Dimitri >>> Red Salon
 

The time between leaving the Prince and bidding farewell to the Queen was short, but Dimitri’s quill flew swiftly across his papers. The ink on the first page barely dried in time for the next. The marriage to the Lady Elena had removed that morning’s mental wall, spawning a frivolous letter about the weather and horses and bland observations about the political situation within and without France; but the thawing frost referred to the most recent events in the Palace, and general remarks about the English masked a few careful requests.

Then there was the farewell.

Many women stepped forward with well-wishes for the Queen, filling almost half of the accompanying carriages with their little gifts. Isabella, quiet and pale, received them as gracefully as always. Dimitri recognised in the eyes of the older courtiers what he himself was seeing: a re-enactment of the sombre farewell of the first Queen. Although one was significantly more alive than the other, the present mood rivalled the first in its sobriety.

As the last of the carriages disappeared through the gates, a light dampness hovered in the air. The assembled party returned to the Palace; heavier clouds gathered in their wake. Rukov, who had been helping with the departure, was sent off with the letters. Several courtiers lingered, surrounding the King with their own well-wishes, but the Prince was nowhere to be seen. Dimitri stayed in the back, in that moment everyone encountered of having too much to do but not knowing what to do with himself.

God seemed to decide for him; two fingers plucked at the sleeve of his coat with such certain familiarity, he did not even have the chance to feel indignant. The Marquise Florence de Magenta smiled back at him. Her lips curved sharply. “My dear Duc, don’t you look thoughtful!”

“It is a fitting expression if there ever was one, for thinking to oneself.”

“It’s a lonely pastime if there ever was one, thinking to oneself,” she countered, not thinking twice to grasp his unoffered arm. “None of that now, none of that! Her Majesty shall return shortly, and I’ll not have her return to a dour Court full of thinking-to-themselvers. Now, there’s a performance at…”

She was almost dragging him to the Red Salon. Rather than any noble intention to preserve the gaiety of the Court, Dimitri suspected it was so she would not have to enter alone.

He unwound himself from her iron grip, properly offering to escort her to her companions. Florence arranged a stray golden curl, unperturbed; but her smile softened minutely. Their first meeting had been so many Christmases ago. She was the sort of woman who outlived all her husbands—she was more than a decade Dimitri’s junior, but the current Marquis de Magenta was already her third. He never saw them together.

Dimitri supposed there were days when she, too, appreciated a gentlemanly gesture.

All he had time to realise, upon entering the Red Salon, was that the performance was over. Undaunted and boisterous, Florence immediately appeared at the side of a young lady—and, being attached to her via his arm, so did he. The card game seemed to have taken a short pause, the participants watching a certain young man and woman curiously.

The Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan.

Even if the chances of another meeting were high in this enclosed Palace, Dimitri nonetheless thought it amusing that it should happen so soon.

The Marquise—he recognised from their arrival—seemed on the verge of speaking, but was distracted by their arrival. As Florence chatted up a storm beside him, the Duc greeted the seated players simply, not wishing to intrude upon the Marquise’s conversation any further.


((Approachable, just walk up to him. Or catch his eye. Or something. XD

Anyone: Florence is a NPC so feel free to manipulate her how you want. I was thinking she might know César and Jo, being from the same rank. Maybe she's distantly related to one of César's "conquests" Seriously, I left most of her unexplained; build up her background how you will, if you will, I'll go with the flow.))

______

((FP & Alissa: I dunno why, I keep thinking "OMG Bella's molesting him wif her eyeysss!!11!"

Atropa: I used to get the plug-in error (something about Quicktime needing to update, and if I forcibly closed the window, all my IE browsers would close along with it) but... not anymore. Now the page loads fine.

Ghanima: That's awesome. Can't wait to see what happens with our one-eyed Spaniard!))

((Slytherin Girl i'm sorry for being so slow, but with a bank holiday tomorrow you can be confident in the knowledge you will not have to wait too much longer.))

Charmaine de Mollier was tired, not physically or emotionally but simply of being quiet, it was not a particularly strong trait of hers. it was therefore with strong intentions she set out on a walk, trying to locate someone with whom she could share a conversation, someone who had some ease at speaking her own language, she prowled the ground floor of the Palace, but as she genmuinely seemed to find nought but slack-jawed lolly-gaggers and mere servants she chose to examine the public rooms of the court, it wass not the right time for a meal, so she decided on a salon, but when it came to chose between bleu or rouge she chose rouge because bleu sounded a bit.... bleh.

She had a footman open the door for her, and scanned the room, various people were scattered around, pretty young women with no doubt more money than brains, fine young looking gentleman and a man of a more respectable and advanced age whom she approached at a distance, before realising that he seemed familiar from a family party than Michael had dragged her too, she had been particularly dis-interested in that party as her brother Lord Simon was having a glorious party as well and it would have been a chance to gloat her new found fortune overher sisters and various other select family memebers particualry her italian cousin.

"Good day, dear Duke," Charmaine spoke in English and in an English accent and gave a mild smile to the the Duc d'Lorraine, Charmaine wondered if the man had the memory to remember her, after all they had only met once, and she believed she had spoken, for the most part, about gardening.

(OOC: Larkin is being a little pervy, but hey, Bella is asking for it. Plus, she does act like a complete idiot at times to see what people do. Poor Dimitri and Octavien, there's just no winning between the two of them! Oooh, revenge against the Baron. Hmm, you might actually achieve that more by teaming up with Bella - if you offer her the right incentive - rather than against. It's a dysfunctional family at the best of times )


"Of course it is a pleasure Baroness, I do try my humble best. And of course in the flesh, how else might I be?" he'd breathed onto her hand before using his eyes to entice her.

The aloof Larkin had certainly become very interested in Bella at the drop of a hat, making her very wary.

Did he actually expect her to go weak at the knees? Seriously?

Bella had carefully controlled the degree of charm to use on Larkin to incite the response she wanted and this was slightly beyond what she required. The poor Baron had either been completely deprived of female company of late or he wanted to play a game of cat and mouse with her. Bella decided it was a mixture of both. Dear Larkin had failed to realise that Bella, though her father's daughter, was not Ashton.

His eyes spoke of badly hidden desire, not uncommon amongst men with young girls at attention. However, he was certainly unnerved by her lack of response for a few seconds after learning his name. Angry, even.

It was a good thing, Bella decided. Emotion, in most men, clouded the ability to think and she'd rather have Larkin emotionally driven than by thought. However, anger, whilst beneficial in it's mild form, was not desired in excess.
While all this flicked instantaneously through her mind as he rose from his gallant gesture, Bella resolved to switch a different tone with Larkin.

Baron d'Aurvilies. If Bella had done little to find information regarding the state of affairs at the court where she was arriving, she would not have known the relationship between Juliet - and indeed Queen Isabella and late Princess - and Larkin. However, Bella, being Bella, simply couldn't help herself.
She softly caught his lingering hand and looked into his eyes with a deep penetrating gaze.

"Please accept my condolences over the late Princess Adalita," Bella almost whispered tenderly, while her fingers traced slowly and delicately over course the palm of his hand from wrist to fingers where her hand released his. It was deliberate but sublte enough to linger in the mind as an enigma.
As soon as she'd released his hand, Bella stepped back slightly and glanced up at the Baron with inquisitive eyes, laced with admiration.

"I hear you have travelled the better part of the world?" Bella let the corners of her mouth turn up lightly as a small smile began to play over it. "Lived in Zimbabwe, in fact. How very... exotic."
"You must tell me all about it," Bella asked in what was almost a hushed voice, letting the smile play out fully over her face.

((OOC: Fay: I would much appreciate an updated charachter list/map, too... so confuzzling! So thanks for taking care of that!

Seiza: LOL. I don't think that either one of them is being molested, but LOL nonetheless. [caps said for the sake of caps, not because its an abbreviation]))

Larkin did not allow his warm, somewhat lecherous expression to slip, in its way it was just as much a mask as his glassy stare. Underneath of the somewhat revealing mask he was bringing himself to heel, by force if needed. The rational part of him was thoroughly amused, he had been close to taking advantage of a noblewoman, and had not been looking at any of the consequences of that, her comparitive lack of status or no. That rational part of his mind was warning him to leave now, before he did something stupid. Something else stupid, make that.

Faster than Larkin was nescessarily equipped to handle, Bella had caught his hand as it retreated from hers, and was tracing slow sensuous patterns over it. His mask did not slip, even though he would not deny that he was enjoying the situation very much. Bella most certaintly did not need to know that. The entire situation diffused itself quite nicely however, when she purred, "Please accept my condolences over the late Princess Adalita."

Well there was a mood breaker if ever he saw one! Lust... lust... dead step neice... and then expectation of more lust? Amusement won out over anything else, and he had to struggle not to laugh. Yes, Adalita's death had been sad, and yes, it had forced him to return to court much earlier than he had planned. However he hadn't seen the girl in person since she was six, and had been woefully unimpressed when he had. That may have had more to do with the fact that at 19 he had a rod up his ass towards anyone much different in age from him, but time had not deleted the impression to replace it with suitably paternal feelings. A rather poorly thought move on her part.

She released his hand and he snapped it down to his side with almost military precision. Having decided to stop teasing her he could not help but be alarmed by her continuing to do so, and it was difficult enough keeping already high levels of arousal down. The girl's words painted her as an idiot, but Larkin had never been opposed to finding a use for idiot women.

She stepped back slightly, and let her expression take on an admiring cast, complete with a small smile. "I hear you have travelled the better part of the world? Lived in Zimbabwe, in fact. How very... exotic."

The better part of the world? Hardly, Zimbabwe, Nigeria and France, and that was about it. Zimbabwe, exotic? Not after living there for more than a decade. Her skills at flirtation, so far as Larkin could see, left much to be desired. She started to walk off, and Larkin was relieved, even if he should be a bit offended that she had walked off with nary a farewell.

It seemed he had jumped to a wrong conclusion however, she merely turned so as to be walking around him, and purred, "You must tell me all about it." A much larger smile was developing on hr face, maybe it was even sincere, but Larkin wanted out and she had just given him a path to it. He couldn't resist taking the opportunity to possibly scare the child a little. Larkin d'Marius was an honorable man, and would not do anything very ethically repugnant, but then again, no one here knew anything about him, or so it seemed. He could use that to his advantage.

His eyes had followed her deliberate circling, and she stopped in front of him looking satisfied. She seemed to be expecting a reaction, a rise, something, and Larkin did not disappoint. He let his hand gently travel over the sleeve of her gown and the bit of exposed wrist there, and then said softly, "I'd be delighted to tell you all about it. Mayhaps I will look you up in your suite tonight... and we can discuss Zimbabwe... and other things." His hand trailed down her arm to kiss her hand again, and then he dropped it like a dead fish and turned around with nary another word to stride crisply away down the hall. He was still in earshot if she were to call after him.

"I'd be delighted to tell you all about it. Mayhaps I will look you up in your suite tonight... and we can discuss Zimbabwe... and other things."

What?! No. Seriously. What?! Bella was a little stunned - even worried - at Larkin's forwardness. He'd met her all of five minutes ago. Was this man usually this letcherous?

So, her attempts to change the tone by bringing up his neice had backfired, to say the least. Men. Larkin d'Marius, in particular.

Bella was frankly disgusted. Her shock had extended to a point where she hadn't realised when he'd picked up her hand and kissed it once again, before he retreated slowly away from her shocked form.

"I wouldn't flatter yourself, Baron," Bella scoffed quietly to herself as his form began to disappear down the hallway. Before Larkin could change his mind, she turned and walked briskly down the hallway towards the Court Accountant.

She finally found the room, after some mild searching. At the door, Bella brushed her dress down before knocking and then entering when prompted.
Bella walked softly across the room and sat down elegantly by the desk opposite the young accountant.
"Good afternoon," she smiled ernestly. "I trust you are well."
"Very well, thank you," he replied. "And yourself?"
"Quite alright, thank you," Bella answered. "All but a requirement of 20,000 livres, a problem with which I hope you could help me?"
She then sat in wait for the response, nervous as to what the outcome might be.



(OOC: All I have to say if light of that the weirdness between Bella and Larkin is )

Marie-Elisabeth - La Salon Rouge
 

Marie-Elisabeth had been roaming the halls for quite some time and boredom was bginning to take its toll upon her. Certainly there were lovely works of art everywhere, and the sculptures alone were enough to keep one busy for days at a time, but there was only so much she could really take in at once.

So she decided to make her way to the Red Salon instead on continuing her roaming, having seen and heard several people planning on heading in that direction on her travels.

Stepping into the room she indeed found quite a few of the couriters in there already. Immediately she could see the Duc d'Lorraine standing with a blond woman and another brunette woman, who happened to be speaking English. Being about as fond of the English as she was of wearing mourning clothes, she started looking around at the other faces in the room.

Her gaze then landed on the Marquis and Marquise de la Valliére, and immediately flickered away. She really had no wish to repeat the awkwardness of last night, regardless of how bored she might have been. She knew quite well that the Marquise disliked her, and knew what those reasons were. Marie-Elisabeth didn't particularly care about earning the woman's dislike, she just prefered not to cause scenes where they weren't needed. After all, it was the Marquis's opinion that mattered.

She settled for walking by them towards the card tables, and joining one of the games in progress.




(((OOC: Approachable I figured why not come join the party I'm just roaming the halls anyway.
*snicker*Alissa, If she thinks that's naughty she should have heard Marie-Elisabeth and Cesar the other day. Now THAT was a most....amusing conversation.And yay to getting a map. I figured that Marie-Elisabeth was actually closest to getting the advisor spot, which made me laugh because it really just didn't seem right!!))

Larkin was able to find his suite by asking a servant who was walking by, and he was directed to a suite clear across the palace from where he was standing. A bit of a hike later- the palace was huge- he arrived and found all of his luggage neatly unpakced into the closets. The suite had an elegant writing desk, gloriously plushy carpet, and, what Larkin had been most looking forward to- a featherbed. He was not ungrateful to the Zimbabwens, but the fact of the matter was a wheat chaff stuffed matress could not compare to the sensuous delight of a feather bed.

Larkin flopped onto said matress and was quite content to stay there all afternoon, but the twin pulls of duty and confining court finery drew him to the writing desk where there was already a prepared bottle of ink, numerous writing implements and a stack of crisp blank parchment. The only bit of business he had of import was a letter to his steward, informing the man that relations with the Devine Barony might deteriorate if Bella decided to be snotty and so command her steward. He also told him that he had returned to France, so if any of his old clothing might still fit to have it sent, as his wardrobe was sadly lacking. Only two full outfits of court finery, and few other things he could wear elsewhere. He dripped red sealing wax onto the parchment and stamped it with the Aurvilies seal- a dog beneath a sheaf of wheat.

That taken care of, Larkin wandered out into the great hall, where apparently he had missed Juliet and Isabella's departure. He was not too upset by that, but he had hoped to at least seem the devoted uncle. He shrugged, it did not matter overmuch.

Wandering along he caught a few bars of music wafting from a large room, the red salon, if he remebered the layout of the palace correctly. There were several people playing cards, and Larkin shot a small smile and polite greetings at them before waiting for them to finish their game so as to deal him in. He didn't really recognize any of them, and the occasional detailed geneaologies his steward had provided did nothing to help matters. He had nowhere better to be, eventually someone would introduce themself, or call someone by name, or give him some such thing to go by.

((OOC: So he's Sitting with Marie-Elisabeth, and not at all adverse to chatting))

Hope there's space for one more!
Name: Christine Du Fontaine
Title: Duchesse D'Avingnon
Age: 20
Bio:
Christine is rather reserved, quiet and observant. Christine was brought up by a strict mother who cared little about anything other than money and society. From a young age, due to her lack of siblings, she was trained to be the best that she could be at anything - at any cost. However, while she grew more shrewd, sharp and diplomatic, she became cold and snobbish.
With the recent, tragic loss of her parents, she has become solely responsible for her fortune and therefore seeks to strengthen her position by becoming the King's advisor, knowing that she would be more than excellent at it.
She is intimidating, authoritative and ambitious to a frightening degree.
Picture:

Marie-Elisabeth - La Salon Rouge
 

Marie-Elisabeth was a very good card player. With such an extraordinary ability to keep her emotions in check, this was hardly a surprising fact. She had won a small fortune from her siblings before she had been married and after a while they had all refused to play with her.

As had most of Charles' freinds, after they had discovered how good she was. So when she sat down to play cards with the other people at the table, she had taken great pleasure in relieving them of most of their money. Of the 3 other players at the table, only two of them had decided to remain afterwards. The fourth, a woman Marie-Elisabeth suspected was about 3 times her age had shot her a snooty look and left. Marie-Elisabeth had giggled at that, having had all of said woman's money gathered in a pile with her gloved hand resting atop it.

She glanced around to see if there was anyone else interested in playing, as they needed a fourth to continue on. She spotted a man who had just entered the Salon and appeared to be looking for something to do. "Monsieur" she said, smiling and looking over at him "Would you like to join us? We need a fourth to keep playing".


(((OOC: Talking to Larkin )))

((OOC: Atropa, I'm acting under the assumption, and slytherin can correct me if I'm wrong, that marie elisabeth has been playing cards, larkin walks in and sits down [since he was waiting to be approached I wasn't specific in the OOC as to who he was sitting with {hence question mark}], and then Marie Elisabeth asks if he wants to join them. I think.))
Larkin was pleasantly surprised that almost as soon as he sat down one of the women at the table said, "Monsieur, Would you like to join us? We need a fourth to keep playing".

He returned her smile perfectly cheerfully and answered, "Mademoiselle, I'd be delighted to." She was the dealer, and gave him a hand of five cards, while everyone else still had thier prior hand, but he didn't comment. His English freind from Zimbabwe had taught him the game, but maybe it was just an English custom to deal in a circle as opposed to all in one go.

He had gotten a perfectly excellent hand- a full house, queens and jacks. How appropriate. Larkin knew full well that keeping a perfectly expressionless face was not a wise move when gambling, unfortunately he was not quite so accomplished a courtier as to keep an appropriate expression. So he usually overcompensated by overacting. Blatantly. And sincerely, as no one ever expected a person to be quite so honest when gambling.

So he shuffled his cards into a different order, paused dramatically and grinned widely and transparently. He dug into his pocket and took out a handful of money, and dropped it onto the table. Only then did he transparently seem to realize that the other's were watching his overacting and he snapped on a much blanker expression. "I'm in this hand," and then seperated out a few coins. "Fifty Livres."

He leaned back in the chair- no cushion, but still comfy- and watched his companions.

Marie-Elisabeth et Larkin - La Salon Rouge
 

Marie-Elisabeth had been glad he decided to join their game. She was quite enjoying herself, due in so small part to the fact that she was all but robbing the other players blind. The game also provided a rather welcome distraction from the other distractions in the room, which she was rather pointedly trying to avoid looking at. There would be plenty of time for that later if she had her way. Right now she had a game to pay attention to.

“I’ll see that Monsieur” replied Marie-Elisabeth, carefully laying her cards down and picking up some of the coins from her pile. She reached out and dropped some of them on the small pile forming in the middle of the table. “But I’ll raise it just a little”. She took another 10 livres and put them down as well.

The other two gentlemen laid their cards down and bowed out of the round, professing that they would wait for the next round to preserve more of their money from being stolen away. She smirked at that, as it was true. They had a rather meager pile of coins left between them indeed. Other than the faint smirk, she kept her face perfectly expressionless, despite the extremely excellent hand she had.

“So Monsieur” she said, glancing across the table “ I haven't seen you before, you must be a new face around here. Are you going to tell us who you are or are we going to have to guess”?

Larkin saw the other two players bow out of the game- two possibilities there. The Lady who was still in the game was either cheating or just good at cards, ro both men had particularly bad hands. He doubted the latter, or that she was cheating- very few men would be completely unaware of such a thing, and next to none would permit it to the point of their money being so low a stack as these men had.

However she had fallen for his ploy... somewhat. She met his bet, and raised, but only by a very modest amount: 10 livres. Conservative playing or suspicion? He couldn't tell.

The woman placed down her money, and then said “So Monsieur, I haven't seen you before, you must be a new face around here. Are you going to tell us who you are or are we going to have to guess?"

Larkin produced a smile for her and answered, "Baron Larkin d'Marius, at your service Mademoiselle." He doffed an imaginary cap, an English custom that had become the common greeting between equals in Zimbabwe, courtesy of the English ambassador. This woman was quite clearly not a fool, and so he had no objection to offering a greeting of equals. Then again, it was highly likely that she only knew the English version, which was fairly all purpose. Whichever way, it was a harmlessly polite greeting.

