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#101 Old 4th Feb 2008 at 7:11 PM
((Seiza I may have to kill, you my darling Mercy is merely a 'transportation mishap' huh? ))
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Field Researcher
#102 Old 4th Feb 2008 at 7:57 PM
Default Dimitri, Isabella and Edouard - wrapping it up
As Edouard chattered on and on, Dimitri was beginning to suspect it wasn’t the desire to unleash his plan that loosened his tongue at such a rate, but the earlier wine.

It was miserable, he felt, to watch a man’s self-control slipping before his very eyes; but the Duc had seen stronger men crumble before. His long affection for the King made him only sympathise. Adalita was his only child—well, it would be tragic even if there were ten other princesses—but this had to be particularly crushing for the royal couple. Their only daughter...

Duc d’Lorraine.”

Ah, thank God the Queen was there to pull him from his darkening thoughts. She hadn't needed to turn such a charming smile upon him, for he was grateful for the distraction.

“The pleasure would be mine, Your Majesty.” It wasn’t the most original line, but Dimitri-Josèphe was not known for poetry. “Simply name the place, and I shall await you there.”

As Isabella told him where they would meet, the three walked through the Salon doors. In the ornate hallway beyond, between the requisite guards—more stationed than normal, Dimitri noted—stood his oak-skinned aid, speaking and gesturing wildly. A flustered soldier saw them and bowed very, very low.

“My apologies, Your Majesties. We’ve been trying to remove this one, but he doesn’t understand anything!”

“He understands simple French. You are all confusing him,” Dimitri explained. His hand waved the guards aside with enough authority—authority that was surely supplemented by the royal presence behind him—that they allowed his aid to run towards him. The Duc reminded in gentle, childlike French, “Rukov, greet your King and Queen first.”

The stocky man skidded to a stop and initiated an awkward bow. A dark eye glanced shyly up at the Queen, before he babbled in an old, uncommon Russian dialect.

Dimitri translated, “Your Majesty, my trusted aid, Rukov, wishes you to know he thinks you the most beautiful creature he has seen. Unfortunately for him, he will have to deal with his grumpy old, not-so-beautiful lord for the rest of the day. I shall teach him where he may go within the palace, regardless of the messages he has for me.”

Dimitri kissed the Queen’s hand once more, bade farewell to the King, and returned to his suite with Rukov in tow.

______

((Fayre: Present palace courtiers excluded, of course!

Not approachable, because Dimitri has a lazy old player who needs to sleep now. x_x))
Lab Assistant
#103 Old 5th Feb 2008 at 12:01 AM
"Have you yet became aquainted with the King or any of the royals for that matter? I do hear they are the most charming and beautiful people you shall ever meet. But then the people of court would say that, if they wanted to keep their heads." Fleur laughed. Amelia chuckled as well. "No, unfortunately I haven't. No one is really allowed to speak to any royals because of rank. Yet I think it would be quite marvelous if I were to meet a royal. I admire their work, as well as there exquisite dress. Most people of such high rank don't have access to such dress, except for our queen. How about you? Have you aquainted a royal? It would be a rather rare opportunity, wouldn't it?" Amelie asked as she gazed at all the lilies.
Original Poster
#104 Old 5th Feb 2008 at 2:53 AM
Default Isabella - From Edouard's Salon to Octavien's Suite - imagine that!
((OOC: I apologize for the length of this post, but it covers a LOT of ground. Also in my research, the treatment of choice back then for Octavien would be pouring hot oil on his gash. Yeah, uh... I'm not doing that. Please excuse the historical inaccuracy, after all, it isn't the first. ))

Isabella had been informing Duc d’Lorraine of exactly where to find the doors of her Salon, as she would like to meet with him there before she gave the proper tour of the palace. As they passed through the doors they were greeted by the sight and sounds of Dimitri’s flustered servant.

Once the guards let him through, he ran up to Duc d’Lorraine. She was surprised to witness Dimitri speak with him in a soft calming tone, much like a father would speak to a young son. As he instructed his servant to greet the King and Queen, Isabella smiled upon him gently. The man’s gaze seemed to slightly linger on her form while he uttered something in a dialect that she did not know.

She looked to Duc d’Lorraine with expectation as he began to explain. “Your Majesty, my trusted aid, Rukov, wishes you to know he thinks you the most beautiful creature he has seen….” Isabella’s gaze returned to Rukov with a friendly smile. Despite his seeming lack of manners and etiquette, he was sweet.

After Dimitri left, Isabella informed Edouard she would be in her suite. She felt as if the events of the day were weighing on her, and she needed some quiet, and time alone. It hadn’t been an entire lie, it just hadn’t been the whole truth. She really did go to her suite, to think in the quiet while her servants tended to her. But she did not intend to stay there. Octavien had said they would talk later, and well, it was later.

When she entered her suite, she was given a message that had come from Baroness Flight’s servant. Her eyes widened of the tale of Mercy getting ran over by a wild coach and wondered who it could have been. She wondered if it were the Duc d’Lorraine, but quickly dismissed it. Certainly a man of his caliber would not have nearly ran over a lady. It must have been one of the other many courtiers coming in this day. After being sure that Mercy was reported to be alright she sent word requesting Mercy’s presence for lunch the next day. With all the commotion going on, she wanted to be sure to keep in regular contact with the most resourceful woman.

With that matter taken care of, Isabella was finally able to sit in front of her vanity, giving herself a lecture in the mirror if it were, while servants tended to her hair. The strong willed woman within her was doing its best to conquer the vulnerable woman she had recently discovered. His words had been short, he was filled with anger. But didn’t he have the right to be? By being in her presence his very position in the kingdom had been challenged, and then today, his life had been threatened. She wondered if he had decided there was simply too much danger involved if they were to have a relationship.

