((ooc: Yes, it's more than ok considering I've been so inactive. I am really trying to summon some inspiration and will to write and hope to finally get something done tomorrow. I don't want to disappoint everyone by dropping out... ))

(((ooc: I just realized that in my César post, I mentioned Adalita being buried, when Fayreview's post mentioned a crypt, but also Octavien staring down into the grave, which was what I was thinking of when I wrote it. I'm not sure which it is supposed to be, but as it's not particularly important to the RP itself, I'll leave my post as is.

Ghanima - Well, I don't think anyone would blame you if you did, but it would be terribly sad indeed, and I can honestly say that I would rather your replies were few and far apart, than not there at all. Not that I wouldn't just love to have your posts be many and anything but far apart ( ), but if those other two were my only options, then yeah, most definately occasional posts rather than none at all.
Hope your inspiration will soon return with a vengeance! )))



A widower. At court for just a few months, married for but a few days, and already a widower. Long before he had even gotten used to the idea of being married in the first place. So very strange, the happenings of the last couple of weeks. Surreal almost. And yet it was nothing in comparison with standing in the chapel, awaiting the funeral of a young wife whom he was supposed to love but did not, along with with the King, Isabella's mother, and Isabella herself; the woman he did love, but was forbidden to... So very, very strange.

If he was quiet, it was because he was struggling to make sense of his own feelings and thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder if he, in some obscure, roundabout way, was responsible for what had happened to Adalita. Had he ever during their brief time as a married couple, wished she was dead, or otherwise gone? Just for a second, unintentionally even?
He didn't know. Try hard as he may, he simply could not remember. He was a noble young man, not usually prone to wishing people dead for no giant reason, but he did not put himself above the dark and devious thoughts that would sometimes flicker in the mind of mankind either. And not remembering something did not mean it had never been there.
He simply did not know. All that he did know, all that he could think of, was how he had barely known her, and that what little he had known, he hadn't liked very much, considering it had involved little more than false promises, betrayal, and walking all over his good intentions and sense of duty.
Yet perhaps the strangest thing of all, was that he still mourned her. Not out of duty, not because he was as loyal a husband as he could've been, circumstances being what they were, and not because he was expected to. They were all part of it, yes, but none of them were the main reason.
The main reason was that, despite all her flaws and her ungratefulness, he had cared for her. Behind her thoughtless and rather inconsiderate exterior, he had seen a young girl that was simply too naive and spoilt to take into consideration how her actions affected others. Was it not the very reason for the urgency to find a suitable husband, when she would have had a few months yet before her eighteenth birthday to find one, had she not been so careless?
But, with the right people around her, and more importantly without the influence of a certain libertine Duc, she'd had the potential of growing into a most able and refined woman, and some day Queen.

Now, that would never happen. Now, the Kingdom was once again without heir to the throne, and it's future was uncertain. As was Octavien's. Looking at it with crass eyes, at the sordid reality, officially he had been brought into the royal family for one purpose and one purpose only; to produce an heir. With Adalita gone, that duty was no longer his to fulfill, thus leaving him perhaps even more undesirable than before. He was an intelligent and enlightened young man, well aware of how the world around him worked. He harboured no delusions. There were many people, commoners and courtiers alike, that did not take all to kindly to an untitled man made Prince only through his marriage to the Princess. Imagine their thoughts now, when his 'claim' to the royal family was no more. Knowing how devious, jealous and petty the human mind could be, Octavien even saw the possibility that people would start blaming him for Adalita's death, and claim that he was somehow behind it.
It wouldn't be the first time people saw evil where there was none. Many greater misconceptions had been born from far less than this.

These were the deep, deep thoughts on the young Prince's mind, as he stood staring at the coffin, while the rest of the funeral party slowly disbanded. It even took César three attempts to get his attention before finally succeeding.
However, the same could not be said for Isabella. The moment Octavien heard someone gasp her name as she slumped in her husband's grasp, his head snapped in her direction, and within moments he was by her side.
Without thinking.

He realized that later, while in the carriage on the way back to the Palace; that perhaps he had shown too much concern for being just a son-inlaw. In that very moment, upholding the facade that he and Isabella had so carefully built, had been the last thing on his mind, brutally shoved aside by genuine concern and love he had for her.
It had by no means been blatantly obvious, and he had not insisted to be the one to support her or help her into the carriage, but it might have been enough to create just the tiniest spark of puzzlement in those that had a sense for subtleties. The King himself may be too detached to ever notice the exchange of glances between his wife and the young Prince, which, granted, were careful and well guarded, and would take a keen-eyed man or woman indeed to notice. But while the King may not be that kind of man, the Duc d'Lorraine seemed to be exactly that kind of man. Hawk-eyed and alert, leaving little to pass him by. And now there was also Juliet, Isabella's mother, who Octavien had a feeling knew her daughter well enough to smell a rat, if they were not careful. Or rather; a lover. Not to mention that elusive female sixth sense, called female intuition, which most women of Juliet's caliber seemed to possess.

It was all the reason why Octavien kept staring firmly out the carriage window, avoiding any possible attempts to make eye contact, knowing the others were likely to assume he was still deep in sad thought from the funeral. And it was the reason why when they reached the Palace, and it became clear to him that Isabella would indeed journey back to her parents' estate for a healthy 'change of scenery', he humbly excused himself from all of them, claiming he needed some time to himself, to clear his head.
Though in all honesty, it was not just an excuse. He really did feel that he needed to clear his head.

And he did it the best way he knew how. With complete disregard of the winter cold, or perhaps in plain defiance of it, he set out for the stables, his determined stride rapidly eating up the distance, and his firmly commanding voice as he asked for his horse to be saddled silencing any and all protest from the stableboys, before they had even begun.
Minutes later the fair-haired Prince, clothed in all black, could be seen charging off across the stable yard, towards the forrest, in a burst of wild, thunderous gallop. His heels kept kicking at the horse's sides, urging it on and on, as if he was attempting to ride out all the frustration pent up in him, determined not to stop until they were both completely, utterly exhausted.


(((Approachable. *s*)))

It had to be because of the confusion of everything happening too fast—the Queen slipping to the floor not five paces away from him, her elaborate gown billowing around her in a cloud of ebony—the King’s arms wrapping around her, on the verge of being pulled down himself by the weight of her dress—a heart’s beat later, Dimitri and Octavien’s hands shooting out to grasp the Queen’s arms, left and right, at the same time, propping up her weakened body.