He glanced at the money that he had left from the paltry amount he usually carried on him, and picked up twenty livres. "I will meet, and 10livres is a perfectly fair raise." he said pleasantly.

((OOC: *giggle* hes asking for it...))

Marie-Elisabeth et Larkin : Salon Rouge
 

“And I am Marie-Elisabeth, Comtesse de Valois” she said with a polite nod, one hand holding her cards out in a fan and the other still resting over her pile of coins in front of her. She smiled across the table and dropped some more coins onto the pile “And I’m pleased to both make your acquaintance and match your wager”.

She glanced down at the cards in her hand and mentally smirked. Charlemagne, David, Caesar and Alexander all stared back at her from the small rectangles, along with a two that was really of no consequence. She felt particularly confident that she would win, but due to the chance of her opponent possibly having a straight she didn’t want to raise the stakes too high. At least she knew he couldn't possibly have a flush, but it was better to be safe than be the snotty woman who had left earlier with no money.

Marie-Elisabeth was also trying not to wrinkle her nose and scoff at his obviously English manners. While he was admittedly much more pleasant than the pretentious young woman she had met earlier, it still bothered her to be around someone so obviously Anglicized. “I take it from your mannerisms Baron d’Marius” she said, looking back up at him “That you have spent some time around the English. Is it not a great relief to be back among more civilized members of society?”



(((OOC: In case you couldn’t figure it out, she has 4 kings. Each of the four kings in a deck of cards represents a famous historical king, and it used to be common back then to have them depicted as such on the decks of cards)))

((OOC: sorting/ed))

Larkin was somewhat impressed to hear the woman introduce herself as the Comtesse de Valois. Valois was well away from his barony, but he had heard nothing but excellent things about the place's female regent for the deceased Comte's child son. He had also heard that the Comte had fought in a war. Against the British. Whose mannerism he had just so blithely employed. Dammit.

She dropped a few coins onto the mounded pile in the center of the table, enough to match, not raise, and continued, "And I’m pleased to both make your acquaintance and match your wager”.

Larkin was stuck- at least so far as the card game went. He could do a brazen show of confidence, possibly enticing her to fold, or he could fold himself, thus kissing off 70livres. Which, while not significant, was not paltry. Or he could just call and let his hand speak for him. Before he could decide one way or another, she asked pointedly, "I take it from your mannerisms Baron d’Marius that you have spent some time around the English. Is it not a great relief to be back among more civilized members of society?”

Oh yes. As if he would do anything but agree to a question like that. He shifted one or two cards around in his hand, and said, without looking up, "Oh undoubtedly Comtesse. How could it not be a relief to return to my own country, where my native tongue is spoken, and people are always so exactingly polite? It is indeed a joy to be in these civilized environs."

Then again, given how underdeveloped Zimbabwe was, in a choice between England and there, he would undoubtedly go to England. The people were, by hearsay, barbaric, but the few examples he had met had drawn Larkin to regard the entire nationality with nothing more than polite aloofness. Again, not something he needed to let the Comtesse de Valois know.

He decided to call on the hand; he had plenty of money, but then again her face had not given anything in the way of an indication that her hand was assailable. "I'm afraid my coffers are running a bit dry, I'll call." With that he lay his cards down, three queens and two jacks.

Marie-Elisabeth et Larkin - Salon Rouge
 

Marie-Elisabeth had to smirk then, and said "Well Baron, it does appear that the game is true to life this round. The great Kings have trumped everyone else." She grinned and placed the four kings down one by one, with the two trailing alongside them.

The other two men at the table let out relieved sighs, no doubt glad they hadn't bet against her. They then made their excuses and left the table. Marie-Elisabeth reached out and pulled her winnings in close to herself. Then she carefully started stacking the stray coins up in order to form a neat pile in front of her. As she did so, she glanced around the room at everyone, her gaze eventually resting on the Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan. To her amusement he was looking directly at her as well. She smiled at him and nodded her head slightly in his direction before turning back to Larkin.

"It appears we've been deserted Monsieur" she said, stacking the last coin "Why don't you tell me about your time abroad? You must have some interesting stories to tell". She smiled over at him and started gathering up the other cards. "Or we could play something else if you like, I don't mind either way".



(((OOC: Don't think this is a double post...if so I'll edit my above one. And BLEAH all those years and years of French classes are coming back to haunt me......that's what I get for living up here LOL)))

Mercy walked through the court witha spring in her step it had started raining in deed it was raining so hard it looked almost as if it would never stop but still Mercy was drawn towards the large front doors, she sighed inwardly, thanks to the Court Accountant tomorrow would be a good day, she had so many new people to introduce herself to, and that made her feel a little bit reflective she was not in the mood, there were new women in the court and the new Voice-in-Court as Juliet had taken to calling him. An ambassador by all accounts and from Mercy's experience that was never a good profession for a man as so few of them had any self control, as Ambassador Flight could have shown you....

She was debating whether to venture out into the rain, when her thoughts started to drag up other men, she could already feel three descernable figures moving around her, her brother, her father, her son-in-law and her late husband. They spoke:

"Mercy, listen to me, he's not good enough for you he'll just drag you out there and make a fool of you."

"Sweetheart, if you wish to marry him I will support you, after all this can bring good things for our family, things the Venn family could use."

"Oh, yes protect her, that's the way to make her happy in case you haven't noticed she doesn't love you."

"Mercy, darling, you're a wonderful woman but things are expected from a man in my position."

They spoke and she shuddered, she stepped outside, the door still open she held them open the rain hitting the front of her dress, other men appeared behind her, this time more recent ones; Silvius, Octavien, Edouard and Dimitri.

These ones didn't speak they just moved a little closer to her, each gave a different Aura; sleaze, a hidden self, quiet worry, and warm safe and strong....

Mercy felt like moving away from the men but she knew they wouldn't leave her so she stood there, half dry and half wet, half in canle light and hlaf in moonlight and totally worried...

Dimitri & Charmaine - Red Salon
 

First, the Marquise de Magenta surprised him in the main hall. Now, minutes after entering the Red Salon, a distinctively feminine and painfully English voice snuck up just as swiftly.

“Good day, dear Duke.”

She had not spoken loudly, yet she may as well have shot a gun in the middle of Mass. Several heads—perhaps not all, perhaps every single one—around the card table swerved to face the brunette of middling age. Even Florence’s chattering stumbled to a halt. It was hard to tell how many of them recognised her; they were young, but that didn’t mean they had never visited England or hobnobbed with its aristocracy. But clearly, most of them stared at her because she spoke English.

It was a few, only a few, minutes. Maybe even seconds. But the Duc had, along with them, stared in surprise.

Then he excused himself from the table and the Marquise de Magenta, in French, before leading the Englishwoman a few paces aside. There was little doubt that this was the Englishwoman whom Rukov had so excitedly spoken of. (Surely the Court was not so unlucky as to have more of their kind running about?) Dimitri’s mind pulled up file after file for a woman of the English variety who knew him and matched this one’s description; but to his growing, personal horror, his search was turning up empty.

Dimitri started speaking in French. But at a hint of—anger? Impatience? Wariness?—entering the woman’s eyes, he bit down and switched to English for her sake. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle… I do not believe we have met.”

But there was a small spark trying to blaze into recognition—her dress was adorned with flowery embroidery—something about tulips…

The last time he remembered commenting about Netherland flora, of all the subjects furthest from his expertise, was at that excruciating “family gathering” many, many years ago. Dimitri had been neither family nor English, but the party was thrown by such an important personage that even the late Duc d’Mollier dragged himself all the way to England to attend.

As was the fate of younger men who served under important ones, Dimitri was dragged along. He spent most of his nights weighing how to put himself out of his misery: the tower, the bridge, death by boredom...

He was almost certain that he had the answer, but that party had been shoved into the very depths of his memory. He was also speaking passable English, but it was still not his favoured or most practiced tongue. And so Dimitri corrected himself, uncertainly.

“…Lady Mollier? Wife of Lord Michael de Mollier, sister of Lord Simon?”

_______

((Fay: I'm not sure when the party was, so if it's a bit more recent than I expected, just lemme know!

slytherin-girl: I'd wish Charles Sr. was alive, just so he could saunter into Court and reveal all the silly things Dimitri did under his watch! Sadly, the dead don't talk. D':

And because I'm a dork, I've tried to calculate Charles' age when Dimitri would have joined the war in 1644: assuming I placed it correctly, he would've been around 26 and Dimitri was 15.

Ghanima: No prob, no prob! *pats*))

((Ok, just a note, the spelling 'Duke' instead of 'Duc' is because she speaks in English.

Seiza the party is fine

And i hope you'll all forgive me for the shockingly bad posts recently I hope with my next one you'll see why.))

The Duke turned to her, he spoke first in French, but upon her look of mild dispair he stopped and spoke in her mother tongue.

“Pardon me, Mademoiselle… I do not believe we have met.”

Her right eyeborw arched, did he honestly not remember her? Lady de Mollier? He paused and searched his mind, she let him stumble on in silence, he gave her another look, was there some hint of recognition when he looked over her this time? She wasn't sure so she waited a little longer, her natural slight frown adorned her face.

“…Lady Mollier? Wife of Lord Michael de Mollier, sister of Lord Simon?”

Finally, well she supposed he met many great men and women, "yes, that would be correct, Duke Lorraine." Well if he could drop the de from de Mollier she could certainly afford the same liberty, "how have you been, it has been such a long time since we met." She asked as whislt his English was clearly not his most comfortable language she had yet to find anyone in the court who spoke it in a more favourable fashion, and therefore, the Duke d'Lorraine would have to do, so she gave him a pleasant smile, he was too much of a gentleman to desert a woman whom had engaged him in coversation, which was perfect for Charmaine.

Christine waited patiently while the ruckus outside began to organise itself into a party that could finally let her climb out of the carriage. In all honestly, she was cold and distant about the whole affair, but for her future as the King's advisor. She could stand to wait some more while she continued to plan things out in her mind.
First things first, she needed to have her suite arranged and her things unpacked. Then, she needed to get herself acquainted with important members of court.
Christine knew she had fierce competition for the position and she was ready for it. After all, all was fair in love and war.
The door finally opened, allowing her to free herself from the confinement of the carriage. Afternoon had begun to set in and yet the courtyard was teeming with life despite the rain pouring down violently at her feet. She glanced slightly at the men who'd begun to unload her cases and knew things would be done for her by the time she retired to her suite at night.
Now, however, was showtime.
Perhaps it wasn't the best time to make an appearance in court now that she was more or less drenched through. Her long dark hair hung in loose wet curls around her shoulders. The makeshift use her cloak as a sheild against the falling water had worked somewhat. Still, Christine did not like wasting time.
She wandered up to what seemed to be the social hub full of voices playing over each other. She read the sign above the door; La Salon Rouge. Christine lingered in the doorway momentarily, slowly pulling back the hood of her cloak before gliding into the collection of socialising nobles.

(OOC: Christine is approachable, just walk up to her etc. Thanks!)

______________________________________________________________
(OOC: Seeing as Christine is in the salon with everyone else, I figured I'd let Bella loose in the corridors. If anyone's out there please feel free to approach her)

Bella realised that her position in court was weak, if anything. Furthermore, if she did plan on getting anywhere in society, she had to move up the ladder. Added to that, if she planned on progressing forwards rather than backwards, she needed to rely on her own accomplishments rather than her father's reputation.

There was one major problem with that philosophy; Bella had no real accomplishments. The obstacle to the remedy of this situation was that she lacked the power to accomplish anything. This, however, could by rectified.
Bella, now 20,000 livres richer, was able and ready to buy her way up to Comtesse. Well, not until tomorrow morning, in any case.

(OOC: Okay, I hope I did that right, I couldn't find any instructions on how to buy a title, so I just RP'd it. Please let me know if I managed to get it wrong.
Slytherin-girl, lol, I know what you mean, I read the post in the other thread - priceless and of course, Cesar's morning-after-mode early in this thread. Also, I noticed ME's room is next to Bella. That should be pleasant....)

Roleplay Re-Formatting

New maps are up. There are some changes to the layouts on the Maps, but I hope you all understand.

Courtier Lists are up.

Money Lending has now changed. You can now have your application refused, granted in full or granted in part, so you may only recieve half the money asked for.

Offices are now Available business is now a part of the court, you ask the accountant and pay to open the business and aquire an office, in return you will recieve a daily profit, if you are commited to the roleplay in the end you'll make up your money and more.

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. A character's title will however efefct how good your chance of appointment is however so they are by no means pointless.

Suggestions Larkin Larkin may now suggest to the King grants of access to the Rotherham Rooms for other Courtiers.

Suggestions Dimitri Dimitri 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.

The Prince is granted cursory access to the King for the sake of Roleplay realism, he is not in an advisory position just a Royal Family Member.

Some of these grants will be made tomorrow morning with the morning announcements to the untouchables and other characters who cannot be made the advisor.

Is it bad that I figured that as his age too? LOL *joins the dork club*

And you never know *grins* The dead don't talk but he might have told his wife some stories before he passed away. :haha:

Dimitri & Charmaine - Red Salon
 

((OMFG WE HAF A CLOCK TOWER. SOMEONE MUST DIE AND HAUNT IT!! *PLOTZ*

And did I read that right? Charmaine is taking advantage of MY Duc’s gentlemanly manners? Damn women, so crafty!

slytherin-girl: O-HO! *evil grin* I shall most definitely KIV that.

Alissa: Did Christine arrive before the Duc, since she wasn't dripping wet from the storm that was raging (the rain was mentioned in Fay's post with Mercy)? Or maybe she arrived during the storm, changed and arrived after Jo's recital? Either way, it will help if you specify when she arrived, to make it easier for others to respond to her. ))

______

It was hard to tell that she wore a frown, so naturally did it shape her powdered face. Then the Englishwoman smiled at his guess, and the difference became obvious. Sometimes one only noticed a thing when it was no longer there: he now remembered the frown and some of the woman who owned it. Her smile was certainly not the bright and bushy-tailed sort, but it was pleasant in its own way; maybe satisfied, perhaps grateful. This was almost like a step-by-step replay of his first meeting with Lady Mollier—the same uncertainty, same guessing, same standing apart from the crowd—and it brought back a disconcerting torrent of memories of the party itself.

He knew the cousin of the Duc d’Mollier married an English noblewoman. The old Advisor’s reaction to it had been mixed—apparently its advantages outweighed any complaints, for the wedding carried on. Dimitri assumed that Lady Mollier’s family was diplomatically important to the two countries.

Sadly, he could not remember if said cousin had been French himself. But they were living in England all this while. Perhaps that was the end of that.

“Yes, that would be correct, Duke Lorraine,” she answered, pausing as he greeted her properly. Her hand lowered, and she continued primly, “How have you been, it has been such a long time since we met.”

Before he replied, their attention was turned to the far east side. They found the Marquise Mont-de-Marsan taking centre stage, her hands flowing smoothly over the keys. Although a vicious storm pelted the windows of the Red Salon, the glass muted its worst commotion, and the rain cloaked the room’s inhabitants in their own collective sphere. In such a bubble, the instrument’s melody and the Marquise’s soprano accompaniment coalesced into a brilliant, resounding finish.

It was something so different, yet steeped in familiarity. Dimitri thought it was only him who did not recognise the piece, being horribly tone deaf for the most part. But the rest of the room did not know how to react either, waiting for the next to follow in something bordering eager anticipation. It did not take long for people to realise it was over, and vigorous applause streamed forth from every corner of the Red Salon.

It was, surely, an excellent debut for the Marquise into Court.

Blanketed by the thunderous weather and similarly enthusiastic applause, the doors opened, and a cloaked figure entered the salon. Dimitri would have paid it little attention if not for the translucent sheen covering the heavy fabric. The thought seemed so ludicrous that it almost thought himself wrong—but had this courtier, whoever it was, just come straight from the rain?

This abnormality immediately sounded his mental alarm.

But the figure—he could make out long dark hair, but it was the shape that pointed to it being female—did not seem in any hurry. It stood at the entrance, not rushing around for someone in charge. And, surely, if there was any trouble, wouldn’t the first person to find be the royal guard?

As the applause dwindled, the cloaked arrival appeared in no apparent trouble. In any case, Dimitri had his own problems to handle. He finished his applause, suggesting that they take a seat by the window. It was not very private: card tables and seats filled the salon; he recognised the Comtesse de Valois’ signature curls off to the side. But at least it would be cooler. It seemed he would have to stay—every English word was like a kick in the gut, but he could not abandon the woman, and he was curious why she was here.

Best to do it comfortably.

“I am fairly well, all things considered. The Princess would not wish us to linger on her death,” Dimitri continued in English, carefully. He did not know how much she knew; could she have come to give Edouard her condolences? “I apologise for not recognising my Lady immediately, the party was indeed quite long ago.” But he certainly wouldn’t leave her thinking she’d been forgotten completely, continuing meaningfully, “I hope your garden is doing well.”

Had he dared to give the lady advice on her garden? It would have been so embarrassing, so little did he know of horticulture. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d forced himself to forget the episode.

“What about you, Lady Mollier? I recall you declared that only the world’s end would have brought you to France.”

______

((Alissa: [EDIT] No prob! I'll change Dimitri's post a little to show that Christine just arrived. There's no way he'd NOT notice a half-drenched girl entering the Salon. ))

((Naturally the Juliet, Charmaine mentions is NOT the queen's mother, i just happened to have drawn up a family tree for the Queen after this Character's whole family were planned and inadvertantly used the name in both.))

Before the Duke had a chance to give any reply to her the rooms attention was commanded, by some young woman whom was unkown to her but seemly not so to the rest of the room, she played some terrible song that was as of an unknown to Charmaine as she herself. She however did not mention it, she simply waited for the attention seeking to cease and her companion to talk once more, being a Lady, despite her dislike of the song and its conductor she applauded with a bright smile.

He apologised for not have recognised her earlier which she was pleased about and made a gardening reference. Followed by questioning her presense in France.

"My garden remains in a good state of health, thankfully my little sister, Juliet, is at home keeping a watch over things whilst I took a much needed trip away, I must say I have enjoyed it more than the trip on which I met my husband. As for what brings me here, my husband took a hunting trip up in Scotland with my Brother and Brother-in-law. So I decided to try and find the more enjoyable side of his homeland."

Charmaine was a unusual addition to the Palace of Light and Air as she actually had nothing to hide, nothing that was excpet the less desirable decide of her character.

((Your back! Yay! *Has urge to throw parade* It's nice to know nothing is seriously wrong I'll edit the maps soon and have Roseline's suite issued to her once again, can you please repost your application in the new thread for me funheart? As you have probably noticed with shenan gone, I'm now hosting and I feel it'll be easier for new comers if we are all in one place.))

César & others - Red Salon
 

(((ooc: funheart - I said it in PM, but I'll say it here as well; YEY! :D)))


Perhaps it had been unfair an inconsiderate of him, to suggest that Joséphine would make herself the center of attention by playing something? And by doing it infront of everyone, too, thus not leaving her much choice, as any refusal, no matter how eloquent, could be percieved as insecurity rearing it's ugly head. But thoughtless or no, César couldn't help it. A plan had formed in his head, born from the events the previous night, and the conversation he and Joséphine had had about it just a little while ago. And he was so very proud of her. She had a talent for playing the harpsichord and for singing, that would put most other women to shame, and he couldn't help but to want others to see it as well. Some would call it boasting, perhaps, but so what? What was the harm, when one really had something to boast about? It wasn't as though it was unjustified, now was it?
Not when the majority of the courtiers present sat listening in admiring silence, unlike earlier, when the two sisters had been performing and the others had merrily prattled on and on. He could see it on their faces, when he allowed his gaze to wander the room. They were enjoying the recital, very much.

Being what he was - a man with a tendency to appreciate the beauty of women - he also took the opportunity of Joséphine's turned back to seek out a certain someone whom he had seen enter earlier, but made as much of an effort to avoid, as she herself had made to avoid him in turn. The young blonde that had piqued his interest, not with beauty alone, but with a quite frisky personality to match. Comtesse de Valois. However, as they had both made a point of avoiding eye contact, achieving it now proved somewhat difficult, and it took a few casual glances before their gazes finally locked over the tables and the shoulder of Marie-Elisabeth's opponent. And once they did, it was only for the briefest of moments, no longer than it took for her to offer a faint smile and for him to quirk a suggestive brow. Then the moment had passed. Marie-Elisabeth's attention returned to the game she was playing (both of them), and César's returned to Joséphine. She had just finished playing and within a few seconds, once the last note had faded away, the room erupted in applause.