But as all these questions came to her, she just simply couldn’t give up. She had discovered something with him. Something within her that she never knew existed. Isabella was never one to give up easily, to admit defeat without a fight. She wasn’t about to start now. If he chose to not be with her, then that would be a choice she’d have to respect. But he would have to make that choice after she had the opportunity to give her side of the argument. If that opportunity would not present itself, she would create it.

On that note she left her salon, only after Margret had spoken with one of his servants secretly to find the nature of his injury and gathered supplies for Isabella to tend to it. She had, after all, seen after the Princess, she could tend to the Prince as well without causing suspicion among those on the upper floor. She forced her stride to appear leisurely calm, she still was not sure exactly what she was going to say but she had to trust that the words would come to her.

With forced determination she strode towards Octavien’s Suite, readying her mind and will to stay calm and focused. Thankfully when she was but five yards from his door Giles appeared through them. “Giles, I wish to speak with the Prince.” She stated authoritively.

The man seemed a bit surprised to see her. “Your Majesty, he just …” he begun with a bow.

“Giles, while I admire your devotion to your master,” she interrupted firmly, “I shall remind you that I still out rank him.” Giles’ only answer was a nod and the hint of a smile as he opened the doors to Octavien’s suite.

Isabella’s eyes darted about the room briefly in search for Octavien. When she saw him lying in bed, with no shirt due to his injury, with a book in his hands she nearly lost her will. Only two nights ago she had shared his bed, caressed that bare chest, and allowed doubts to penetrate her for the briefest of whiles. She, once again, forced the doubts to flee her mind. She could not allow herself to be weak in this moment. She continued her stride, not ceasing once, for if she did, she thought she may be frozen where she stood.

As he lowered his book he appeared a bit surprised to see her. “Isabella…” his tone of voice only reassured her he had not been expecting her quite yet. It was for the briefest of moments she looked at his azure eyes, a move she soon regretted. She knew then that she could not allow herself to gaze into his eyes while she was here. They had always been able to communicate in the silent language of looks. She feared if she saw anything that disproved of her presence she would not be able to finish the mission she had set before herself. Her eyes instead focused on his right shoulder that was bandaged as she crossed the foot of the bed. That was safe territory.

“I have come to see to your wound.” She stated, determination in her voice as she came close enough to sit on the side of the bed facing him. She knew he would not believe her excuse. Despite all the things that had happened, he was no fool and would see right through her reasons. As she leaned forward to begin taking off the bandages, he began to object. “Isabella, really this is not necessary.” His voice was soft, she wondered if it was pity that he had for her.

“Please, just allow me to say what I’ve come to say.” Her gaze remained on the bandages that had turned shades of dark reddish brown from the blood they had soaked. Without further objections from him, she began to unwrap the wound while she spoke.

“As I’m sure you’ve discerned by now, though I am treated fairly I am not exactly highly esteemed in Edouard’s eyes.” She began. “He tired of me after a year or so when I failed to do my duty as his queen. To give him a son, or any child for that matter.” She continued steadily, “For the most part I have accepted my lot in life. Putting aside my desires to see foreign lands, to taste other kingdoms, fooling myself into believing that I was happy locked up in this place.”

As she came to see the wound that lay beneath the bandages, Isabella felt greater remorse over being the reason he was harmed. The gash was deep and though he appeared to handle the pain well, she was positive it hurt something fierce. It was with a gentle hand that she poured Margret’s remedy on to it.

“I shall hesitantly admit to you that I have in the past welcomed advances from another man, while my own husband was doing god knows what. Marquess Berini, unfortunately was one such man. The idiot has no mind about him at all, and thanks to the effects of brandy he bragged to the Duc of Mollier about his great prize. What he insinuated in my salon last night is partially true. But I did not act to defend him, I acted to protect only myself.”

She tried to ignore the slight wince of pain on Octavien’s face when she blotted the wound dry. She inhaled deeply, both to calm her nerves, forcing a steady hand, but also to find the strength to continue with her words as she began to wrap clean cloth around his wound. “Anyhow, he was a guest at your wedding, and he paid several visits to my suite. I did not welcome his advances which is what upset him initially. Unfortunately he had a couple days to stew in his anger before he barged in on you and I. So you see, it is because of me that you are wounded. Words could not properly describe the shame I shoulder because of that. I would like nothing more than to see the man hang, but if you wish to let him live, I will not question your judgment.”

Isabella was nearly done with her task as she struggled to finish her words. During the course of speaking her voice had gradually changed from one of determination to a much softer tender tone. “I do not know the answer to the question you asked of me last night. Hopefully you will never encounter another man from my past.” Her voice was low now as she struggled to force her breath, her hands done with their work, they rested in her lap, her gaze fixed upon them. “But I assure you if you ever did, not a single one of them have ever seen even a glimpse of the woman that I am when I’m with you.” Isabella inhaled deeply. “She didn’t even exist before you.”

Unable to find anything more to say, and fearing that she had said far more than she ever should have, she gently slid off the bed, lifting herself to her feet. She wished to look at his eyes, to see if her impromptu speech had affected him at all, but she just couldn’t do it. Instead, in the deafening silence that engulfed her, she turned. Forcing herself to take a step towards the direction of the door.
#105 Old 5th Feb 2008 at 7:25 AM
((Yup Shenan I knew that hense Mercy's reaction to doctors (I Think wall all owe Pare a big thank you for changing that medical treatment). But if Octavien gets an infection we can apply leeches, lots of leeches!!!!!! *dances* sorry it seems a GCSE in medical history is actually useful now, incidentally a doctor probably wouls be "bleeding" Adalita too, it was used for everything, but I would avoid infection Atropa as we'd have to shave your head as well!!!