It had to be, because he could not remember what had gone through his mind at that time.

It was only in the carriage taking them back to the Palace, sitting opposite the royals, neither of whom was looking at him at the moment—it was only there that he remembered. His grey eyes lowered to the hands resting on his lap, then turned to the Prince’s; and Frederico’s warning returned like an old whisper in his mind.

Someone should have found his carriage by now...

The first horror to cross the Duc’s mind was failure—that in his anger over Adalita, and haste with Frederico, he had overlooked the Queen’s own safety to let the assassin reach her. The anxiety increasingly settled itself into the deepest nooks of his mind, not likely to leave until they reached the Palace and no less than three physicians were done examining her.

When he looked at Octavien in the chapel, the younger man’s eyes had been only on the dazed Queen. Now it was searching the wintry clouds beyond the carriage window. Dimitri could not recall, at the moment, how much the Prince knew about Adalita’s poisoning. Perhaps he knew everything, and so he worried as well. That was one possibility.

What other possibilities ran through the Duc’s mind, they were best let loose while his own eyes turned to the scenery outside.

***

It felt like years had come and gone, a new Pope chosen and several wars declared, provisioned and won; before Dimitri finally left Edouard’s suite. The whole time had been spent sitting with the King awaiting news of Isabella’s health, discussing her return home, listening to Juliet’s insistence that the Queen return home over Edouard’s protests that she did not...

Dimitri listened with both ears, while keeping one eye on the Prince.

Octavien had been rather quiet, but with so many variables involved, he could not determine if that was unusual. He had never seen him in a funeral, with the King, or anywhere outside that one lunch that felt so long ago. Perhaps the young man was simply quiet all the time.

When Dimitri left, the sun looked different... and he was still in his ceremonial suit. Damn.

He had been sitting and standing and praying in covered buildings all day, yet it felt as if he had just returned from a drawn-out march across the Siberian plains. It gripped him not with exhaustion, but with a vehement aversion to closed spaces. He felt an immense desire to saddle a horse, grab a rifle, ride away from the walls and shoot the first thing that moved. If only it wasn’t winter.

Not that it had stopped him from shooting the Marquis.

Dimitri was missing everything else, but there was certainly something moving in the corner of his eye—two little girls. He recognised them as the de la Vallière children, and waited for them; a towering figure in scarlet and black and gold, ready to intone ‘young ladies do not run in hallways’ or something equally grave and adult-like.

______

((Tag! Indulgent-papa-Cesar! :D

Ghanima: I can't say it better than she did, so I'll just settle for saying "what Atropa said" I love reading your posts anyway, so I would wait for one every other day anyway!))

((So I did Atropa that is what I get for writing it in two parts..... I originally went for a grave but then decided as a royal she would probably have a crypt, brain malfunction huh! oh well I'll settle for crypt then.))

Mercy nodded "the chapel was stunning, I however cannot help but wonder about the minister though, something about him did not seem quite right." Mercy knew precisely why that was but she should store that gossip for a later date, not too much later though in case he suceeded at drinking himself into an early grave. "But what a horrific descision to have to make a minister to reside over the final resting of a child princess.

"And I know what you mean, the Queen is lucky to have such a caring mother, and people would be no where without good friends and the good family who can be good friends." She smiled at the young woman," I was with my cousin in Italy when I heard of my own huband's demise," she gave a half smile, anyone looking at Mercy would have taken it to be a fond rememberance of the man when he was alive, but in deed it was a fond rememberance of being free froma man who had deserted her and around people who did not know she was in fact a fresh widow and should be mourning. "Fortunately my daughter was grown when that time came I cannot imagine how hard it must be with a son to care for Comtesse."

If Mercy was honest she did not miss her husbands' infidelity, she did not miss her daughters' snide comments and harsh tongue and she did not miss her sisters' ignorance of the feelings of those around her. She however sensed she was not free of any of these things if only she knew the truth..... and within very little time she would.

((Sorry couldnt resist a Desperate housewives style ending ))

“It can be hard at times, yes” said Marie-Elisabeth, a smile gracing her face as she fiddled with the locket around her neck “But Charles was so very young when his father passed away, I don’t think he remembers much about him unfortunately. Most of what he does remember is from things I tell him”. She sighed slightly and glanced around them. “But as everyone knows, boys need their fathers in their lives. Who else will teach them all those manly things we women are so non adept at?”

Of course there was also the fact that Marie-Elisabeth herself missed the male companionship. She missed it very much in fact. Not that Charles had ever been particularly…..skilled in certain matters; she privately considered it a miracle that they had conceived a child together at all.

No, it was more the attention she missed, the feeling of being loved and being adored by someone. That was what she had cared about the most. It was also one of the few reasons she had ever considered getting married again, but the opportunity had never arisen. She could only hope that, now having more of a choice in her husband, she’d be able to truly marry someone for love.

“You’re very right about having people close to you in times like these though Baroness, I definitely agree with you in that respect” she finally said, letting her locket drop back onto her chest “In fact, I was just considering writing something to the sister I told you about, Marie-Caroline”.

She bit back a laugh and settled for a faint one. “You know, what my mother was thinking naming all 11 of us Marie something I shall never understand. But I do fear Caroline might already have written me and be rather angry I didn’t write yet”.


(((OOC: This is completely random, but in Marie-Elisabeth's profile there's now a link to a picture I found on DeviantArt. It's by an amazingly talented artist, and it PERFECTLY captures the "look" I was talking about previously as being on Marie-Elisabeth's face a lot. Go take a look! )))

(((ooc: Oh god, Seiza, when I first read the part about Dimitri shooting the Marquis, I though you meant César. :laugh:
Ghanima - Works just fine. I'm glad you didn't have him simply ignore her. Thank you. And may I just say "yay!" )))


Advancing down the hallways, daughters sometimes pulling him by the hand, sometimes pushing him from behind, and sometimes simply skipping ahead, César had begun to ponder. All day Joséphine had been unusually quiet, hardly saying one word that was not absolutely necessary. At first, he had thought she was just tired, knowing well the trouble she tended to have falling asleep when he was not laying next to her. Though he intentionally failed to realize that that just might have something to do with her possibly knowing that when not spending the night with her, he was probably spending it with another woman. Nope, he had decided that her troubles had to do with her needing to feel his arms around her because she loved him so much, and not for the simple comfort of knowing that he was really there.

