disturbing her from her state of relaxation.
It was time.
She slid gracefully over to the door, placing one foot cautiously on the step before balancing her weight on it. The rest was practiced perfection as she glided down the stairs. The cool air mixed with the essence of the court members wandered over to her. Welcoming, enticing and threatening all the same.
Bella began to walk slowly over into the crowds of courtiers, the gravel under her shoes crunching slightly with every light step. Her footsteps were slow and controlled as her eyes drank in the movements of the courtyard.
She stopped briskly as an older woman dropped her fan at Bella's feet. Bella's eyes wandered up to the older woman. Her clothes were regal, grand and flattering, but the years had done no favours for her youth. She held remenants of beauty still, however. Better still, she looked rich and well connected.
Bella oozed out her best innocent smile before picking the fan from the ground and dusting it down before handing it to the older woman.
"Why thank you, dear," she said with an air of superiority. "I am the Duchesse Juliet de Margoles."
Bella knew full well who that name belonged to and bowed her head slightly, curtseying with grace.
"Tell me, do you have a name?" the Duchesse Juliet snapped.
"Isabella Devine, Duchesse," Bella smiled. "Bella."
"Ah, Devine," the Juliet tasted the name for rememberance. A flicker of recognition flashed through her eyes. "Ashton's little girl?"
"My father speaks highly of you," Bella volunteered.
"I'm sure he does," Juliet almost scoffed as she began to continue her path.

Octavien & Dimitri - Prince's Salon
 

For as long as Octavien could remember, there were certain things that had always been a part of his life. Things of a less tangible kind than family, wealth, good education and some of the finest horses in the country, in the known and civilized world even. One such less tangible thing, was intuition. Already as a child Octavien had learned to trust his instincts, his gut feeling, sometimes witnessing how as a direct result he would escape trouble, or manage to manuever himself in the best way possible to obtain or accomplish what he wanted in the company of others, and sometimes never really finding out just what possibly omnious occurence he had avoided or averted. Still he trusted them, as even lately they had succeeded in guiding him and had even been the cause of one of the biggest changes in his life so far. The encounter with Isabella in the forest. For while it was boldness that had made him approach her and push the boundaries of what was appropriate for someone such as him in a situation like that, it was instinct that had guided his actions and his words, and brought about the relationship that had formed between them.

Now seated opposite Duc d'Lorraine, and listening to his words as he prepared to share something of great importance, according to himself, Octavien felt that familiar stir in his gut. Though this time, it was a feeling of forewarning, and not a guiding hand. It was like a thousand bugs scurrying about in the pit of his stomach, telling him to brace himself for what was to come within the next few seconds. Even with the rather neutral expression on the Duc's face, he sensed it in the air, and the further the Duc got, the stronger it grew. Each word from his lips added to the tension.

"I met with the King this morning", the older man said. "Throughout this ordeal with Her Highness’ illness, His Majesty has been communicating with important personages beyond our borders. You would have seen some of them here, yesterday night."

So, was this to be about what had happened in the Blue Salon after all? For some reason, the look in the Duc's eyes upon entering into the Prince's suite, had had Octavien dismissing it. Perhaps because of the urgency in the Duc's request to meet with him. Correcting him on his behaviour, while important, would not have been such a remarkably pressing matter that the Duc would submit himself to waiting outside the Prince's suite and risk recieving a rejection, rather than send a formal and proper note. But, judging by his words just now, there might be a little more to it than just correcting Octavien's behaviour. The mention of how some of these 'important personages' had been present the previous evening... Had Octavien's unaccustomedness to carrying himself in similar situations somehow reflected so badly on the King, and caused problems in whatever relationship he had with these prominent figures?
A silly notion perhaps, had he not known that it would hardly be the first time a political rift had been caused by such subtle and seemingly irrelevant errors.

But, no sooner had he prepared for a discussion regarding the events of last night, than he was made to realize that it was indeed not what was on Duc d'Lorraine's mind at all.

"His Majesty wishes me to inform you that he has invited Her Excellency Elena Sánchez de Suárez y Torre, daughter of the illustrious Grande of Spain, Duque Carlos Sánchez de Suárez y Torre, to... join you at the Palace."

At first, Octavien simply looked at Dimitri, trying to take in what he had just said, and make the pieces fit somewhere in the puzzle. A massive jumble of foreign words, spoken so fast that it was only towards the end of the long string names that he realized the Duc was talking about one of the most prominent people in Spain. Or rather, his daughter.
Invited by the King to join Octavien? Not 'us', not 'the court', but 'you', as in just Octavien. And that pause he had made before finishing the sentence... That pause, that tiny, most intentional hesitation, the kind often used when one was trying to express something unpleasant, as delicately and carefully as humanly possible.
Surely he didn't mean...?

Within moments, the realization dawned on the young Prince, and it was as if someone had sucked all the air out of his lungs, and stabbed him in the heart with a dagger made of pure ice. The King, a stranger with whom he had not yet even had his first proper conversation, had out of the blue decided what was to be his future, and not even bothered to discuss it with Octavien himself first, but simply sent his henchman to 'inform' him that his future was not for him to decide, or even effect? Like he was nothing more than a possession, like a dog on a leash, with no say whatsoever.

It was only through sheer will power and self-restraint that he managed to remain seated, and keep little more of his reaction to show, than the tightening of his jaw, when every fibre of his being wanted to simply explode. Though his voice, trembling just ever so slightly when finally he spoke, was somewhat more revealing to the fact that there was a hurricane of emotions raging through him, anger being perhaps the one most easy to identify. It was so subtle, however, that it would indeed take a man of the Duc's perceptive capacity to pick up on it;

"And if I ask you to in turn inform His Majesty that I am quite content with the company I keep already?" the young Prince said, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Dimitri.

((Alissa Yes that is a good start, Only a brief word, that in this thread, the level of Godmodding (controlling other people's characters) is generally limited to bows and nods rather than speech. This doesn't apply to Juliet as she is not officially a character of anyone's, but that is just a note for interaction with other characters here at the baroque Court - Don't worry I'm not criticising


And listen to Octavien go! 'm sure the henchman will have something equally pointed to say :P))

The Henchman and the Bridegroom - Prince's suite
 

As he awaited the Prince’s reaction, revelation or confusion—the last seeming the least likely as each second ticked by—Dimitri held his wine glass gingerly, its smooth surface feeling unacceptably cold. The wafting scent was of a brand he only vaguely recognised. His hand tried to support it while making as little contact as possible; the rough pads of his fingertips barely grazing the glass, while the rest of his palm struggled to crawl away under his coat. The bulbous top swished lazily about, carefully balanced but always threatening to tip over in a flood of golden-white liquid.

He had the discomforting idea that he was holding the Prince’s—anger, emotion, something—in his hand. He wished to cast it away even more. He forced himself to hold it closely.

Dimitri made it no secret that he was watching Octavien, for to pretend otherwise was surely ridiculous. Men did not deliver potentially explosive news without staying on guard every step of the way. He did not rationally think the Prince would actually attack him—and over such news!—but Dimitri was the sort who considered all scenarios, and often picked the worst to prepare for.

A spurt of verbal defiance had been on the lower end of the list, but so Octavien delivered.

“And if I ask you to in turn inform His Majesty that I am quite content with the company I keep already?” the Prince suggested, as coolly and eloquently as his age and experience could afford—if not far more than one might expect. The Duc thought, not without grim appreciation, that they served a respectable restraint on what must be outrageous anger brewing inside. But it would be, ultimately, temporary.

Men were men, Princes or not; and the young were the most righteous of the lot.

Unfortunately, Dimitri balanced wine glasses better than he did men’s sensitivities.

“I am afraid your company is not yours to decide, Your Highness.” The golden liquid rippled in his glass, tilting to one side. “’The King speaks’…”

He wondered, idly, in that pocket of his mind disconnected from such encounters—if Octavien was finally realising the true gravity behind Edouard’s morning command. It was more, so much more, than mere words said for their sake. It would be so like the young to dismiss such ceremonies, ignorant of the power undergirding old traditions, only to be revolted when they learned the truth.

“…and, so he informs me, preparations have been made. It is only a matter of time before Her Excellency arrives. You shall not do her or our King dishonour by turning her away now.”

_____

(('Henchman'! :laugh: Dude, it's onnnn.

Nice, Alissa! Whoa, Bella sounds like she's ready to climb those ranks! But yep, as Fay said, just be careful about controlling others' characters when it comes to things like dialogue, though I reckon small things like the fan dropping is fine. ))

Octavien & Dimitri - Prince's suite
 

(((ooc: *lol* Well, he's royally pissed (no pun intended, I swear!), and so it's nothing personal. He's young, hot-tempered and feeling pretty darned miserable, so... 'henchman' is probably one of the ¨nicer labels he could use to mentally refer to Dimitri! )))


The answer had been known to him. Long before the question had even made it past his lips, Octavien had known the rough outlines of the answer he could expect. But it had mattered little to him, as he had not expected it to change the outcome of the matter discussed. It had not been the point. The point, regardless of how useless it may seem to others, was that he was not a puppet, and would make it perfectly clear that he did not appreciate being treated as one, no matter who had final say in his destiny. To be treated as being not even a factor in the course of his own life, and by his own father-in-law no less... How humiliating. How absolutely, utterly humiliating. Especially to a temperamental and proud young man, who had always valued his freedom.

At the same, however, he was also a rational and educated young man, well aware of how monarchs would often arrange marriages between their children and cousins and whatnot, in order to ensure a peaceful future, an alliance. And so, despite his anger, and the flames of rebellion running high within him, he did understand - at least he thought he did - the reasons why the company of this Spanish whatshername might be so very desirable and important to the King.
Though it did little to quench the indignity he felt was being forced down his throat, by having the right to choose his own future stripped away from him. Was it truly too much to ask that he be made at least a participant in the making of his own fate?

"I am afraid your company is not yours to decide, Your Highness", Duc d'Lorraine said, casually sloshing the wine about in the glass he held so gingerly in his hand, and by doing so, by showing such detachment, only succeeded in adding fuel to the fire raging within the eyes of the young Prince. "’The King speaks’... and, so he informs me, preparations have been made. It is only a matter of time before Her Excellency arrives. You shall not do her or our King dishonour by turning her away now."

Had the Prince been any less of a gentleman, raised to control his temper even in the most provoking of situations, he would have thrown the Duc out, head first, and sent that glass of wine in which he found so much amusement flying right after him. The popularity of the saying 'don't shoot the messenger' had sometimes been questioned by Octavien, as it had always been quite clear to him that one was not at fault simply for being unfortunate enough to be the bearer of bad news. Now, however, he could all of a sudden understand just why one might want to shoot the messenger. There were good ways to deliver bad news, and there were bad ways to deliver bad news. And then, and this would be very much applicable to the present, there were ways of making bad news even worse when delivering them.
Sometimes, it was remarkable what a little sympathy could do. The lack thereof? Not so much.

Still, Octavien fought hard to control his temper, and after his nails had dug into the armrests of the chair for a few seconds, the most overpowering tension seeped out of him, though far from all of it, and he slowly stood.

"So then I am to understand that my personal opinion on the matter is to be regarded as irrelevant?", he said, venomously stating rather than asking a question. "That I, in less than two days, have turned from husband of His Majesty's beloved daughter, to a mere pawn his game of politics? And that rather than give me the chance to agree with him, he wishes to not only anger me by taking away what I have already given willingly once, but also add insult to the injury, by not telling me face to face?"

At this point, he cared little that his words held a hint to something that, if he picked up on it, might cause quite a bit of confusion in the Duc, but instead turned his back to him, just long enough to reach the nearby window. There he turned again, and looked at Dimitri, with eyes that were now merely smoldering, the fire previously in them having died down, and left only traces of anger, and of something that had been too well hidden to be spotted, until now, and hardly even that; tiny, faint fragments of bewildered hurt, as if he was struggling to understand why the King felt it was necessary to command, when simply suggesting might have been enough.

"Does he truly resent me so?"


(((*edit* ooc: Oh my. Just got to see what an unedited post of mine really looks like. Wasn't pretty. *lol* Should be somewhat ok now though.)))