Oh and just so you don't think i'm rude that was some Mega writing there :D))
#106 Old 5th Feb 2008 at 12:40 PM
((Fayre! Medicine Through Time History GCSE? My only damn B! I sulked for about a week after my results because of that hiccup. But yes, I think as Adalita's illness is presently unknown, the best treatment would be holding two pidgeons to the soles of her feet, then having her stand in the moonlight every night for a week, in a bucket of elephant dung with a frog on her head I would have made a brilliant Quack. Considering I'm taking a day off college, I'll have a big spiffy RP wrote up. Once I make a start on the prologue to my new story...which is really not happening.))
#107 Old 5th Feb 2008 at 5:50 PM
((Hay Yup well I am the proud recipient of an A* in medicine through time and the American west. Fortunately it was my favourite subject so I'm currently helping teach it too ! And don't feel bad My history teacher said our exam was easier than the year befores, which is the one you took plus I'll bet you got 2 A*s in english :P

Shenan how long till nightfall?))
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retired moderator
#108 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 1:44 AM
Default Octavien & Isabella - Octavien's suite
(((ooc: I was going for a fairly short post here, but... Me thinks I failed... )))


Finally. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Octavien had gotten some rest. Some sound, peaceful sleeping rest. The inner and outer turmoil of the past few days, this one especially, was taking its toll on him, and once the doors closed behind the Royal physician who'd briefly left Adalita's side to tend to her injured (and shaken) husband, Gilles immediately ushered Octavien into bed. Before long, he was sound asleep. Still troubled, but too exhausted for his mind to keep him awake with thoughts and plans of how to best deal with his worries.

A few hours passed, noon came and went, but Gilles let Octavien sleep without bothering him and insisting he eat something for lunch. The boy had alot of resting to catch up on, he could eat later. Even Gilles himself decided to skip lunch, for he too was tired after staying up most of the night. One sleepless night was all it took to make him feel his age. He was twice as old as his young master, and simply didn't have the same stamina. Though he didn't want to leave Octavien's side, and so quietly he moved one of the armchairs to the side of the bed, where he then spent the following couple of hours, in a light enough slumber to awake, should Octavien require him.

Though when Octavien finally awoke, Gilles had been back on his feet for a good while, and was just returning the armchair to its original place when he heard Octavien stir awake. With a slight yawn, the young man sat up, and started heaving himself backwards to lean against the many soft pillows between his back and the headboard of the bed, but winced and let out a groan when the added strain on his shoulder sent a sharp pain shooting through his arm. Being wounded would take some getting used to...
But, while the injured arm slowed him down physically, it did little to slow down his mind. Although still far from being fully rested, within minutes of waking up, he was back to thinking of the best way to sort out the one mess that bothered him the most, simply because it was one he knew he could do something about. Adalita's illness still weighed heavily on his mind, but there really was nothing he could do for her. Gilles and even the royal physician had been sure to point that out to him. So that only left him to deal with the things he could actually do something about. The most important one being his currently very strained relationship with Isabella. Last night, he had left, telling her they would be better off talking at a later time. He had been the one to end whatever discussion they might've had, and leave. It was now up to him to come back, to take the first step towards mending what he feared he had broken.

"Gilles", he said, still sitting in his bed in nothing but his drawers. "Will you please seek out one of the Queen's servants, and have them forward my humble request to see her and to send for me when and if she can spare the time?"

"Certainly, Your Highness", Gilles said with a slight bow, knowing all too well that something wasn't right between the two.

Without wasting any time, he immediately headed towards the doors, leaving Octavien to reach for the book on his bedside table, to pass the time while he waited. He didn't expect that even if she was free from pressing matters and duties - something which he doubted - that she would grant his request any time soon. She was a woman, and a woman of great power at that. She would most likely have him stew in his regret and guilty conscience for a while.

So, imagine his surprise when after no more than half a minute, the doors opened once again, and in she swept, catching him completely off guard. Determination lacing her every step, she purposefully strode towards him, without even a moment of hesitation. But the way her eyes diverted from his when he spoke her name, did not pass him by. She was not as confident as she would like for him to believe.

With a small glass vial and clean bandages in her hands, she rounded the bed to reach his right side and thus his injured shoulder, which she was obviously intent on looking after. Her, the very Queen, whom he doubted had ever been exposed to an open and bloody wound. But, if she was here to see him, whatever excuse she had didn't matter in the slightest. He didn't care, as long as he got the chance to talk to her. He only hoped that she would handle the sight with the same unfazed calm she seemed to handle everything, and not do what most women around court would normally do; faint.

"I have come to see to your wound", she said, and sat down on the side of the bed just inches from him, but still avoiding to look at anything but the blood soiled bandages around his shoulder.

"Isabella", he protested softly as she reached to unfasten them. "Really this is not necessary."

"Please," Isabella interrupted in turn. "Just allow me to say what I’ve come to say."

Seeing no point in arguing about who would go first, Octavien stayed silent, even though he wished she would've let it be him, as perhaps if he did, he'd be able to undo some of the hurt he must've caused her, before she let words that had been spoken by him in anger ruin something that didn't need to be ruined. But, he had cruelly denied her to speak last night. He would not rob her of her right this time. And so he listened quietly as she spoke, telling him about the state of her marriage, the sacrifices she'd had to make as a Queen that was expected to stay by her husband's side, how she'd welcomed other men when the King offered her nothing but solitude and a cold bed, the true nature of Marquess Berini's insinuation, and how that whole catastophy in her Salon last night had come to be. He listened to every word, save for a few when he was forced to bite back another groan from the blinding pain in his arm as she tended to the wound.
When finally she fell silent, having replaced the old bandages with the new, clean ones, he just sat there for a moment, struggling to take it all in and digesting it before he reacted. There were many parts of her story that he didn't like to hear, but that didn't exactly surprise him. He'd realized about the King's negligence of her a long time ago, he'd understood her reasons for seeking the embrace of other men, he'd even gathered that if what Marquess Berini had said about her having someone killed, it would've hardly been for him, but for her.
But while all that made the now so very familiar feeling of anger stir within him, there was one thing she said that quenched every last part of it in an instant; what she said about who she was with him. She admitted that he had made a difference, that he had offered her something no one else ever had. And judging by her strained voice, it was far from easy for her to do that. Which was why Octavien believed every word of it, and why it meant so much to him. The fact that she told him all this, that she admitted to deeds that made her human, and less than perfect, let him know that she did care for him, that she treasured what they'd had just as much as he did. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have come here. If he had been nothing more than the toy he had feared, she would've just thrown him aside and gone about her life as usual.
She hadn't.