Then, he had thought it was the gloom of the Palace and the royal funeral that had gotten to her, and dampened her spirits. After all, even César himself had been touched by it, and women were so much more susceptible to such things than men were. They could easily dwell on such things for hours, days even. Especially someone with a mind as philosophical as Joséphine's, which was bound to mull over the twists and turns of fate, and how no matter how much power and wealth you had, there were still some things that would always remain beyond your control, and so on and so forth. There was no limit to the depths to which her mind could travel when the mood hit her.

That thought in mind, César had eventually chalked Joséphine's odd behaviour up to her contemplative nature, mixed with a dash of simple female sentimentality, and so had decided upon their return to the Palace to give her a little peace and quiet, a chance to be alone with her thoughts and sort them out, as well as maybe rest for a bit.
But, as he had leaned forward and kissed her goodbye, he'd thought he'd sensed a bit of hostility in the air around her, which had left him with the feeling that she was somehow angry with him. Though for what, he did not know.
Nor did he get a chance to figure it out, as it was remarkable how fast tiny little legs could carry two very excited and adventurous toddlers out of sight.

"Mon bien-aimé Filles?" he called softly, to avoid having his deepish voice join in the giggling echoes of the grand hallways, and quickened his pace to round the corner where the girls had disappeared moments earlier, only to find that instead of seeing them slip around yet another, or worse, knocking over some priceless vase, they had stopped dead in their tracks, and were now staring at a large and unexpected obstacle looming ominously in their path.

Why, it was none other than the Duc d'Lorraine, looking less than mildly amused in his dark ceremonial attire, with a stern expression to match. Now, wasn't this a potentially interesting encounter in the making?

"Ah, pardon monsiuer", César said as he caught up with his darling daughters and came to a halt, at which point the youngest, Angélique, quickly ducked behind him, to peer up at the imposing Duc from blessed safety. "I fear the celerity of my daughters keeps growing with each passing day, that I have a hard time keeping up with them. My apologies if they have caused you any nuisance."

(( But hey, you never know, the power of foreshadowing...))

______

Sometimes Dimitri thought he understood, but more often he found himself uncomprehending of the Lord’s humour.

This was one of those times.

Having just lain to rest a restless young lady, (he resisted the urge to rub his eyes in a daze, instead clasping his hands behind his back), he found himself staring down the wide, fresh faces of Adalita ten—no, fifteen years past. The torrent of curls cascading from their heads, not yet coarsened by life’s trimmings; their wide eyes turned upon him in childlike fear, for was he not the one who always caught her scaling tables and, even, a chandelier once?

Despite the mahogany colouring, despite the dress; everything was the same.

There was even the soft patter of footsteps following them, as harried servants or flustered parents tried to keep up with such rapid, fleeting baby feet. Now someone would come up and apologise for the ruckus. Edouard never needed to, but on the rare occasions he chased after the little Princess, he would ‘apologise’ with the subtle pride of a parent that so aggravated babysitters everywhere. Dimitri was no less guilty...

“Ah, pardon monsiuer.”

It was the Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan himself. That was—unexpected.

“I fear the celerity of my daughters' keeps growing with each passing day, that I have a hard time keeping up with them. My apologies if they have caused you any nuisance.”

“Young ladies blazing through a court always cause a nuisance, Marquis.”

He spoke to the Marquis, but he looked sternly at the one girl still standing between them. Even though he seemed on the brink of delivering a mighty scolding, she did not move. She looked no older than three, four-plus at most. The other one had already escaped to the safety of her father, but this one remained where she was—perhaps she was a deer caught in a glare, or she was an Amazon drawing up her strength. Nobody wanted to look scared in front of their siblings.

“Luckily,” at this, Dimitri leaned forward, startling the child. But his voice was only conspiratorial, and his eyes glinted. “You are just a little girl, and the King will not hear your little feet all the way upstairs.”

He knew well the habits of children. Tell them they were too young for anything, they would be broken from whatever emotion ensnared them—even the fear of strangers—to protest vehemently; and the fear was forgotten in all their childish righteousness.

((Evening will eb called in 24 hours, and Slytherin girl I will write up a reply tomorrow morning, but sadly I must dash right now.))

(((ooc: Just a question, but would it be possible to slow the pace just a tad? I don't know what everyone else thinks, but... I feel that I hardly have time to start a conversation before it's time for the characters to head off to bed, and then I have to start all over again the next day, so... :/ )))

((ooc: I completlely agree with Atropa. It's difficult to write a meaningful arc in that short a time...even if people posted daily, which for various reasons doesn't always happen. Besides...I don't see the rush. We have a small group here that could perhaps use a little more time to develop their characters beyond short chats and rushed plotlines that have to be written before evening/night/morning falls))

(((OOC: The Comtesse and I agree too. I don't think any of us are in any kind of crazy rush, and it would be nice to have time to develop things, and have longer conversations like Ghanima said.

And on another random note coughfamilypicturecough )))

((I agree with all three above.

Oh, but didn't you want to introduce the third advisor the RP next morning? If so, I don't think there's any harm in introducing him/her/it on this very day itself.

slytherin-girl: First, the DA drawing-- I love it! I remember reading your description at one point that Marie-Elisabeth has a face that looks like she is always "up to something"... but with THAT cheeky look, no wonder Dimitri thought she was getting herself in trouble!

And Charles Jr. is cuuuuute. *wants him to snuggle!* The look on her face, though... ))

((Ok your point is taken so 48 hours until evening, I was planning on slowing it down after this RP day anyway. But now is ok too.))

(((ooc: Seiza - Yeah, I was thinking about the third advisor too, but I don't see any reason for him to wait until morning to start posting. I mean, yes, he could still be formally introduced during the morning announcement, but he'd have to arrive before that, no? Might just as well be this RP afternoon/evening?
slytherin - *lol* I love it. Their son is indeed a cutie, and Charles does seem mighty proud to have a pretty, young thing like her as his wife!
Fayre - Great! Thanks!)))