((Ouch.... Maybe Dimitri and Mercy should both be grateful Octavien IS a gentleman....))

Padme looked through the window of her carriage as as it traveled to her new home. The scenery was breathtaking, and she only hoped that the palace was just as or even more beautiful as the green foilage. As the carriage made a turn and the palace came into view, Padme's heart skipped a beat, to know that humble little her was going to live in a court that could soon be her future.

It came to a stop as it rounded around the courtyard. A man opened the door and she stepped out ever so gracefully, gazing at the building, not where her feet were going. Her two measly looking trunks appeared before her. She started to pick them up, as a servant would, and the man stopped her before she could get both hands on them. She had to remember that others would take care of chores as so.

The man led her to her new suite and layed the trunks gingerly down on the floor. She was very tierd from her journey, but the adreneline that was unknowingly being pumped through her body wanted to keep her awake. Padme sat down in a nearby confy looking chair and thought of what the first thing she should do. Unpack. She fluffed some dust off her emerald green dress and got up after only sitting for a few seconds and began to unload dresses into dresser drawers.

((Fay- I updated her app , minor, but I think it makes a bit more sense, and added a much better picture. Padme is approachable.

César & Joséphine - sorting their 'differences'
 

Question: How did one triumph over a woman who knew all your weaknesses like the back of her own hand? Not yet married for so long that all the mystery and excitement of their relationship was gone, and their partner seemed completely and boringly predictable - far from it - Joséphine had still managed to learn just what was the easiest way to coax a desired reaction from her husband. Even when he knew exactly what she was up to, she still had found a way that left him unable to resist. Provided, of course, that they were merely participating in a game of playful bickering, and not arguing for real. Once that happened, she would find him far more difficult to manipulate. As would he her. Not impossible, but requiring a heck of alot more effort.

This was one such occasion, when even though he knew she was playing him like an instrument, César found it so very hard to resist her, to not give in and let her win this round. The most remarkable thing, was that it was by appearing to submit to him herself, that she managed to turn it all to her advantage. The operative word being "appearing". She was putting on a show fit for the Paris theatre, turning herself into the very image of submissive innocence rebuked, by lowering her head and voice, and sporting an almost convincing look of regretful shame.

"You are right, César," she nearly whispered, and her dear husband had to resist rolling his eyes at her. In a most playful and affectionate way, of course. "I apologize for trying to ease my husband's troubled mind with my thoughtless question and disturbing his sleep at the height of morning."

Almost convincing, had it not been for the fact that no sooner had she spoken those oh-so-repentant words, than her gaze lifted to meet with his, and her eyes lit up with pure mischief, both accompanied by a smirk to complete the look.

"And for doing so through... less than innocent means," she said, and then added, now that she could claim to have fulfilled her end of the deal; "Quid pro quo, mon amour?"

Bad mood and morning crankiness all forgotten, César could not help but to laugh, a soft chuckle pushing past his lips and bringing light and amusement to his eyes as well, before ending in a much satisfied smile. She may have acted when delivering most of her apology, but by God, he would still treat it as had it been sincere through and through; as a surrender without terms for her, and pure triumph for him. A perfect act on both their parts.

"Fine, fine", he finally relented, and shifted yet a little more, as if wanting to be able to look at her properly.

His true intention, however, soon revealed itself. With the celerity of a striking cobra, his arm coiled itself around her waist and he pushed her back onto the bed, following in the motion to place himself on top of her, and conequently pin her down with his superior build.

"What I wanted to know, mon petit chéri," he said, with his lips a mere inch from hers, "was what you meant by what you said to the Comtesse de Valois last night, about a son."

Pausing momentarily, he planted on her lips a kiss so soft and fleeting she could hardly feel it, and brushed his fingertips against her cheek before sending them to venture downward, tracing her slender figure until they reached her belly. There they stopped, and his thumb started moving in circular motions, caressing the area just below her ribs.

"Should I be getting my hopes up?" he added with slight smile. "Or should we simply give it another try?"

Marie-Elisabeth exited her room quickly after putting her writing supplies away. She had finished the letter to her son, and had sealed it in a similar fashion to the one for her sister. Now those were held tightly in her gloved hands as she walked down the halls looking for Monsieur Lambriquet to send the letters for her. And as luck would have it, she spotted him coming down the halls to her room as she exited it. She paused as he came towards her and made an elaborate bow.

“Madame” he said, rising from the bow “How lucky of me to find you so quickly. Are those letters I see in your hand?” “They are indeed Simon” she said, smiling and holding them out “One for Charles and one for my sister. I’m certainly glad you found me so fast. I was afraid I’d have to spend all day looking for you. It is quite the maze in here”.

“Indeed Madame, I shall be glad to get back home where it’s familiar” he said with a faint laugh, carefully taking the letters from Marie-Elisabeth’s hand. “Well I shant keep you” she said, “Be sure to send my love to Charles and tell him his mother misses him”.

Simon nodded and bowed again. “Of course I will Madame, I shall take my leave of you now”. She nodded back to him and waved as he departed down the long corridors. She hoped he would have a safe journey home, and was already looking forward to reading the replies to her letters.

Marie-Elisabeth was now at a loss as to what to do with herself. She didn't really have any other plans for the day, so she settled for walking down the corridors herself and seeing what came her way.


((( OOC: Approachable. Sorry for the short/crapness but I wanted to get her out of that room LOL She needed to be there for a bit though, so oh well )))

The three Royal's halted, Juliet inhaled deeply, with a look of shock glimmering on her face for some 13 second. Edouard coughed and Isabella looked at a loss for words, but as Royal's did, they made it blend into routine, despite being shunned by a family member, Edouard and Isabella decided as they had barely broken their gate to follow Larkin inside arm in and arm and Juliet swerved off to talk to a footman before decending the steps once again to great the English woman, In deed unless you had been watching their faces very closely or seen the slight pause in their walk as Larkin had shrugged them off you would have believed this was their precise desire.

Edouard and Isabella disappeared once again from the eye of the public, whilst Juliet forced herself to speak in English "It is a pleasure to meet you, may I enquire as to your name?"

"Charmaine de Mollier, Lady Charmaine de Mollier," Charmaine gave her a smile as if saying now you maybe impressed.

"de Mollier...." Juliet paused, "I am so sorry for your families loss, Edouard would have been lost without the Duc." Juliet spoke the truth, Edoaurds wishy washy nature was clear. "I am the Duchesse de Margoles, the Queen's mother.

"So I am told, my husband Michael misses him, naturally the joining of our families made sense, with how much power is held both here and back home."

"Will your husband be joining you here?" Thankfully juliet was leaving for she felt the idea of having two English people in Court sounded like murder, for class and fashion purposes they were a severe liability.

"No i do not think so," Charmaine smiled as a footman offered to direct her to her rooms. "It was a pleasure meeting you dear Duchess." Charmaine turned on her heel and left, Juliet quite fortunately had been prepared this time for desertion and was rallying up carriage drivers for the departure of herself and Isabella.

((Atropa I know Isabella and Edouard have been looking like a blissful couple recently, but that of course is what Edouard needs afetr Adalita's death and Isabella is just playing along, however if I were to explain that in here thoughts, it would sound hollow and unimaginative, I don't think there is an Isabella without Shenan...))

Dimitri & Octavien - Prince's suite
 

“…And that rather than give me the chance to agree with him, he wishes to not only anger me by taking away what I have already given willingly once, but also add insult to the injury, by not telling me face to face?” Apparently reaching the end, the Prince turned away, and Dimitri placed his glass on the table. It may have been the only outward indication that something disturbed him: the same niggling sensation that struck him when the Queen collapsed, and when he sat opposite the Prince in the carriage. Something in the wording…

But, as he did in both situations, Dimitri pushed it back, to be dealt with later, later, later.

As far as the Duc knew, he never gave the impression that he spoke carelessly. His tone had always been measured (irritatingly so, as closer associates complained). It served not to hide the indication that every word was strenuously deliberated, but to declare it explicitly to the world. As a fencer’s raised blade, a lion’s proud mane; it showed that he knew he could be attacked and had already prepared—one day, two days, thirty years earlier—for it.

The Prince might, then, have some inkling that his wording had been no mistake. Perhaps that accounted for some of the anger. One could forgive an accidental stab, but it was far harder to forgive a purposeful attack. His intention was to impress upon Octavien—as brutally as he had to—the reality of his situation. Prince in name he may be, but without Adalita to speak for him, the title was useless.

“Does he truly resent me so?” The earlier restraint… not ‘crumbled’, per se; but something had been torn away. The sheer curtain, perhaps, burned away by the embers in the Prince’s bright eyes.

It was an illuminating question, for it described to Dimitri the relationship—or lack of one—Octavien had with His Majesty. He never saw the Prince in Edouard’s chambers, never heard of them riding together or engaging in other companionable activities. Edouard’s desire for Dimitri to deliver such important news on his behalf, and now this question, only cemented his impression that the Prince was far more favoured by one parent than the other.

Nevertheless, he had been expecting more outrage and not this sudden, soft, weary question. It deserved more contemplation. Was Octavien asking of the marriage itself, and his lack of participation beyond being the bridegroom; or was it about Edouard sending a messenger in his place?

Hard to say. Either way, he seemed to already believe that some personal emotion was involved in the decision-making process.

“…Your Highness. I can neither speculate His Majesty’s motives nor why he sent me in his stead. It may be for intricate reasons involving your relationship, and therefore beyond my bounds. Or for the simple fact that the Queen’s uncle needed welcome, that Your Highness needed to be informed immediately, and I was the only person His Majesty felt… suitable to deliver the news.”

Edouard could have just written a note. As Dimitri considered the current situation, perhaps that would have been the better alternative.

“Has Your Highness ever served in battle?” His own question came out of the blue, so much so that Dimitri could carry on unimpeded. “Have you been caught behind enemy lines? Does Your Highness know what goes on between two gentlemen who have fired upon each other, watched their comrades killed by the other?

“Dinner. That is all. Perhaps, if they were provisioned for it, some cards and wine. If it was a Sunday, one may join the other for Mass. So it continues until the prisoner escapes or is ransomed, and they face off in the next battle.” Dimitri ran a finger over the rim of his golden glass, now firmly on the table, looking at the young Prince. “Never shall I say resentment and such passions do not have their place in our world. But there are times when emotions are not a factor. To assume it always is will drive you… If you wish to keep your…”

Sanity was the word, but he decided against it.

“…You have to keep it all—emotions, diplomacies, your entire awareness—compartmentalised, to be summoned at the appropriate time. You must realise that as immediately as possible.”

Dimitri spoke as steadily as he always did, and to any casual observer, he may have sounded unchangingly unsympathetic. Maybe even a tad cold. But even as the words came forth, their cadence might have changed to the discerning ear. As he reached the end, he seemed to speak less to an inexperienced Prince and more to—or from the experience of—an angry, confused boy.

______

((*lmao!* Have some confidence in Dimitri’s political acumen (rusty as it might be, it’s better than his emotional one, thankfully!). He’s got his back covered.

Fay: Don't worry too much about Isabella. *pats* I doubt anyone expects to cover for Shenan, or we wouldn't be sending the Queen away!))

Rukov and Padme
 

((Just to get things going for our new arrivals :D))
______


Watching the events by the palace entrance unfold, Rukov hadn’t bothered to hide himself very well. These were only another batch of nobles arriving, not much different from the previous batches that came for the funeral—except for the man, who he suspected was the Queen’s uncle the Duc had referred to, whose sudden departure certainly turned a few heads his way. The rest were of the young and female variety—Rukov was not at all averse to the fairer sex, but he thought his lord would groan at the diminishing portion of male candidates in Court. The most significant may have been the Englishwoman, who knew she was related to the departed Mollier…?

“Get your ass moving, boy! We have bags waiting and no more hands to pick ‘em up!” One of the lesser stewards snapped at Rukov, who consequently regretted not hiding himself better. The steward’s finely combed head turned this way and that, before finally pointing at a new arrival, “There, that one! I’d not risk your clumsy self anywhere near a Duchesse, but that one will do. Go on now!”