But, that was all. The question César had anticipated would follow, did not.
Imbeciles! They all enjoyed the performance alright, but no one bothered to ask who was the composer, even though it was clear to see that no one knew. What lack of social competence! No wonder they didn't have the manners to show proper courtesy towards their Prince last night! They obviously didn't know how!

Though no matter how annoyed he was with them, César still managed to keep a straight face, and welcomed Joséphine back to the table by taking a few steps towards her as she approached, taking her hands in his and bringing them to his lips, all the while donning a content smile, and eyes beaming with pride.

"Mon Dieu, I do believe you improve perfection itself every time", he said, and then gave her a light kiss on the lips as well.

It was only then, that one of the men at their table, who had risen along with the rest to praise the young Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan, had an epiphany;

"It was a marvelous recital indeed", he complimented Joséphine. "I've never heard such a voice before, nor such a musical piece. Tell me, is it your own?"



(((ooc: Ghanima - Hope that works for you? If you had other plans, let me know, and I'll change it.)))

Christine peeled off the cloak from her shoulders to find that her person was not greatly affected by the rain at all; the cloak had faithfully taken most of the abuse. Still, Christine didn't mind the rain. She simply placed the cloak by the stand, mentally noting that she would soon have to make her way to her chambers in order to change clothes.

The majority of her was dry, however, save for her hair and hands. The strands of hair had begun to adhere to the cold skin of her chest, peeling away reluctantly as she pried them off with little concern over the matter.

Christine glanced up to review the room and all it's inhabitants. A man and a woman stood speaking to each other intimately while another small group sat by a table apparently playing cards. Her eyes eventually wandered to meet those of a man who'd watched her odd entrance into the salon. He sat with a woman whose back was turned to her, embroiled in conversation. Christine simply gave him a brief ambiguous smile of acknowledgement before continuing to walk into the salon.

(OOC: Lol, thanks Seiza. I know Dimitri went back to his conversation with Charmaine after Christine stumbled in from the rain, but I thought she'd at least smile at nobles to avoid getting off on the wrong foot. Approachable.)

Octavien
 

With high noon having both come and gone, the sun had now begun it's slow descent. Accompanying it, was Prince Octavien. Though while one was descending the cloudy, rainy winter sky, the other was merely descending the polished marble steps connecting the upper, royal floor, with the ground one. Evening was still a few good hours away, and after recieving that not-so-gentle push by Gilles, Octavien had decided to make the remainder of the day count for something. Deep down, he was a friendly and open young man, who loved to socialize, and he'd be damned if he would allow that to change just because of a few, albeit sizeable set backs.

Reaching the ground floor, he stopped for a moment, looking around the almost intimidatingly large Palace entrance with it's connecting hallways, realizing that for some reason, it all seemed rather deserted. There were, of course, people there; servants going about their various chores, and a few courtiers milling about. But it was still considerably more quiet than usual.
The reason, it would seem, was that there appeared to be some event going on in the Red Salon. The sound of laughter and the soft murmur of a multitude of voices drifting from the open doors, made it sound as though the majority of the nobles in this court had gathered there to pass the time, doing what most courtiers did best; enjoy themselves.

Octavien started making his way over there, but came to a slow halt after only a few steps. His eyes had landed on the doors leading into the Grand Ballroom, and it was as though they were pulling him towards them, enticing him with fragmented memories of events that were so recent, yet lately had felt so very, very distant. Memories of the masquerade ball. If the forest encounter with Isabella had created the path of his future, the... encounter at the night of the ball was what had set everything in motion to follow it.

He simply couldn't resist stealing a moment to himself in there, to reminisce, to linger for a while in the memories of that carefree evening, and to draw strength from it.
For strength, it would seem, he would need in abudance.

Starting again, firm and purposeful steps carried him over to the doors to the Grand Ballroom, and he pushed them open without another moment of hesitation. Despite their considerable size, they only gave a soft moan as they drifted apart, granting him access to the once light and festively decorated ballroom, now hardly even dimly lit by the sun that struggled to pierce through the dark and heavy clouds outside. Though it mattered little to Octavien, as the room itself conjured the memories of what it had looked like then, as he slowly loitered along the walls, viewing the various paintings hanging there, but hardly seeing them at all. His mind was elsewhere.


(((ooc: Approachable. )))

Bella and Octavien
 

Bella turned at the sound of heavy doors being pried open. It was a soft sound, but the closeness of it source to where she was alerted her to it. She knew all the other courtiers were elsewhere now, sheltering from the raging storm in a social hub somewhere. She'd chosen not to join them in order to see to a more pressing matters. Now, however, Bella was at a loss of things to do and there really was no-one around to find. Thus, the sound was a welcome distraction.

The light from the window fell over her, distorted by the water at flowed down the panes, becoming an accomplished art of their own. They seemed intent on branching out into as many rivulets as they possibly could achieve. In almost a mocking fashion, the question of whether or not to venture near it ran briefly across Bella's mind in one single stroke. She was alone, watching the storm and in all honesty, bored. On the other hand, she was alone. Bella decided there was no harm in indulging in simple curiosity every once in a while.

She stepped away slowly from the window, pushing against the sill softly to allow her light form to turn to the direction of the sound. She glanced back fleetingly through the glass, at the sight that had provided a constant source of entertainment, allowing her to lapse into a river of though as she absently watched the pouring rain and relentless winds. Bella began to walk leisurely towards the source, letting her fingers interlace, weaving in and out of each other as she wondered who she was just about to meet. Her curiosity led her to the Grand Ballroom, where Bella stepped back momentarily to admire the effort and attention that had been lavished onto the intricate carvings bestowed upon the grand wooden doors.

They were heavy indeed, as Bella discovered uoon exertion to push them open. The room inside was beautiful, to say the least, grand and decorated, yet deserted but for a lone figure of a man stood almost at one with the walls. It was a darkly lit room, somehow turning all it's glorious beauty into something haunting. Bella turned her attentions to the man who currently occupied it. His blond hair was tied back with a ribbon, revealing a youthful face leading to a lean form emphasising, and yet somewhat uncomfortable in, grand regal attire.

"Forgive me for my intrusion," Bella called politely, her voice drifting in delicately through the vast space of the room. She'd taken to employing caution, just in case she'd trampled upon some poor soul's time of solace. Given her encounters with Marie-Elisabeth and Larkin, she wasn't up to taking any chances. "I was simply curious at finding another wandering soul as myself. I am Baroness Isabella Devine."

Larkin was rather dismayed- but impressed- when Marie Elisabeth laid out a full hand of kings. She grinned and said, "Well Baron, it does appear that the game is true to life this round. The great Kings have trumped everyone else."

He gave a grudging nod and neatly stacked his cards and set them aside. She, meanwhile, was delicately picking up the money from the table- his 70, and whatever the other two gentleman had anted. They made thier excuses and departed, giving Larkin no small cause for amusement. This was the court of France! Who cared about a few livres here and there? Larkin most assuredly did not, but he was not quite so thriftless as to plan to request another game.

The Comtesse had finished organizing her money and taken back the cards, to shuffle them back into the deck. Obviously they weren't playing again- it was the height of rudeness to start on a fresh deck with no reason or warning. Or maybe just another English custom he didn't differentiate between. It was probably going to be a bit difficult that the only gambling customs he knew were English. She confirmed that it was a matter of custom- at least he hoped it was custom and she was not intentionally being rude- when she said, "It appears we've been deserted Monsieur. Why don't you tell me about your time abroad? You must have some interesting stories to tell. Or we could play something else if you like, I don't mind either way".

He gave a polite smile and was about to speak a bit of the landscape in Zimbabwe- nearly every anecdote that popped into his head was not fit for mixed company, nor for ears that might not be appreciative of witty foreigners. Other than the English ambassador, the Portugese one had been amusing, and the Spanish one was... noteworthy. Then again, though no one had informed him of poor relations between France and Spain or Portugal, that was no reason to assume there were none. Just before he was about to affectionately describe a coastal village with imported orange trees, a woman from another table got up and walked over onto a small dais on the other side of the room. It had several instruments on it and the woman seated herself near the harpsichord and proceeded to play some enchanting peace, complete with vocal song. Larkin, having not heard any properly performed music from his homeland in years, was thoroughly impressed and much pleased to listen raptly, even at the expense of his companion. He didn't recognize the peice, but then again, he had been gone for 13 years.

Once the perfectly elegant peice had petered off, Larkin applauded politely and turned back to Marie-Elisabeth. Meticulous courtesy was probably the best way to go now, given that he had effectively been ignoring her for the past five minutes. "Apologies Mademoiselle, it has been a while since I've had the pleasure of listening to proper music, on proper instruments. I've been in Zimbabwe for, oh it must be thirteen years. Music was nice enough, I suppose, but it does not compare with anything French. Anything at all."

He gave a small grin to her, Larkin felt he'd handled that well. Answered her original question and pretty effectively explained his long silence after her question- if not perfectly honestly. He had been listening to and much enjoying the music, but while doing so he had prepared several carefully edited tales of the African continent, perfectly appropriate for any company, and much less dull than the insipid coastline with oranges he had originally had.

((OOC: Sorry that that took so long, my computer is leading an organized insurrection, complete with fire cannons. Don't ask. Is under control now. And highly exagerated in the first place))

Octavien & Isabella - Grand Ballroom
 

(((ooc: Just for the record; Octavien has always been a snappy dresser. Family's been untitled, but very, very, wealthy nontheless. And he's grown up hanging out with nobles, so... Yeah. Lavish attire doesn't bother him.
I'm not critisizing, I'm merely commenting. You are free to have Bella percieve him any way you'd like. And, I do suppose recent events have made him somewhat uncomfortable, in general, so it still works. *nod*)))


Faint notes of music were ringing distantly in his ears, a waltz long forgotten by others, but dearly remembered by him. He recalled every word spoken, ever step taken, and most of all, every look and every touch given. Their eyes had always been his and Isabella's number one weapon against people that tended to put their noses where they didn't belong, a part of the facade hiding their true thoughts and feelings to anyone but themselves, and at the same time, part of their ever enticing game of subtleties. He remembered how on the evening of the ball, his boldness in pursuing Isabella, had been suddenly been matched by her own, as she had invited him to navigate the maze with her. Both of them knowing it had just been an excuse to talk in private, away from all prying eyes.
His main concern then, had been not to step out of line with her, not take liberties larger than she was willing to grant him, and not offend her.
How very ironic that all seemed now...

"Forgive me for my intrusion."

The sudden sound of a voice, the soft call of a woman, instantly shattered the scenes of an evening passed that were playing out in Octavien's mind, and caused him to flinch slightly with surprise. He had been so deep in thought, he hadn't even heard the doors open once again. In fact, he hadn't even heard them close in the first place.

Turning from looking at the painting on the wall where he was standing, his eyes gaze landed on a young woman, a beautiful brunette with big doe eyes, looking right back at him.

"I was simply curious at finding another wandering soul as myself", she said apologetically, before moving on to introduce herself; "I am Baroness Isabella Devine."

Isabella...?
For a moment, Octavien's brows furrowed in slight confusion, as though he thought he'd heard her wrong, that he was imagining things. Was she teasing him?
No... How could she be? No one at court knew of the relationship between him and Isabella, except Gilles. And, of course, Baroness Flight. But Gilles would rather suffer death, or a fate worse than death, than speak even one syllable of betrayal. And Baroness Flight... Deceitful and treacherous though she may be, Octavien still doubted she would go back on her word, and reveal the secret she had promised to keep. She seemed to be a woman of her word.
But then again, he'd been wrong before...

However, looking at the young woman, this... Isabella Devine, there was indeed nothing impish about her, at the moment at least, and so it seemed that she was being perfectly sincere.

Furthermore, as he didn't recognize her, it would seem that she was among the new arrivals. It would explain why she seemed unaware of who he was. Not that his looks were somehow widely known through paintings or the like, but most of the courtiers currently at court had attended the wed... his wedding, and thus would consequently recognize him as the groom. And those that had arrived after the wedding had taken place, would have most likely been in the Blue Salon the previous evening, where his identity had hardly remained a mystery either.

"No need to apologize, Baroness", he greeted her, offering a small but soft smile in return, deciding that a friendly start would hopefully be a good start. "I did not come here seeking solitude. You are interrupting nothing."

Having said that, he inclined his head ever so slightly while introducing himself in turn;

"Octavien Lahance", he said, purposefully leaving out his title, just to see if the name would ring a bell.

If it did, a title would be unnecessary, and if it didn't; unwanted. If she didn't know he was the Prince and he made a point to inform her, he would only risk embarrassing her, and any chance of having a somewhat normal conversation for once, would be ruined. Besides, pretending not to register someone else's mistakes in situations such as this one, was simply the most gracious thing to do.



(((ooc: Sorry if it's messy and weird. Dead tired. :/ )))

Marie-Elisabeth et Larkin - Salon Rouge
 

Marie-Elisabeth had found her attention stolen by the performance as well, so she didn’t mind the fact that Larkin’s appeared to be as well. She had to admit, though grudgingly, that the Marquise’s playing was excellent.

Music had never been one of her strong suits. She may as well have been trying to play the instruments with her feet for all the success she had at it. Piano, harp, violin, there wasn't an instrument that hadn;t suffered from her attempts at making music. Card playing she could do easily. Painting…well she was miles away from someone like DaVinci. But she was good enough. Dancing was probably her greatest talent, even more so than gambling. She had often been complimented on it and her graceful walk that was a natural result of such skills. Even her mother had called her into service to perform dances at the weddings of her siblings. But music continued to prove elusive to her, and she enjoyed listening to those who had the talent to do it.

“Quite allright” she said, turning back to Larkin and gesturing in the Marquise’s direction “She appears to be quite the talented musician, I understand the distraction”. Then she quirked an eyebrow and looked at him inquisitively. “Zimbabwe? Really? Well of all the places to be, you ended up in one of the only ones that could beat the English in terms of barbarianism. How on earth did you end up there?”

(((OOC: Tis ok, I understand how annoying computers can be )))

Larkin was relieved to note that Marie-Elisabeth had been just as entranced by the music as he was. “She appears to be quite the talented musician, I understand the distraction”. she said cheerfully. Awkwardness thus excused, Larkin was prepared to attempt to find out who the musician was, and possibly inquire as to the song she had played, or music in general from his absence.

Alas an intellectual and probably useful discussion of music was forestalled when she asked, “Zimbabwe? Really? Well of all the places to be, you ended up in one of the only ones that could beat the English in terms of barbarianism. How on earth did you end up there?”

Larkin smiled pleasantly, if he could not find out anything useful himself he could put his own information out- pleasant though the total anonymity he had at court was, it probably was not prudent to maintain it. Then again judging that after less than a day was also not wise. He decided not to think about it, there was no polite way to evade the question or good reason to try. "My interest in my barony was a bit slim once I inherited it, so I wound up as trade ambassador to Zimbabwe. Undoubtedly a barbaric place, but nice enough once you get over the language difference. Quite jarring, it makes English sound attractive, if that's even possible!"

((OOC: Bleh, that was lame, couldn't think of anything else to say though. And I am off for the night.))

Dimitri & Charmaine - Red Salon
 

Whether a woman hailed from the Continent or not, the same nuances peppered all their words, which a husband only ignored to his detriment; but that other men remained blissfully unaware of. Lady Mollier took it to a whole new level—Dimitri was fairly certain of how she felt about her husband’s hunting trip, for her tone was spiced generously with disapproval. It was not a mistake made by a youngling; she simply didn’t care to hide it.

Her candid answer was, itself, very interesting. If the Duc d’Mollier had been alive, he may have ordered Dimitri to dig further into her husband-wife relations.

But the old Advisor—bless him—was dead and silent, and Dimitri would not throw himself into that most sordid abyss. He focused on a safer, more useful topic: her trip and her family.

“In terms of the weather, my Lady picked an appropriate time to visit.” The storm raging outside was almost ironic in lieu of his words. His gaze would travel occassionally to the window, wondering if Rukov had reached the town in time. “Most days are becoming more pleasant, since winter is almost at an end. I believe the first operas open with spring.”

Someone finally arrived with the cognac, the entire room having come to a stop before the Marquise’s performance. He could hear murmured congratulations being given behind him, as well as Florence’s recognisable voice bombarding the Marquise for details. The Marquise de Magenta was a connoisseur of many arts. If she could be this animated by the performance, it meant the recital had indeed been different, unexpected, but interesting.

If Lady Mollier showed any interest in opera, perhaps he could introduce them.

“Did you arrive alone?” Dimitri continued. It seemed rather disturbing for the noblewoman to travel so far alone. Surely a sister should have accompanied her, or a brother… “Your brother… my apologies, is that not Lord Simon?”

______

((Alissa: If Christine's bold enough, she can try to enter Dimitri and Charmaine's conversation, since she noticed that he noticed her. Am leaving the option open since, if I'm correct, everyone in the salon is engaged in conversation in some way.))

Marie-Elisabeth et Larkin - Salon Rouge
 

“Quite jarring, it makes English sound attractive, if that's even possible”

Marie-Elisabeth laughed at that, looking at him incredulously. “Makes English sound attractive? My goodness, it must be a greater relief than I thought to be back here. Though it must be interesting to visit such an…exotic place”.

She then reached up and started fiddling with her locket with one of her hands, the other still resting on the table. “My son is always talking about wanting to go off to exotic places and fight great battles like his father. But I keep telling him he’s got to at least wait until his age reaches double digits before he goes charging off to war”.

Marie-Elisabeth smiled and glanced around the room briefly, wanting to see if César happened to be looking in her direction again. She really was enjoying this interesting little game they were playing, even if the playing of it had been less direct than she would have preferred as of late. But he wasn’t looking at her, so she turned back to Larkin. It had occurred to her that she hadn’t even told him who the she was that had performed, and despite being on less than pleasant terms with said Marquise it was only polite to do so.

“Where are my manners, I forgot to give you the name of the lovely harpsichordist” she said, gesturing over to where Joséphine was standing. “That’s Joséphine de la Vallière, the Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan. She’s standing just over there with her husband César, the Marquis”.



(((OOC: Don't worry Furry, sounded fine to me. Mine's probably just as bleah LOL)))

“In terms of the weather, my Lady picked an appropriate time to visit.” The storm raging outside was almost ironic in lieu of his words. His gaze would travel occassionally to the window, wondering if Rukov had reached the town in time. “Most days are becoming more pleasant, since winter is almost at an end. I believe the first operas open with spring.”

"Actually I shall admit to quite enjoying weather like this, and if one was feeling particularly poetic one could say that spring is opening with the first opera." Charmaine waved a hand to indicate the weather was the opera, and smiled, she truely did like storms, so strong and distructive but in the end leaving us all calm and contemplative, which was a truely nice feeling to have as long as nothing you owned had beeen destroyed. She doubted the Duke however shared these feelings he seemed far too cool and calaculating to think of anything but damage control, however being a man that was his area of expertise.

“Did you arrive alone?” Dimitri continued. It seemed rather disturbing for the noblewoman to travel so far alone. Surely a sister should have accompanied her, or a brother… “Your brother… my apologies, is that not Lord Simon?”

Charmiane thoguht hard before answering the man made a sensible point as had the others who had brought it up, they had eben few but she now knew she should have been travelling with an accomplise. "Alas i did, my dear younger sister is with child and so is not travelling, hense she is watching over my house, my husband is in scotland." She said this with a little less disapproval this time, her anger was ebbing. "I have not seen my elder sister in sometime," and as for her brother, the irritatingly good Lord Simon... what was his reason for leaving his second sister to wonder the continent alone? "and my dear brother would never desert the family house, after all he may be needed and so Lord Venn remains at home also."

((Hehe, I thought it may have been a little obvious to be honest, but really the only person the family was ever discussed with was Baroness Taylor :P))

Bella and Octavien - Grand Ballroom/Dimitri, Charmaine and Christine - La Salon Rouge
 

(OOC: Ah, that's all good then. Frankly, I thought he felt uncomfortable because of Dimitri and the King pressing him into the marriage with Elena. I mean, he was in the hall pining for Isabella, so I figured he'd be somewhat... dejected. I RP'd so that Bella didn't initially know who he was and then snapped onto it. I was wondering, because she'd know who the new prince was by name at least, but she'd been travelling Octavien married the Princess. If you want me to change anything (e.g. edit out the last paragraph) , just say the word )


Bella felt she had startled him somewhat, but only enough for a fleeting moment’s though to fly across his face before he answered her.

"No need to apologize, Baroness", he let slip a soft, welcoming smile. "I did not come here seeking solitude. You are interrupting nothing."

Bella graciously returned the smile, venturing in further into the room as he proceeded to introduce himself.