Had the trees of the forest had eyes and voices of their own, there would have been a soft murmur following in the wake of the Prince's violent rampage on the winding, frozen paths, of a young man riding as though the Devil himself was nipping at the heels of his horse. With merciless resolution he urged the magnificent beast onward and onward, kicking at it's sides at even the slighest indication that it might be slowing down. It didn't seem to matter how fast they went, it still was never quite fast enough. For it was true, what Octavien was trying to outrun, was something far more difficult to shake, than the Devil.
It was his thoughts he was trying to escape. Each and every single troubled notion that was currently clawing away at his sanity, and his peace of mind. Adalita's death, and where it would leave him, now that his purpose as Prince was void, and his relationship with the King distant and polite at best. The threats Mercy had made, and how while at first he had considered her to be judged far too harshly by others, he now knew that the reputation she had was most well-deserved indeed. Then there was Roseline, another lady he seemed to have misjudged greatly, thinking, hoping, she was someone he could trust - a confidant - only to discover that it seemed to be a most one-sided feeling.

But, no matter how much all those things bothered him, they were not what bothered him the most. What bothered him the most, was Isabella's dwindling health, and now her impending departure from the Palace as well, to an estate far away where he could neither talk to her, nor see her at all and make sure she was alright. Despite her reassurance that she was in perfect health, he worried about her. Even more so now, following her collapse outside the chapel. He'd known grief to take it's toll on women before, but Isabella, with her poise and cool self restraint, was not just any woman. She'd made keeping one's composure into an art, an art that she mastered far better than anyone else he knew... So no matter what she said, she was not alright. And as if not being able to keep an eye on her was not bad enough, with her gone, it was not only his formal ties with the royal family that were gone, but the friendly ones as well. He doubted the King had anything against him, but considering how distant Edouard was, he would've hardly found reasons to care for Octavien either, beside the fact that as far as he knew, Octavien had been the love of his darling daughter's life. But with Adalita gone, would that still be enough reason to have him remain as part of the family? Especially considering that not only would Isabella no longer be there to influence her husband to Octavien's advantage, but with her out of the way, others were sure to make a play for her way to the King's ear. There was no telling just what that might entail. At court, everyone seemed to have their own hidden agenda, and woe betide anyone who got in the way, intentionally or otherwise.

Then there were the remnants of past troubles, that still inhabited a small part of his mind. Feelings that had yet to ebb away, and a need for conviction that there were no loose ends, which only time could provide. Marquess Berini, who had now been released from the dungeons; only time would tell if he would honor the "agreement" he had with Octavien, and keep his mouth shut, and never set foot in the kingdom again. The Duc Peitou-Charentes, who had claimed that Octavien had ruined his life; even though the man seemed to have crawled back underneath the rock from which he'd come, Octavien had to wonder if that accusation was the full extent of how his deluded mind would rear it's ugly head, or if he would somehow attempt to get his revenge, no matter how unjust.

Together, all these troubles twisted and turned in Octavien's mind, using the distraction that Adalita's funeral, Isabella's collapse, and the presence of two dangerously alert people had brought him this afternoon, to entangle themselves with one another, and create an intricate cat's cradle of thoughts and emotions that he just could not sort out. Not until he had purged himself of it all, and could start anew by carefully untangling each thread, one by one.

Underneath him, the hard, frozen ground was rushing past in a blur of brown and white, sprinkled with patches of sickly yellow where the snow had melted away and uncovered the dead leaves and grass of the autumn passed.
Not that Octavien noticed. Leaning forward as he kept urging the horse on, he only saw what came rushing towards them, prepared to duck when branches hung low and threatened to pull him out of the saddle, or leap over fallen trees and bushes that might appear in their path, dashing forth like a madman, until the wind started peeling away his troubles, one after another, leaving them to fall gently to the ground behind horse and rider, like soft petals shed from a withering rose.

At last, there was silence in his mind. Blessed, longed-for silence. Nothing but the gentle whisper of the wind, and the thuds of gallopping hooves resounding in his mind. Troubles did not exist, court and Palace were not even a memory. There was only sweet, blissfull peace.

With horse and rider now both spent, every last drop of energy drained from their sweaty bodies, the pace finally begun to slow, and as Octavien slumped over in the saddle, resting wearily against the horse's damp neck, the beast soon came to a complete, grateful halt, steam shooting out of it's nostrils, and it's chest heaving violently along with Octavien's as both struggled to catch their breath.

However, the peace would turn out to be short-lived. The Prince soon fought himself back into an upright position, as even through the rapid gasps for air and the soft susurration in his head, he heard the sound of something - or someone - approaching. Though he had a hard time determining from where, as the path was empty in both directions. Only when he heard a gasp, was he able to register from where the sounds had come, and he quickly turned his head.

Emerging from the trees and bushes, on a horse that he recognised as being one of the more temperamental specimens in the royal stables, was just about the last person he had expected to see; Joséphine.
Oh, how very ironic.
Just when he had finally succeeded in shaking all of his troubles, even for just a little while, the cause for another appeared, in the form of a stunningly beautiful young brunette, with cheeks flushing a scarlet hue from her own journey through the woods, and eyes that seemed to have sparkled with life just a moment ago.

"Oh...", she said after a few seconds, when the initial surprise had worn off. "I am sorry. I didn't expect anyone would be here."

That was a statement that Octavien wasn't quite sure how to interpret. Had he not known that her reaction to this unexpected encounter had to be very similar to his, he might not have caught the reluctant glimpse that had flashed in her eyes as their gazes had met, and thus simply taken her words to be an indirect apology for disrupting his peaceful ride.
But because of that glimspe, and the uneasiness that had been ever present between them since the... incident, he thought that what he heard was by no means an apology, but rather a wish for her words to be true. Though whether 'anyone' did in fact mean anyone, or just him, he did not know.

"Josephine..." he said, and his gaze drifted over her shoulder to the path behind her, as if expecting someone else to appear in her company, but then returned to her. "You are alone? César is not with you?"

(((ooc: Sorry for the double post, but I didn't want to wait to post this, and the previous one would be far too long if I edited it to add this.)))


When deciding to bring his children with him to court at the Palace of Light and Air, César had been aware that it was a most unconventional thing to do, and that it was a choice that would most certainly cause him to be frowned upon by the other courtiers. As would Joséphine, to some extent, even though at the same time few would have expected her to argue her husband's wishes. He was the man, the head of the household, and so the decisions were his to make. For the most part. Everyone - at least those of the female gender - knew that even the most compliant wife could successfully manipulate her husband into seeing things her way, and make his decisions accordingly, all the while thinking that he was their sole originator.