The young woman may have been just another bland specimen as well, if not for her curious attempt to pick up her own bags—as well as their pitiful number compared to the volumes of luggage carried by other noblewomen. The wonder in her eyes was, likely, not that different from the awe in many courtiers’ faces, but most of them usually hid it better than that…

Rukov picked up her two trunks, easily with his ox-like strength. She followed him to her suite—the suite of the Mademoiselle Padme Castilla, as he was informed.

After setting her things down in her room, Rukov… decided to stay. Outside her room, of course. His instinct paid off—he could hear the strenuous sound of luggage being dragged, the miscellaneous noises of one who unpacked. But there had been no maids or servants waiting in the room, and none had yet arrived.

Was the silly woman unpacking herself?

Chuckling to himself, Rukov knocked. Loudly. He counted to three, before speaking through the door, affecting a voice extremely humble and meek, riddled with broken French. “Is there anything else, Mademoiselle? A maid will be here in a minute to unpack for ye.”

(OOC: Thanks Fayreview, Atropa and Seiza! I'm glad the first one went okay! So, controlling the non-owned characters in okay, right? Seiza and Atropa, I love the interaction between Octavien and Dimitri, it's certainly engaging!)

Juliet had begun to walk towards another woman stood in the courtyard and Bella was left to herself once again. She backtracked slightly, not looking away incase Juliet had something left to say to her. Bella knew she'd made an impression, whether good or bad depended on her father's history. Nonetheless, whatever it was, Bella was perfectly capable of handling it. Juliet would certainly be a beneficial connection, Bella decided. Her antagonism - any now or in the future - was worth dealthing with.

She turned slightly to witness the porters begin to haul her luggage out of the carriage with little grace. She sighed with exasperation; nothing hurt Bella more than to see her possessions so uncared for.
She wandered over to the men as they poured their efforts into causing as much damage an possible - unintentionally, of course. It may have been unintentional, but it was happening anyway.

As Bella stopped a few feet away from the men battling the tunks, they stopped and glanced up to the smiling Bella.

"Gentlemen," she smiled politely, ready to use her authority. She only used suggestions for now, blatant orders will be employed later, if necessary. "Surely, there is ample 'gentleness' left to be used in the transportation of those?"

They mended their ways. Bella wasn't one for waiting while things were being done for her. She knew her luggage would be delivered to the suite, she'll soon know where the suite was and she expected that they cases would be unpacked when she arrived back. She also knew that if anything went wrong in that chain, there would be hell to pay.

This was the time for adventure, the time to make new acquaintances. Bella's eyes on the perfect candidate. A young woman, wearing exquisite clothes stood before Bella as she walked further into the palace. Bella climbed the stairs cautiously to the other woman, searching for any hint as to who she might be. There was almost no such give away, nothing except the accumulation of subtle signs. Ah, she knew who this woman was. Comtesse Marie-Elisabeth Valois, widowed and rich by proxy. Furthermore, Bella came under the impression that Marie-Elisabeth seemed intent on flaunting her position with airs and graces.

Bella decided she'd put her own noble roots to good use in befriending the Comtesse.

"It is a lovely day, is it not?" Bella smiled pleasantly, wanting to attract the attention of the other woman. "Isabella Devine. Bella."

Bella couldn't tell whether the name Devine had triggered the usual flicker behind the eyes and simply waited for the response;everyone who was anyone knew everyone else who was anyone, as far as Bella was concerned.
(OCC: Bella is approachable)

Octavien & Dimitri - Prince's salon
 

(((ooc: Alissa - Thank you, I'm enjoying it as well. It's quite intense! One thing though... Marie-Elisabeth isn't English... And it's also advised that you leave Marie-Elisabeth's reaction to being approached to slytherin-girl, as giving a neutral look might not be what slytherin wants her character to do.

Ghanima - I almost feel sorry for Elena! *lol* )))


As Octavien had reached the window, and spun around to deliver the last in his ever growing line of questions, he had spotted something out of the corner of his eye, in the doorway to one of the adjoining rooms. Gilles. Like the faithful companion he was, the older man had a tendency to appear when he sensed Octavien might need the support. Though to any outsider, it would appear he merely made himself available, should his young master demand that the visitor was escorted out, or simply needed for something to be fetched or dispatched. Or, considering the recent excitement with the attempt made on the Prince's life, as somewhat of a bodyguard. For while he may have lived a fairly long life in comparison to his youthful master, he was by no means a fragile man, and would, if needed, put up a good fight.

Still, while Gilles' appearance played a small part in the sudden cooling of Octavien's temper, it was not what had caught the young Prince's attention. It was the somewhat hesitant look stirring just underneath the surface of the man's placid expression, the hint of worry dancing in the shadows of his eyes. Perhaps he feared that Octavien really would loose his temper. The boy had been under a considerable amount of pressure lately, and it seemed one thing after another kept being added to push him even further away from his usually very amiable and composed demeanor. Or, perhaps, he was wondering if somewhere in the near future, he would once again be made to suffer the consequences of his young master's rage, much like last time it had grown to such immense proportions that the boy could no longer keep it contained. Gilles still had not forgotten how he had been mere inches from walking away from the experience a head short than he had entered it.

However, the distraction he caused was so brief that it lasted no more than a moment, a split second flying by so fast that before anyone else would have a chance to register it, Octavien's gaze had returned to Dimitri, just as he started speaking.

"Your Highness", the Duc said, having hesitated momentarily himself, and then went on claim that he knew nothing of the King's reasons for doing what he had done, and how, and that he could not speculate.

Yet not seconds later after that very statement, he still offered what he apparently believed to be plausible scenarios, perhaps simply to try and lift the small shadow Octavien had cast on the King with his question, or perhaps to appeal to the composed side of him, by showing that currently, there were indeed other matters for a King to deal with. Though it only managed to cause a slight but pointedly disdainful snort from Octavien, who obviously either did not believe such a close friend of the King would indeed know so little of what went on inside the head of their monarch, or found neither of the scenarios to be the least bit extenuating. Or, and most likely, a little bit of both.

Still, the Duc didn't let that stop him, but simply carried on, making an analogy that first had Octavien almost raising a brow as if wishing to silently question what the man was getting at, but ultimately refraining from following it through. Mostly because the analogy as swiftly followed by another lecture, which brought all the Prince's venom to surface once more.

"Never shall I say resentment and such passions do not have their place in our world", Dimitri said. "But there are times when emotions are not a factor. To assume it always is will drive you... If you wish to keep your..."

For the first time, the revered Duc d'Lorraine seemed to stumble and hesitate when choosing his words. So much so, that he finally decided to simply re-phrase;

"You have to keep it all — emotions, diplomacies, your entire awareness — compartmentalised", he concluded, "to be summoned at the appropriate time. You must realise that as immediately as possible."

When making his decision, and agreeing to marry Adalita, Octavien had known that his life from then on would be quite filled with duties and 'must's. But quite frankly, at the moment, he was growing sick of them. You must, you must not, you will, you will not, you shall, you shall not. Each and every single one of those words were slowly eating away at his patience. Not his ability to control himself, but at his willingness to use it. To simply explode into a fit of rage was growing increasingly tempting. If for no other reason than to purge himself of all the tension and frustration that yesterday's ride had only temporarily pushed aside.

At the same time, he knew that it could prove to be a dire mistake, and quite possibly unjustified to make the Duc the target of such an outburst. He was the one currently holding the last straw and if deciding to drop it onto Octavien's burden, would be the one to break the camel's back, as the saying went. But something in his approach had changed. Not his tone, not his posture, not even the look on his face, but rather something underneath it all, so subtle that had Octavien not taken a moment to reflect in order to shackle his desire to simply roar with anger, he would have surely missed it.

"With all due respect, Duc d'Lorraine...", the young Prince replied, and the fire and fierceness had found their way back into his eyes. "... and, you may think me no more than an uneducated and far too brazen whelp for saying so, but I do not believe it is I that is currently in need of a lecture on the appropriate time for emotions and the like. There are times when a single kind word, or a show of understanding can have twice the effect of any lengthy but indifferent explanation, or an uncompromising command completely disregarding the sentiments of it's target. It is my belief that it is the ability to tell the difference, and recognize such times, that seperates the truly noble sovereigns, from the tyrants."

As he spoke, his tone of voice slowly morphed once again, calming slightly with every word, and ending up presenting not a harsh accusation, but a simple, composed observation as he slowly perched himself on the windowsill. There he paused for a moment, in speech and in actions alike, allowing his thoughtful gaze to trace the intricate pattern of the carpet underneath the chairs and table, before returning to lock with Dimitri's.

"A King that commands when he needs not shows one of two things, Duc d'Lorraine; foolishness, for not realizing and recognizing the support he already has. Or fear. Only fear of loosing what he has, drives a man to try and keep it with force."

Here he paused again, and raised his hand to gently rub his temples, as if trying to fend off a growing headache, while giving a heavy sigh. In truth, he was contemplating how to deal with the situation. Currently, he didn't have much leverage to strenghten his position. While Isabella was still backing him, and would refuse to see him sent off or demoted, or otherwise disposed of, she was going to be far away, where news would reach her only when it was much too late to act. And, if the King wanted Octavien to marry this Elena for political purposes, it might just be enough to ensure him a somewhat more stable future at the Palace...

"I am aware that I am neither Prince nor noble from birth, that I have yet to learn how to carry myself properly at all times, and that I am in no position to critize His Majesty", he thus finally concluded, and this time, he took his time raising his head and returning Dimitri's gaze. "And I will of course abide by His Majesty's wishes. It is just my own humble wish that I be treated as a man, and not a possession. Surely that does not make me unreasonable? After all, if pushed too hard, possessions often break. Men adapt. And a man that is allowed the liberty to submit because he wants to, stands more firmly behind his master and his master's cause, than one who is left no say, and no choice."

(OOC: Thanks, Atropa.
Whoa, it sounds like Octavien's about to reach breaking point with all his obligations!)

Marie-Elisabeth & Bella
 

Marie-Elisabeth had paused when the other woman approached her, looking her over carefully and trying to figure out just who she was. She wasn’t a high ranking noble person, that much was certain. If she was she would have known to call her Madame or at least Comtesse before introducing herself.

Marie-Elisabeth wasn’t exactly the most rigid rule abider in the palace, but there were some things she just wouldn;t let fly. And she really didn’t appreciate someone acting so familiar with her unless she knew them. Unless of course that person was a certain brown haired Marquis….

Marie-Elisabeth shook her head, effectively stopping the less than ladylike thoughts that were gathering in her mind. “I’m sure it is Miss Devine” she replied, managing to keep the annoyed look off her face “I’ll have to take your word for it as I’ve been inside for most of the morning”.

The name hadn’t sparked any recognition in her mind either, which further re enforced her earlier idea that the woman was some sort of lower noble. Her husband had been acquainted with all the higher ranked nobles of the land, and while she may not have known them all by face she did know them by name. And the name Devine was not one that sprang to mind as being of particular importance. But still, she would at least be polite to the woman.

“You must have just arrived” she continued “I didn’t see you at all during yesterday’s events. I’m the Comtesse de Valois, so pleased to meet you”.

(OOC: Oooh, that's not gonna help Bella's ego)
"Enchante," Bella greeted with perfect decorum.
Bella was disappointed -even marginally angry - at Marie-Elisabeth's failure to recognise the family name. However, it was clear that Bella's impetuous behaviour, carrying on from the Abbey, was far from finished with her. She had to regain control.
Bella smiled at the Comtesse.
"Forgive me for my rudeness, Comtesse," she offered. "I am Baroness Isabella Devine. My father and your late husband were well acquaintances, I believe? Please accept my condolences for your loss."
She decided to proceed to answer Marie-Elisabeth's earlier question.
"I have just arrived at court, and sadly missed yesterday's events," she explained. "Please, do tell me, have I missed anything interesting?"
Bella hoped that would redeem her lapse in behaviour. It was a learning curve, she told herself. Any such journey included its mistakes, but they were far from excusable if Bella refused to learn from them.

Marie-Elisabeth & Bella
 

Marie-Elisabeth could tell the young woman was upset with her for not recognizing her name. She had almost laughed at that, seeing how Bella was so obviously displaying her emotions. That was definitely not something that would serve her well in this court.