"Octavien Lahance", he offered, his head somewhat tilted as if it were a test to see whether she’d recognise the name; fame or infamy. There was no title attached to the name and yet somehow Bella felt there must be. Noblemen usually left out their titles for one of two things; fear of recognition or through egotistical compulsion. This man, Octavien, did not seem to belong to the latter, soft spoken and polite did not remind her of men and women who revelled in the power of a prefix to their names.

Yet the idea that he held some title, possibly important, clawed away at her. Even if he did, it earned nothing but respect from Bella to finally meet someone who did not cling to their title as if it were a raft in a dark and storming sea. It appeared to be a compulsive need or ritual to have to flaunt titles as a victory flag. She had had enough of games and power struggles for one day. A simple, sincere conversation would do.

“It is a pleasure Monsieur Lahance,” Bella gave a genuine, warm smile as she played out an elegant curtsey, deciding that he deserved decorum paid to him regardless of his title, if any. She began walk further into the room, her fingers wantonly toying with the soft lace of the drapes and the cold edges of the ornaments and decorations that stood in the room. The silk of her dress flowed effortlessly around her, accentuating the movement of the body that wore it, tandem with every slow fall of the arm and sway of the hips. “You seemed embroiled in thought, almost held captive..."
Bella let the sentence trail off, leaving it as an open invitation if he wanted to indulge in random discussions seeing as they had both decided to shun the rest of the court for simple rest of mind.
_________________________________________________________________

Christine decided to indulge in boldness and approach the man who had been alarmed at her appearance at the door. He seemed immersed in conversation with another noblewoman who sat with him, but for the worried glances aimed in her direction.

The cognac was being served, particularly originating from the direction of the man in question. Christine decided that if company did not approach her, she was meant to make the first move.

She walked over to their direction, the creases of her dress moulding itself into her movements as the footsteps dissipated into the corners of the room.
As her form fell finally close enough to the man, Christine stopped to formulate a pleasant smile over her face, before venturing to finally speak.

"You seemed somewhat startled by me appearance, sir," Christine could feel her voice pour out smoothly in to the air. She then glanced to the woman who sat with him, decided to introduce herself. "Please forgive my interruption. I am Christine Du Fontaine, Duchesse D'Avingnon."

Dimitri, Charmaine and Christine - Red Salon
 

Dimitri had been emptying the remains of his glass while Lady Mollier listed out her family. The details she gave were small but not insignificant: she did not hail from a big family, there was no mention of children—as anyone who spent any time with the Comte (or Comtesse) de Valois would realise, in the eyes of parents with children, all other relations mattered as much as moss—and…

It was a good thing he had finished when she mentioned Lord Venn.

He only remembered Lord Simon because the latter’s reputation occasionally reached even Lorraine. Lord Simon’s reputation was extraordinarily (and, some thought, suspiciously) spotless. But Dimitri paid little attention to scraps of gossip, so her words caught him by surprise. “Venn”… Surely, an odd coincidence at best? He placed his glass on the table, somewhat abruptly, about to inquire—

“You seemed somewhat startled by my appearance, sir.” A velvety voice interrupted him. Surprises building upon more: the cloaked figure approached their table, walking as softly as a cat.

Well, no longer quite so cloaked. And now, with a closer view, he noted that she was not as drenched as she had appeared, as well as being younger than expected for a messenger. She must have taken their silence as an invitation to introduce herself, for she turned to Lady Mollier, smilingly unperturbed: “Please forgive my interruption. I am Christine Du Fontaine, Duchesse D'Avingnon.”

Avingnon. He knew the province, of course. But with it being so far south of Lorraine, he hadn’t much reason to communicate regularly with the Fontaine family. The last letters exchanged must have been years ago. He was fairly certain, however, that the Duchesse d’Avingnon was slightly older…

The brunette faced him, still standing. Dimitri responded by rising from his own seat, replying in French, “Pardon my reaction, Duchesse. It is not often that one arrives at the Red Salon partly drenched, hence my alarm that something was amiss. Have a seat; the cognac shall warm you.” He gestured to an unused glass, half-filled with glimmering alcohol.

It was not a long walk from the entrance of the Red Salon to their table. Yet it was still unbelievable that the Duchesse managed to get this far without another gentleman offering her a seat. There was little sense in complaining, though, and so he set about with introductions. He switched to English, for the sake of their foreign guest, merely hoping that the Duchesse would follow suit.

“I am Duke Dimitri of Lorraine, and this is Lady Charmaine de Mollier from England. I gather you just arrived at the Palace, Duchesse?”

Dimitri’s mind was overflowing with questions, both for this young Duchesse whom he did not recognise and who did not seem to know him, as well as for Lady Mollier’s brother. As much as he wished to skip straight to them, courtesy demanded he take it one step at a time.

______

((So, yeah, Dimitri doesn't know Christine's parents have kicked the bucket. XD

Oh, and I assumed you were referring to Avignon, hence the "far south" mention. But feel free to correct if I got it wrong!

And for everyone's reading pleasure: Beauty in the 17th century. Just like the whole "people didn't bathe much back then", this is one of those times I'm way happier sticking to present-day logick than being historically accurate. Yeowch, LEAD?))

Octavien & Bella - Grand Ballroom
 

(((ooc: Yeah, the thing with Elena was part of what I meant with "recent events". No need to change anything.)))


Watching for a spark of recognition in the young lady's eyes, Octavien was both slightly surprised and at the same time rather relieved to find that there was none. While his appearance might not be widely known to those that had not been in court for the past two weeks or so, he did know that his name was. News had obviously travelled fast, considering it had only taken César and Joséphine a mere few days to show up at the Palace, and for Octavien to recieve a letter from his mother, filled with melodramatic complaints of how he had gone and married the very Princess of the kingdom, and not even invited his poor mother to be part of the celebration. Granted, they both knew she spread it on a little thick, just for the sake of melodrama itself, as the two of them had always found amusement in obviously exaggerating every now and then. It was simply part of the dynamics between them, almost like an inside joke between mother and dearly beloved son. But that did not mean he wouldn't have a lot of explaining to do, once they met in the flesh again. Acted melodrama aside, he could tell from the letter that she really was a bit hurt that he had not mentioned anything about the impending wedding, nor invited her to participate. She couldn't possibly know that he'd had little chance to do so, what with agreeing to the whole thing only hours before the event itself.

But apparently, and, quite naturally really, there were still those that had not heard the news of the sudden change of groom. Gossip could be as elusive as it could be forceful, and if one was travelling, odds were the rumours would either pass right by you on the road in their hurry to reach the next town or village, or they would simply never catch up with you in the first place.
And frankly, Octavien did not mind. If anything, someone not knowing who, or rather what he was, was a welcome break. A chance to breathe, to be just another new face.

"It is a pleasure Monsieur Lahance," said the Baroness with a pleasant smile on her lips, and gave a graceful curtsey, confirming his observation with words, yet with her actions indicating that she suspected that just because he had not given a title, it did not mean there was none to be given.

It didn't seem to be a cause for much concern or apprehension in her, however, leaving Octavien to wonder if he had finally come across another courtier that was genuinly laidback, and had no problem allowing herself a moment or two of being perfectly natural and human, instead of spending every waking hour playing games and following rules, standards and expectations. So far, such courtiers had been a rare breed indeed. At least until the arrival of César, who at times didn't seem to give a hoot about what anyone thought of him, or even hide what he thought about them in turn. And then there was, of course, Joséphine, who while she was far from as blatant as her husband could be, had a genuinly pleasant and personal way about her, which would make Octavien feel that he was in the company of a real person, and not a doll or an actor following a script of nothing but society's every spoken and unspoken rule.

However, none of that meant that he was opposed to behaving in accordance with said rules. Octavien was a great fan of courtesy and respect, he had been raised to be a gentleman. And he did not shy away from playing the game of deception and scheming either, when the occasion called for it - as quite a few of his actions over the past couple of weeks would suggest. But that was just it; when the occasion called for it. There was a time and a place for everything, and if one did not choose carefully, one would not end up on good terms with neither foes, nor intended friends.

"You seemed embroiled in thought," the Baroness continued, while moving further into the room, following one of the walls and running her fingertips over the various decorations and ornaments in the process, as if drinking in the beauty of the room with all her senses. "... almost held captive..."

Octavien watched her slow elegant stride, a memory of a similar grace and sensuality flickering in his mind. A memory that was abruptly cut short and dismissed as soon as he realized who she reminded him of, by shooting at glance toward the painting he had been staring at when the Baroness had first roused him from his thoughts.
He had been sentimental enough already.

"I suppose I was...", he said slowly, and his gaze returned to her while he gave another faint, almost melancholic smile. "Sometimes, one simply finds that the past holds more appeal than does the present."

((Just a little reminder 24 hours until evening.))

The large coach rolled along the uneven ground, bumping and shuddering so that the single passenger inside lurched slightly to the side of it. The streets were almost deserted. It was late afternoon and the sun had begun to set, casting long shadows along the inside of the coach as sun faded out of it. The young woman sitting almost completely silently inside ran a single finger from crease of her elbow to her slender wrist distractedly. The heavy rain splattered onto the carriage making a drumming rhythm that the young woman seemed to be concentrating on. As the horses pulling the coach turned the coach took another lurch and the blonde inside seemed to return to herself, stopping her preoccupied stroking of her arm and gazing upwards to the ceiling as if attempting to see through it to the dimming sky.

The coach had made deep tracks in the mud the heavy downpours of rain had produced, and other coaches that had already trundled along this way had created more, causing this particular, well used, road to become as unstable as ever. Roseline smiled happily to herself, she knew that, finally she was approaching the Palace that she had been so looking forward to. Her family, on the other hand were less than impressed about Roseline’s decision to return to Court their opinion being that she should stay home, be married and start a family. The driver of the coach gave an unexpected cough and Roseline hoped they were almost there. A happy smile on her bright features was ill fitting to her sombre mourning dress. No doubt she would be forced to wear the black mourning outfit for more days after this, and although deep inside her attitude fitted it well, for now her happiness at returning to the Palace outshone hidden sadness.

The coach came to a shuddering stop and the rain seemed to beat down on the coach harder than ever, Roseline heard another chesty cough escape from the driver, followed by a dull thud as he jumped down from where he had sat for the lengthy journey. Squelches in the mud did nothing, though it should’ve as she was soon to walk through it, to dampen Roseline’s spirit. A moment later, and the driver had arrived at her door, and with a click it swung wide, granting Roseline her first glimpse of the magnificent Palace in what seemed to be much to long.

"Madame?” The driver’s deep, husky voice drew Roseline away from her daydreams of the Palace. What had happened in her absents she was sure that Louisa, her lovely maid, was likely to waste no time in telling her. She finally looked down towards the driver who was almost soaked to the skin, and flashing him a warm smile she jumped down gladly taking his outstretched hand and ignoring his narrowed eyes and loud sigh as she stood for a second, oblivious to the pouring rain, happily taking in every aspect of the Palace and its grounds.

"Madame” the aggravated driver repeated, “would you like me to accompany you to the Palace?” He asked, his tone and every pore of his body screaming the opposite of his question though Roseline happily ignored this and simply shot him another warm smile, one completely out of place compared to her dark dress.

“It would be lovely for you to, Monsieur.” She said and began walking towards the Palace briskly, becoming aware that it wouldn’t be right for her to enter the Palace soaking wet in mourning clothes or she was much more likely to get too much of a sympathetic greeting for her current mood to make the most of.

After an obvious hesitation the driver hurried to catch up with the pretty blonde now striding quickly towards the large doors. He overtook her on the wet stone steps leading to the entrance and as she passed him, Roseline realised he was panting slightly after the effort he took to overtake her

“Merci Monsieur,” she said with a warm smile and quickly entered the warm Palace, attempting to wring out the wettest parts of her long blonde hair before moving graciously deeper into the Palace. She allowed her eyes to wander along the beautiful Palace walls as she walked along the carpeted hallway.


((ooc;; Approachable. Almost anywhere inside the castle, looking damp xPP))

César & Joséphine & various others - Red Salon
 

César was satisfied. Things had taken a little longer than he had anticipated and would have appreciated, but at long last, someone had finally had the decency to ask about the composer of the musical piece they had just heard. And even though by that time, most of the people around them that had been previously engaged - be it by conversation or card play - had returned to what they had been doing and thus stopped listening, thanks to the quick wits of his wife, and the enthusiasm of one of her... vociferous... acquaintances - the Marquise de Magenta - most of them would be left unknowing of whose work they had all just had the pleasure of listening to.

"You do me great honour, Comte," Joséphine told the man that had inquired about the composer. "I am pleased you've found it to your liking. I cannot take credit for the composition of the piece however; that belongs entirely to our Prince, Octavien Lahance. Music is perhaps one of his Majesty's lesser known talents, but I am confident that, given time, each of them will make themselves known."

Ah, wasn't she magnificent? A true master at getting a point across with such subtlety that instead of telling people what they should think, it hinted that perhaps they should reconsider their stance, as they had obviously failed to recognize something that she saw quite clearly. And no one liked failing. No one liked missing what to others was so plain to see.

And while Joséphine was soft-spoken enough to only be heard by those closest to them, who were still listening, the Marquise de Magenta's reaction ensured that most of the others in the Salon registered that something noteworthy had just been uttered, as apparently, the Prince's talent was the cause of quite a bit of excitement on her part. It was impossible not to hear her prattle on about how she hadn't known that the Prince could compose, and such a passionate piece, too, and oh, how pleased he must be to have someone like Joséphine, with her pleasant voice, to perform it.
On and on she went, until she finally paused to draw in a new breath, obviously intent on continuing her praise. It was the opportunity César had been waiting for, as he was determined to get a word in edgewise.

"Now now, Joséphine", he said. "You're giving His Majesty all the credit, when really, it is partly your work as well. The vocals are your own addition, are they not?"

Goal being to improve the court's impression of Octavien or not, he wouldn't let it happen on Joséphine's expense. She deserved praise not only for her playing and for her voice, but also for her ability to add such lovely vocals to a musical piece in the first place. And maybe, just maybe, it was a way for César to boast a little bit more, by making everyone aware that he had what every man wanted; a beautiful, intelligent and talented young wife.
He simply couldn't help himself.

Octavien and Isabella - Grand Ballroom
 

"I suppose I was...", Octavien uttered the words softly, a sombre smile trickling into his lips as his eyes returned to her. Bella let her gaze fall subtly over him, sensing and studying the hidden depth to his reply, as if he had almost wished that he hadn’t been trapped in his thought. "Sometimes, one simply finds that the past holds more appeal than does the present."

Bella continued to caress the walls as she almost glided on into the room. She could feel the weight of his words, almost a burden on him as if he did not enjoy being somehow trapped in the past. She finally came to a smooth rest, placing her hand against the cool wall as she rested against it, facing Octavein.

“A man with a story to tell,” Bella almost whispered softly as a warm, inquisitive smile began to mould over her lips. The fingers of her hand were tracing the embossing in her wallpaper absently, as if it brought her some form of comfort. Octavien was a curious sort, laden with some emotional weight or another in the face of his youth. He seemed carry a spark – a distant light, now – of lightness and mischief and yet his form seemed somewhat dejected.

Bella suddenly realised that he may not take too well to being asked about what ailed him and it really was out of the question to do so; it was none of her business. Besides, he seemed to be someone who could shun the false airs and graces for a moment’s sincerity. It was a gift to find another like that, another person who was willing to stop pretending that everything came down to power and money. Perhaps they were the ones pretending.

Maybe Octavien was secretly laughing at her not knowing who he was? If he was that important. Perhaps Bella was growing paranoid? Either way, she was grateful for the opportunity to be people rather than positions in society. It was a small price to pay for something she craved so deeply at present.

Bella gracefully peeled herself away from the wall, beginning to walk in what was almost a dance to music she could faintly imagine as she asked herself where her life was really going; with her father now absent indefinitely, her responsiblity to make her own stance in the world, being a woman, no less. Octavien and herself were not so different at all, wanting to live in the past, clinging to things they both knew.

“I suppose we all have our stories to tell,” she gave a soft sigh in realisation, returning her gaze onto his form. “Perhaps we only cling to the past because we do not know what the future holds for us?”

(OOC: Sorry for general weirdness of that, it's really late and I just got back from dining out )

Mercy re-entered the castle, the rain was pouring down and the front of her dress was wet, she dispatched a note to the Duc d'Lorraine it was short and sweet.

Dear Dimitri,

My dress has returned and along with it a certain bill which i believe you wished to deal with. I would therefore request your presense over dinner so we may fianlly put the issue to rest.

Yours in greatest anticipation.

M.

It was dispatched and taken into the red salon no doubt to interrupt some mildly interesting conversation.

Mercy was wondering through the castle with the express intention of returning to her chambers to dry off, clean up and put on her blue dress. She however haulted just short of a much younger woman who was dripping wet.

"Baroness Taylor, it has been quite a while since we last spoke." It would be quite a wierd sight for any other person to see these two rain-soaked Baronesses talking in a Palace corridor. the hillarty was however lost on Mercy who was genuinely interested in the woman's return to the court.

Dimitri, Charmaine and Christine - La Salon Rouge
 

(OOC: Okay, that article is... odd. And yup, Sezia, Avignon is fine (I spelt it wrong, oops!). And lol, Christine's about to have a fun time explaining her sudden lack of parents!)

“Pardon my reaction, Duchesse. It is not often that one arrives at the Red Salon partly drenched, hence my alarm that something was amiss. Have a seat; the cognac shall warm you,” the man offered, gesturing to a seat and the promised alcohol. Christine let a small laugh at his brave admittance of being distressed at her unorthodox entrance.
“I am Duke Dimitri of Lorraine,” the man introduced himself before proceeding introducing his female companion “…and this is Lady Charmaine de Mollier from England.”
Christine let her smile flow from the Duc to the Lady.

Lady de Mollier. English. Christine personally had nothing against the nation, but France had a sworn vendetta against it. Still, she decided to indulge in a little social tolerance for the sake of Lady Charmaine and continue the conversation in English.

“I gather you just arrived at the Palace, Duchesse?” Dimitri had continued, making her attention return to him.

“Yes,” Christine admitted with grace, knowing her entrance looking ravaged by the rain had given it away. However, she gave away nothing more than that. She sipped carefully at the cognac, tasting it for every drop, registering the flicker of curiosity behind Dimitri’s eyes. “Have I missed much, Duke?”

Larkin had noticed vaguely that it had started to rain during the harpsichordist's performance, but he was inside, and in his suite was a massive fireplace. Who could possibly ask for anything more? His mind was drawn from his brief fantasy by Marie-Elisabeth laughing at his last comment and saying, “Makes English sound attractive? My goodness, it must be a greater relief than I thought to be back here. Though it must be interesting to visit such an…exotic place”.

Interesting? Undoubtedly. Larkin had enjoyed his time in Zimbabwe, make no mistake, and he hadn't even missed his homeland that much. Then again, now that he was back he wondered how he had ever convinced himself to leave. With much effort he brought himself from more thoughts of featherbeds, wine and general luxury to hear his companion saying affectionatley, “My son is always talking about wanting to go off to exotic places and fight great battles like his father. But I keep telling him he’s got to at least wait until his age reaches double digits before he goes charging off to war”.

That coaxed a smile onto Larkin's face. The general popularity of war astounded him. Then again, he, by most of the one's who made it popular, was an old fart. So fair enough. Before he could get much of anything in edge wise she continued, “Where are my manners, I forgot to give you the name of the lovely harpsichordist. That’s Joséphine de la Vallière, the Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan. She’s standing just over there with her husband César, the Marquis”.

"Ah, thank you for that, I was most intrigued." Mont-de-Marsan... he hadn't heard of the previous marquis dying, which was strange, since the marquedom was right next to Aurvilies' parent duchy. He would have to speak to his steward, that was something he should have been informed of..

Now was not the time to worry about it though, he couldn't do anything much about it, nor did it matter overmuch. He contemplated inquiring after the peice the Marquise had played, but decided against it. For at least the first few days he was at court he would be walking a very fine line between fascinating world traveler and woefully ignorant interloper. If the song was popular then it would make him appear unschooled in the latest fashions, and if it was new then he would surely hear about it elsewhere.

Little else seemed like it ought to be said, and that was further added to by a cognac being distributed. He gratefully accepted a glass and paused for a moment to inhale the liquor's bouquet. That too was something he would ahve to reacquaint himself with, although he had no doubt that sampling a wine cellar would not be nearly as difficult or awkward as discovering what he had missed in music and art.

"Now this is something just wonderful after years abroad- sitting in a comfortable chair, with a glass of good cognac, and conversing in one's mother tongue." Larkin almost smirked at that. he apparently ahd mised home alot, getting all sentimental, out loud even, when he was stone cold sober.