Faced with all this, Octavien was so far away in his thoughts that he didn't even register that she may be waiting for him to reply, until the motion of the mattress woke him up to the fact that she had stood, and was preparing to leave.

"Isabella, wait", he then spurted, and reached for her arm.

Not to seize it and keep her there against her will, but to gently touch it, and beckon her to stay and allow him to speak his peace. Thankfully, the act did halt her imminent departure, and he took a deep breath while trying to decide what needed to be said first.

"I... I had no right to judge you. Marquess Berini achieved his goal of upsetting me, and I spoke to soon, I spoke in anger. The question I asked you was out of line, and not at all what I had intended to say. Far be it from me to judge you for having a past, as Lord knows I haven't much suffered the burdens of chastity myself."

He paused for a moment, and sought her gaze, sought for her to finally look at him.

"And...", he added. "I want you to know you are not the reason for my injury. The shame of it is not for you to bear."

With Isabella still standing, his fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist, and he tugged at it gently, to get her to sit back down.

"Please", he softly pleaded.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Field Researcher
#109 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 6:12 AM
Default Dimitri - his suite
“I hope you truly do have a message or three for me,” Dimitri began in the privacy of his suite. “Lest I be made a bald liar at my first meeting with the Queen.”

His aid studied the colour of the floor with immense interest.

“Rukov...” he warned.

“...Oh! The servants told me your room is prepared. That is my message. Sir.”

Rukov beamed so proudly at his brilliant escape, the Duc was more inclined to laugh than lecture him. Still, no matter how much he wanted to see the royals—or a particular royal—there was simply no excuse for barging to the upper floors in that manner. And it was his responsibility to ensure it never happened again.

“Even though you do know better, I shall pardon it this time. But court protocol is strict, and you won’t enter the upper floors again.”

Well, not unless Dimitri needed him to, of course. But Rukov understood that very well.

His writing instruments were already waiting for him; Rukov understood his master indeed. He knew there were many things Dimitri had to sort out, beginning foremost with a letter to home. The suite was beautiful to behold, but felt completely impersonal; when he entered the mahogany walls, it was as going to a foreign bed with a neighbour’s wife. He would send for his belongings immediately.

Second on the list was a brief but polite greeting to the Prince, wishing him a full recovery and a luncheon at the latter’s earliest convenience.

A final letter—although the last written, but the one Dimitri took the greatest care with, for a lady did not deserve anything less—was to Baroness Venn. It was a simple piece, wishing her well and requesting the address of the tailor.

Rukov watched his master write and write and write, and finally deigned to ask, “Are we staying here long, my lord?”

“Damn! Did I forget to tell you?” Dimitri sighed. “Yes, for a while, Rukov. With all that’s been happening... Well, you’d best send word to your family.” He glared at the swarthy yet silent man, who did not object at all. “You’re pleased with this, aren’t you?”

“It looks to be an interesting stay, my lord.”

Dimitri thought of the dear Princess' illness, the botched wedding, the attempted murder, and this business of finding Mollier’s replacement. “Indeed.”

______

((Not approachable, just wanted to plonk something down before my 5-hour bus ride home.

Atropa, that was very short. Really. ... :P

So... Mercy wasn't making a crack joke about those mustard poulstices? Aww, Shenan, you should've stuck to the oil. Historical accuracy can be very amusing to watch. XD))
#110 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 7:46 AM
((No sadly she wasn't it did happen! However one of the historical innaccuracy's is neither Helena nor Margret would be trusted to produce cleansing solutions due to the two X chromosomes, not a dig Shenan I did it too! didn't fancy having Mercy's face Cauterised! Also did you spot how the two most powerful MEN in the court have followed our lead, well excluding that whimpy husband of yours ))

Helena caught the eye of the new servant dashing aup the stairs to the royal floor, she followed him, pressuming he was lost and needed to be told where he going, but she saw that in fact he had a message for the prince, she turned to sneak back down the stairs when he heard the man refer to a 'Baroness Venn' What had Baroness Flight been up to now? As the man at the door to the princes room shrugged and shook his head Helena grimaced and dashed after him. "I'm so sorry my man, his French isn't fluent yet he must be confused I shall take care of him." She more or less dragged the man away with her. Once they were downstairs she intercepted the note and insisted he brought anymore messages for Baroness Venn directly to her.

((Hope you don't mind Helena manhandling your manservant Seiza!))

Mercy had returned to her room, to find two notes propped against the cleaned shoe, she smiled when she saw the Queens feminine handwriting addressing the note to "Baroness Flight" and smiled even more broadly when she saw a note to "Baroness Venn." Dimitri, had pressumably given directions to some sevrant. Typical, Helena was no where to be seen, what had Mercy hired that woman for.

((If only she knew huh ))

She digested first the Queen's note, writing it with a little more warmth than was strictly polite, but the woman would be greiving at the moment and she wanted to offer some consolidation along with acceptance for a luncheon.

She had great fun composing a mildly obstructive letter to the man who still only called himself Dimitri-Josephe claiming she could not remember the dress makers name and that if he were to collect her from the Queen's salon after luncheon she would have found out by then.