Such was not the case here, however. Joséphine had been thankful that he had allowed Adèle and Angélique to come, yes, but she hadn't used her smarts and her charms in order for him to do so. She didn't have to. César really did want his daughters with him at court, and by God they would be there, no matter what anyone thought or, since it was the court after all, whispered behind his back.

There were of course those that he expected would not hesitate to show their disapproval openly, through snide remarks, meaning glances, sneers disguised as polite questions, or just plain lectures. The renowned Duc d'Lorraine being one such person. While not seeming the type who was inclined to make nasty comments and feign pleasantries, he did very much seem the type to share his values in a less than gentle manner.
Which was why his reply to César's apology came as no surprise to the young nobleman.

"Young ladies blazing through a court always cause a nuisance, Marquis", he said, and apparently considered himself too busy nailing poor little Adéle to the wall with his piercing stare, to bother even looking at the person to whom he was speaking.

Wanting to comfort the little one seeking refuge behind him, César's hand had found it's way into Angéliques soft curls, but now the motion suddenly ceased, if only for a moment, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He had expected that he himself would be lectured, and he had, as the remark was much like a verbal slap on the wrist. But when it came to reprimanding his children, the only ones doing it would be either him, Joséphine, or the girls' nanny. If people had something to say, they could say it to them, instead of staring down a four year-old.

However, as it turned out, the Duc was not yet done.

"Luckily," he added, "You are just a little girl, and the King will not hear your little feet all the way upstairs."

Within a few additional seconds, he had managed to turn the whole thing around, leaving only César to have been reprimanded, and Adéle to giggle as Dimitri's plotting look had her instantly forgetting how just a moment earlier she'd flinched with fright when he had leant forward. Though Angélique, not yet old enough to comprehend his subtle transformation, was still gripping tightly at her father's breeches, which only made it all the more difficult for him to bite his tongue.

"I suppose you are right, Duc d'Lorraine", he said concededly. "Childish joy can be rather annoying. It is most fortunate then, that you are here to put an end to such foolishness."



(((ooc: Okay, that ended up alot more venomous than I had intended. No offence, Seiza (and Dimitri! )! César just has a problem with authority. *LOL*)))

There were many things that could be said about young Octavien Lahance. And over the years, many things had been. As a child, he had made himself known among the villagers as the youngest son of Jean-Philippe Lahance, one of the most prominent stud farmers in the entire kingdom. Well-mannered little saint when watched, but suspected no-good rascal when backs were turned. Although rarely proven guilty of anything, mischief had happened one time too many when the angelic, gossamer-haired lad was around, for people not to think he had anything to do with it. But as no one wanted to antagonize the family that were partly to thank for the way the village prospered, the people didn't bring it to their attention, and instead settled for hoping that it was a phase, and that things would change as the boy got older. Though Jean-Phillipe and his wife Marguerite-Antoinette didn't need to be told about their youngest son's shenanigans. Having seen servants and guests be made the victims of various pranks, they were already fully aware of their son's mischievous tendencies, even though he, as already stated, was rarely caught. They knew their son, but much like the villagers they decided to give it time, hoping that change would come with age.

They all got their wish. Though probably not in the way most of them had hoped. As Octavien embarked on his adolescent years, he had joined forces with another young man, who unlike Octavien had rarely cared to cover up his crimes. Not when it was so much fun to see just how much he could get away with, simply because he was a noble. After all, why cover up one's crimes when there were others to do it for you? Consequently, Octavien had decided to test the limits as well, and along with a few other boys, he and his new friend - a certain César de la Valliére - had become the 'brat pack' of their day, over time moving on from simple pranks that targeted some poor unsuspecting sap, to adventures that offered thrills on a more profound and personal level.

Still, despite his unruly behaviour at times, people found it impossible not to like the fair-haired youth. He had an amiable way about him, rarely without a genuine smile to offer, and had always been a witty and sophisticated conversationalist. He was never condescending towards those less fortunate, and had on a number of occasions actually apologized to those that he thought might not have deserved being on the recieving end of the trouble he had caused. Add to that the handsome, sensitive features that so appealed to the ladies, and his talent for riding and playing the harpsichord, and you had the perfect reciepe for a winsome young man indeed.

Yes. There were many things one could say about Octavien, long before he came to court at the Palace of Light and Air. And now, a few months after his arrival, there were even more.
Thing was, the majority of it was only known by two people, and even of those two, there was only one that knew it all. And soon, she would be gone, leaving only the other, whose nose Octavien was determined would stay out of his business. Granted, he wanted a confidant, and who better to confide in than someone who already knew part of what would be so difficult to tell anyone?
But, it would be a cold day in Hell before he confided in that... that...

"I am alone".

The firm voice of Joséphine sliced through his thoughts, preventing him from labelling Mercy Flight something rather far from flattering, and instead brought him back to the here and now. He had always had a way with words, and if given the chance, would've surely come up with a far more colorful description of the Baroness than 'court gossip'. It was yet another thing that could be said about him; he was a man that knew how to express himself.

Though right now, meeting Joséphine's somewhat defiant gaze, he felt like nothing of the sort. One look at her pretty face - the slight, almost-there frown, and the rose colored lips pursed together in discontentment - told him he had been careless when asking if she was alone. He hadn't meant to offend her by insinuating that she shouldn't be riding alone. She was an able horsewoman, and even though most would consider it improper for her to go riding without her husband or a chaperon, Octavien was not one of them. Not when the woman in question was seated properly in a sidesaddle, and carried herself with dignity, instead of straddling the animal like a man and having her skirts ride up way over her ankles.

"After we parted, César took Adèle and Angélique on a stroll through the Palace", she said, and left a few moments of silence to say what she hadn't, before continuing; "As for myself, I wanted an escape from the stifling atmosphere of the court. It would appear I am not the only one."

So. She had indeed been seeking solitude then. Meaning, the reluctance in her eyes when she had first come across him, had not been something entirely personal.
But, she had only been here for two days so far. Most other women would still be happily wandering about in the Palace, to get acquainted with the halls and hallways, not to mention the other courtiers. The thought of leaving it all to go riding, and alone too, would never even cross their minds.
Granted, Joséphine was not by far like most women, but Octavien had seen the look on her face as he guided her and her little family to their suites the other night. She had been excited then. There had been no mistaking it.
So why not anymore? Surely the novelty of it all hadn't worn off already? Was it the funeral, and the gloom currently roaming the hallways, spreading into every little nook and cranny? The sea of black clothes and sad faces, tainting every thought that passed through your mind with sorrow?