((OOC: Bleh... small talk, small talk, small talk. Also, if this is boring you slytherin, feel free to depart, I don't mind. And whoot to small talk!
[b]Atropa, or Ghanima[b], if its been established where mont-de-marsan is, and I'm way off base, please tell me and I'll fix it))

Marie-Elisabeth - Wandering the halls
 

“Indeed” Marie-Elisabeth said, carefully waving away the glass offered to her “There is nothing better than being at home, where one really belongs”. She smiled and tapped the locket around her neck, before picking up the small purse she had carried with her. She then started picking up the neatly stacked piles of coins on the table in front of her and placing them inside it.

“It’s getting quite close to dinner hour isn’t it” she said, placing the last few coins into the bag and pulling the drawstrings closed “I’m afraid that I shall have to beg your leave to prepare for dinner”. She smiled and pushed her chair out slightly before rising from it with the bag looped around one of her slender wrists.

“It has been a pleasure Baron de Aurvilies” she said, curtseying politely “Perhaps I will see you again soon and you can tell me more about this place even more barabaric than England, though I’m still not quite convinced such a land exists”. She smiled and exited the salon without bothering to look at anyone else, as everyone was involved in conversations of their own.

The Red Salon was on the opposite end of the palace to her own suite of rooms, so she started walking through the many halls that led there. She could hear the thunder even through the walls and stopped to look out one of the windows near her rooms once she had gotten close to them. The rain was pelting everything in sight and running down the window panes like small rivers. It made her smile, reminding her of how fond Charles was of splashing around in the river that ran across the great Valois estate. She looked down at her locket and carefully opened it to look at the picture inside.


((OOC: *snicker* If Larkin’s an old fart, what’s Dimitri, a fossil? *snickers some more* EDIT: A thousand pardons, he's a walking fossil. How could I fail to see something so obvious?
And I’m not sure if they had purses exactly like that back then, but oh well.
I was just gonna have her wander back to her rooms to get dressed for dinner eventually, but if anyone wants to run into her and say hello it’s all good She's kinda just standing around right now)))

Dimitri, Charmaine and Christine - Escaping the Red Salon.
 

((Ahem! Walking fossil, thank you. *harrumphs* [EDIT] All is forgiven. *benignly bequeaths upon you two bones*

Blech post, but I'll not be able to check in the rest of the day, so best to get this out now.

Alissa: Will have to take a raincheck on that one! But it should be... interesting *shifty eyes*))

______

“Have I missed much, Duke?” the brunette asked, taking his hint and following up in English. Despite her age, she seemed very careful to mask how she felt about speaking the foreign tongue; and her movements remained graceful, down to way she held her cognac. It reminded him of the cat once more; where Octavien had been a cat with claws, Christine was the black feline slinking behind a wall.

“Quite.” He paused briefly at the understatement of it all. “You may have heard of Her Highness’ illness in your travels, Duchesse. The funeral was held yesterday. In light of such unfortunate circumstances, Her Majesty the Queen has retired to her family estate to rest herself.”

Dimitri tried to frame it as neutrally as he could, but he knew it was in vain. Whenever a royal couple spent time apart, rumours multiplied like vermin in their wake.

He now found himself standing—having offered the Duchesse his seat—and—of all the odds—in an excellent position to escape. For all his questions and curiosity, this realisation was almost mind-blowing. Then, like the hand of fate itself, a messenger appeared beside him, delivering a note.

He read it quickly before folding the parchment. Curiosity was one thing, but he would at least be able to ask the Baroness herself over dinner about Lord Simon. There was also the matter of the dress…

“If you’ll excuse me, Duchesse, my Lady. Duchesse, I hope we shall meet at a later date. I fear I am quite behind news of Avignon.”

The ladies offered their goodbyes, and Dimitri headed to the exit.

((Not approachable.))

Octavien & Bella - Grand Ballroom
 

Judging by the look on the face of the young Baroness, she had a mind sharp enough to register at least some of the weight behind Octavien's mysterious statement, as well as the slight upturn of his lips when that saddened smile stole across his lips. To others, his words might have seemed just some generic statement, or an attempt to say something profound to impress a beautiful lady. But to the Baroness, they seemed to ring true.

"A man with a story to tell," came her hushed voice from across the room, and even though the lacking luminance was dimming by the minute, Octavien could see a curious but pleasant smile widen on her lips.

Though it didn't seem that she intended for him to reply, perhaps realizing that as they were strangers, the time for possible confession was far from ideal. Something for which Octavien was grateful. She might seem open and friendly, and not prone to play games, but Octavien didn't trust her, simply because they had just met a few minutes ago, and he no longer trusted anyone he had not known for years. Perhaps she was playing games? Perhaps she knew exactly who he was, and the story he'd have to tell, but for whatever reason was pretending not to? Lately, there had always been that little voice in the back of his head, nagging that things were never what they appeared to be. He'd had it proven to him over and over and over again for the past couple of days, and even though it was a lesson he had learned a long time ago, when still a child, the intensity of the reminder now had been somewhat overwhelming.
But, he'd be damned if he'd grow so jaded as to stop looking for exceptions.

"I suppose we all have our stories to tell," Bella added as she began moving again after a momentary pause, starting out much like she was floating gracefully to the memory of a tune lingering in the very walls of the room, but ending up being weighed down by a sigh.

It seemed she, too, had moments in her past that she was far more fond of than what the present had to offer. Most everyone did, and Octavien couldn't resist flashing her a small but conceding smile, as if saying she had just taken the words right out of his mouth.

"Perhaps we only cling to the past because we do not know what the future holds for us?", she suggested, turning her gaze back to meet with his.

Something to which Octavien responded with a slight nod in part agreement, and a slight shrug, indicating that he found it to be a plausible explanation. But, and he knew from experience, it was not the ONLY explanation;

"Or perhaps because we know exactly what it holds for us", he offered his own thoughts on the matter, with a certain Spanish Excellency in mind.

He might have agreed to the marriage, but if anyone thought that meant he would have to like it, or that he intended to pretend that he did, they were sadly mistaken. Much like had been the idea with his marriage to Adalita, he would do his duty as a husband, and that was it. He would do no more, no less.

"Ah, but forgive me, Baroness", he said, deciding that time was nigh to pull himself out of the sombre thoughts to which he seemed destined to always return. "I am not providing very pleasant company, am I? Please accept my apologies, and I shall do my best to make amends."

The sky has darkened in the Palace of Light and air, the storm has not yet subsided but been quelled some what, feel free to go about your movements as were be be warned tomorrow is due in only 4 days time.

((So for those of you who wonder what I'm on.... it's sugar, and i simply meant it is Evening.))

Bella and Octavien - Grand Ballroom
 

"Or perhaps because we know exactly what it holds for us,” Octavien replied after an ambiguous gesture at her previous comment. The scare light did favours for him, bathing the soft angles of his face as yet another thoughtful expression began to take hold while he seemed to ponder over his own sentiments.

Bella moved leisurely towards the harpsichord, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his statement. Perhaps it was what troubled him at present, perhaps his lack of control over his own life. She did agree partially, knowing that she knew part of what her future held for her, some things she would never be able to control. However, the certainty that haunted Octavien’s future, was not a feature of Bella’s outlook. She envied him that. Although, it were as if his future held for him something worse than certainty; entrapment. She had freedom, freedom to do what she wanted, however she wanted. She supposed he would have envied her that.

Her fingers lightly played over the keys in hesitation, remembering the notes she had once so earnestly learnt to please Daddy. She should have really done it more for herself, there was no real point in doing things just to please others. Bella’s fingers finally sank into the keys, bringing the music in her mind to life in a soft, elusively lingering melody that spread obligingly through the waiting hall.

Perhaps it wasn’t knowledge of the future that scared Octavien, perhaps it was acceptance. Bella refused to accept anything without the fair fight, a sentiment Octavien might have once shared. Not anymore. He seemed almost weathered down by his problems. Bella truly had no idea what his predicament was, but it had certainly affected him. She wondered whether someday in the past, he had been like her and whether, someday in the future, she’d become like him.

"Ah, but forgive me, Baroness," Octavien said, displaying a sudden change in spirits as if he had made a deal with himself to no longer indulge in whatever had held him captive. Bella looked up at him, a little stunned at the swift life and vivacity that became him in a moment’s absence. She could feel the engrossed smile that flowed over her lips as she gave him a moment’s awe. "I am not providing very pleasant company, am I? Please accept my apologies, and I shall do my best to make amends."

Bella gave a small laugh of admiration as she glanced back down at her hands playing soft notes on the harpsichord as the full smile played itself out of her control. She shook her head slightly, glancing back up at him.
"No, you are right,” she accepted, giving him the recognition he deserved for his statement. “We do know what the future holds for us; it's what we make of it....”
With that, Bella fleetingly returned her eyes to the harpsichord keys, finding her bearings, deciding to tell him he wasn’t half as appalling company as he would have thought.

“And you underestimate yourself, Monsieur Lehance,” she glanced up at him, giving him the appreciative smile he’d earned for his integrity. Her voice sang out delicately into the hall, warm and gracious in the dimming charity of the cold light. “I confess I find your company to be amongst the finest I’ve enjoyed."

It was true enough; she didn't feel the need to indulge in little games of etiquette with him and he seemed to have no expectation of such behaviour. It was a relief amongst the charade they all had to keep up the rest of the time.

“However, if you insist on making improvements…,” Bella shrugged gracefully, giving a blithe, playful laugh to help him lighten the mood. “I shall do my best to help."

(OOC: I hope that's okay, Atropa. I figured Octavien lightened up at that last sentence so I made it look like he'd actually brightened up?)

Roseline was fiddling with the intricate stitching over the bodice of her, for the most part, plain black dress when a familiar voice roused her from her thoughts, and a small smile flickered over her delicate features as she recognised the older Baroness.

"Baroness Taylor, it has been quite a while since we last spoke." Roseline instantly refreshed her smile at Mercy’s words and her eyes met with the Baroness’s. Mercy had long since gained Roseline’s respect and the woman’s greeting was much appreciated by Roseline, who had realised quite suddenly, probably prompted by Mercy’s ‘reputation’, that there would be wonder from the courtiers at her sudden disappearance and just as unexpected re-arrival to Court, and just as many questions from her maid, Louisa which would most definitely somehow find it’s way around Court.

It was several long moments before Roseline realised that she was standing in a Palace corridor, dripping wet with another, just as soaking Baroness. It would have been funny if Roseline wasn’t so genuinely happy to see another courtier, Baroness Venn’s language reminding her of the fact that she was most definitely away from home now.

“Yes.” Roseline replied, a warm smile crawling back over her lips, “Much too long. I have missed the Court too much being away. I don’t believe that I could leave at all now.” She said truthfully allowing, for a second her gaze to move to the window.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting shadows along the beautiful gardens of the Palace that winter had so cruelly made dormant. Roseline couldn’t wait for the summer to arrive and for the flowers to bloom. Summer was most definitely the best time of the year, and yet it was so slow in arriving this year to Roseline’s bitter disappointment.

“Baroness Venn, we must catch up some time. I have had little dignified conversation in my time away and would love to return to it soon.” Roseline said, turning her head back to the Baroness and smiling warmly. It had definitely been too long. Through the talk of her family while she was with them, it would seem as if another child of her mother’s had died in her returning here. Yet, her words to Mercy were truer than ever after she had said them aloud. She no longer felt as close to her family as she once did, obviously never fully accepted, but always loved, Roseline’s time at Court had moved her away from them. Yes, she loved her mother and siblings dearly but no longer did she feel as she once did.

“Yet, I’m afraid of bursting into a monologue – an amazingly boring one that may last the night if you allow me to continue,” Roseline said, once more a warm smile reaching her eyes spread over her features. She curled a strand of hair back up into her up-do as she continued, “How have you been Baroness, I’m afraid I know as much of the going’s on in Court as you know of my own time away, which is, sadly very little.”



((ooc;; Sorry it did take so long Fayre... and if you didn’t want to move on feel free to skip over the last paragraph =]]))

Larkin was inexplicably amused when Marie-Elisabeth spoke of the dinner hour coming,a nd went off to get dressed. One thing he had t give Zimbabwe credit for, no over elaborate dining rituals. Then again, the food was not as good, having a tendency to be wretchedly overspiced.

Larkin, seieng as there was nothing important for him to do before dinner, and also seeing that it might not be the wisest idea to sit by himself at a card table, got up to wander the halls. It would take him a grave long while to get used to the sheer opulence of the palace and he did not fool himself into thinking that he fully appreciated the wall carvings. Either that, or the boredom made looking at walls comparitively fascinating. He did not mind either way.

((Approachable))

Marie-Elisabeth
 

The rain had a funny habit of putting Marie-Elisabeth in a less than pleasant mood. In fact it tended to put her in a downright depressed one. She had been in a good one for most of the day, but the rain had changed that.

She didn't speak very much to her maids upon returning to her rooms, except to point out which dress she had chosen to wear for dinner. It wasn't one of her fanciest, or even one of her nicest, but it suited her mood at the moment. She basically stood stock still unless she had to move an arm or turn her head while they undressed and re dressed her for dinner.

She had never been very fond of rain, always preferring days when it was bright and sunny. Rain seemed to accompany every sad or depressing event in her life with startling regularity. The rain had been pelting the windows of the playroom when a 10 year old Marie-Elisabeth and her only younger sibling Maximilian had been told that their father had just passed away. It had been raining again two years later when she had been summonded to her mother's study and been told she was to marry the Comte de Valois the following year. And it had also been raining three years ago when had been forced to go and tell a 3 year old boy tha his father was gone.

The maids informed her that they were done and she muttered her thanks before slipping her feet into her shoes and walking out the door. She walked quietly down the halls to the Dining Room, and just as quietly took a seat at one of the tables once she got there.


(((OOC: Approachable, just sitting around waiting for dinner)))

"I am fairing very well, I do not know what it is but something keeps me in a brilliant mood as of late," Mercy smiled it was nice to find people who take a genuine interest. "The court of course has chaned slightly with the Princess' funeral and of course the Queens' holiday." Mercy paused the bells were rining in the clock tower. "This may seems rather cliche of me, but I'm actually due to meet someone for dinner, though perhaps you would do me the pleasure, Baroness of joining me for breakfast, then we can truley get re-aquainted. Mercy waited for a reply before backing away from the Baroness with a small bow and a bright smile.

Once round a corner Mercy began to hurry, she really did need to clean up if se were to have dinner with Dimitri, she assumed as she had, foolishly, left no time or place on her note he would arrive at her suite to collect her and there was no way she could do that dressed as she was, she had had every intention of wearing her blue dress, freshly repaired and smelling beautiful from some sort of dressmakers treatment. It was whilst she was trying to find her second matching pair of shoes, afterall she had lost one to a reasonable cause, she stumble across her red dress, it was a velvet affair in a deep red, and whilst the time was late she was drawn to it tonight.

Mercy slipped into the dress, which was much more snug than she had last remembered it, she had located the matcfhing shoes in an instant, and fixing her hair with a few starnds hanging down by her face, and an unknown red flower to once side she stood back and smiled. She pressumably would not have to wait long for her gentleman companion for this evening to arrive.

((Sorry funheart I doubled booked darling Mercy but she would love to have breakfast with Roseline... and Seiza, lets hope Dimitri can locate her shall we :P))

Octavien & Bella - Grand ballroom
 

Had there been an audience witnessing the encounter between the young Prince and the even younger Baroness in the Grand Ballroom, the onlookers might have found themselves somewhat amused when in a matter of seconds but for very different reasons, slight surprise had spilled across both of their faces. The Baroness, apparently pleasantly surprised by Octavien's transformation from brooding thinker to somewhat more vivacious and youthful gentleman, and Octavien by the softly flowing melody unexpectedly brought forth from the piano by the Baroness' deft fingers. It wasn't the fact that she could play that surprised him - any accomplished lady would have been taught how to play at least one instrument properly - but rather the fact that she chose to, considering where she was, with whom she was, and what the topic was; the deserted and dimly lit Grand Ballroom of the Palace of Light and Air, with a man she did not know, talking about a matter that was clearly not the cause of particularly pleasant thoughts. By him, nor by her.

Though upon a closer inspection of the expression on her face as her fingers gently stroked the keys, it seemed to Octavien that she too had temporarily lost herself to memories and private ponderings, making it her turn to be roused from them by the sound of her company's voice.

A pleasantly soft laugh pushed past her lips then, as her eyes alternated between looking at him and at the keys underneath her hands, which were still producing that elusive melody. He didn't recognize it as something he had heard before, but there was a certain familiarity in it's element; something that appealed to him, that reminded him of the melodies that would come to him when he himself sat down by the harpsichord, and let his hands roam freely, with a will of their own. A soft, dreamy piece that would soothe the mind, no matter what turbulence might have been raging inside, only to change suddenly, throwing the listener into an intense crescendo of emotions turned music.
Although the part of the melody that the Baroness played remained peacefully flowing, Octavien could still hear the subtle promises of such intensity building underneath the surface, threads of what the rest of the melody might sound like weaving themselves through his mind.

Such a piece required true passion, not just to compose, but to play the way the Baroness did; with understanding of it's soul, of it's very being. For there were indeed wonderful works of music that had ceased to be 'just' music, and had turned into enteties themselves. Not living, nor breathing, but still enteties that needed to be understood in order for the musician to successfully present their beauty.
The Baroness Devine, much to Octavien's delight, seemed to be one such person.

"No, you are right", she smiled in response to his comment regarding the future, as apparently his rousing her from her thoughts had brough her back to the brief discussion that had preceded his apology. "We do know what the future holds for us; it's what we make of it..."

True in many ways, he had to admit. But never, ever so very simple. There were always factors, always things to be considered and taken into account, sometimes even circumstances one could not change, either because they were simply unchangable, or because one could not afford to try. As would be the case with Octavien's impending marriage to Her Exellency Elena whatever-it-was. Octavien was intelligent enough to realize that regardless of whether he liked it or not, his purpose at the moment, was that of a bargaining tool; something to be traded - in a manner of speaking - to secure a truce and an alliance between two nations. The fact that he was also a person mattered little, and so if he was to refuse to marry Her Exellency, he would've most likely been considered an inconvenience, something that had outlived it's usefulness. And what did one do with things one had no use for anymore? One either threw them away, or stored them away, in a place where in time they would be completely forgotten.
And that was a fate Octavien was not yet ready to accept. He would fight, but he would do it in his own way; a way far more subtle that simply digging his heels into the ground to make a fuss. And far more efficent.

"And you underestimate yourself, Monsieur Lahance", Bella continued, and flashed him a rather endearing smile. "I confess I find your company to be amongst the finest I've had."

My my, that was quite a compliment. Not one to be taken lightly, even if it was an exaggeration. Which, judging by the sincerity both in her voice and in her smile, it was not. Though no sooner had the thought entered his mind, than came the nagging voice in the back of his head again, insisting that looks could be decieving. Had it not been the case with most people lately, hmmmm?

For once, however, Octavien ordered the voice to shut the h*ll up. Having a little faith in people had proved a disappointing experience - Adalita, Mercy, Dimitri, all prime examples - but it had hardly proved a lethal one. And what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, and blah blah blah.
It was worth a shot.

"However", the young Baroness concluded, giving another jovial laugh, which along with her previous ones was starting to brighten Octavien's mood, though granted it was a mood that had not been quite as sombre as it had been for the most part lately, "if you insist on making improvements... Who am I to stand in your way?"

At that, anyone looking closely would have seen how Octavien halted in his idle motions, just for a moment, and how his eyes then narrowed slightly as a thought suddenly occured to him. His reasons for coming down here in the first place, had been mainly to find César and Joséphine and suggest the three of them got away from the Palace, just for a little while... But turning away the Baroness now, when she had been such pleasant company, was something he didn't much feel like doing. And, she obviously did have a love for music that was quite similar to his...

"Indeed", he said with a slight smile. "I do believe it would be far more pleasant to have you accompany me on the way, rather than to have you stand in it."

With that, he motioned for the open doors, indicating that he intended to take his leave of the room, but not necessarily of her, if she would be so kind as to follow his lead.

"There is a new opera opening in Paris tonight, you see", he continued once she was by his side and they exited the Grand Ballroom together. "I was on my way to suggest to a few friends that we attend. Perhaps you would do us the honor of joining us?"


(((ooc: Okay, I feel I have to comment the above post; considering the fact that Octavien is now pretty much engaged to be married again, only the day after his wife's funeral, and he hasn't been reflecting that it is too soon (nor has any other character, as far as I can see), I'm assuming the mourning period is considered over (I believe it might even have been hinted in one of Fayre's posts that it is?). He would never, EVER go to the opera if he was supposed to still be in mourning. So, I would appreciate it if he was not shot in the back over this opera thing, because it is not my intention to have him doing something wrong. In this case, at least.