She decided to deliver them herself, tracking down a maid and asking what room had been made up for guests. She smiled as she slipped it under the door.
Original Poster
#111 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 4:02 PM
Default Isabella & Octavien - His bed (NOT doing THAT!) lol
((OOC: Hay!! Where's that post you promised us?
Seiza... Rukov isn't going to be lurking outside Isabella's door is he? lol))

As Isabella stood, she couldn’t believe the words she had allowed to pass through her lips and become spoken. Each and every one of them had been the truth, but it was not like her to be so painfully honest and open. She wasn’t sure where they had come from, but they had been heartfelt, and if it proved to be a mistake, to lay herself on the line, it would be a mistake she would not repeat again.

As she registered his silence and turned to leave she was nearly startled by his sudden “Isabella, wait”, followed by his gentle touch of her arm. She closed her eyes inhaling deeply. Part of her wanted to just leave so she could console herself in private. She expected to hear a host of “Sorry”s that would only lead to her returning to her life alone. Yet at the same time, there was a glimmer of hope that she held. A hope that her words had been enough to make him think twice of their relationship. A relationship that had enjoyed being nothing but light and passionate until the previous night.

Though she did not walk away, she wasn’t quite able to turn back to face him as he began his turn to speak. His voice giving away the fact that perhaps he struggled to find his words as much as she did. “I… I had no right to judge you. Marquess Berini achieved his goal of upsetting me, and I spoke to soon, I spoke in anger.” His words had been the beginning of an apology, still she couldn’t turn, her eyes slowly moved about the room, not really focusing on anything, as it was her ears that were tuned in.

“The question I asked you was out of line, and not at all what I had intended to say. Far be it from me to judge you for having a past, as Lord knows I haven’t much suffered the burdens of chastity myself.” His words were both relieving and painful to hear at the same time. Relieved to know that he no longer held any anger towards her, yet painful as they resurfaced the doubts that had come to her mind two nights prior. As he paused, she finally found the strength to turn and face him. Her eyes landing upon his own only for the briefest of moments before staring at space far above his head.

“And… I want you to know you are not the reason for my injury.” Those words had gathered her attention, shocking her enough to look into his eyes, to see if she could discern what he could possibly mean by such a statement. “The shame is not for you to bear.” He told her, possibly seeing the confusion in her eyes. He reached for her wrist, asking gently if she’d stay and hear him out. As he spoke the short word of “Please” the softness in his voice beckoned her. She simply couldn’t deny him. She had never been able to deny him anything really, why would she start now?

She sat delicately by his side, doing her best to keep her gaze upon him. It was difficult to see such turmoil in the eyes of the man that had come to mean so much to her. She only hoped his words would be easier for her to hear than it appeared it was for him to speak.

((OOC: Guess it's time to lay it on her Atropa.))
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retired moderator
#112 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 5:00 PM
Default Octavien & Isabella - Octavien's suite....... Dun dun-dun-dun DUN!
(((ooc: Warning, HUGE post ahead.)))


The moments it took Isabella to turn and look at him, and then for her to decide to comply with his plea, felt like an eternity to Octavien. At first it had seemed she didn't want to stay at all, and he felt his fingers twitch, prepared to clasp her arm more tightly and really do force her to stay.
But finally, and much to his apparent relief, she sat down next to him again, confusion in her eyes at his latest statement.

Another few moments passed, while he tried to organize his thoughts. There was so much he needed to say, but he really wasn't sure where to start. Perhaps it was best to just come out and say it, to start at the beginning.
And so, after another deep breath, he started telling her his confession...




- - - - - - - - Flashback - - - - - - - -

As it had turned out, Octavien had been right in thinking that the night ahead of him would not offer much rest. Though he couldn't have been more wrong about the reason why. Never could he have imagined that where before he had envisioned hours spent with the feminine curves of Isabella's warm body in his arms, he was now left with nothing but searing anger, and hatred. And perhaps the most dangerous of all; a bruised male ego. Octavien was young and hot-tempered, and the only reason why Marquess Berini had been able to leave Isabella's salon in once piece, was because the young Prince also had an iron will. Had he been even one ounce less in control of himself, there would've been a terrible brawl, and blood would've been shed.

Having left the salon, and Isabella, and entered his own suite, Octavien was still thirsty for blood. He wanted nothing more than to storm down to Berini's suite and challenge him to a secret duel; a duel that would give Octavien the chance to draw Berini's blood, a chance to bestow a cut for every single, offensive word that had come out of the man's wretched mouth. But, considering Berini's display in the Salon, secrecy hardly seemed to be a virtue of his, at the moment. Octavien would have to find another way to rid himself of his overpowering anger. One that didn't include provoking the Marquess any further, and risk sending him straight to the King to open that big mouth of his.

This time, the harpsichord wouldn't do. There were no notes in that instrument, in any instrument, dark enough to portray what was raging within Octavien, to channel the way his blood was boiling, and his gut churning with fury. He had to find another outlet, and there was only one that came to mind; fencing. An almost-duel with Gilles, to replace the real one he couldn't have with the Marquess. Little did he care that it was far too late, by proper standards, for any such exercises.

"Gilles!" he called, his firm voice demanding the return of his trusted servant, who had seen his masters temper when he came through the doors, and thus made himself scarce to leave Octavien to calm down in peace.

"Yes, Your Highness?" he said as he re-appeared in the doorway to one of the adjoining rooms.

Instead of recieving an answer on what Octavien expected him to do, he was thrown one of the two swords they used for fencing practice. A silent response, but one that spoke volumes.
Somewhat taken aback, Gilles stared at his young master. This did not bode well...

"B-but, Your Highness...", he stammered, unsure of how wise (or rather, unwise) it would be for him to point out Octavien's currently quite... murderous... expression.

And not only that, it was also very late, and the slammer of swords echoing throughout the Palace might disturb some of the other courtiers, even though it was perhaps unlikely that the sharp but delicate noise would penetrate the walls and doors. For Gilles did realize that despite Octavien's disregard of the late hour, he did not disregard the cold darkness outside in a similar manner.
But before he even had the chance to finish his meek objection, Octavien shot him a glare.