He didn't bother asking. If it truly was her reason for wanting to get away from it all, a question would be redundant, and if it wasn't... Well... Then a question might make things far more awkward than they were already.
Thus, instead of asking, or even saying anything at all, he merely nodded once to confirm that he shared her reasons for wanting to get away. Although a very simple gesture, it seemed to be enough to encourage her, and she set her horse into motion, to join Octavien on the wide dirt path. At that, the young Prince merely gave a somewhat meek smile to welcome her. It was the only thing he could muster at the moment.

"Have you found what you were looking for, Octavien?" she asked softly as she joined up next to him, and they started along the winding path together, side by side. "Or has what you were running from found you?"

Rarely one to shy away from making eye contact, this was one instant when Octavien was actually grateful that he had a valid reason not to. Facing forward, with his eyes roaming a bend up ahead, he could avoid looking at her and risk having his eyes reveal something which he was not ready for others to know, without it being obvious. He may have learned how to hide his true feelings behind a placid mask, but he didn't feel quite like his usual self today, and thus didn't trust himself to try.
Therefore, when he finally turned his head to look as her, it was only once he felt that whatever feelings had initially stirred within him at her question, they had now ebbed away from his features.

Though to be perfectly honest, he still didn't know how to answer her. He had indeed caught her subtle hint, regarding what had been troubling them both for sometime, but wasn't really sure it would make for a safer conversation than the other option, and vice versa.
Yet he still yearned to confide in someone, and even though César would've been the most logical choice, he had been so busy trying to cheer up Octavien when they had spoken, that it had left little room for whatever serious matters Octavien might've wanted to get off his chest. César meant well, but sometimes he was simply too focused on enjoying life, to sort out what needed sorting, if it was not to possibly come back and haunt you at a later time.
Or maybe it was just the fact that since coming here, Octavien had grown a bit more serious. He didn't recall ever dwelling much on troubles back home.

Now Joséphine, on the other hand, had always had a deeper sense of things, and her and Octavien did already share one secret... But it was a mutual one, one that it was in the best interest of both of them to protect, and mention to no one. How would she handle secrets she herself was not a part of? Would she handle them at all?
No, he couldn't share his troubles with her. He couldn't share them with anyone he didn't trust completely. And he didn't know Joséphine well enough to do so,

"In finding what we want", he said finally, "we are often made to realize that it only comes with a price, which no amount of running will leave behind for very long."

While he spoke, he turned back to face forward again, but then shot her a glance. And another. Then, with a heavy sigh he finally made his decision, choosing the path that under the circumstances appeared to be the less dangerous one, though not necessarily the most pleasant one. But, in order to get to point B, you had to first get to point A.

"Joséphine", he started, his voice sounding frustrated, impatient almost, as though he could no longer avoid the subject even though he wanted to.

And yet he got no further than that, but instead fell silent, simply because he found no words to continue. At least not until he decided that if they were to talk about it, he might just as well bring up the most pressing matter first, and one of the two things most likely to infect and destroy any further friendship between them.

"Do you intend to tell him?"




(((ooc: Ghanima - 'Do you intend to tell him' as in does she want to, not 'get off your butt and tell him already'. Know what I mean? :D
Also, sorry if it's messy. It's 5 AM, and I'm dead tired, but I didn't dare stop writing, considering I struggled like hell with the previous Octavien post, and this one came fairly easy. Was afraid that if I went to bed, the flow would be gone when I woke up.
Okay... Shutting up now. )))

"I suppose you are right, Duc d'Lorraine. Childish joy can be rather annoying. It is most fortunate then, that you are here to put an end to such foolishness."

Dimitri knew keenly he was at that age where he could reprimand parent and child alike, and neither would feel more above his rebukes than the other. Forty-eight was a peculiarly all-encompassing age. If he had been, oh, thirty-five or so… then it would have been clear that his words were directed at the child. The parent would have been free to act as a parent, to feel as one, with all the authority that status lent them.

But at this age—well! Who could say who the target was, when both were children compared to him in any case?

He could not tell whether the venom in the Marquis’ voice (with a pinch of sulkiness, in his opinion, quite nostalgic in a way) was due to Dimitri stepping into his paternal territory, or the result of being made to feel like a scolded child himself.

In any case, he thought merrily, grey eyes on the giggling girl; the daughter was taking it remarkably better.

Really, it was wicked of him, but he could not help enjoying it. He spared the young man a glance, calculatingly long enough to mean something yet short enough to be, maybe, dismissive? Disapproving? His face was entirely serious. “My opinion, if you’ll have it, Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan, is that it is the duty of parents to end their foolishness. Preferably before they step into polite society.”

But it was the child’s duty to protect their precious foolishness as long as their small fingers had strength.

Everything was a struggle, in the end.

But, well, no reason to let the Marquis know that. It was far more amusing to poke at another’s parental instincts, to rile up all that pride and protectiveness just dying to gush out at a moment’s notice. After all, children grew up in the blink of an eye, and parents became irrelevant then. Best to exercise one’s protective muscle while they still needed it.

And it seemed the Marquis would need it again, for the tiny girl’s giggles subsided, and her inquisitive eyes suddenly noticed the Very Shiny Medals decorating his scarlet coat…

______

((Fancy that, the first time César's claws come out, it's for his little girls.

Hope you don't mind I used Adele a wee bit, Atropa. Papa!César amuses me and Dimitri greatly. :angel: ))

"I suppose it is true, boys without fathers i hear can grow up a little wild, though with a mother of such good reputation I doubt your son shall have any problems." The Baroness gave a gentle smile, she was developing a softer style when dealing with other people which many seemed to act more favourably to. "However I know some women with some various tallents that any man would be proud of."

"Times are hard, it is a good job that the Marquis he is so fond of has come to court to entertain our dear Prince, everyone can do with a sympathetic ear now and then." Mercy paused to reflect on the hardships the young Prince would be going through, the loss of Isabella to her family home. She looked down at floor, she had been a little rough she decided.