She paused for a moment after Bella finished talking. She did that to curb the instinct to merely dismiss the woman’s claim, which she knew was false. She knew the names of all of Charles’ acquaintances, and it had been part of her studies as a child to learn all the noble lineages of the country. Her mother had insisted upon it, so that she and her multitude of siblings would know the genealogy of the Noble Houses they would eventually marry into. The name rang a very faint bell, but all she could remember was something about disgrace. And that was never something good to remember.

“Thank you for your condolences Baroness” she said, nodding towards her “But I’m afraid you must be mistaken. I know well the names of all of my late husband’s friends, and yours does not seem to ring any bells. Perhaps it was a brother of his?”.

She smiled politely, reaching up to adjust one of her golden curls in danger of coming loose from her elaborate coiffure. “And you have indeed missed a great deal” she continued “We had the great misfortune to loose the young Princess only a few days ago, and her funeral was held yesterday”.



((OOC: Marie-Elisabeth's is just as bad, and Bella's lower ranked than her so she's perfectly justified to be bothered )))

Dimitri & Octavien - Prince's suite. No catfights allowed.
 

“With all due respect, Duc d'Lorraine...” The fire, which had lowered into smouldering embers just before, now blazed back at him with renewed strength. As the Prince so casually dismissed his ‘lecture’ and embarked on one of his own, Dimitri sighed inwardly, regretting the decision to take the oblique approach. He was too terrible with analogies to try anything but a direct statement, apparently. Well, perhaps one day the Prince will find himself sitting with his enemy at dinner, hearing prayers for their fallen comrades from the mouth of the man who skewered them, and realise the necessity of completely detaching one’s emotions from the whole question of war itself—wars, births, deaths and marriages. The whole lot.

If Octavien could still desire mollycoddling and soothing assurances—at his age! at his station!—of how things ‘could be worse’ than marriage to a Spanish noblewoman, then he was far from being ready to severe his emotions from himself.

“A King that commands when he needs not shows one of two things, Duc d'Lorraine; foolishness, for not realizing and recognizing the support he already has. Or fear. Only fear of loosing what he has, drives a man to try and keep it with force.”

Edouard! Suspicious! His slight, sheepish King, who needed the combined forces of his Queen and a hermit friend, just to pick an Advisor…!

…Yet how often had Dimitri the chance to witness the true Octavien speaking? Just the rarity of this opportunity—and, depending on how it ended, perhaps it would be his last one before the Prince banned him from his suite altogether—made it worth sitting quietly through the other’s condemnation of Edouard’s decision.

But the Prince lapsed into thoughtful silence, which allowed Dimitri to muse as well. There was one good point made. Certainly, he was beginning to wonder who initiated the marriage proposal at all. Other than when he stabbed a Spaniard’s eye in an impromptu tournament, causing a flurry of letters and payments flying both ways, Dimitri did not communicate extensively with the Spaniards. But he was certain that the aristocracy of Ferdinand and Isabella’s homeland held more cunning in a thimble than Edouard did in all his wigs.

‘Fear’, impossible. Edouard, like a child, did not recognise the concept, because he did not recognise treachery until it shot him in the face.

But ‘foolishness’… quite possible.

Drawing Dimitri from his own contemplation, Octavien continued as one who had come to a hard decision, his head lifting heavily from where it had lowered. It was hard to determine just how sincere his humility was. Despite his admission of weaknesses, there did not seem to be a willingness to learn from those who offered. There clearly was a proud streak to him that refused to bow, even to the King, without a fight. Nevertheless, Dimitri was happy, for now, that he seemed ready to move on to actually dealing with the news.

“It is just my own humble wish that I be treated as a man, and not a possession. Surely that does not make me unreasonable?”

…Hmm. Maybe not.

“After all, if pushed too hard, possessions often break. Men adapt. And a man that is allowed the liberty to submit because he wants to, stands more firmly behind his master and his master's cause, than one who is left no say, and no choice.”

Dimitri figured that he could not dig his grave any deeper than it already was, and so was quite willing to give a reply. He steepled his long fingers together, elbows resting on his armrests, and thought. He did not wish to antagonise, although they might have reached the point where Octavien could find fault in his posture if he so wanted. But he seemed willing to… make some sort of peace for now; a sentiment the Duc shared.

“Our respective views of ‘possession’ notwithstanding, Your Highness, you are right—you are a man. Thus no matter how His Majesty may push you, I am confident you shall adapt accordingly.”

Now, all things considered, Dimitri did not think the young man was a complete loss. He had won over the Duchesse de Margoles the night before, had he not? Octavien just had this naïveté about him that was… well, he did not need the Duc to crush such optimism. A few months at Court would do just as well, if it had not done so already.

“A glimpse for you into the mind of His Majesty, Your Highness: this is simply his method. He rather likes mediation between himself and… everyone else. Among his lessons was not to give a man the liberty to choose at all, for there was always the chance he would choose not to submit. Nonetheless, I shall find a manner of delivering your grievances to His Majesty, to avoid similar problems in the future.”

Dimitri staved off any potentially horrified looks, with a gradual wave, and the one assurance he could give. “Without your f-words.”

______

(( 'f-words' being... yes... 'fear' and 'foolishness'. But I'm a dork, so I couldn't resist the chance.

Thanks, Alissa! Octavien's putting up quite a fight, I love it. He's gonna marry a hot Spanish babe, dammit! :Slap:

Now, as for Bella and Marie-Elisabeth... *ducks in Ghanima's hidey-hole*))

Bella and Marie-Elisabeth
 

(OOC: Lol, fair enough, Robyn. It's the battle of egos. Bella does need to be careful, though about how to behave with whom. Seiza, I do love the fact that Octavein's putting up such a fight, he makes good entertainment! Although, I know few men who'd put up a fight when forced to marry a hot Spanish girl.
As for Bella and Marie-Elisabeth, she surrendered the battle, but she's not one to give up on the war)


Bella was sure her father knew someone bearing that surname, but she decided to let it pass.
"Perhaps it was a brother of his, Comtesse," Bella gave the victory to Maire-Elisabeth with a gratuitous smile.
"Although, we never know," she added cautiously with a sly smile. Given the age difference between the Comtesse and her late husband, Bella felt the honesty between them was less than complete. "Men and their secrets."
Bella was done with that arc of conversation, it was time to progress things. She had to be careful about what she let on hereafter. There was no point pursuing the matter if the name did not incite any favourable connections, any more venturing into memories might bring past problems into the present and that was the last thing Bella wanted.
However, the news of the Princess was new indeed.
"My goodness, that recently?" Bella asked with surprise. "That is unfortunate, indeed. I assume she was taken with illness for some time? I had only recently heard of her marriage, a beautiful event by all accounts."
Bella was intrigued by the recent developments at court. She needed to get informed on things if she was to get anywhere.

((OOC: Ooooh, tsall so dramatic I don't know who to compliment...
And just FYI Larkin is the queen's uncle not brother. He's Juliet's husbands brother, so Isabella's uncle))
Larkin had escaped down the hallway, more to reacquaint himself with the palace than any dislike of the attention he was receiving. That is not to say that he was enjoying it- for the past fifteen years he had never seen more than fifty people at a time, and he had lived in a culturally backwards country on a continent good for little but trading purposes- but he had no doubts that he would quickly reacclimate himself to the patterns of court.

So, realizing that he might nto be making the best of impressiosn by disappearing, he wandered down the ahllway. He was fairly sure of where he was in the palace, but then again the whole place looked fantastically similar to him- luxurious floors that in Zimbabwe would be priceless wall hangings, carved and decorated walls and ceilings, the occasional alcove with a lovely statue, large meticulously detailed paintings... a very posh place, the Palace of Light and Air. Larkin neared the end of the hallway and saw a huge marble statue. He froze for a moment. Could it be...?

He walked over to the statue and glanced behind it. A wide grin crept onto his face as he remebered precisely where he was in the cavernous palace. There was a wooden door behind the statue and, with a bit of undignified wriggling larkin stood behind the statue and peeled it open. As he had suspected, this was one of the servant's stairways, hidden quite well in the palace's architecture, except taht the stair itself was plain wood, and the walls undressed stone. larkin was sorely tempted to go exploring, but he realized the foolishness of going in servants passages when dressed in full court attire and he had no establishment of power to excuse idiosyncrasy. Reluctantly he shut the door and turned around to go back to the main hall. Mayhaps Isabella would still be there and he could apologize for his hasty departure, and offer condolences.

Mayhaps. Then again, it had been nearly a decade and a half since he had been in France. So that worked out to 15 some years without speaking to a French woman. Which was something he would much like to remedy. Slightly amused by the direction his thoughts were taking, Larkin leisurely strolled back towards the main hall. "Time enough for all that later," he thought to himself.

((OOC: Approachable. Really. Poor Larkin's bored witless!))

Marie-Elisabeth & Bella
 

“Most men do have secrets, that much is certain” said Marie-Elisabeth, matching the sly smile with one of her own “But the names of acquaintances and friends are hardly anything I would say Charles kept secret. He always did like to go on about his great connections and many friends he met during the war against those vile English. There were always old soldiers and friends spending time at our homes, it was quite enjoyable”.

Marie-Elisabeth smiled, remembering those many occasions. One of the fond memories she had of Charles was just how proud he had been of his military service. After their son had been born he would spend hours telling the young boy about "Whipping those dastardly English cowards until they ran home and hid behind their mother’s skirts”, while she just looked on bemusedly.

She nodded toward Bella again. ‘It probably was one of his brothers, all 3 of them have names that start with Cs, so they’re easy to confuse to those not well acquainted with the family”. That much was true, Marie-Elisabeth herself had difficulty keeping them straight and they were her brothers in law. Both Chadwick and Chauncey were rather unremarkable men, who not only looked similar but were both about as dull as dishwater.

Marie-Elisabeth frowned as she felt the same small piece of hair start to come loose again. Once again she reached up, this time firmly securing it under her hat, and resolved to have words with her hairdresser before the day was through.“And as for our poor Princess” she said, turning her attention back to Bella “From what I gathered, the illness was quite sudden. So sad to think she was such a pretty young girl will never walk these lovely halls again”.




(((OOC: That is EXACTLY what I was thinking about Dimitri. It's like he's thinking: Stupid kids don't know how to behave, and people like Marie-Elisabeth are thinking: Stupid old fogie spoiling all my fun.

And daaaang, if I was a guy I'd probably jump at the chance to marry a hot Spanish chick LOL. And since I'm not *goes off to pout and mutter about the stupid Spanish chick who gets to marry the hot prince....))))

(OOC: Thanks Seiza, but first Bella needs to learn to curb her impulses. I wonder how that'll work out vs Marie-Elisabeth!
Ghanima: Wow, while everyone's running around arguing, Cesar and Jo are making up for the antagonism!
And yeah, it's only because Octavien has no idea what he's getting himself into... once he sees her, I'm sure all this rebellion would be ancient history)

"Well, I, for one, am thankful for the existance of the English," Bella said with a small laugh. "They make feel very grateful for being French!"

Indeed, Bella was French, but only when it suited her. Maire-Elisabeth seemed to harbour a strong dislike of the English in any situation.

"You know, we must find the answer to this mystery of mistaken identity sometime," Bella carried on. She decided there must be more to it, but then, it really wasn't the time or the place for it.

However, this news of the Princess seemed worthy of investigation at present. Marie-Elisabeth may have had more to say on the subject, but Bella had to gain her bearings first. Although, Marie-Elisabeth was absolute in the idea that the Princess had just come down with sudden illness.

"Yes," Bella agreed. "The loss of a beauty and of youth always is a tragedy. I cannot imagine the grief of the the King, Queen and Prince at losing a daughter and bride, so soon at that."

The conversation had died for now. It had enough death in it to be buried. Bella needed to make new acquaintances, while she was still new and a novelty.
"You must excuse me," she smiled at Marie-Elisabeth. "I believe I should discover what has been done with my belongings. It is a pleasure making your acquaintance, Comtesse, and I do hope to speak to you again soon."

She wandered down the corridor opening into the hallway and stopped at the sight of a man she knew was somehow connected to Juliet. She'd watched him and the Duchesse walk away together earlier in the courtyard. Bella positioned herself tactfully in his field of vision and gave a warm, welcoming smile to light up his gaze over her.