"What?" he snapped.

His tone immediately silenced the older man, and without another word from either of the two, they left the suite and headed down the grand staircase, towards the Great Hall.

Gilles soon realized that Octavien was in a far more foul mood than he had first thought. Usually, when angry, Octavien would unload his troubles on Gilles, who had helped solve a fair share of the young man's various problems over the years - small ones as well as more serious ones - but this time, Octavien didn't say a word that was not meant in reference to the fencing, and hardly even that. His attacks were intense and relentless to the point that Gilles actually started fearing that he would not make it out the Great Hall unharmed, or even alive. Octavien seemed almost blinded by his anger, and each attack seemed an attempt to rid the world of the source of his raging state. At first there appeared to be a tiny shred of self control that kept him from harming his opponent, but the more engulfed he became with the battle, the more that shred seemed to fade away, and he started seeming downright intent on drawing blood.
And it was during one such episode of one aggressive attack after another, that Gilles felt Octavien was on the verge of getting all too carried away. The young man was driving him him further and further back, so fast that finally Gilles foot slipped and he tumbled backwards onto the floor.

"Your Highness!" he croaked, when he saw that the sword was still coming after him.

Octavien didn't seem to even hear him, and tip of his rapier cut a swishing, narrow eight in the air as he moved in for the final strike, that would place the sharp edge against Gilles' throat, and perhaps, as Gilles feared, pierce right through it.

"Your Highness!!", he desperately cried again, louder this time, his voice echoing in the large hall, but still it did no good. "OCTAVIEN!!!"

Finally his voice broke through to Octavien's senses, and the young Prince instantly froze. He stared at Gilles for a few moments of dead silence, and then slowly the wild expression in his eyes started fading, giving way not to what one would've expected to see - regret and horror over what had almost happened - but to the faintest of smiles. Or rather, the faintest of smirks. It seemed almost evil, the way it tugged at the corner of his mouth, and the tinge of pure malice that glowed deep embedded in his eyes. Neither settled very well with Gilles.
But a moment later, it had vanished, and instead there was an apologetic smile on the Princes lips as he offered his hand to help the man up. A spoken apology, however, remained only something Gilles could wish for.

"Come", Octavien said and handed his sword over to Gilles before heading back towards the staircase.

His voice now carried the same determination Gilles had heard earlier that day, just before they had started searching for the hidden passage that would force Adalita and Duc Peitou-Charentes to submit to Octavien's wishes. Whatever it was that was troubling Octavien's young clever mind right now, he had thought of a plan of how to solve it.

A plan, as it turned out, that would cause yet another in the endless string of nights that offered him little to no sleep. The majority of the dark hours saw the two sitting in the comfortable armchairs in the middle of the room - the very same chairs where hours later Octavien would greet Marquess Berini to 'sort out their differences' - talking, planning, and going over the plan several times, making sure that all angles were covered. Nothing could be left to chance.
When dawn finally banished the night, neither of them had gotten any sleep. And as if that, along with knowing at least part of what the day would bring, hadn't put enough pressure on Octavien, he was brought the news that Adalita had taken ill during the night, and now looked as though Death was a closer companion to her than Life. Octavien had wanted to see her. She was his wife, after all, and he did care about her, even though she had managed to anger and antagonize him quite a few times since their wedding. She was just a young, foolish girl, blinded and lead astray by a man in whom she saw something that Octavien failed miserably to recognize. At least that was what Octavien hoped. He had thought some bad things about her in the past couple of days, but they had all been born out of anger and humiliation, of disappointment that she did not honor her word. Never had he wished her any harm, and if she was indeed on her deathbed, like the rumours would have it, Octavien wanted them to make peace before it was too late.
But, Gilles had objected, and refused to let him go to her suite. He wouldn't allow his master anywhere near the ill Princess, in fear that whatever it was that ailed her, it would befall the young Prince as well. And, even though the words coming from the older mans lips may sound cold and cruel, Octavien couldn't deny that he had a point.
However, he still requested that he'd be brought regular updates on her condition. Any change, no matter how small, was to be reported. If not to him personally, then to one of his servants.

Then came the morning annoucement, which added yet more pressure on Octavien, as now he had to face Isabella. In a way. It seemed they both did their best to pretend the other person wasn't there. In Octavien's case, it was because he couldn't bring himseld to look at her, knowing he had most likely hurt her last night, and even though he wanted to explain and apologize, this was hardly the right time. And in her case... He could only guess. She had reason to be angry with him, so if that was why she ignored him, he couldn't blame her.
But hopefully, everything would go according to plan, and one day she would know just what he was prepared to do for her, and for them.

Once the morning announcement was over, and Octavien was back in his suite, it was time.
The message had been sent, and the Marquess had arrived.
Octavien greeted him with the faint smile of someone who knew they were in an inferior position - as far as business went - and kept his demeanor calm and demure the whole time, inviting the Marquess to sit, and even offering him a glass of brandy. One Federico didn't fail to accept with a smug smirk glued to his lips. He was so busy gloating, taking delight in what he thought was Octavien's uneasiness, that he never saw it coming. He never sensed Gilles sneaking up behind him, and it was doubtful he even felt the swift blow delivered to the back of his head.
Unconscious his body slumped in the seat, and Octavien shot up from his seat. Not knowing how long the Marquess was going to be out of it, they couldn't afford to waste a single moment. Together they pulled him out of the chair and onto the floor, and placed a thick book a few feet away; a simple precauting, just in case when he woke up, he would claim he had been hit in the head, or in case someone would make it into the room before he had managed to get back up on his feet. If that happened, the book on the floor would support Octavien's claim that after being attacked, he had managed to hit the Marquess over the head with the book to knock him out, in self-defense.
While Gilles retrieved a decorative dagger from a nearby sidetable, Octavien re-arranged his clothing a little bit to make it look as though he had been attacked, and even freed a few strands of hair from the ribbon that held it all back, for the very same reason. After that, the only things that remained were ones that had to happen in quick succession, and so all they could do was to wait for the trigger; the Marquess awakening. A couple of minutes of total silence dragged by, and they had just started considering using the small bottle of smelling salt in Octavien's bedside table, when a soft groan from the dark-haired man on the floor made them both jump. He was coming to!