And also, Alissa, I took the liberty of having Bella walk over to him to leave the room with him, but if you don't want her to do thatm let me know, and I'll edit accordingly.)))

Dimitri >>> Mercy's Suite
 

((Ghanima: ‘the typical absence of a husband at her side, some suggested with a smirk, pointed clearly to the fact that they welcomed as much time away from Florence's company as they could get.’

:laugh: ))

______

He only stopped by the de la Vallière’s table briefly, congratulating the Marquise Mont-de-Marsan on her recital, and bidding the Marquise de Magenta good evening. As he left the salon, he felt Florence watching his exit. For a moment, Dimitri wondered if she had been expecting him to stay with her the whole evening. Granted, neither had agreed explicitly if they were leaving together, but sometimes women just assumed… He nonetheless reassured himself with the thought that she was among her friends, and she would not be leaving alone.

He never had liked the Red Salon. The décor might have been different from his youth, but the scarlet theme affected his nerves too much.

He entered his empty suite, except for a manservant left to tend things while Rukov rode out… and hadn’t returned. The storm was just beginning to ebb; at this rate, he would be lucky to reach the Palace before moonrise. Dimitri did not expect his aid to ride back in the storm; he was, however, annoyed at the weather.

Then he remembered why he was annoyed at all. At worst, the package would arrive tomorrow. There was, really, no good reason for him to be in such bad spirits. Particularly just before meeting a noblewoman.

The note hadn’t specified where they would be dining. Dimitri picked a dark blue ensemble, one that wouldn’t appear over or under-dressed in most occasions. And then, as with any dealings with women, he cast his hopes to the fates, and headed to the west wing.

Specifically, he hoped she hadn’t expected him to know exactly where to meet her. Just in case, he checked with the guards by the Dining Room: no, they did not believe Baroness Venn had arrived. The next best guess—the uncooperative weather greatly limited one’s dining options—was that she awaited him at her suite.

Dimitri retraced the path he had once used, escorting the wounded Baroness after her near-accident. There was the painting. There was the name plaque. He knocked.

_____

((Fayre: I read Mercy’s note and my first thought was: “Wow, she’s got a LOT of faith in Dimitri to guess the meeting place”! Oh, I remember something about Mercy requesting a new name plaque for her room, but I wasn’t sure if it’s been changed from “Flight” to “Venn”. And if you don’t know something, best to not mention it. :D

Finally, I might not get to reply quickly-- one exam tomorrow, then frantic packing, then a 5-hour drive home. (So Mercy could've actually spent some time with Rosaline... sorry I didn't specify sooner >_<) I'll try to check in by tonight, though!

Oh, and feel free to have Dimitri announce his arrival ))

(((ooc: :laugh: indeed! I love your way with words, Ghanima. I truly do.
And, is it just me, or is our dear Duc getting old? A large part of the Salon, the center of it being the very one he stopped by on his way out, is literally buzzing with the latest rumour, and the ever perceptive Duc doesn't even notice. Or could it be that he's distracted by the thoughts of a certain Baroness? *lol* Ah, how I adore these characters.)))

((Oh well If funheart doesn't mind then breakfast will be a much better (and drier) time to talk and as for you exams come first so i may just be irritated if you do respond.... work out how to deal with that one Seiza!!!

Ghanima I wont use the same laughing emote as everyone else.... but wonderfully witty :D))

A knock, a strong authoritative knock yet one that gave a lady the respect she deserved, the Duc d'Lorraine it seemed gave an excellent good first impression unless of course he happened to strike you with the broad side of a carriage. I which case the charm was slightly, but not entirely, diminished. Mercy paused temporarily to concider that first encounter, or incident as it should probably be called. She smiled but she was keeping Dimitri waiting.

Mercy looked herself over, she'd do, it was only dinner after all, and actually it was dinner on the pretext of business, and therefore with Dimitri being the man of morals and codes of conduct she would have to make fun happen if she wished it to, and she did, for both their sakes. She collected a small red fan with black lace around its edges it was rather garrish when opened, but she would choose not to she also picked up a large stiff cream envelope in truth the bill for her dress had come in a much smaller white one but that did not seem as grand and a grand gesture was how she planned to start this evenings entertainment, the handwriting on the enveleope was large and loopy, it simply read, Dimitri.

Having made him wait abotu 20 seconds for response she opened the door and slipped outside, she closed it behind her, handed Dimitri the Envelope and took three and a half passes in front of him before turning her head, smiling, and offering the man her arm. Let the games begin she thought.

Octavien and Bella - Leaving the Grand Ballroom
 

(OOC: Ghanima, I do love your way with words. In fact, most of you guys here put me to shame!
And yup Atropa, I love these characters and their interactions, they're so endearing and Cesar and Jo, SO cute! Dimitri almost ran over Mercy? Lol, I never thought he had it in him!)

She realised he’d been staring slightly, not at her. Bella wasn’t sure if he had been staring at anything tangible, just the notes pouring through the air faintly and they wove into each other while new resonances took the place of the old. Octavien seemed pleased and oddly absorbed into it, as if he were drinking in every undertone. She wondered if he saw it the way she did, that every note was a word in a story being told in a universal idiom.

Bella felt his eyes narrow onto her, as if an idea flickered behind Octavien’s glassy eyes considering his options on what to do. The sudden light of the conversation had brought an ethereal beauty and appeal to his eyes as he finally put the though to rest through to decision.

"Indeed," he let a small smile sparkle over his mouth as the expression of contemplation faded away. "I do believe it would be far more pleasant to have you accompany me on the way, rather than to have you stand in it."

Bella was used to compliments being thrown her way, most of them insincere and hollow. However, this was not really a compliment, just an observation and yet somehow more flattering than most of the things she’d had said to her, simply because it was probably honest. For all her underlying suspicions of Octavien, Bella found ease in the company of a complete stranger, finally feeling free to be herself in a long time.

She hated the restrictions of society, though she usually conformed to them, she hated them with passion. It was a necessary evil, but it’d managed to strip away what humanity nobles were capable of. Worse yet, it excused elitist, conceited behaviour and even encouraged it. Bella herself, with all her charms and decorum, was capable of it. It held even her prisoner at times. It was a feature she was not proud of, but reluctantly glad about for the simple reason it was the only way out sometimes. It helped her when she needed it the most, but she made sure never to flaunt it.

She let her gaze return to him as she leaned slightly against the harpsichord waiting for him to continue as it appeared he might. He gracefully motioned to the doors, making his way towards them, his eyes still poised on her. Bella wondered for a brief moment whether Octavien had simply had enough and decided to take leave. However, his eyes spoke differently, wanting to continue with her company for a while longer at least. Bella slowly walked over to him, exiting the great hall once by his side.

"There is a new opera opening in Paris tonight, you see,” he began with intention as Bella turned her eyes to him in anticipation of what he had to say regarding it. "I was on my way to suggest to a few friends that we attend. Perhaps you would do us the honor of joining us?"

She was surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so. Before she knew it, a subtle, delighted laugh escaped her lips. Opera. She did not know how to respond for a moment, taken back and flattered that he’d enjoyed her company enough thus far to request more of it. Especially since she’d only been herself, more so than any other time she had been at court. Maybe he really was as blasé as she’d hoped; kindred spirits of her kind were a valued scarcity. However, the thought that he was playing her for a fool continued to dig at her, silently at the back of her mind as she chose to pay no heed to it. She would be careful, but she wasn't going to let her paranoia rule her.

“I would love to,” Bella graciously accepted with a gentle smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

She continued to walk with Octavien, her eyes flickering occasionally to the window, watching the abating storm, glorious in its determination. She could feel the dress sweep around her as she walked, the silk moulding into place with every step and every curve. The fading light played it’s last tricks on the hallway, rising and falling through every crevice it could find. Bella found herself losing to thought again, as the fingers of one hand drew soft, elaborate designs over the back of the other hand while it rested over her front.

“I have a confession to make,” she turned back to Octavien, bravely deciding to spill her secret regardless of what he chose to think of it. “I have never been to opera.”

She gave a small, self-conscious laugh, flicking her eyes back to the window as she chose to follow up her candid admission with the explanation it deserved before he could have the chance to react.

“I mean, I have always wanted to,” she turned back to him with a nod, unsure of how to explain that indulging in her love of the music and arts had not included opera thus far. She wondered whether his estimation of her had dropped several levels, but it did not perturb her as much as it could have done if he were someone else. Bella decided he wasn’t the person to delve into pretentiousness with, this was one of the few with whom she could act naturally. “The opportunity simply never arose. Well, until now, of course.”

(OOC: Atropa, I hope it's okay that I kept them walking for a short while after they left the room? If that's not what you had in mind, just let me know and I'll edit )

((Damn you SlytherinGirl... im meant to be revising but now i just want to play sims.... oh dear but in other news I may almost be happy enough with Mercy to release her unto the site Atropa!))

Octavien & Bella - from Grand Ballroom to Palace Entrance Hall
 

:laugh: Oh my God, he does stay true to character! And that is such a coincidence (the jewelry thing), eh, slytherin?


*tries to restrain giggle* ... *fails miserably, and bursts out laughing*
Looks like poking and shoving wasn't enough, he's stepping on César's foot, too!


-----------------------------------------------------


It had started out nothing more but a small tingle, the mere hint of a feeling, but had during the course of the past couple of minutes grown stronger, until he was no longer in doubt of whether or not it really existed, or was simply an illusion; hope manifesting itself as something that seemed real, but was not.

It wasn't trust exactly, as Octavien, due to recent events, had found his ability to trust to be severely lacking. But it was something similar. Careful faith, the willingness to take a chance. Not enough that it would end up harming him if it turned out he was wrong in doing so, but a chance nonetheless. To him, it felt like a giant leap back towards what he had been when coming here. For while on arrival at court he could hardly have been described as an innocent young boy without a cunning bone in his body, he hadn't been nearly as suspicious of people and their motives, as his experiences as of late had made him. Shrewd and ambitious, yes, but not seeing ulterior motives everywhere.

The Baroness might still have them, of course, and her not knowing who he was might be an act, as a way of disarming him of the general mistrust that had come with being knighted Prince, with being made someone whom people would find a reason to either befriend or decieve, all for their own hidden purposes, and not for being someone whose company they genuinly appreciated. And her interest in music might be an act as well, or at least an intentional effort to spark his interest, and ensure that he found the two of them to have something in common. Granted, his love for music wasn't that widely known in court (or so he thought, oblivious to the fact that his two friends had just revealed that particular secret to a room full of other courtiers), but he had been tutoring the Queen in playing the harpsichord, so it was indeed possible that someone had hard of it and had quite naturally come to the conclusion that he had at least some interest in the musical field.

It wasn't a far-fetched theory; the tactics of first disarming him and then piquing his interest, so that he would open up to the idea of possible 'friendship', thus allowing the Baroness to get close to him, without ever sensing whatever threat she might pose.

However, while not a far-fetched theory per se, he couldn't help but feel, even when twisting and turning it and looking at it from every possible angle, that it might not be anything more than just what it appeared to be; the sincere actions of a young woman, newly arrived at court and without a hidden agenda. After all, stranger things had happened.

She seemed a bit taken aback by his invitation at first, apparently as surprised by it as Octavien himself was at having made it. But only delightfully so, perhaps wondering about such an unexpected gesture from a gentleman with whom she was barely acquainted, and didn't even know for a fact to be a gentleman - but not questioning it. Which was probably a good thing, as Octavien had a hard time explaining it to himself. People often said that old habits die hard, but it would seem as was the case with new ones as well; although his suspicion no longer ruled him, in this particular case, it still lingered in the back of his mind.

"I would love to", the Baroness said, initial surprise overcome, and offering that same pleasantly soft smile from before. "It would be my pleasure."

Walking together, side by side, they finally left the Grand Ballroom behind, pausing only briefly outside the doors while Octavien pulled the large ornamented caparisons shut behind them, before continuing towards the Red Salon in silent understanding, as that seemed to be the hot spot of the evening.

"I have a confession to make", Bella admitted and turned her head to look at Octavien as they slowly began to cross the large stretch of polished marble floor. "I have never been to the opera."

Looking back at her to show that he was listening, Octavien's eyebrows rose slightly in yet another look of mild surprise at such a confession. A young noblewoman, obviously raised to be a sophisticated and cultivated lady, deprived of the wonderful experience of going to the opera? Even when the musical piece itself was the most dreadful thing ever heard, it was still a most exhilirating enterprise, as regardless of what one thought about the music, the vocals and the acting, what one felt, one felt with a passion. At least to Octavien, it was impossible to leave the opera house unaffected by what he had seen, and the feeling of being emotionally and creatively alive was stronger than ever, lasting for hours, sometimes even days.
Ah, what wonders she had missed!

But, before he could launch himself into vivid regret of what she had been so cruelly deprived of, Bella herself continued, perhaps sensing his reaction and wanting to explain before he had the chance to say something, even if it wouldn't have been anything remotely bad or judgemental about her. About whoever had been in charge of her upbringing and her education; possibly. But not about her.

"I mean, I have always wanted to", she explained, having given a small, somewhat embarrassed laugh while shifting her gaze, but now turned back to look at him once again. "The opportunity simply never arose. Well, until now, of course."

Though any insecurity or self-consciousness she might have experienced at such an admission, would turn out to be uncalled for, as the only feeling spreading it's wings across Octavien's clean-cut features, was unbridled ardor. Well, as much of unbridled ardor as a young but grown man could display without looking anything like an excited child. Needless to say, it was plain to see that he was quite an avid fan of the opera.

"Then you absolutely must come", he said enthusiastically as they passed the impressive staircase, even though she had already agreed to do so. "I could spend hours trying to describe the experience, but nothing I can say will ever do it justice."


- - - - -

Meanwhile, the Marquis and Marquise had begun taking their leave of the Red Salon, both quite content with their achievement, as well as with all the praise Joséphine herself had recieved. César having pointed out that it was time for dinner, and that Joséphine, as she herself had put it, could not neglect her meals, they had bid their company a good evening, and set out for the Grand Diningroom once more. Now, they had just exited the Red Salon and stepped out into the entrance hall, where they immediately spotted Octavien leaving the Grand Ballroom, with an unknown young brunette by his side.

"Well well well", César said with a playful smirk as the couples neared eachother. "Look who's chosen to grace us mere mortals with his presence."

Having been somewhat preoccupied with talking to Bella, it was only then that Octavien noticed his two friends, and his face lit up with a wide, genuine smile.

"Ah, there they are", he said. "I've been looking for you two."

"Yes...", César said, with a sly smile stealing slowly across his lips, accompanied by meaning glance at Bella, obviously drawing his own conclusions. "So I see."

Octavien, however, pretended he didn't notice, but merely proceeded with the introductions;

"César, Joséphine, this is Baroness Isabella Devine", he said. "Baroness, meet César and Joséphine de la Valliére, the Marquis and Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan, two of my dearest friends."

'Hello's, 'Nice to meet you's and all other polite phrases of greeting over and done with, Octavien then continued;

"I've found myself in the mood to visit the opera this evening. Will you join me? The Baroness is coming also."




(((ooc: Ghanima & Alissa - Sorry for just going ahead like this, but considering we don't have that much time before the evening is over, I figured I'd move things along. I have, however, left room for Bella to respond to Octavien before they run into César and Joséphine, should Alissa have something to add, and the same goes for the introductions; I kept it fairly vague, so that you guys can decide for yourselves what was said.
Furthermore, as I've left it open for either of you to reply, maybe you could decide amongst yourselves who should post first? Just a suggestion, so that you don't end up cross-posting. And as always, any objections or changes you want made, let me know.

Fayreview - Yey! We'd be honored to have her. )))

Octavien, Bella, Joséphine and César - The Corridors
 

A zealous smile grew over Octavien features as she made the confession, as if he couldn’t wait to share his enthusiasm with someone else so musically inclined. Bella could see liberal youth fill his appealing features while he thought briefly to himself. Perhaps he was looking down on her, perhaps he was not, but Bella enjoyed the infectious excitement that trickled through is being. He was most obviously passionate about music; after all, who in their right mind has never lost themselves to a tune or a few?

"Then you absolutely must come", he said reasserted with renewed fervour the great staircase came to pass. His passion regarding the matter of music matched and surpassed her own, making Bella further intrigued in the matter of Opera. "I could spend hours trying to describe the experience, but nothing I can say will ever do it justice."

She was sure that was not true as her eyes glanced up to him in admiration of his devotion. She could imagine he’d do it justice and them some for he seemed to love the art with every fibre of his being. It was a sort of veracious human ardour that further asserted his genuineness to Bella despite all her cautious nature. His company was far more compelling than anything she’d been subjected to lately.

"Well well well,” came the sound of a masculine voice as Bella looked up to a light-hearted smirk as on the face of a handsome young man with a beautiful woman at his side. "Look who's chosen to grace us mere mortals with his presence."

Octavien raised his eyesight onto the approaching couple, a young man and woman. Nobles, surely, Bella decided. As his vision acknowledged their presence, Octavien’s face eased into a soothing smile of pure sanctuary. The couple continued to approach absorbedly with the same rapport Octavien had indicated with his reaction to them.

"Ah, there they are,” Octavien said, turning to them in a welcoming stance. "I've been looking for you two."

"Yes...” the other man appeared to concede, but the wily smile that spread across his lips suggested that he thought otherwise. Bella could feel her eyebrow rise every so slightly as a subtly amused smile stole across her lips before she could take control. "So I see."

"César, Joséphine, this is Baroness Isabella Devine,” Octavien continued on, apparently oblivious. However, Bella knew he’d taken notice of it and simply chose not to respond to it. A controlled man, indeed, but one who knew and understood passion at the same time. "Baroness, meet César and Joséphine de la Valliére, the Marquis and Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan, two of my dearest friends."

“Pleased to meet you, Baroness,” Joséphine greeted Bella. She was striking to say the least, but her true appeal lay in an exquisitely pleasant way she had about her, some grace that had been particularly bestowed upon her. Bella could feel herself being studied by the lovely Joséphine, but it had happened in the subtle manner than most nobles fell short of. Her conduct was somewhat a contrast to César's youthful nature.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Marquise,” Bella replied with sincere smile, lightly tilting her head in a small bow, then turning to César. “And you, Marquis.”

"I've found myself in the mood to visit the opera this evening,” Octavien started to hand out his intended invitations. “Will you join me? The Baroness is coming also."

Bella almost felt the excitement trickle through Joséphine. Evidently, she also shared the apparently widespread addiction to music. Bella could tell she was likely to enjoy the company of Joséphine as much as she had enjoyed Octavien’s so far.

“I would be more than happy to,” Joséphine responded with a fleeting look at César. “It has been quite a long time since I've had the chance to enjoy the Opera, and what a wonderful opportunity to catch up on both old and new acquaintances...!”

Now, Bella anticipated to the evening even more than she had before. It looked to be a lively night and for all the light the sun had withdrawn from the skies, they could simply replace it with light-heartedness. It really was a delight to meet all of them, people she could see herself getting along with. Well, if they were anything like Octavien seemed to be. Still, a part of her refused to throw caution to the wind.

“I certainly look forward to it too,” Bella smiled at Joséphine softly with the hint of excitement escaping through her voice as she turned her eyes to Octavien.

(OOC: I hope that's all okay. Anything amiss, please say the word )

((Hi guys,

I know this is so bad coming from me... but can we try to keep OCC comments to being attachments to actual posts. It just looks tidier.... And i know i'm more guilty than most of you :fallen: *blush* but hey you will have to try and be a good influence on me :evilnod: .

So just to repeat as that was a clear as mud. Please try and keep chatter to the same post as actual in character stuff as demonstrated so well by Atropa.... who I must say is among the jewels of the Baroque Court Crown. :lovestruc

Ciao

:hat: Fayre :hat: ))

Octavien, César, Bella and Joséphine - off to the opera
 

As introductions were made and greetings exchanged, César found himself fighting back a widening grin. Hardly surprising, neither to himself nor anyone else that knew him well, as César was the kind of person who would sometimes percieve others based more on his own personality instead of theirs, than most others would. Thus, while he left his reaction to Octavien's new-found and beautiful friend to be nothing more than a meaning look, he was obviously thinking to himself a great deal. And none of particularly pure and innocent. He didn't even give it much thought that the young Baroness did not really fit the profile of Octavien's previous 'conquests'; she could be no older than Octavien himself, and there was no ring on her finger to suggest she was married. Granted, it was a much too simplistic way of viewing Octavien's preferences, as his attraction rarely had to do with age or marital status, but he had been sent to court partly because he had been seen leaving the house of one too many married women at rather odd times at night. "One too many" being, in fact, just one altogether, as his other secret affairs might have been rumoured, but never proven as such. But, gossip always did have a tendency to grow as forceful as any hard evidence, sometimes even exceeding it, much due to something as simple as human nature.