[i](OCC: Bella will be back to gossip with Marie-Elisabeth soon, she just needs to spread out her acquaintances at court a little first )

((OOC: You're right... Although I ahve been a bit off too, saying he's been gone for a decade and a half when he's really, if you add it up, only been gone 13 years. Either way, she'd've been six then... and that doesn't work out...

Alissa it makes more sense that either she doesn't know him period, or has already heard of him from her short stay in the palace, or knows him by reputation. I swear, I'm not trying to nitpick, I was about to say the same thing as Atropa, he just beat me to it, lol))

Octavien & Dimitri - Prince's Salon
 

(((ooc: Ghanima - Hmph, yeah, everyone feels sorry for Octavien but Dimitri. *lol* Nah, seriously, he doesn't want anyone to feel sorry for him. He just resents being treated like a lowly no-good servant, when the only reason why he's there for them to treat him like that in the first place, is because he gave up his future just to help the royal family, and Edouard's precious princess, save face. Of course, no one except him, Isabella and Mercy know that, but still he can't help but feel some gratitude is owed to him.

slytherin - Oh how César would have loved to witness that little scene. Marie-Elisabeth would've scored more points with him for sure. Though I'm fairly sure that at the moment, he prefers his own score. *ahem* *whistles innocently*

FurryPanda - For the record, I'm a 'she'. I know I tend to RP male characters, but... They're just so much more fun for me! )))



Knowing well that the words to have come out of his mouth had been... provocative, to say the least - the number of people that would dare venture as far as to insinuate that their King was not only a fool or a coward, but a tyrant as well, and in the presence of one of said King's most trusted men too, were few indeed - Octavien was not quite sure what kind of reaction to expect from Duc d'Lorraine. Quite obviously, as the older man seemed to take a moment to contemplate his answer, it would not be the wide-eyed shock and disbelief of the young Prince's nerve to insult his father-in-law, nor would it be anger flaring in haughty offense on the King's behalf. Though when the Duc was concerned, that did not necessarily mean that the reaction to come would be any more pleasant.

Surprisingly, it seemed he actually saw beyond that first layer which one might have interpreted as nothing but impertinent disrespect, but rather took the time to view the Prince's words with cool and sober ojectivity; a sign that maybe, just maybe, he finally realized that Octavien was not a spoilt, indignant child seeking revenge for the wrongs he had been made to suffer by acting and speaking out of defiance, but a young man with a mind of his own, who could be quite useful, not only as a mere bargaining tool, but a real living, breathing, thinking asset, if they would only acknowledge him.

At the same time, the fact that the Duc did not immediately strike down his rebellious words, was an indication that somewhere deep down, despite his unsympathetic exterior, he did recognize Octavien's right to be upset.
And that, those two very things, were all that Octavien had wanted. Preferrably from the King himself, but if the Duc was all he would get, then the Duc would have to do. He did have the King's ear, after all.
Though only time would tell if Octavien's interpretation of the Duc's current silence had been correct. For all he knew, he could be far off the mark, and rather than understanding, Duc d'Lorraine could be merely looking for a way to end the discussion, after which he would go straight to the King and insist that the Prince was making himself far too difficult to have around.

"Our respective views of 'possession' notwithstanding, Your Highness," Dimitri finally said, "you are right — you are a man. Thus no matter how His Majesty may push you, I am confident you shall adapt accordingly."

At that, and for the first time during the entire encounter, the corners of Octavien's mouth tugged upwards. But not in something as pleasant as a smile, but in something as ambiguous as... a smirk.
It had just occured to him that neither Dimitri nor the King, had the slightest idea of the damage Octavien could cause, if pushed too far. What he had said about men that when pushed would adapt, had been true enough, but there was one detail he had failed to mention and that the Duc, by the sounds of it, failed to comprehend; men that when pushed would adapt, would often turn into men that when pushed too far, started pushing back.
The sad part was, Octavien's 'opponents' in this case, knew little of just what he had to push back with. And at the moment, his honor refused to let him enlighten them.

Nevertheless, it was still a comforting and rather empowering thought, in a situation were his standing was surely regarded as somewhat fragile. Hence, the smirk.

"A glimpse for you into the mind of His Majesty, Your Highness", Dimitri offered, in a sudden and unexpected moment of generosity. "This is simply his method. He rather likes mediation between himself and... everyone else. Among his lessons was not to give a man the liberty to choose at all, for there was always the chance he would choose not to submit. Nonetheless, I shall find a manner of delivering your grievances to His Majesty, to avoid similar problems in the future. Without your f-words."

Those last few words, on the other hand, managed quite well to bring a faint but fairly pleasant smile to the Prince's lips, and he inclined his head ever so slightly in recognition of Dimitri's promise. Whatever his intentions.

"I would appreciate it", he said.

But, as his tongue had already been unleashed, he couldn't help but to add, although still in that same soft, calm tone used when stating his previous observation;

"Though one would think it would be in His Majesty's best interest to know who submits out of their own free will, and who submits out of fear or coercion. Non? False-hearted support is a dangerous thing to rely on. One never does know when it will crumble, but when it does - for sooner or later, it will - one can be sure it will be at the worst possible time. Or are you now to tell me that in battle, those that choose to desert are not mainly those that are not serving willingly?"

Despite the somewhat amiable tone, one might've assumed he was once again allowing his razor tongue to run freely, had it not been that there now seemed to be a few grains of sincere curiousity seasoning his words. Much like he had said, a free man with the choice to take an interest and to learn, would have alot more interest to show, than a dog on a leash who had the lessons shoved down his throat.

However, as it seemed the Duc wanted to leave that part of the conversation behind, Octavien decided that rather than wait for an answer, he would continue, and thus graciously offer Dimitri the opportunity to view the question asked as a rhetorical one, one that did in fact not require an answer if he did not wish to give one, without making it all too obvious.

"This woman who is supposed to 'join' me", he said instead. "What can you tell me about her? Provided, of course, that I am entitled to such a question? Or would it be preferred that I be kept in the dark regarding that as well?


(((ooc: Fayre - Just realized I've completely failed to comment on what you said about Isabella and Edouard; it's perfectly fine. The only thing that jumps out at me, is the way Isabella has all of a sudden started revealing quite alot of her emotions, whereas before, when Shenan controlled her, she always, always hid everything behind her regal, placid mask. Just an observation. )))

Padme and Rukov
 

Padme heard a chuckle from outside her door. Was the man who brought in her trunks watching her. She stared at the door momentarily, then looked down at her mother's blue robe. It was one of the few items she had left of her parents. [She had sold much of them to bribe the Baron to set her free. Padme still had about 1/6 of the money left from her parents inheritance, but it wasn't much.]

She heard a knock at her door, most likely from the Peeping Tom. It startled her, and she dropped the robe onto the floor, unfolding itself into a messy pile. She began to pick it up when the man spoke.

“Is there anything else, Mademoiselle? A maid will be here in a minute to unpack for ye.”

Padme stopped in her tracks. She had been unpacking herself. Suddenly it made sense to her, the man was laughing at her unpacking her things. She crossed to the door and cracked it open wide enough for him to see her face.

"No, but I thank you for asking."

Padme was unsure how to respond to people of a class lower than herself. She was used to responding to nobles. She closed the door and begun to re-pack her things.

((Seiza, you're welcome to have Rukov stay. Sorry if it seems if I'm a bit rusty.))

((Mmm Atropa I did notice that (well obviously I'm writing it) I'm putting it down to sadness, sickness and pregnancy... but she'll be gone soon.... so my bad RP skills wont be damaging the Isabella we all knew and loved.

Oh and I seem to have forgotten when afternoon is officially supposed to come so.... 36 hours!))

(OOC: Sorry guys, fixed now, I'm kinda new to this. I changed it so that Bella recognised Larkin from when he walked off with Juliet earlier in the day. Would that be okay? Thanks for telling me, by the way, otherwise I'll never learn! )

Dimitri & Octavien - Prince's Salon. SALON. Not Suite! *kicks self*
 

“Though one would think it would be in His Majesty's best interest to know who submits out of their own free will, and who submits out of fear or coercion. Non?...” Dimitri would have dismissed it as an attempt to get the last word in, if not for the kernel of sincerity changing Octavien’s tone entirely. It was a subtle shift, but not something he would miss.

Then, as if the question had merely been rhetoric—in which case, it really would have been an attempt to have the final say on the matter, which did not mesh with Dimitri’s gut instinct—the Prince finally, finally, moved on to matters of more immediate concern. ‘Entitled’ to the question? That had been the only one the Duc was hoping for!

…Not that he really had much to offer in terms of information.

Regardless, Dimitri methodically ticked off what he had analysed based on the scraps of information Edouard gave him. He spoke as plainly as if he were critiquing the breed of a pony or the balance of a new sword; for that was what marriages seemed to him. Business.

“As Grande of Spain, Duque Carlos is second only to the royal family. As his only daughter, Her Excellency will either be very spoilt or very fearsome. I hope you do not think me crude for speaking plainly, Your Highness, but by virtue of your bloodline, you are already at a disadvantage. But Her Excellency is also a foreigner, if not in rank then in country. I do not believe her mother survives, but should there be one, I suggest earning her favour as eagerly as her daughter’s. I would not underestimate the women of the country that produced Isabella of Castile.”

It was rather more direct than he wanted to be—he expected men who so willingly thrust themselves into this sordid world of politics, as Octavien had, to work such things out on their own. But the Prince requested information, and surely he did not expect a mundane recitation of the family lineage.

“His Majesty vaguely explained the family’s history to me, so I suspect Her Excellency may be… slightly advanced in age.” Dimitri paused. When he continued, it was almost as an afterthought, “She could be extremely unpleasant to the eye, which may explain why no Spanish lord has won her hand despite her father’s fortune; or immensely comely, that she deserves nothing less than royalty. Single daughters of powerful men usually are one extreme or the other.”

He did not place particular importance on the last, but the Duc would be remiss if he failed to prepare the young man for a beastly bride. He allowed a moment of silence to enter, before finally standing. Even without looking at the mantelpiece, the slanting sunlight behind the Prince told him significant time had passed. He did not have the habit of pretending to be busier than he really was—all he had to do, this morning, was to finish a letter—but neither had he expected to spend such time over this issue.

And, he suspected, the Prince would need some time to gather himself in case Edouard summoned him to meet the new arrivals.

By way of conclusion, Dimitri shrugged, “As you may guess, I know little about the Duque or his daughter. I may have permanently removed one of their relatives’ eyes, but all I can and have offered are suspicions.”

Firmly-grounded and extensively deliberated suspicions, granted... but still smoke in the air.

César & Josephine - de la Valliére suite
 

(((ooc: Fayre - Oh hush, you know I didn't mean it like that! )))


Contrary to what most tended to believe, and thus also contrary to what his reputation said, César de la Valliére did not always speak frankly, or with subtle yet unmistakable sarcasm and irony. There were times when he would not only consider his words, but re-consider them as well, before he spoke, times when he knew that if he did not, he might end up causing harm to a person or a cause by speaking without choosing his words with the greatest care.

This very, very late morning in the temporary de la Valliére suite in the Palace of Light and Air, pinning his darling Joséphine to the bed following a session of playful bickering, was, surprisingly, one such time. The subject of a future son was a somewhat delicate matter, with the potential to turn the conversation far less lighthearted if handled carelessly. He knew the pressure married women in general were under, to produce a son, an heir. Joséphine, having given birth 'only' to two girls so far, was no exception, and César really didn't want to add to her burden and make her feel stressed, by nagging her. Lord knows his mother did quite enough of that already. And in all honesty, unlike most men, César was not obsessed with the idea. He liked it, yes. He did like the idea of a little boy (or several) running around, pulling pigtails and causing mischief, and eventually growing up to a man and pass on the family name. But if he and Joséphine would end up with daughters, and daughters only, he wouldn't love her any less for it, nor them. He would still be perfectly happy, and the duty of carrying on the family name, would just simply have to fall on the shoulders of his many cousins.

But, as he didn't know quite how successful he had been at conveying his feelings on the matter to Joséphine, nor how much damage the pointed remarks his mother kept sending her way had done, he thought it best to tread carefully, and thus was indeed very grateful that things this morning had taken the turns they had, landing husband and wife merrily and lovingly interlocked with one another on the bed.