She looked back at the Comtesse, "if you are sending a letter outside of the Palace be careful with whom your entrust it there is a Doorman called Joseph who is good with most tasks and highly reliable, otherwise unless you give it to your personal staff there is no way you can be sure it will arrive, in the correct place. And mother's do have some starnge notions when naming their children, I have never found Mercy particularly fitting, and I named my own child Viola which was quite a mistake I shall admit." Mercy's mother had enjoyed naming her family; Arthur, Mercy, Charmaine and Juliet. Mercy had always felt she had gotten a raw deal, what a name to be landed with really...

((Hello people, I have come back to considering our scandals database, so any scandals which you know Shenan had on it can you please PM me? I would be ever so grateful ))

“Why thank you Baroness” she said, smiling and looking over at her “Charles can be quite the handful, as all little boys most certainly can, but I’d never trade my little chou d’amour for anything else in the world”.

Marie-Elisabeth tried very hard not to laugh, knowing it would seem rude, thinking about some of the things Charles had gotten up to. But he was one of those children that was just so genuinely sweet and loveable you couldn’t help but forgive him for his mischief. Not to long before she had come to court he had accidentally broken a vase containing some flowers. Unbeknownst to her, he had spent the next few hours in the garden gathering a whole bunch of flowers for a bouquet, and had given them to her with such an adorable smile on his face she couldn’t be angry with him anymore.

“There was never any question about his name though” she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes “It was always going to be right after his father. I don’t know what it is with men and wanting to confuse their poor sons by giving them the same name. Thankfully my father didn’t believe in that. We had enough trouble with my sisters and my names, never mind giving identical ones to my brothers”.

She smiled as she remembered her father, Francis. She had only been ten years old when he died, but everyone had admitted she was his favourite daughter. He had doted on her to a ridiculous degree. It was probably because she was the youngest and, again in most people’s opinions, prettiest of her many sisters.

“You’re certainly right about having someone to talk to though” she said, finding it hard to keep that mischievous look from making its’ way onto her face again, but she managed somehow. “The Marquis seemed like a most entertaining man when I met him yesterday, I’m sure it will do the Prince a world of good to have an old friend around in times like this”.

She then looked gratefully at Mercy, glad for the advice. “And thank you very much for the tip about letters Baroness” she said, looking down the hall to her room “I’ll certainly keep that in mind when I write to my sister soon. I don’t want to think about how upset she’d get with me if a letter got lost”.

(((ooc: Seiza - No no, I don't mind at all. Feel free to use her and Angelique.)))


There was something about the Duc d'Lorraine, that infused César with the feeling that even with background, career and reputation aside, there was alot more to him than would meet the eye. Now, while that was of course usually the case with most everyone, it was also usually more or less so. In the Duc's case, César had a feeling it was more. Way more. There were currents stirring underneath the Duc's stern exterior, of thoughts and feelings of what was going on around him, but they remained so faint and elusive it was impossible to pinpoint what they were. And even though he might often be considered by others to be a wreckless young man, César was no fool. His eyes and mind were sharp, and he would often recognize when things were not what they appeared to be, even if he might not always be able to determine what they really were.

"My opinion, if you’ll have it, Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan," the Duc said, this time - lo and behold! - even gracing César with a glance, "is that it is the duty of parents to end their foolishness. Preferably before they step into polite society."

However, while the unfavorable look in his eyes as they had met briefly with César's, along with the continuous gravity and edge in his voice, suggested that he did not appreciate César's sarcasm, both failed to avert the slight quiver in the corner of the young man's mouth, which then forced itself all the way onto his lips in the form of a faint smirk, struggling against the restraints of the will-power that held it back.

Imagine that. In a battle where his authority and distinguished age outweighed César's youth and currently somewhat inferior position with quite the margin, the Duc had just handed the young Marquis a sword. To critize the behaviour of another, while flaunting faults of one's own? Tsk tsk tsk.

"If that is indeed the case, Duc d'Lorraine", César retorted, "I believe you are in the wrong place, for it appears your parents' work is not yet done."

With that, his own gaze abandoned Dimitri, and landed on the nearest daughter instead as he bent down to pick up her up. Gratefully Angélique wrapped her chubby little arms around his neck, and once he had straightened his back and her face was almost levelled with Dimitri's, she shot the older man a dark, reserved look, a warning glare, like a little lion cub preparing to defend her father from evil.

"One must be truly jaded", César added, and paused only momentarily to swiftly intercept Adèle as she begun reaching for the many adornments on Dimitri's suit, by making it seem as though he merely wished to take her by the hand; "... to resent the blessings of youth and innocence so, and wish to stifle them with rigid conventions and conformity."

Octavien was starting to feel much like an elephant, as far as attempting not to offend Joséphine was concerned. Manuevering himself in the conversation with a lack of grace that was not of this world, in comparison to his usual silver tongue, he had opened his mouth but twice, and yet somehow managed to express himself with the sensitivity of a brick wall both of those times. Or so he felt, when he stood witness to how an army of feelings spilt forth on Joséphine's endearing face, taking the stage on her features, one after another until it was impossible to tell them apart, or even what they were.

He scolded himself then, for forcing her into being the one to brave the big unknown first. Yes, it was he that had asked the question, and yes, she could have saved herself the distress by answering it with a simple 'no', thus avoiding opening up like she had. But had he not known she would not be that evasive? Had he not known from the look on her face every time they had met since the incident, that she felt guilty, and thus was likely to feel that she owed him answers to the questions he might have? After all, the first move back then had been hers. Had it not...? Or was it he that had instigated it? Had he seen the state she was in, and offered comfort the only way he'd known how; as a man? Even if he hadn't intended to make her see him that way, or for himself to see her like a woman and not 'just' the fair and quick-witted wife of César, he simply did not have a history of being close to women in a way that was not in slightest amorous. With no sisters, and a mother that hardly needed someone to console her, what experience did he have at offering a woman the safe arms of nothing more than a friend?
The answer was; none.

Not that it really mattered. Regardless of wether it was he or she that had instigated it, it did not excuse what either of them had done. Not her, and certainly not him. She had had a reason for what had happened, for seeking affection, or plain comfort. Him, on the other hand, should have known better. Much, much better. But in that instant, her vulnerability had been more intoxicating to him than any wine that had ever touched the tip of his tongue, as had the passion that he knew lurked within her.
And maybe, just maybe, he too had harbored some ill-will towards César, for driving her so far.