However, not wanting to embarrass Octavien or Isabella any further - at least for now - César firmly shackled all such tendencies, and remained silent, while both women expressed their eagerness to attend the opera. César himself, on the other hand, had always been mildly impressed and interested in such things, but would still go every now and then, in order to keep up with the times, and to meet old friends and new acquaintances. The Opera and Theatre were two of the best places to be seen, as well as most popular for socializing.

And, being as restless as he was, he welcomed the opportunity to leave the Palace for a few hours, for a night out, and whatever adventures it might bring.

"Very well", he agreed.

"Splendid", said Octavien, still donning a wide, charming smile.

Ten minutes later, servants had been sent to fetch their coats and returned, orders had been given for a coach to be made ready to take them into the city and the opera, and as it pulled up outside the Palace entrance, both Octavien and César offered their arm to Bella and Joséphine, respectively, to escort them down the wide stone steps and help them into the carriage, Octavien keeping a watchful eye on Bella's reaction. For if she hadn't suspected it before, seeing the royal carriage would leave little mystery as to who he really was. And he could only hope she would forgive him his deception. From what he had seen, she seemed easygoing enough to understand, but one could never be too certain.


(((ooc: Sorry, really, REALLY rushed and crappy, but I wanted to get this reply in before I'm off to work in... about 5 minutes. Eeek! And as before, I left parts fairly open for you guys to fill in whatever you might feel was missing. Oh, and feel free to have them arrive at the opera.

Fayre - Awww. You made me blush. Will I be deemed an *ss-kisser if I say that if I am one of the jewels, you are the crown itself? ....... Yeah, thought so. *lol*)))

Dimitri & Mercy - Mercy's suite. Outside. ;)
 

((…slytherin-girl gets my internetz bbies. :lovestruc Holy baby Christ, talk about perfect blackmail pics!

Fayre: Aww, thank ye. But I’ve finished my last paper today, so I can finally reply! Dammit, nearly half the student population’s already gone home and I’m still stuck here x_x Drive home in t-8 hours!

Yes yes, I love our courtiers too. ;D Shall update myself on the Opera Gang when I get home! But I think if there’s too little time for the opera scene to really take off, could we extend tonight just a wee bit? …And does the opera group strike anyone else as a pseudo-bachelor’s party for Octavien? His last night out as a free man!))

______

He stepped back from the door, taking the chance to survey the west wing from Mercy’s end of the hallway. This was not a wing he frequented often—but if only because of the clamour outside the Palace earlier this morning, he was certain that a few rooms must have been filled, exchanged, nobles moved around in this afternoon. The way Rukov’s attention kept returning to one of the doors, even when the Duc was giving him orders, made him curious…

Surely it hadn’t been that long since his knock, yet Dimitri supposed when one had nothing to do but wait in the corridor, then even seconds could stretch themselves. Not long at all.

When the ornate wooden slab finally swung open, it was not the attendant but Mercy herself who greeted him—with an envelope straight in his hands. His fingers recognised the texture, the stiffness in the material. It was a rather elegant envelope for a bill—he supposed it was the bill, although it bore nothing but his name, written in very feminine curves—and that also made him curious. Yet, other than the brief glance he accorded the envelope, Dimitri fixed his eyes on the Baroness’ scarlet-clad form.

He had, just moments ago, considered the Red Salon one of the most aggravating colour themes to attack his senses. But, he admitted, crimson and vermillion fit a woman’s form rather well. He noted the fan clutched in her hand; he usually ignored such accessories that so many women bore, but this must have been his first time seeing Mercy bearing one.

Dimitri held the envelope in his left hand, and was correct in his assumption: the Baroness turned to him, just far enough for a hint of the perfumed fabric to scent the air between them; his right hand accepted her offered arm. He greeted her, as always, with a bow and kiss.

“Good evening, Baroness. I hope I did not make you wait long.” A typical statement, but made with a glint in grey eyes. He thought Mercy, sharp as she was, would realise the irony in his words, the amusement underlying them. “I am afraid tonight’s weather does not offer many choices for dinner. As I have dined either in the Dining Hall or my suite thus far, I shall have to defer to your judgement in this matter. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

((Certainly, for you my dear Seiza it is still three days until morning.

Here is a little exert from my word of the day callender about the word overweening:


I saw it and thought of César.... because to honest I'm not sure how many people would be safe relying on him.... especially not after how some of them have treated Octavien.))

He greeted her, as always, with a bow and kiss. She smiled gently what a man, such a gentleman he the Duc d'Lorraine was ebing to HER... When he wasn't running a girl over that was. Sure Mercy hadn't quite let that go yet, but it was quite major thing really, no matter how much it made the Baroness smile.

“Good evening, Baroness. I hope I did not make you wait long.” She raised an eyebrow, to match the twinkle in his eyes... Well he was playing maybe this evening would not require so much work to stur up some fun as she had earlier thought. “I am afraid tonight’s weather does not offer many choices for dinner. As I have dined either in the Dining Hall or my suite thus far, I shall have to defer to your judgement in this matter. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Mercy wondered how to respond and in deed what Dimitri was expecting, had he expected a simple everyday dinner? With Baroness Venn that would not be the obvious thing to expect, but who was Dimitri to pre-empt the level of work she would do? So she simply gave a light girlish laugh and handed a red umbrella to him, it had been leaning against a table in the corridor, were she had earlier placed it. "I do have some where in mind in fact." She slowly began to manouevre Dimitri through the Palace, she did so in silence, it was during this period she realised just how far Dimitri could be tweaked, pushed and pulled, clearly he had the utmost respect for women. Mercy could see this as she knew full well he had no ultimate attraction to her... yet but Mercy was sure she could get him to atleast reciprocate attraction...

They reached the Palace doors, "we shall be needing that," she indicated the umbrella, usually a man would not use one but being a gentleman he would of course hold it for her and pressumably he would also see she impled, from the sheer size of the umbrella to keep him dry also. "To the orangery!" Mercy stepped out into the rain sightly ahead of him, she wondered what his next move would be, but if he followed, as it seemed he must, he would find a table in the orangery which Mercy had "had laid out" well that would be the response if Dimitri were to ask, in truth she had indulged in some minor work before bumping into Baroness Taylor earlier. It was Mercy's turn to wait for seconds that turned to minutes in her mind. Would he see? Would he understand the slight romantic edge she had put on the evening? Or would he, as a man, continue in his slight oblivousness to the way women around him were working... However if he chose to turn her down now... simply because he realised and was scared or offended then this was over, their entire relationship, cordial friendship or more, would be finished...

((FurryPanda is Larkin still free? because Charmaine hasn't done anything really since her talk with Dimitri and i dont want to start neglecting her already...

I'd apologise for insulting the male gender but from my calculations I'm the only one here soooo....... yeah no need!))

Octavien, Bella, Joséphine and César - Journey to the Opera and at the Opera House
 

An undoubted sense of relief filled the air when César caved in and agreed to the opera outing after brief deliberation. It seemed he had not the fervour for music that the other three thrived on. Yet, somehow, César appeared to find something else that appealed to him about the opera. Bella somehow decided it was nothing to do with the opera itself.

Finally, the servants, sent to fetch their coats, rearrived and the four found themselves ready for their outing. Both men played their parts to perfection, offering their arms to the women they accompanied as they all walked down the stairs to the courtyard. However, as the stood out in the courtyard, Bella watched as the grand royal loomed closer. She wasn't aware of any new royals arriving and as far as everyone knew, the King was still in the palace. It was an intriguing matter as to who the carriage held and what their purpose was.

The doors finally opened and to Bella's surprise, no-one ventured out of the carriage. It was a wonderment for a moment that the carriage had simply rolled into the courtyard, carrying no-one and therefore, for no apparent reason. That was when it struck Bella in almost an instant; it wasn’t delivering someone, it was picking them up. Still, there was no-one waiting out in the courtyard except César, Joséphine, Octavien and Bella herself.

She could feel the movement as Octavien naturally began to walk towards the carriage, while her arm was still entangled with his. Bella’s eyes flicked to his in a moment of realisation, her mouth must have dropped open slightly, but she could not be sure. The carriage had not been summoned by César or Joséphine and certainly not by Bella and therefore, by default, it left Octavien who had – and was obviously capable of – using the royal carriage.

Octavien. Octavien Lehance. Not Monsieur, Prince Octavien Lehance. Of course. She could have sworn the name of the knighted Prince was Silvius…? Well, obviously not, since the King had no sons and the only male member of the royal family fitting Octavien’s profile was the Prince.

God, Bella, she thought sarcastically to herself in light of her stupidity. Well done. Really. You’ve excelled yourself this time.

Of course Bella was right in thinking he was withholding something in the ballroom; he was the Prince. Worse, she had never caught on, she had simply carried on being herself and wandered dangerously close to actually trusting him. And all along, he was indulging in his little game of deception, probably silently laughing at her.

Bella had thought he was genuine. For once, someone unlike all the other members of court, that he was like her, laidback and capable of real human interaction without hidden agendas and dirty little secrets. But no. Not this time.

Still, she refused to believe she had been completely wrong about him. His countenance, passion, words and being had been so convincing, so unfeigned. It could not have all been an act, surely. She knew the look of disappointment and betrayal had seeped into her eyes, but with it was surely the look of intrigue, knowing he had reason lie.

It had not been a malicious lie. It had not been a lie, in fact, just a brief omission of truth. Why? She could not think of a reason to excuse him, simply that she was not about to accept defeat if he had set out to humiliate her by playing childish games.

Still, all through the journey to the Opera house, Bella kept her conversation mainly with the pleasant Marquise, limiting her interaction with Octavien until he had had a chance to explain himself, but remaining curteous nonetheless. She wasn’t angry, she had no reason to get angry about it; it was his identity, he could avoid it for a while if he wanted to. Still, she just wanted to know why. And perhaps in the place of anger was disappointment, that he had not felt ready to trust her over such a simple matter while she had been honestly herself with him. Would she really have behaved differently with him if she’d known he was the Knighted Prince? Probably.

But now, he was Octavien. She could not see the Prince in him, he was Octavien. Prince Octavien. Octavien, the man whose friendship would be sore thing to miss indeed, or the deceptive Prince Octavien? Bella hoped he was being himself in the ballroom and it wasn’t simply an act - that was a man she really formed a connection with. She knew she could forgive that man for his mild deception, but she needed a damn good explanation for it.

Therefore, as soon as they reached the opera house, Bella decided to give him an opportunity to give him – and herself – and opportunity to clear the air before the they had to take their seats.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” she smiled amiably at César and Joséphine, leaving an open glance at Octavien, letting him know that he had the opportunity to speak in case he felt unable to do so in the presence of his friends. “I would just like to get some air before the show begins.”

With that, Bella walked slowly towards the open veranda, knowing they had all of five minutes before they had to take their seats and hoping Octavien took the hint and followed.

(OOC: I hope that's all okay, Atropa and Ghanima. Feel free to add anything because I didn't say much about what happened. If you'd like anything changed, please let me know )

Octavien & Bella with and then without Joséphine and César - at the Opera
 

(((ooc: Seiza - Ooooooh, Dimitri better watch it now! Last one to be a gentleman towards Mercy ended up having his life threatened. Though something tells me Mercy wouldn't dare threaten him. But then again, she did threaten the Prince... Hmmmmm.... *s* Oh, and that reminds me; by doing so, she pretty much commited high treason, didn't she? Death threats and attempted murder on the King (and his family) was considered high treason and thus punishable by death? Watch out, Mercy.

Fayre - *lol* Seems appropriate indeed.

And, can I just say I find it hillarious how it's César that's the rascal, but Octavien that keeps getting in trouble with the ladies?

Oh, and one more thing, just to clarify; when I said please don't shoot Octavien in the back over going to the opera, I did mean just the going to the opera part. Meaning, being seen at the opera with a young woman when he's technically engaged to be married with another, was not part of the "Octavien doing nothing wrong" part. )))



The reaction of the young Baroness upon discovering who exactly it was that was escorting her towards the royal carriage, was a natural one. Having awaited it with calm but tense anticipation, Octavien had been hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst; offense, shouting, even slapping. For while one might reason that no one in their right mind would go as far as to slap the Prince - unless, of course, one happened to be Queen Isabella - Octavien had learned from experience that the reactions of women would sometimes tend to be somewhat... less than rational. Indeed, he had been slapped for far less than this.

He was relieved to learn, however, that while the string of emotions that were claiming Bella's pleasant features ranged from speechless realization to offense, to anger, to hurt, to silent disappointment, and thus were not among the ones he had been hoping for, they remained only hints of what he had been dreading. They were there, but did not manifest themselves in any actions other than that of for the most part silently ignoring him during the near hour long drive into the city. Instead she kept her words and actions mostly directed at Joséphine, which left Octavien and César to partake in another session of their usual but friendly bickering, sandwiched by more or less serious accounts from César regarding what was going on 'back home', thusly making the lack of interaction between Octavien and Bella less noticable, even if it wasn't completely so. The other couple might still have picked up on it, but if they did, they had the kind decency not to show it. And frankly, in César's case, Octavien doubted he had noticed at all. Joséphine, with her keen eyes and sharp mind, not to mention that remarkable sixth sense women seemed to have, called 'female intuition', probably had, but her husband? Doubtful. César had intentionally dulled his senses (on the surface at least) to whenever women were less than happy with him, which was why he was, on some level, still 'unaware' that Joséphine was in fact aware of his extramarital liaisons.
But then again, that dullness was usually only in effect when it came to César himself. If a woman was somehow displeased with Octavien, there was a good chance he would still bother to notice, if for no other reason than to give Octavien a hard time about it.
Still, if he did notice, he had yet to make it known, and frankly, Octavien was thankful as well as relieved as long as he didn't, for it would surely have made things awkward.

Though at the same time, Octavien really wished for an opportunity to explain himself to Bella, as all he had managed to do so far without drawing the attention of the de la Valliére's, was to offer her a small, apologetic smile, asking her not to be too angry with him, as he had meant no harm.
And much to his relief, it would seem that she noticed, and properly interpreted it, for as soon as the four of them had stepped out of the carriage and were making their way to the grand entrance of the Opera, Bella turned to the rest of them, graciously providing Octavien with a golden opportunity;

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" she said with a friendly smile for the other couple, and gave Octavien a glance he could not fail to recognize. "I would just like to get some air before the show begins."

Had it not been for Joséphine's swift intervention, César - who, judging by the now mischievous look in his eyes, had indeed noticed what was going on - might have ruined the whole thing, as he opened his mouth, clearly about to agree that they might all need a little fresh air after being cooped up in the carriage for an hour. Luckily, Joséphine knew him well enough to see it coming, and - bless her - spoke before her troublemaker of a husband could, cutting him off from any and all roads towards playfully embarrassing the other two.

For that, Octavien shot her a thankful smile and then followed Bella, though only after giving a brief "Please excuse me as well, a gentleman does not abandon his lady", just for the sake of appearances. Due to her slow, casual pace, it took him but a mere few long strides to catch up with her, and they entered the open veranda together, side by side.

"I owe you an explanation", Octavien stated the obvious while they were still both looking straight ahead, but then stopped as they reached the sturdy stone railing, and turned to face her. "It was not my intention to decieve you, Baroness. It was just that when you did not recognize my name, I did not want to humiliate you by pointing it out, even though I am aware that it is still far from known by all. I just found it so very liberating that you were among the ones that had yet to learn of it."

He paused briefly, his eyes dropping momentarily to the smooth stoney surface underneath his hand while he considered how he should continue, as he had not yet given her a reasonable explanation. Only a part of one.

"Odd and ungrateful as it may sound", he finally continued, and raised his gaze to meet with hers once more, "at the moment I am simply sick and tired of being what I am, because it was just made clear to me this morning that I am indeed a 'what', and not a 'who'; that my true loyalty matters little, as even though I have been most willing to give it, it has to still be taken and demanded as though I was not willing to give it at all."



(((ooc: Ghanima - Hope it's ok that I gm'ed Jo just a little bit. If not, let me know, and yaddi yaddi yadda. )))

Octavien and Bella - The Veranda of the Opera House
 

(OOC: Fay, I think Dimitri left Charmaine with Christine, so I thought you'd like to pick up the conversation with her. But if you'd rather I continued the conversation or if you wanted have Charmaine leave and talk to Larkin, please let me know, I'm fine with it either way

Atropa, it's because he's such a gentleman, he can't seem to weedle out of things the way César can!
Okey dokey, I've had Bella accept things after a small implosion, and left it open in case Octavien had anything further to say on the matter. And also, feel free to get them back and start the opera perfomance etc. )

Bella was relieved to learn that Octavien had taken her blatant hints and followed her to the veranda. However, but the quickening of her heart, she knew it wasn’t all relief, was he just about to play out the end of his elaborate trick? There was no way to tell, save for the apologetic smiles he’d given her for the past hour. That was not working as well as he had probably hoped, that was for sure.

The choking sensation at the back of her throat only seemed to get worse as his form fell by her side, making it suddenly harder to remain under control. Maybe she was partly angry after all, he had inanely deceived her. And for what? Well, this was Octavien’s chance to explain to Bella exactly what he had been thinking. It was a good thing her upbringing had comprised of practices of prolonged self-control; she dreaded to think what she could have done had she had little control over herself.

"I owe you an explanation,” Octavien made the most obvious statement in the history of conversation as the walked towards the grand stone railings.

Really, now? Bella thought to herself as they reached the railings, letting her hands grip the stone to vent her frustrations. Whatever it is, just say it and get it over with. It was very funny, well done.

Bella could feel his eyes on her, but refused to return is gaze, simply staring into the view displayed out in front of her, but ready to listen.
"It was not my intention to deceive you, Baroness. It was just that when you did not recognize my name, I did not want to humiliate you by pointing it out, even though I am aware that it is still far from known by all.”

Alright, no need to point out the fact that I am severely misinformed, Bella silently thought to herself, giving a small scoff.

“I just found it so very liberating that you were among the ones that had yet to learn of it," Octavien continued and there it was again, the realness that was so severely lack in court. Yet, the man who’d shown her briefly that courtiers were in fact, contrary to common belief, capable of such honesty, was standing here explaining and apologising for his deception. Ironic, to say the least. However, the simple admission made her turn to him, to see whether his countenance matched his words, whether he was deceiving her yet again. Bella did not want that to be the case, she wanted Octavien to be honest, this time at least. It would just be utterly ridiculous if he’d insisted on continuing that charade because that charade was far more appealing than what the illusory Prince was likely to be.

As Bella’s gaze wandered softly over him, Octavien stared intently at the stone railings, making her realise that he had more to say, more to explain. She simply waited patiently, letting him have the opportunity that she had set out to give him.

"Odd and ungrateful as it may sound,” Octavien resumed his vindication, his eyes suddenly gazing into Bella’s own. If anything, the look held sincerity. But then, it held far more than that. It had hurt and realisation. “At the moment I am simply sick and tired of being what I am, because it was just made clear to me this morning that I am indeed a 'what', and not a 'who'; that my true loyalty matters little, as even though I have been most willing to give it, it has to still be taken and demanded as though I was not willing to give it at all."

“I thought you were like me,” Bella found herself suddenly saying. Her eyes widened slightly as it took her a moment to realise that she had actually said it, making her look away momentarily. But after she had started, there was no point in not continuing. “I was honest with you, no secret agendas, simply because I thought you a kindred spirit, exasperated with these continual games and power struggles and capable of genuineness.”

She knew he knew better than to assume that anyone he met was just an innocent and Bella expected no less of the Prince. Yet, he must surely know it gets to a person. During all her time at Queen Catherine's court, Bella had been abruptly exposed to the treacherous nature of court, suddenly forced to lie and scheme in order to survive rather than advance. She expected no less in Octavien's case. It was a fate they had all resigned to and with no shame. It did not make them bad people as such, just realistic. Perhaps Bella had lost that realism that she'd strived to earn at the English court when she took a chance with Octavien despite her inner advisor?

Bella dropped her gaze from his eyes and onto the stone floor to compose herself. Then it struck her; he was trapped. The Princess was gone and he’d become a commodity. Oh, God, that was awful. To be used in negotiations and pushed around like a pawn. Bella’s eyes flicked back up to him, seeping a look of apologetic understanding, having been harsh on him and then finally appreciating his plight. Worse yet, his wife had just passed away. Now, she just felt guilty. For all the problems with her father, Bella had her own rightful stance in society; the birthright of being a Baroness. Octavien's only claim to his title lay six feet under. Of course he felt threatened.