"That was all? Mon dieu, all this mystery had me worried that something dire was the matter!"

Joséphine's response came as a small laugh, but did not prevent César from picking up on her brief, initial reaction, which had been somewhat more contemplative. Mostly because he had been expecting it. Luckily, it seemed his casual words along with the lighthearted mood they were both in had the desired effect, and she responded with the same gaiety, slipping both her arms around him in the process.

Though no sooner had they come to a rest behind his back, than one of them retreated, sliding down along his side and dropping to seize the one of his hands that had set out to... 'inspire' her, with nimble fingertips dancing gently over her belly, following the pattern of her lace robe.

"It is too early to tell," she smiled, guiding his hand a little lower, indicating that in time, he just might be able to feel another little one kicking from within her womb. "And as much as we both wish for a son, I do not want you to get your hopes up yet, but I'm more than a week late, César. That has rarely happened unless... I was with child."

But, despite her warning, it was already too late. The excited smile widening rapidly on César's lips gave him away in an instant, even though he shook his head in an attempt to assure her that he would indeed not get his hopes up until they had reason to be sure. Though in all fairness, it was not only hope and excitement that held his lips captive in that bright smile. There was also a small degree of relief, that he had not read far too much into a comment that had been nothing but a casual remark, thus giving Joséphine reason to suspect he was not completely sincere when claiming that a son was not the most important thing in the world to him.
Furthermore, his hopes did not limit themselves to the possibility of having a son either. The idea of a child, regardless of it's gender, was cause enough for César to be excited. Ever since the first time he held Adéle in his arms, feeling the all-encompassing, overwhelming joy only a proud father could, he had known he wanted more children. As many as possible. As long, of course, as Joséphine could cope, and the pregnancies didn't wear her down until she was no more than a ghost of her past self, like he had seen happen to so many other women. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it, to see her vivacity and her spirits fade like that. They were so much a part of what made her Joséphine; his beloved, darling Joséphine.

"Though I see no reason why we couldn't add to the odds, just in case", she added with a whisper, after sharing a slow, passionate kiss, and gave another soft laugh.

One that was cut short, when César claimed her lips in yet another kiss; his silent agreement that, yes, one could indeed never 'add to the odds' too much, but that he was more than willing to at least give it a try.

- - - - - -

A while and said try later, when they were resting in eachother's arm like so many times before, and relaxed silence was the only witness to the playful, slightly bemused exchange of caresses, César could have easily drifted off to sleep again, completely unconcerned by the increasingly late hour. But, caught in one of his moments of doting husband, quite possibly fuelled by Joséphine's yet-to-be-established pregnancy, he pulled her closer to him, and after planting a trail of soft kisses from her shoulder to her jaw, murmured in her ear;

"We should eat something. Shall we honor the other courtiers with our presence, or would you prefer a meal to be brough here?"



(((ooc: Okay, that was... sappy, and cheesy, I know. *lol* But don't blame me. Blame César. )))

Octavien & Dimitri - (No, Seiza, you're right;) Prince's SUITE
 

Sitting quietly by the window, still gingerly perched on the windowsill, as Duc d'Lorraine gave his lenghty account of what he did and did not know about Octavien's apparent bride-to-be, Octavien allowed his gaze to wander, to drift slowly from one corner of the room to the next, only occasionally landing on the Duc, before ending up turning his head and looking out the window behind him, observing the swarm of servants struggling to load and unload trunks and boxes from the number of carriages in the courtyard.

One might get the impression that he was barely listening, if at all. But one would be mistaken. He heard every single word the Duc said, listened for whatever might be useful, and mused to himself in the process.

"I do not believe her mother survives," Dimitri said, "but should there be one, I suggest earning her favour as eagerly as her daughter's. I would not underestimate the women of the country that produced Isabella of Castile."

Underestimating the young men of his own country, however, was something for which he seemed to have developed quite the talent, Octavien thought to himself. And, had the same bitterness that had ruled his thoughts for days not intruded on his thoughts once again, he might've even found it amusing how the only ones that seemed to recognize the many good qualities he did have, were the two women of whom all the rest seemed to be quite scared; the Queen, and quite possibly the Queen's mother, Juliet. Though Octavien wasn't sure on that one, but she didn't seem the type who would pretend to approve of someone when she did not.
But then again, neither had Duc d'Lorraine.

He said nothing, however, but instead simply kept listening, and waited for the reason behind this hurried marriage to be elaborated on.
It wasn't.
Doubting very much that the Duc would forget such a detail, Octavien knew it could only mean one of two things; either the Duc himself didn't know - doubtful - or they did indeed wish to keep Octavien in the dark.
Considering the recent turn of events, he hardly found it surprising. In fact, very little of what the Duc had to say about Her Excellency came as a surprise, with the only exception being what he had to say about the woman's age, and looks. 'Slightly advanced in age', was she? Knowing the Duc's way of expressing himself, that could mean anything from early twenties to, oh, late forties. However, the surprise was not that they wished him to marry a woman that by the sounds of it was older than him, but the fact that she was not already married. Not even widowed. That could indeed be cause for a bit of concern, for there was sure to be a reason, and it wasn't likely to be pleasant. Still, it didn't matter much. Octavien didn't intend to have a whole lot more to do with her than he'd had with Adalita. Though there would of course be the occasional exception of being obligated the share her bed. Hopefully, before long, she would become pregnant, and then he'd have it over and done with. Duty fulfilled.
The second thing to surprise him, was what the Duc had to say about her looks. Was he honestly trying to say that there had been no portrait sent, as was customary? Granted, painters these days, especially those hired to paint royalty and other wealthy people, had a tendency to... flatter their model by embellishing their assests, and diminishing their flaws and defects, sometimes even leaving them out altogether.
But still... A small portrait was still customary, and would have given some idea of what Her Exellency looked like.

Odd. Very odd indeed.

"As you may guess," Duc d'Lorraine concluded, after coming to his feet, "I know little about the Duque or his daughter. I may have permanently removed one of their relatives' eyes, but all I can and have offered are suspicions."

At that finalizing statement, Octavien slowly turned his head back to look at him. Was the old man trying to impress him, or make him think twice about mouthing off to him again? Why else would he feel the need to mention the removal of an eye, when it did nothing, even by his own admisision, to support anything of what he had said?

The young Prince was growing increasingly wary of the Duc. Very much so. For where during their first meeting, the man had been quite friendly and downright likable, he now excuded nothing but superior arrogance and patronization, sometimes even seeming to disapprove just for the sake of disapproving. Funny, how those compliments he had paid Octavien a mere few days ago - claiming that the Prince had 'profoundly' surpassed any expectations he'd had, and that he was the 'fine son' of a 'fine man' - all of a sudden seemed to be completely disregarded and forgotten. And as a man of Duc d'Lorraine's good name and reputation would hardly be as fickle as to change his mind for no other reason than a slightly flawed - slightly; far from terribly - public appearance, especially when knowing the lack of instructions given to the Prince to prepare him for such an appearance, that would indicate he had been playing games when first they had met.
Just like everyone else.

"Thank you", Octavien said, and then gave a dismissive wave while turning back to gaze out the window. "You are excused."

All the while thinking bitterly to himself; 'Now how's that for proper royal conduct?'.



(((ooc: There went the last little shred of trust he had to put in anyone but Isabella, César and Joséphine. )))

Marie-Elisabeth
 

Marie-Elisabeth had learned early in life to hold her tongue. When you grew up with a mother who would criticize and praise you in the same breath you learned to keep silent about certain thoughts. Otherwise you’d find yourself in trouble and you did not want to be on Marie-Therese Normandie’s bad side.

So when Bella said she was grateful for the existence of the English, she didn’t say “Well tell that to all the French women who lost husbands in the Great War, you should be happy to be French regardless of those barbarians”. And when she went on to say that they should solve the mistaken identity problem, she bit back the urge to say “There is no mistaken identity problem you pretentious little twit, you’re just making this up. My husband would never have associated with anyone of lower birth than him. It was completely beneath him to do so”.

When the young woman excused herself to go look after her things, she had smiled politely and been greatly relieved. She had had about all she could stand of her, and been worried that even her infamous control would slip if she was forced to listen to Bella prattle on any longer about things she had no clue about.

Marie-Elisabeth sighed and decided to continue roaming the hallways, hoping the next person she ran into wouldn't be such a test of her patience.

(Totally approachable, I'm bored lol)

(((OOC: Awwwwwwww Jo and Cesar are so cute Dimitri poked someone's eye out? How charming And I can't wait to see his reaction to being dismissed!!!!!)))

Larkin's quiet musings were interrupted when a young woman who had been walking down the hall in his direction blatantly stopped short and got out of the main thoroughfare of the hallway. Larkin was rather amused by that, it seemed he had a reputation preceding him. Not that he knew what that reputation might be, but the idea amused him.

He was about to nod politelya nd keep walking, possibluy find out where in this cavernous place he was to sleep, but the woman flashed a bright inviting smile, and it was quite obviously directed at him. Larkin reluctantly slowed down to greet her. On the one hand it would undoubtedly do him a world of good to talk to a few people of his own country on somewhat equal footing, and the woman was not sore on his eyes either, despite being easily half his age. On the other hand, she was easily half his age.

"Mademoiselle," he said softly, offering a small, but perfectly polite bow. He may have had no idea what her station was, and she his, maybe, but she could hardly get offended by a tiny lack of courtesy on his part. "And to whom do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Dimitri & Octavien - Ah, okay, SUITE.
 

Unless Octavien had the attention span of a gnat, which Dimitri sincerely doubted, he must have been noting most of what was being said; thus his lack of concentration did not trouble the Duc. If anything, it was precisely this sort of half-attention that was desired—feigned disinterest was far better than open fascination. It was an important act to preserve both sides of a system. Dimitri himself would spend half of his stewards’ reports surveying other paperwork, even if both knew he absorbed every single word being said.

As for the dismissal…

While he would have liked some statement by Octavien promising to speak with the King—how was he supposed to form any relationship with Edouard if each stayed in the other’s suite the whole time?—Dimitri was going to faithfully hope that the Prince would do so on his own.

Otherwise, it was quite fine.

However, the Duc came from a generation—indeed, typified it—who only corrected mistakes, not deliver constant praise.

He merely bowed at the Prince’s turned back, crisp footsteps bringing him to the exit. Unseen and unheard, the old manservant was already there, hands poised on the doorknobs. Dimitri stopped just at the exit, recalling Octavien’s earlier question. It was easy to think of it as purely rhetorical, but his own instinct disagreed violently, and he had been considering his answer even while attention shifted to the bride-to-be. Would it be a waste to bring it up again?

“As for desertions in war …” Well, in the end, an interesting question had been asked; he had reflected on the answer. Dimitri did not dismiss what he perceived as thoughtful questions. “I have seen men, loyal to the bone, desert their comrades. They were not bad men before they enlisted, and they remain good men in exile.”

He could understand, on a technical level, the reasons for desertion and men’s inherent weakness before such factors. He just hoped to be shot before showing such disloyalty himself.

“We have the liberty of studying each man in the hopes of discerning his fidelity, but a King has thousands under his care. It is fear, not love, which cements more allegiance on a greater scale. One may wish to root out the falsely loyal, but ultimately, men’s hearts are unknowable and uncertain.”

As the manservant opened the door, Dimitri quietly thanked Gilles, wished the Prince good day and exited the suite.

______


((Atropa: !@#$... *giggles nervously* He wouldn't, but his absent-minded player would! Hmm... Oh well! :jig:

Tragic, huh? And here we thought they'd get along. The vagaries of life!

slytherin-girl: I must admit, the eyeball story is a blatant attempt to set up background for possible posts with Elena. And the idea of Dimitri receiving a preserved eyeball in the post a couple months later Amuses Me Greatly. My one-eyed Spanish nobleman is an odd one. >_>

No dramatic storming out at that dismissal, sadly. I'd need a more firebrand-type character for that ))

(OOC: Oooh, I don't think Dimitri is too happy with Octavien, who isn't too happy with the King... was the advice about Kings ruling with fear a mild threat? Atropa, Cesar is unbelievably cute!)