"Quickly!" Octavien whispered.

Gilles eyes darted from Marquess Berini, to Octavien's face, to the dagger in his own hands, and then back to Octavien again. Taking a deep breath, he put his free hand on Octavien's right shoulder, and raised the hand holding the dagger. He saw Octavien tense up in anticipation of the impending pain, and it was as though the look on the young man's face made him realize what he was just about to do. He was just about to draw blood, and lots of it, from the boy whom he had always thought of as the son he'd never had.
He couldn't...

"What are you waiting for?!"

A sharp hiss from his young master pierced right through his hesitant thoughts, and he blinked, as though he too had just awakened.

"Go on!" Octavien urged him on. "He's waking up!"

Quickly Gilles glanced over his shoulder, to see Marquess Berini stirring slightly on the floor, and he realized that if their plan was to succeed, he'd have to set his reluctance to hurt Octavien aside, all for he greater good. Firming his grasp of the dagger, he turned back to Octavien, and after another deep breath, he put the blade against his shoulder. And pulled.
Despite his clenched teeth, Octavien couldn't bite back a faint groan as the blade cut into his flesh and opened up a deep gash. But it didn't stop him from carrying on with the plan. As Gilles bent down to place the dagger in Federico's hand, Octavien leaned against the small table. There he waited for a moment, looking around to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything, and for Gilles to stand. Then...

"Have you gone mad?!" he called out, to no one in particular, and gave the table a good shove to knock it over, along with one of the chairs.

That was Gilles' cue. With the skill of the best among actors, he flung the doors open, crying for help, and the metaphorical curtains parted for the show to commence.


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


With the final words of his deed having spilled forth from his lips, Octavien fell silent, his gaze shifting slightly between her face and whatever items were next to her, or behind her, as though he wasn't quite sure what reaction to expect of her. He could only hope that she would understand that what he had done, he had done for them, for her. She, and what had started blossoming the two of them, had come to mean a great deal to him, and he was the kind of man that would not stand by and let it be taken away, least of all by some ill-mannered brute with a loose tongue. He would protect what he held dear, and any enemy would soon learn that in his case, his bark was for more pleasant than his bite.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Field Researcher
#113 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 6:15 PM
((Ooooh... Dun dun DUNNN, indeed! Octavien's getting fierce...

Shenan: I can neither prove nor disprove your suggestion.

Fayre: Oh, manhandle away! That's what manservants are for! *ba-DUMP!*))

______

When it seemed he had done everything that could be done, the afternoon sun was already waving farewell. Tonight would hold the special significance of being the first of many nights sleeping in another bed, far away from his own forests and household and lands.

But he was thinking too far ahead—the sun had not completely entered the evening descent—and Dimitri stayed his thoughts, for he wished today wouldn't proceed too quickly.

Leaving Rukov with few orders, he gathered his thick coats and set out.

If anyone else decided to walk outside, in the late-late-afternoon, in winter, right after an exhausting journey across the country; he would have called them mad. Indeed, perhaps he simply was so. But he didn’t know if the King planned to announce his identity tomorrow morning. Logically, it would make sense to keep himself unknown, so as to gain the unguarded trust and unmasked face of the nobles. But the King was Edouard, and despite all his affection for him, Dimitri had no illusions of his craftiness.

If he was displayed before the court tomorrow, this might be his last walk taken without constantly guarding himself, and without others constantly guarding against him.

He decided a visit to the Palace Gardens was in order. People so rarely ventured outside in this season; hiding in their furs, shielding behind a fire, they assumed all natural beauty worth enjoying had been killed. The Duc thought there was something worth admiring about a force so powerful that it rendered time itself immobile. Stepping on a frosty path, he was surrounded by bare branches and dark trunks frozen in time by the forceful hand of winter, and he was awed.

If he remembered the palace correctly—for Edouard did not seem the type to drastically change a working layout—there would be benches dotting the paths within the gardens. Briefly, he wondered if there were those as mad as him, taking a stroll in the cold weather. Did couples still court as in his time, in the public daytime of spring; or were there those who giggled and flirted in the secluded darkness of the winter night?

Sticking his gloved hands into his pockets, Dimitri simply walked, and if he would find out, he would find out.

______

((Very, very approachable. I think there are at least two people still in the Gardens, aye?))
Original Poster
#114 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 7:05 PM
Default Isabella & Octavien - His bed (Possibly about to do that) lol
((OOC: Another big sappy post. What can I say?))

Isabella sat quietly on the edge of the bed, watching Octavien’s face as he recalled last night and the anger he had felt. She gained a new respect for Giles, and thought she’d have to thank him later for his discernment and loyalty. It was something she had previously only done for Margret, but he seemed most deserving of it.

Then when Octavien began to recall the events of his morning, Isabella’s eyes switched from showing curiosity to radiating shock and disbelief. As he detailed how he had framed Federico, she was overcome by all sorts of emotions. She just listened in shock, unable to object or to stop him. It was as if the whole scene was being played out for her on a stage before her very eyes, a scene that seemed too contorted to be real.

When he finished his recollection, Isabella’s eyes were wide, and her mouth slightly agape. She struggled to get a firm grip on what she was feeling. “You…” her voice trailed, unable to gather a coherent sentence. “You…” her voice rose slightly as her feeling of frustration and perhaps anger began to dominate over the rest. “You…” that time the word had ended with her lips firmly pursed together, her right hand raising and firmly landing upon his left cheek sending his head sideways. She had slapped him. Hard. And though Octavien’s face radiated with displeasure and perhaps betrayal at her actions, Isabella did not see any of it. The momentum of her hand continued through her body as she stood and walked towards the foot of the bed.