“I – I’m sorry,” she found herself stuttering initially, looking into his eyes as conflicting thoughts wildly flew through her mind. The strength in her voice had diminished somehow, letting it drop to almost a whisper, delicate and tender in nature. “We should go back.”

Bella began to walk back to the doors and found herself thinking, was Octavien right in thinking she would have treated him differently if she had known who he was? Probably; royalty always demanded respect. On shaky ground or not, Octavien still had his title. Except Octavien had not, in fact, he’d gone as far as to not mention it at all when he could have easily put her to shame by correcting her in the first instance. He had not done that. Therefore, would Bella have treated Octavien differently if she had somehow understood his situation to begin with?

No. Her problem was not with Octavien himself, Bella realised. She liked him, she enjoyed his company. It was that – minute – deception. And after all, it wasn't as if she was likely to meet anyone who wasn't guilty of a little deception. His lies had done no real harm. He had not lied about who he was, simply what he was. And Bella knew, given her family history, that titles come and go with the wind. And Octavien, possessing perhaps one of the most respectable titles in the country, had passed up the opportunity to assert it’s importance. That deserved respect, indeed.

Bella then found herself turning to Octavien slightly as she smiled understandingly to herself. It was a smile that held empathy, forgiveness, warmth and promise all at once. She did not feel sorry for him, however. He was smart, otherwise he would not have lasted this long. Sympathy was wasted on a man who could handle himself.

"I'm sorry about before, I didn't mean to...," it became her turn to apologise as Bella looked into his eyes, ready to admit that everyone made mistakes. She was composed once again.
"I'll be honest,” she began, promising. It brought out a small laugh of amusement from her, looking down at herself; she had been honest all along anyway. “I don't care much for social restrictions. I mean, there is a time and a place for it, but not always. From what I gathered back at the hall and now, you are the same?"
Bella then moved to make a bold confession. Octavien could think what he liked of it, after all, he had decieved her to begin with. It wasn't entirely her fault she still knew him as the man she thought he was.
"I liked what I saw in you then, a charming young man – stranger, nonetheless – and I liked what I was; myself.”
"I suppose neither of us are still what we introduced ourselves as; you are not Monsieur Lehance and I am no longer Baroness Devine....,” she revealed and proceeded to explain by making it somewhat buoyant; “I bought myself a title.” She gave another small laugh with an impish shrug, more at herself for the ridiculousness of the situation, and then turned her eyes back to Octavien as seriousness joined the amiability she exuded. “…but I hope you remain the same gentleman I interrupted in that ballroom."

It was an invitation. She had not been completely wrong about him and his conduct did little to suggest any malice. Furthermore, here she was, alone in a new court and she could do with friends or amicable acquaintances at least; who better than someone whom she'd already begun to get along with? She would be careful, it was not like Bella to throw caution to the wind. Still, she could not just give up on the compelling Octavien because of his error in judgement. He had had the same suspicions as her; he had simply acted on them.

(OOC: No problem at all, its stuff worth waiting for Honestly, both of you guys are awesome writers!
Ghanima, , poor Jo, she's got the task of keeping Cesar in check, that can't be easy seeing as she's always got to be one step ahead of him!)

((Dear people so sorry for disappearing into a cloud of smoke, i will almost certainly have something up tonight but at the moment I need to get through the Unification of Germany and Organic Chemistry.

Again Sorry!

Fay))

César and Joséphine - royal balcony / Octavien and Bella - returning to C & J
 

(((ooc: Man, except for the opera gang, this place is really quiet... But anyway, I decided to edit in César and Jo before Octavien and Bella, to make the timeline somewhat correct.)))


On their arrival at court, César had had a bit of trouble conforming to the idea that Octavien, previously untitled and often made aware of it be César himself, was now the Prince, thus and for once outranking César by far. It had been quite the blow to César's ego, to have to bow down to a man who had been given several more or less playful gibes over the years. Although, César being César, he had found a way to deal with it, without choking on his pride in the process; by using humor and giving a bow so exaggerated for being him that those that knew him would be aware that it was part in jest, while others, whose opinion César didn't really care about, would think that he was just being obsequious. Problem of appearing proper solved, dignity and self-esteem intact.

Now, however, César would be quite willing to admit, that being one of the Prince's best friends had some real advantages. For if one was to be dragged off to the Opera, there really was no better way than to be taken there by the royal carriage; lavish beauty and such luxurious comfort that it put even the Mont-de-Marsan carriage to shame. Furthermore, it also ensured that everyone in sight witnessed the arrival at the Opera house, and made the news spread like wildfire, so that in minutes, those that had not been anywhere near the carriage on it's arrival, knew when it had pulled up outside, how it had pulled up outside, who had gotten out, in what order they had gotten out, and what they had been wearing. If there was a way more ideal to make an entrance, César had yet to learn of it.

Together, the four of them had started moving towards the entrance, some of them apparently more aware of the turning heads than others, and it wasn't long before the pretty Baroness that Octavien had brought excused herself from their company, shooting Octavien a glance in the process that could only mean she wished for him to accompany her on her little venture away from them. Either to sort out the possible differences César thought he had sensed between them - though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out when and where they had arisen, as the two seemed to have been perfectly friendly when he and Joséphine had first encountered them - or, and this made far more sense to César, the Baroness simply wished to enjoy Octavien's "company" for a moment's privacy.

And again, César being César, he couldn't resist the opportunity to tease, and so opened his mouth to have some semi-subtle hint come out. Only to be gently yet firmly cut off by his darling wife, who, apparently, didn't deem the opportunity quite right for teasing.

"Come along, César", she said, one hand running down her husband's lower arm until it found his hand, thus successfully bringing his attention from the other couple to herself. "Let's find our seats before that entire crowd begins to queue at the entrance."

With that, the right moment had passed, as the distraction had allowed Octavien and Bella enough time to move too far away for César to manage a smooth interception. And so he willingly resigned instead, and he and Joséphine started following the general flow of people up the grand marble stairs.

"Forgive my small diversion, mon cher", Joséphine whispered with a smile once they were seated and she had leant close enough for her lips to almost brush against César's ear, immediately drawing a smile from him as well.

Partly because of the tickling sensation of her breath against his ear and neck, and partly because no matter if she used it to spoil his own plans for mischief, he still very much appreciated her talent for countering his moves, simply because it was part of what kept their relationship interesting, with an ever present element of excitement and unpredictability. He so enjoyed the playful bickering and battle of the minds that it would bring.

"I'll think about it", he replied, and shot her an impish glance as though he was still deciding whether or not she was in trouble.



- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



The evening had not gone as intended. It had started out with alot of promise, with Gilles more or less kicking Octavien out of the suite where he seemed to have spent the majority of his time lately, and Octavien deciding it was indeed time he took charge of things again, and made something happen instead of having everything happen to him. It had only been a mere few days since he had lost his grip, his decisive touch, but taking back control still felt long overdue. A night at the Opera in the company of good and trustworthy friends had seemed like an ideal place to start, with an added element of freshness in the form of a new acquaintance invited along as well.

Well, talk about an idea that backfired. Instead of getting away from the drama of court, which had been part of his reason for seeking entertainment outside of Palace grounds in the first place, he had ended up right back in the middle of more drama, caused by a deed meant to prevent it. How very ironic.

Self-inflicted, yes, he was aware of that, but still very much unintentional. He had only wanted a moment to breathe, and at that point had not known that the encounter with the Baroness would turn into more than just that; an encounter, a brief one-time meeting with what had appeared to be a new arrival at court. Nor had he known then that he had been just minutes away from actually appreciating her company, let alone that he would end up inviting her to accompany him and his friends to the opera.
And in all fairness, he hadn't even really lied to her. What he had done, was to fail to mention that "monsieur" would not be considered the proper way of addressing him, in a situation where he preferred to not be properly addressed. He couldn't very well have informed her that he was none other than the Prince, and then expected her to treat him as though he was an equal, could he? Even when asked to call their superiors by their first name, people in inferior positions would often find it hard to do so, leaving said superior to have to resort to near orders just to have their wish granted.
Such turn of events would hardly have been ideal for a budding friendship. And the same could be said about the fact that very few treated royalty according to their own opinions of the people holding the titles, but instead let their actions be guided by their fear and respect for the titles themselves.

Indeed, had Octavien revealed to the Baroness Devine that he was the Prince, he would have instantly turned back into the 'what' he had tried to escape in the first place, and he would probably not have gotten to see the natural, free-spirited side of her that had intrigued him and appealed to him enough to invite her along; her, a stranger he encountered during a time in his life where he held more doubt and suspicion in his heart towards everyone, than ever before. Chances were they would have ended up merely going their seperate was as soon as they had left the Grand Ballroom, destined to remain nothing more than strangers.

It appeared, however, that the Baroness herself viewed things quite differently.

"I thought you were like me," she said, almost as soon as he fell silent, making it sound as though she had been so focused on seizing her next opportunity to speak, that she had missed most of what he had actually said.

The statement shot from her lips so fast that she even seemed surprised by it herself. Or had the change from equal to subject taken effect, and made her horrified at discovering that she had just spoken so accusingly at the Prince?
No... Maybe not, considering that despite that somewhat shocked look in her eyes, the apparent realization of just what it was that she had said, and in what tone she had said it, she kept going;

"I was honest with you, no secret agendas, simply because I thought you a kindred spirit, exasperated with these continual games and power struggles and capable of genuineness."

Octavien opened his mouth to protest, wanting to explain that was exactly why he had withheld his title from her; because with it came expectations and firmer rules of conduct than was the norm between two ordinary courtiers. The conversation would have been tainted by those rules, those crippling rules, the spontaneity ruined, torn apart simply because people tended to not be themselves around royalty, always thinking twice about what they said and did, censoring certain opinions and exaggerating others, as a way of kissing up to those that held the power to make or break them.

Yet he remained silent, realizing that while to him, saying it would not be a way to try and justify his actions, but merely explain the reasons behind them, to Bella it might sound like excuses. Therefore, he closed his mouth again, to ponder what he could possibly say instead, to better make her understand.
But, as it turned out, she was not yet done;

"I – I'm sorry," she suddenly stuttered.

Octavien wished it was a statement that would have taken him by surprise, but it wasn't. It was exactly what he had expected, and the last thing he had wanted. Here came The Change, finally. A few seconds later than anticipated, but still The Change. It colored her words as well as her demeanor, even her voice, as now it was little more than a whisper when she spoke;

"We should go back."

The last shred of what had made them equals, gone. Now, he was the Prince, she was a Baroness, and the two of them were worlds apart.

Abiding by her own words, Bella turned and started walking back towards the grand entrance, once again intent on leading the way it seemed. But this time, Octavien did not follow immediately. Instead he lingered, leaning tiredly against the stone railing on both arms and giving a defeated sigh, once again feeling the full burden on his shoulders, and for the first time, during an ever so brief moment, regretting that he had ever put honor before happiness, and married Adalita. If he hadn't, his life would have been far less complicated, and far more enjoyable. He might even have left court to find himself temporary accommodations nearby wherever it was the Queen was heading to, and stayed there in secret so that they would not have to limit themselves to letters that would have to be kept somewhat platonic in their tone, in case they would end up in the hands of someone far too nosey.
It wasn't as though the departure of a Baron, or a Comte, would have left anyone wondering anyway, whereas if the Prince left, most everyone would know to where he'd gone.

And yet, he was not about to give up his title. Not in this lifetime. He had come to court to make a name for himself, to earn a title, and with it, power and influence. For while his family was both wealthy and respected, those that held no titles tended to achieve only a very limited amount of influence, and like most young men, Octavien had wanted more. And he had achieved it. He had risen even higher than anyone, even he himself would have ever thought possible, and he was not about to give it up just because things were no longer going exactly his way. The twists and turns of fate were many, and if a passage turned out to be far too long and straight, there were other routes to be found. Or created.

That thought in mind, he straightened his back and turned to follow Bella inside, ready to play the part of Prince once again, if that was truly how she intended to treat him from now on. Apparently, she hadn't noticed that he hadn't been as quick to follow as before, but as she had maintained her slow, elegant stride, it didn't take him much longer to catch up with her than last time.

However, just as he was nearing her, she suddenly did turn to look at him, and much to his surprise, what he saw in her eyes and on her lips, was not the stiff mask of simple but impersonal cordiality, but something far more similar to what he had seen earlier, in the Ballroom; sincerity and warmth, along with... understanding? As though she had suddenly realized what had gone on inside his head and his heart when he had withheld the truth from her, without him having to say a single word, or even getting the chance to.

"I'm sorry about before", she said. "I didn't mean to... I'll be honest. I don't care much for social restrictions. I mean, there is a time and a place for it, but not always. From what I gathered back at the hall and now, you are the same?"

It sounded like a question, yet Octavien had only the chance to give slight nod before she continued;

"I liked what I saw in you then, a charming young man – stranger, nonetheless – and I liked what I was; myself. I suppose neither of us are still what we introduced ourselves as; you are not Monsieur Lahance and I am no longer Baroness Devine..."

At that, Octavien raised his eyebrows in silent question of such a statement - after all, as far as he knew, for a few more seconds, she was still a Baroness - but was soon given the answer when she explanatively added;

"I bought myself a title", she said, and then gave a soft chuckle along with a shrug, before finishing; "... but I hope you remain the same gentleman I interrupted in that ballroom."

They had now entered the magnificent building and as they begun climbing the stairs towards the upper level, Octavien once again offered his arm to Bella, so that she might support herself, should her many layers of skirts cause her any problems in doing so gracefully. In the meantime, however, he remained quiet, taking good time saying anything. But whether it was because he was reflecting on her words, carefully choosing his own, or merely waiting until the few people that along with himself and Bella were still roaming the halls, had moved out of earshot, was impossible to tell. Considering the nature of the conversation and how it had been going so far, it was likely that the reason was all of the above.
Not until they stopped outside the doors to the royal balcony, now without any of the other guests even remotely close enough to hear, did he speak, raising his hand slightly to stall the footmen by the doors from opening them.

"In the ballroom", he started, and turned to fully face Bella so that if she chose to look at him, there would be no shadows or angles to obscure the expression on his face, "... I was the 'who' I desire to be, and not the 'what' I have been made into."

Deciding those words spoke for themselves, and sufficently covered what needed to be said, he then gestured for the two footmen to open the doors, and with a gentle sweeping motion invited Bella to be the first of them to enter and join César and Joséphine.

"Ah, there you are", said César, sitting casually and comfortably slumped in his chair, looking as though he was just about ready to put his feet up on the ornamented and gilded wood railing infront of him, and tilted his head back to look at the two of them. "We were beginning to wonder if we were to suffer through this without you."

At that, Octavien simply gave a faint but amused smile, knowing that while opera wasn't one of César's favorite things, he didn't really think it as bad as he made it out to be.
Still keeping his hand to Bella's disposal, he remained standing until she had sat down, and only then did he sit himself.

"What are we seeing, anyway?" César asked from the opposite side of the balcony, stealing Joséphine's hand away from the armrest on which it had been gingerly placed, and bringing it to his lips in a sudden, impulsive sign of affection.

"'Isis'", Octavien replied, smiling to himself at the thought of seeing yet another product of the mind of his favorite composer. "By Lully."

"Ah", said César, managing with that simple word to come across as though it actually told him something, and at the same time, sounding completely clueless.


(((ooc: Hope this gives you guys something to reply to? I intentionally left a gap between César's last line before the other two enter, in case Ghanima wants Jo to have the chance to say or do something first. And if you guys want to add something somewhere in there, go right on ahead.)))

Dimitri & Mercy - Orangery
 

((Fayre: Thanks for being so patient with me! T_T *tackle-hugs* Finally got settled down at home, so even if I wrestle for the PC with my bro, I should be on more frequently now!))

______

Instead of her arm, the Baroness handed him… an umbrella.

In the moment he had taken to stare at the item in dumbfounded silence, she was far ahead. With his hands full, Dimitri could not stop her with anything but words. He only called once; he would not be so witless as to call constantly. If she did not hear him now, it meant that she chose not to—and Mercy certainly was choosing not to. As amusing as it would be to stop at the west wing and force her to return, it seemed he had a much deeper patience… or tolerance… or something… with women—because he followed. And, he supposed, as Mercy ignored the main entrance to take a path through the palace, he was curious too.

Then she walked straight into the rain, and he was aghast. They were at one of the palace’s back exits: the orangery hid behind a misty curtain further west, in front of treetops barely bent under the light rain. Done with following from behind, Dimitri opened her umbrella and caught the Baroness in a few strides. He wished to reprimand her for such recklessness—her dress was not exactly prime clothing for gallivanting in such weather—but Mercy looked so knowledgeable, so aware that she was walking uncloaked through night rain and squelching mud, that he only grumbled noncommittally.

By the time they reached the orangery, he had removed his navy cloak with one hand and draped it over the Baroness’ shoulders.

Most of their walk had been in silence since they left the west wing, but it had been a congenial silence tinged with her mischief and his exasperation. Upon laying eyes on the table in the midst of candlelight and flowers, a new silence fell over them: it laid itself over their heads and shoulders, longer and thicker and heavier. She was not looking at him, yet he could still feel the expectation for a reaction—not “breathless anticipation” or anything like that; such phrases did not fit people like him or people like her—but she was waiting for… something.

So was he. But when no answer willingly threw itself into his lap, Dimitri realised he would have to find his own.

He led the Baroness to the table. Seated her. Most of the dampness was in his coat; so he removed that from her shoulders too, folding it over an empty chair. He stood behind her. Just a moment. Her hair was lightly sprinkled by the rain. It glistened against the candlelight. He sat down before her.

His tone was exceedingly gentle. “This is… very kind of you, Baroness. It must have taken quite a while to prepare.”

He would not say that she shouldn’t have gone to such trouble, because she did, and it looked splendid, and he would not patronise her so. But despite being on land, the ocean floor was pulled from him, and his eyes latched on to anything—anything but hers; there was a half-finished flower arrangement behind her that would do—to keep him afloat.

((I suppose technically yes Atropa my darling Mercy DID. But I hardly think either of us is planning on letting the King know

Seiza amazing... but I shall return this eveing and do everything I should have done already as then i have a day and a half until my next exam.

And just a quick question evening should have ended a LONG time ago... but I don't mind as long as nobody else does. Let me know!

Fayre))

Octavien, Bella, Joséphine and Joséphine - Famished at the Opera
 

Bella and Octavien had returned to César and Joséphine just in time to witness the beginning of the performances. The thick, lush curtain finally rose, revealing an array of performers to add to the orchestra, each of them bestowed with immense talent. As time progressed, quickly, yet enough to savour each moment and each note, the melodies became more pronounced, gathering more momentum and feeling.

"In the ballroom,” Octavien had said before they entered the balcony, turning to face her fully as if he wished to hold no screens over his expression. "... I was the 'who' I desire to be, and not the 'what' I have been made into."

Bella had had no words to respond to that, simply an acknowledging smile. Her ease and comfort in Octavien’s company had been present at the beginning of the evening, but then faltered when she had realised who he was. Now, given explanation, it had returned with renewed fervour. However, all that flew through her mind in a space of a few moments before the opera fully delved into itself. Through the performances, Bella was far too enthralled to even steal a moment away from arduously watching the stage, almost tasting every tone. She knew she must have looked like a mesmerised child, but she had little time to worry about that.

As the performances ended, Bella found herself at one with the daze, clapping in appreciation of the pure delight it had brought her. Octavien had been right, it was inexplicable and Bella secretly wondered what her guardians had been doing all those years, depriving her of the opera. She turned her head to witness Joséphine in the same sort of thrall, glad to know she wasn’t the only one addicted to the passions of music, smiling uncontrollably at the flushing charisma of it all.

In fact, Bella’s dedication had been so pronounced that she had not realised that she had not eaten until the Joséphine had the considerateness to ask, revealing that she herself, and César found themselves in the same predicament. Bella soon discovered that Octavien was no exception to the group, making it a good point to consider their next options.

“Perhaps we can arrange something together?” Joséphine proposed, her pleasant features arranged in question, looking at each of them in turn.

“That is a splendid idea,” Bella conceded heartily, coming to a standstill in the foyer and then turned to the men with an encouraging look. Joséphine had come up with the idea to have a meal together, Bella had no idea where to go and it was Octavien and César’s turn for input. “Any ideas? It is getting quite late.”

((OOC: sorry for the shortness and crapness of that!)