"Mademoiselle," the man bowed as he approached Bella, who stood receptively, sure she was being assessed. "And to whom do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

She was sure she'd seen him with Duchesse Juliet de Margoles in the courtyard, on very friendly terms. It would be very uncharacteristic of a Duchesse to associate with someone of lower rank and therefore this gentleman must be of at least equal rank, if not more. Either that or he held considerable favour or influence at this court. Bella was thoroughly interested in the station of the man as well as the man himself.

"Baroness Isabella Devine," Bella offered a small curtsey, smiling warmly. "And the pleasure is all mine."

Rukov >>> General Palace Entrance
 

Rukov had feigned the simplest expression he could think of when the door cracked open, but hadn’t been prepared for the how little it opened. More than half of the girl’s face was hidden in shadow, and her voice was nothing like the thundering indignation one might expect from a noblewoman—or the haughty complaint that a servant needed to be sent immediately! or there would be hell to pay. It was simply quite soft.

But, perhaps, the most interesting was her speech. The short sentence was not crass, but its accent certainly pointed to one who had not spent her life among the upper classes.

Rukov’s interest just kept growing and growing—ironically, for someone who would probably matter little to his lord, if she was as poor as he suspected; his interest (and observations) should have been in the higher nobility—and remained so even when she closed the door in his face. He could still hear the odd sound through the door, assuming she hadn’t gotten the point and was continuing to unpack.

Ah well, her loss. It wouldn’t be his problem if the servants giggled behind her back when they arrived to find their work done for them.

He left the wing, only to find the palace entrance emptied of most of its arrivals. He had, somehow, managed to avoid most of the donkey work. Admittedly, it meant losing sight of most of the nobles, but he could track them down easily if needed...

Ah, but not all had left. Perhaps he would have more work to do, after all?

______

((Approachable to anyone in the area.

Alissa: It can be a threat if you so choose it to be. :twisted: *is smacked to stop being dramatic* But Dimitri was just answering the question. He's jaded(?) enough to recognise that it's impossible to find someone 100% loyal all the time. The best a monarch can do is rule and hope. Machiavelli's rule: if one cannot be feared and liked, then one should be feared instead of being liked.

At least in my head, he sounded, er... thoughtful? But it's totally up to Octavien to interpret.

I think Octavien's far angrier at Dimitri than vice versa at the moment. Dimitri doesn't care (or tells himself he doesn't) if Octavien hates his guts-- as long as he shapes up to be the Prince he ought to be (or Dimitri thinks he ought to be).

Hmm. Damn! This kind of thing needs to be in an RP post, not OOC.

Elektra: No problem, Rukov's still hanging around if Padme leaves her room fast enough. Oh, and I LOVE that she's poor. I know, sounds evil of me, but I read that a lot of nobles staying in Versailles were actually borderline bankrupt (or some such). 'Cause instead of being productive members of society, they took up half their days parading in expensive suits, like little peacocks. Padme isn't quite the same case, but she's poor! That's awesome!))

(OOC:
Seiza: Yeah, he probably was being thoughtful. Although, to Octavien (having risen from a nobody to Prince), who really should be familiar with The Prince, it might have seemed as if the King was indirectly threatening him into the marriage? In any case, forced marriage should be something he can wriggle out of, though he might regret it )

((OOC: FYI alissa, he was associating with Juliet, but it wasn't precisely freindly, they exchagned pleasantries and then he ran away. Tis fine though
Also, if any of this history with Bella's father seems really off from what you had in mind, say the word and I'll change it. I already did in fact... is baron ashton dead?))

Larkin was not the least bit surprised when the woman executed a perfectly elegant curtsy, and introduced herself. That was only polite. However, who she introduced herself as, well that was a surprise. "Baroness Isabella Devine, and the pleasure is all mine."

It was immediately apparent, judging by the warm smile that Baroness Devine gave, that either she had no idea who he was- hardly impossible- or that he was assuming too much. The Aurvilies barony was mostly engulfed by his eldest brother's duchy, except one border along the Garonne River. That had been, in Larkin's boyhood, held by one Baron Ashton Devine a rude, foolish lordling so far as Larkin was concerned. He charitably thought that that might have just been because Larkin was only 19 then. Time did not change the fact that his steward had been writing that the neighbor had had marauding peasants taking over grazing lands despite the steward's repeated requests for noble intervention, and that Baron Devine had on multiple occasions marched through Aurvilies as arrogant as could be, without asking leave of the steward, or larkin for the one year of overlap. He had received word that the man had gone abroad to furhter a business investment, and that his daughter, a silly thing by all accounts, had taken rule, and left the barony in a capable steward's hands. His own steward had been elated by that and written endlessly of the Devine steward's brilliance, especiallyw hen compared to his lord.

All of that flickered into Larkin's head in the time it took Baroness Isabella to rise from her curtsey. Then again, for all he knew Devine was a common name. Maybe she was just some noble from a foreign land, despite an impressive lack of accent. He decided that caution would be the best path to take- if this was Baron Ashton's daughter then he would need to exercise a good deal of restraint, but if it wasn't he had no idea what might be apt. So caution was the best option in all cases. "Devine, you said? Of the Devine barony, on the Garonne?"

Internally he laughed, caution oh yes. Tact? Hardly nescessary. He hoped that the girl would not be offended by him not offering his own name, but then again, she hadn't asked.

The Current residents of the Court all lined upon the Palace steps to watch as the much beloved Queen Isabella climbed into a carriage accompanied by her faithful servant Margaret and her firm and domineering mother. The mood was sombre, the Royal family was depleated, no Princess, no Queen, just a quiet King and a Prince who not all of them felt all that comfortable with. It was a dark time in the Palace of Light and Air, a time vaguely remeniscent of the death of Queen Susanne, certainly some of the faces had changed but the most notable were still the same, the King, the Duc d'Lorraine, the footmen and maids, even Juliet de Margoles was present once again. There was one missing figure, Mercy Venn, accomplise to the new Queen just as much as she had been to the old but not present as the new one disappeared from the court.

Mercy was visiting the new court accountant, the rather dirty, disgusting old man had been ousted from the court, and Mister Benedetti was much more favourable, she was requesting more money, it seemed the new man was more realistic about money than the later and she was careful to be courteous and bright, eventually it paid off she left the lower regions of the Palace smiling brightly 20,000 livres richer and headed to write a certain letter to change her life for the better.

((Ok it is now officially Afternoon I shall edit this post in the morning when I'm not sugar crashing. I'm kinda using Mercy here to remind you all you can get money and you can buy yourself a title, and you never know perhaps become the King's advisor.... *hints*))

(OOC: Baron Ashton's missing, abroad. Bella doesn't actually know where he is, but that's the usual thing with the Baron. He'd write to her/spend most of his time with her whenever he was nearby, but that wasn't incredibly often. So, Bella resorted to keeping tabs on him, which fell through when he disappeared off the face of the Earth)

"Devine, you said? Of the Devine barony, on the Garonne?" the man had said.
Bella was a little taken aback by his knowledge of her family when everyone else here seemed to have no clue about it whatsoever. She needed to determine whether he knew of the Devine barony on good terms or on bad terms, seeing as things in that senario tend to linger at either extreme.
She could sense that it was the latter rather than the former, unfortunately. What had Daddy done to offend this man? [Baron Ashton, with all his business acumen, could be very disagreeable when he saw no advantages for himself. Bella decided to rely on her own charms rather than her father's. First things first, she needed to find out the circumstances under which this man knew her father.
Furthermore, he had not done her the courtesy by offering his name, which was a bad sign in itself. He needed prompting.
"You tease me with your familiarity with my family, sir," Bella gave a small girlish laugh before glancing up at him with slight inqusition. "And yet I am yet to hear your name?"

Octavien - Prince's suite
 

With the Prince's mood gradually worsening over the past few days, it had clearly been just a matter of time before it all culminated. Having had a less than pleasant morning, with the less than joyous news of apparently and out of the blue suddenly being engaged once again, brought by the less than understanding Duc d'Lorraine, and then the less than happily anticipated departure of Isabella, it was no wonder that the afternoon - which, by the looks of it, would turn out less than pleasant as well - found the Prince a dark, brooding figure, sitting on the same windowsill as before, with his knees pulled up slightly and his arms loosely clasping them. Resting wearily against the stone wall of the little nook, was his head, with his eyes lacking their usual vivacious sparkle, and his face for once framed by his soft gossamer locks, as while during his dejected ponderings, he had absent-mindedly freed himself of that silk ribbon that usually tied them back.

Nearby, quietly going about his duties as to not disturb his young master, was Gilles. Once in a while, he would stop for a moment, and look up at Octavien, as though he was hoping to find that he had moved, or at least was doing something else than staring out the window. But after half an hour, all that had happened was that the young man had once raised his hand to trace the window frame with his fingers, before letting it return to clasp the other once again.
Finally, the older man simply could not stay silent any longer;

"Your Highness", he said, causing Octavien to at long last turn his head and look at him. "Your Highness, if I may be so bold..."

Octavien gave him a slightly impatient look.

"For Heaven's sake, Gilles, you know you can speak freely around me", he said, and then, thinking how it probably wasn't "proper" to allow a servant to speak freely without first asking for permission to do so, he added bitterly; "I don't have a stick shoved up my backside."

At that, Gilles cleared his throat, ever so slightly.

"Pardon my saying so, Your Highness, but... I believe you do."

Had he not had Octavien's full attention, that was a comment that ensured that he now did, as he could see the young man's eyes widen with surprise and disbelief that he, the ever correct and proper manservant, would talk to his master that way. Though unlike most masters, the reaction stopped at that, and did not transition into anger or even offense.

"You are viewing things far too grimly, Octavien", Gilles said, having decided that this was indeed one of those rare moments where he would take on the somewhat more fatherly tone he would use when Octavien's personal troubles were concerned. "And you are clearly not seeing the forest for all the trees."

Having been Octavien's servant and trusted confidant ever since Octavien was a little boy, Gilles knew him well, and thus did not need for Octavien to tell him what it was that weighed so heavily on his mind.

"Her Majesty has not gone away permanently", he said, and took the liberty of sitting down next to Octavien, where moments earlier the young man had made room for him by taking his feet down. "She will be back in due time, and even if you are re-married by then, it would not provide any obstacles we have not already overcome before. And in the meantime, try not to worry too much about the King, Duc d'Lorraine, and the other courtiers. You do have the support of many."

Pausing for a while, the older man seemed to momentarily loose himself in thought, forcing Octavien's questioning look to eventually transform into words.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

The sound of his voice made Gilles look up again, and he smiled vaguely in a way that was oddly apologetic and reassuring at the same time.

"You do have the support of many", he said. "The servants... talk. There are some among the courtiers who do not think as badly of you behind closed doors as they may have it seem while in public."
"But", he then continued in a firmer, more resolute voice. "You are not proving them right in doing so by cutting yourself off from everyone, and hiding in your suite, nor are you proving the others wrong. No one gets to know you this way, and thus no one can find or be reminded of the reasons to appreciate your qualities. One can not appreciate what one can not see."

After that stern yet encouraging statement, silence settled in the room once more, while the two of them allowed Octavien a couple of seconds to think and mull over what had just been said. One didn't have to be an expert to see that he took if not all, then at least most of it to heart.

"You are right, Gilles", he said slowly when finally he spoke. "You are absolutely right..."



(((ooc: The site's been updated again. And PS! Is it only me getting the plug-in error?)))

((AUGH! I had a long beautiful post all written out... and then my furshnuggener computer crashes! AUGH!

Alissa888- Assuming that I'm understanding what your complaint about my post is, I still think it makes sense given that hes gone. If ha regularaly goes away his steward would know what was expected, but then with him being gone an especially long time, nigh on being considered missing,t hen the steward would take his own initiative, hence larkin's steward's liking of him. However if you ahve something specifically you would like me to change, say the word and is done))

Larkin waited for the Baroness Devine to answer him, and kept his face glassy. It may not have been the most polite thing to do, but judging by the length of time it was taking her to decide how to answer him, something in his face had given away the general low regard he held her family in. He resolved to work on that in the near future, in Zimbabwe a misplaced facial expression would not even be noticed, expecially since all deals were done through an interpreter in another room, according to their custom, not any need- he spoke the language. Here, a badly timed smirk, an eyebrow raised at the wrong time, it could ruin him, and splinter Aurvilies into an insignificant speck on the map. Or even more of one, if he was to think fairly.