"I have thought about it", she said finally, following a silence during which the array of feelings to claim her expression had been banished, leaving only one, of grim resolution. "More times than I could count, but something has always held me back. Not only fear and shame, those I could have overcome had there been any genuine hope in my heart that telling César the truth would do any good."

She made a good point. Knowing César, his reaction if told might not be all too pleasant, and there was no telling how much damage it could do. To him, to Joséphine, to Octavien, and to the friendship the three of them shared. Perhaps it was better for everyone involved for Octavien and Joséphine to suffer the burden of their mutual secret, and risk only their own friendship, rather than the relationship each of them had with César.

"It was a mistake, a one time mistake which hasn't been repeated", she added, her voice marred by reluctance and the effort it took her to say the words, to speak of what had happened, after months of making sure not to.

But they had to talk about it. Did she not see that? They had to resolve this. Now. For while until two days ago, distance had not only kept them from having to face one another on a near daily basis, but also allowed the memories to be stored away in some dark nook deep within their minds, now they no longer had that luxury. And the more the incident was left to fester, the more difficult it would be to keep it from César that something was not as it should be.

The sooner they spoke of it, the better. And if Octavien had been unfair by coaxing Joséphine - unintentionally or not - to speak first, he could only hope that she would forgive him. He had not meant to add to her torment.

"I wish I could have spared you all of this annoyance, Octavien", she continued after another few moments of silence, and this time the strain was gone from her voice, leaving only melancholic resignation. "We cannot change the past however, perhaps it is more useful for us both to focus our efforts on the present and the future."

She did blame herself. Judging by what she had just said, she labelled herself responsible for something that in Octavien's mind was not really her fault.
It would have been so easy though, to just go along with it, and pretend that even though they had both participated, it was only because she lured him to her, using her female charms, devastatingly captivating smile and whatnot, until he convinced himself that he was in fact innocent.
But despite all his flaws and imperfections, Octavien had rarely been prone to delusions, nor did he have it in him to make a friend suffer for a mutual mistake alone. He couldn't, and he wouldn't.
And had his mind not been made up already, the heavy sigh that caused Joséphine's slender shoulders to slouch was enough to guilt any sinner into wanting to confess his crimes.

"You are part of this too however," she added lastly, "and César's friend; your feelings might differ from mine. Do you believe it would be in anyone's best interest for him to find out?"

It was a question that Octavien himself had pondered alot over the course of the last few months, though perhaps less and less lately, as there had been other concerns taking up what time he'd had to ponder.
If he was to be perfectly honest with himself, and Joséphine, he really did think it could do César some good to learn that his wife had willingly tasted another man on her lips. Not because Octavien wanted to see him hurt or angry, but because César needed to realize that Joséphine - the spouse he held so dear, despite what his affairs might lead one to think - was not perfectly happy, and that he himself was the cause of it. Quite frankly, Octavien thought his friend needed to be taught a lesson, and learn to not only appreciate what he had - which he already did - but to act accordingly, which he also did already. But the latter he only did to a certain extent, when he should be doing it without any exceptions.

Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical of him, to judge César, when he himself had had various affairs with married women. But he couldn't help it. He knew César, and he knew Joséphine. They were both friends of his, and he knew the love and the passion between them was still strong. And from what he had gathered of César's smiles and innuendo's, Joséphine was his perfect match in bed. He should have no need for other women.
So yes, it wold probably do César, and in the long-run Joséphine too, a world of good if he found out what had happened.
There was only one problem...

"I am indeed a part of it, and as much to blame for it as you are, if not more", he said, having decided to address the issue of guilt first, in the hopes that it would ease her distress to know that he did not fault her. With that done, he continued; "And, had it been anyone but me, then... Yes, I believe it would be."

Having only offered here an odd glance here and there for the past couple of minutes, he now turned his head, finally seeking to actually make proper eye contact, perhaps for the first time since they had touched the subject.

"I am not blind, Joséphine", he said. "And clearly, neither are you. I am aware of why it happened, and for what it's worth, I don't condone what he is doing. I never have. Which is why I think you would both benefit from him finding out. Frankly, I think he needs to realize that he is not the only one available to you. That if you wanted to, you could have your choice of men."

There it was his turn to pause, and to give a deep sigh that in itself spoke of how despite what he had just said, there was still something that made it all impossible.

"But I don't think he could handle knowing it was me", he said and then sighed again. "I fear he would end up resenting you and me both, and nothing good would come of that."

Perhaps it wasn't the most eloquent thing to ever come out of his mouth, but at least it was honest, and open-hearted. And, he hoped as he went over it in his mind, not containing something that would hurt or offend Joséphine, or make her feel bad in any other way. She didn't need it, and she didn't deserve it.

“If that is indeed the case, Duc d'Lorraine,” César retorted, apparently quite prepared and willing to assert himself, as all young men insisted on doing before their ladies. Daughters included. “I believe you are in the wrong place, for it appears your parents' work is not yet done.”

Dimitri had to admit—he did not expect that.

There were many ways men used to attack him, primarily using a myriad of adjectives in their arsenals straddling the less-than-flattering and subtly-polite-reprisals. Some have even had the audacity to say them to his face, which always left the Duc in the conflicted position of admiring their nerve and being... well, insulted. Having heard more than his fair share—both personally and along the grapevine—Dimitri could confidently spar with the worst of them.

But never had he, ever, been accused of being raised badly.

He was stunned enough by the reference to his own parents that the Marquis even managed another stab.

“One must be truly jaded,”—he grabbed the hand of the young girl, and with the other firmly in his arm, they completed his parental ensemble. Dimitri thought parents sometimes wore their children as soldiers held shields. “...to resent the blessings of youth and innocence so, and wish to stifle them with rigid conventions and conformity.”

The Duc chuckled, not unkindly, but in that aggravatingly overly-kind manner that could be even worse. “Take it from a father who knows, Marquis: you will wish for all the conventions in the world, when your daughters reach the age differentiating a kiss from their pater and a kiss from a boy.”

The girl between them looked up plaintively at her father, completely unaware of the verbal sparring occurring over her head. Dimitri bent to speak to her.

“I apologise, young one, but I can’t leave these medals to you.” Like a crafty old experienced grandfather, he continued, “But if I see you again, I shall make sure I have a present for you and your sister.”