Then again, in a contest of poorly disguised body language, Bella had him beat hands down. It was abundatnly obvious she was mulling over the best way to deal with him, and that this was stymieing her slightly. His outer expression did not change at all, but he was experiencing a profound sense of relief. Crippling though an open face might be to him, reading others even if they were subtle would be a far more useful skill.

Finally, although it had probably only been ten seconds, Bella answered him, looking straight at Larkin, "You tease me with your familiarity with my family, sir." So she had finally gone with being elegant, to the point it was almost blunt. He had to concede it was done well, but she was not finished. She preceded to giggle sweetly, like a small child- what was the point of that?- and turn her frank gaze into a sultry one. She continued, "And yet I am yet to hear your name?"

Larkin, had let his face relax into cool distance at the first part of her statement, it was not brilliantly played, but fair. At that second part though, as her body language had gone from politicking to seductive, his mask flashed back on. Larkin would not have been surprised to hear an audible snap. More quickly than was nescessary, he replied, "I am L-larkin d'Marius, Baron d'Aurvilies."

His expression did not slip, but inside he screamed; why in god's name had he just stuttered? He was not some boy to be unmanned by a pretty face, and she was no one of consequence enough to have intimidated him any other way. He coolly waited for her reply, hoping she hadn't noticed his little stutter, and that any indiscretions he or his steward had committed on the girl's barony were forgotten or unknown. If not, he might well be in trouble.

He was Baron d'Aurvilies. The friendly neighbourhood Baron. Her neighbouring Baron.

Oh, Lord.

Daddy had been especially lax when it came to neighbourhood relations. He frankly hadn't cared about what they had complained about. As a proof to that, there had been endless complaints. Endless. Relentless, in fact. It was not Bella's problem back then. Bella had cared little for anything that didn't affect her. Well, it was affecting her now.

No, she decided immediately. It won't affect me because I won't let it. I won't pay for Daddy's mistakes.

While this raged through her mind, Bella acted on instinct, letting her eyes speak for her as they wandered slowly over his face.

Larkin had stuttered when he'd introduced himself. He'd stuttered. That meant one of two things; he was either attracted to her or unsettled by her. He was a much older man, about twice her age. Bella could imagine he though of her as a silly little plaything, even if he was attracted to her. Especially if he was attracted to her. His being unsettled, however, meant things had gone very very wrong between her father and Larkin. Something needed to be fixed, starting with his awkwardness. Either way, Bella could make it work to her advantage.

She let time pass for a few seconds before answering him, in an attempt to futher emphasise Larkin's feelings to himself.

"Perhaps you have good reason to tease me, then," she said softly, titling her head to the side as her eyes flicked up to meet his. "The... illustrious Baron d'Aurvilies, in the flesh. It certainly is a pleasure."

Illustrious. She'd made it deliberately ambiguous, knowing any man would mull over such a description of himself. Fair enough, really, narcissism, as ugly as it was, was only natural.

César & Joséphine -> Red Salon
 

In spite of the fact that leaving the bed had, in a way, been his own suggestion, César took his time doing so. Had they been at home, he probably wouldn't have gotten out of bed at all, let alone made the suggestion. Especially since now he was, if possible, even more happy right where he was, than he had been just before Joséphine, unbeknownst to him, had guided those bright rays of sunlight right onto his face. He was relaxed to the point where his limbs felt as heavy as had they been carved from stone, and in his very veins, pure satisfaction seemed to be making it's way through his entire body, leaving him in a state of so very pleasant drowsiness.

But, they were not at home in their own mansion, and even though it would indeed have been possible to order the servants to bring something edible to the suite, he figured it really was time they did a bit of socializing, and got acquainted with the other courtiers. Having their presence known as nothing but faceless titles simply would not do. And while César had already met a few people, Joséphine had yet to do so. To his knowledge, she had only met with the Comtesse de Valois, and that was an encounter that although brief, had been a minor disaster. It was vital that she met others, because he so wanted her to make friends, and not enemies. And he certainly did not want her to make friends with the one woman he had intended to keep as far away from her as possible. Now there was a scenario that the words "minor disaster" would not even begin to describe...


As Joséphine went about getting ready, washing herself and making the first preparations of getting dressed, César settled for leisurely watching her, taking great pleasure in studying her slender form in it's current, undressed state. One could say it was somewhat of a favorite past time of his. Among other things.
He was aware, however, that he could not loiter about for much longer, lest she'd be made to wait for him, and considering it had been his words that had gotten her out of bed in the first place, it wouldn't be very nice of him, now would it? Thus, before long, he too left the bed, and continued to follow the example set by Joséphine, washing off by the nearby water basin and then moving on to the more time-consuming process of dressing. In his case, the colors chosen was an emerald green for the coat and matching breeches, and a rich creamy color for the vest. His auburn hair was neatly combed to stay out of his face, even though they all knew that in less than an hour, all such efforts would have been in vain, and his current look of elegant gentleman would once again have a hint of roguish prankster added to it.

Then, when both of them were finally ready, they left the suite together and headed for the Grand Dining Room, where they were served what to them was breakfast, but to the other few courtiers also in there, was lunch. All the while talking and laughing, sometimes even whispering, when their conversation turned either too personal to be heard by others, or too naughty to pass without exposing anyone that was listening by making their cheeks flush red. However, despite what one might think, judging by the blithe atmosphere between the two, not everything discussed was of a lighthearted nature. There was the occasional detour into more serious matters, such as the appalling lack of respect and fairness with which Octavien had been recieved the previous evening, and how it seemed like he was under far more pressure than he had ever experienced before. They had both seen him, after all, and as they both had known him for years, they couldn't help but to notice how he did not seem quite like his usual, easygoing self. Such a shame, it was. As was the fact that there really was not much they could do for him, except offer their support. Which was no easy thing to do, when he kept himself locked away most of the time.

Though by the time they finished their 'lunch', the conversation had once again taken a turn for the less somber, and they decided to make their way to the Red Salon, as they had overheard another couple discussing how some of the other courtiers had gathered there to socialize, and pass the chilly afternoon with pleasant conversation, card games and peaceful parlor games. To the Marquis and Marquise de la Valliére, it seemed like the opportune time to make a few acquaintances.

Even from a distance, they could hear music coming from the Red Salon, and they entered to find two young women - sisters, they learned once they were seated - entertaining their fellow courtiers by performing, in César's opinion, a rather dull song. One of them playing the harp situated in one of the corners of the salon, but both of them singing. In the same corner, there was also a violin, and a harpsichord, beautifully decorated with wood carvings. In a set of comfortable chairs in one of the opposite corners, a couple of older men had sat down to talk, each with a glass of cognac in their hand, and in the middle of the room, a couple of other courtiers - three men and two women - all of a younger generation, were playing cards. Though the ladies, apparently the wives of two of the men, were not playing the game as much as watching it, rather acting as support for their husbands, than opponents.
Never having been the shy type, César had soon seen to it that he was a part of the game as well, and unlike the other ladies, so was Joséphine. But only for a couple of rounds, for as soon as the two sisters finished their little performance, César glanced over at them as they left the corner of musical instruments, and then at Joséphine.
There was a certain instrument there that had given him an idea.

"Why don't you play something, Joséphine?" he suggested, and then, when she had looked up to see the subtle, telltale glimpse in his eyes, and agreed, but expressed that she was unsure of what to play, he added with an equally allusive smile; "Play that light, aerial piece... That fantaisie, that you always play at home, when we are entertaining? It's such a remarkable piece of music, I'm sure these lovely people would love to hear it."




(((ooc: Ok, I wouldn't say that these two are approachable, per se, but the others are more than welcome to join them in the Red Salon.

slytherin & Ghanima - Thanks guys. Must be just my computer then.

slytherin - I'm having the same problem with César and his mom. They're both adults. Oh, and, I'd love to add Charles to the site. )))

Larkin saw that he was being kept waiting. He was quite thoroughly not used to being kept waiting, and he did not like it. Growing up the son of a Duc, even the youngest and thus most insignifcant son, did not teach a man patience. Nor did being ambassador to a country that was in naked fear of his country's army. The fact that Baroness Devine almost HAD to be intentionally keeping him waiting, was not improving his travel weary mood.

Despite the small amounts of anger this girl was causing, he did not stop observing. He attributed that to his political experience- one does not take one's eyes off a potential foe, and Baron Ashton's daughter was definitely a potential foe. Even if it was just because of inherited stupidity and close mindedness. Once he had introduced himself she had assumed a mask jsut as glassy as his own- a bit impressive that, most young courtiers did not have that rapid shift to a harmless expression mastered. Most courtiers, period, didn't have a non-glassy, completely harmless face. Heck, he didn't.

He saw that his interpretation of her skills was not nescessarily correct though, the glassy expression melted off quickly, leaving behind, if that was possible, an even more sultry gaze, that carefully -and admiringly- travelled over the planes of his face. His own expression didn't waver, except perhaps to glance a bit lower and to tighten his jaw slightly.

Strange- either she was completely unaware of the issues he and her father had had- unlikely, given how her face had blanked out, or she was completely unaware of how to deal with it.

"Perhaps you have good reason to tease me, then," she said softly, her head coming up to make eye contact. It was only by a titanic effort of will that his head did not jerk to make that eye contact stronger. He attempted to distance himself from the situation lest he do something stupid, what was happening? She was attempting- not without skill- to seduce him. That was the only conclusion Larkin could come to in his slightly befuddled state. The courtier in him distantly noted that this was probably a panic reaction on her part, but the blood pounding in his ears did not much care for the courtier.

"The... illustrious Baron d'Aurvilies, in the flesh. It certainly is a pleasure." she continued, enunciating "illustrious." That, more than anything snapped his reverie. Many things could be said about Aurvilies, and many more things could be said about its baron, but illustrious was not one of them. Larkin was a youngest son, and his barony- a hundred peasants, half of whom were not even farmers, attested to that. Indeed, if Aurvilies and the Devine barony were not neighbors, he doubted that Bella would have heard of him at all, queen's uncle or no.

Then again... he had been at sea for the better part of a season, and not had a woman for quite a while before then, as his... freinds... in Zimbabwe had been quite miffed by him leaving with nary a warning. That probably explained why Baroness Devine, Bella was having so profound an effect on him. A breif moment's consideration found no problems with accepting what she offered- if things went sour, who would be believed, the queen's uncle, the highly successful trade ambassador and Baron d'Aurvilies, or the young Baroness Devine who had little accomplishments to her name, a barony no wealthier than his own, and a father who Larkin had no doubt did not have much political clout to defend his daughter's honor with? Maybe that was it? A subtle revenge on that idiot Baron Devine?

Larkin decided it would be best not to think now about what precisely his motives were, merely that he had decided to encourage the Baroness in what she was doing. He let his mask dissipate slightly, revealing a self satisfied half smile, and letting a hint of desire slip into his eyes. With no more warning than that, he delicately grabbed her hand and planted a kiss on the back of it. Eyes smoldering very carefully, lest he spook his quarry, he said breathily over her hand, "Of course it is a pleasure Baroness, I do try my humble best. And of course in the flesh, how else might I be?" Larkin cocked an eyebrow and waited a full second before releasing Bella's hand.

A bit crude, but that would do. Now it was completely up to her what happened next- he figured either he would finally enjoy the company of a french woman after thirteen long years, or she would flee. He was perfectly content either way, there were plenty of serving maids in the palace, or the low quarters of the city, and he did need to find his rooms and send out some letters. Then again... no one would be offended if his letters were delayed a few moments.

((*giggle* gads, what a perv. Though for the record, women of that era in Europe did typically marry at ages 15-20, whilst men typically married for the first time anywhere between 20 and 50. So him being twice as old, for historical accuaracy, should not bother either of them too much. Just FYI, but then again she can be a bit grossed out by it, and he only is upset about her being so young because he thinks shes an idiot. ;p))