As her body twirled in the opposite direction her words quickly flooded out, bombarding Octavien relentlessly. “All day long I’ve been worried sick about you! To the point I nearly made a fool of myself in front of Felix. I’ve sat with Edouard and Duc d’Lorraine, struggling to keep my focus on their matters of importance, all the while thinking I should have allowed the slimy Marquess to have his way with me! To save you the pain of an injury and the humiliation of an attempt on your life! I thought it better to force myself into what I used to be.” During her rant she had crossed the foot of the bed only to walk around to the other side.

Her words stopped their rampage as she now stood staring at him. Her anger had gotten the better of her, wining out above the other emotions. Now that she had given it words, the emotion started to fade, allowing her to digest the other aspect of his tale. While she had thought it better to force herself to be with a creep like Berini to save his pain, he had thought his pain was worth saving her from a creep like Berini. It was so ironic and beautiful at the same time.

She sat down on the bed, now on his left side, his eyes looked at her wildly as if he wasn’t sure he trusted her. “I’m sorry,” she began. She wished to say her anger had gotten the better of her just as his did him the night before. She wished to tell him that while she didn’t agree with his tactics in dealing with Federico, she understood and appreciated what he had done for her. For them.

But there was one thing she wished for above all of that. She pulled her body up onto his bed, closer to him, despite her large dress. This was a time where her actions would have to speak louder than words. She leaned in to him closer, once again her gaze wouldn’t break from his eyes. As her lips were but a mere inches from her own, she held her ground, her eyes darting between his lips and his azure gaze. Neither of them spoke, perhaps this moment was one to be lingered upon. Their relationship prior had been one filled with flirtation. And though neither of them stated it, she felt as if they both expected it to be like their previous relations. Thrilling while it lasted, yet doomed to come to an end.

Now Isabella was positive she saw things clearly. Federico’s ultimate goal had been to drive them apart. And though he had succeeded for a short time, his antics had actually had the opposite effect of his desires. His ranting had actually pushed them closer together, each of them realizing they had something they longed to defend. A relationship that was far more serious than anything Isabella had ever dreamed imaginable. Judging by the look in his eye, she felt Octavien thinking along the same lines.

Isabella held her ground, just inches away from his lips, her eyes once again conveying that she was all his, all he had to do was claim her. As she began to breathe a soft hardly audible “Thank you.” She found herself interrupted as Octavien had taken her offer. Claiming her with his fierce passionate kiss that all at once told her she was welcome, that he was sorry, and that he had no intentions of letting her go. It was a kiss that spoke volumes.

((OOC: Oh my. lol))
#115 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 8:35 PM
Annelise looked around her, she'd left Silvius a ways back...not really because she had to, but because she felt she should. He could certainly come find her if he felt like it. Her gaze fell upon another man, and she smiled. It was like meeting someone new, or simply someone she didn't really know to begin with, all over again. Even though this guy seemed like a newbie 'round these parts, anyway.

"Excuse me, sir, but I feel as if we've never met." She smiled at him, her eyes shining in the cool air. "I'll allow myself to introduce myself. I'm Duchesse De L'orrin. And, whomever you are, pleased to meet you." Annelise didn't exactly wait before gazing off briefly at the horizon, awaiting a reply of his. Maybe he'd be just as nice as everyone else. Hopefully he was.

Or he wasn't. And she was simply fooled by his kind appearence. Then again, life was all about choices...and she realized she must've been drifting off when she shook her black tresses out of her eyes and smiled brightly at the man before her.

{{Well...she's talking to Dimitri... Gave me a reason to posts..}}
#116 Old 6th Feb 2008 at 8:48 PM
((WOW!!! Keep up the good work Shenan and Atropa. You brilliant schemers.))
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
#117 Old 7th Feb 2008 at 1:46 AM
Default Octavien & Isabella - Octavien's suite
(((ooc: Seiza - *s* He is, when provoked. Two men at the court have learned that in... what's it been... three days snice the wedding? *LOL* He sure doesn't waste any time.

Fayreview - Thanks! He he.)))



The further into his story Octavien had gotten, the more Isabella's eyes had widened. That very observation was part of the reason why he found himself struggling to keep his gaze locked with her, once he finished. He knew that what he had done was hardly fair or noble, but what he had felt in Isabella's Salon the previous night, when Marquess Berini had showered them with foul words and insinuations, had not been something fleeting, a feeling soon to be forgotten. The thought that had entered his mind, that he would shed every single layer of nobility he had before the Marquess got to Isabella, had not been a simple boyish notion of wanting to be a hero. It had been cold, hard fact.
And he had proven it. So much so, that he couldn't help but feel a small pinprick of pride. He had shown not only himself, but her as well, that she wasn't the only one that could form things and situations to suit her liking. He was more than capable himself.

Isabella, however, wasn't equally impressed by his wiliness, his splendid chicanery. He realized that the moment a hard slap burned across his cheek, and sent his head turning slightly away from her. A slap that earned her a far from amused glare.
In a way, he had expected it. If nothing else, then her voice as she tried to speak, to utter the words that kept escaping her tongue, had tipped him off. It was simply human to resort to actions when words could not be found, so a slap was a highly plausible reaction. But that didn't make him appreciate it any better. Isabella was an intelligent woman, for God's sakes. One would think she'd recognize the cause for his efforts!
But no. Not only did she slap him, she also stood from the bed, and then didn't waste any time commencing the usual performance of storming out of the room that women were so inclined to give. (The fact that he himself had done something quite similar last night conveniently slipped his mind. And besides, when he did it, it had been different.)

"All day long I've been worried sick about you!" she stated accusingly as she rounded the bed. "To the point I nearly made a fool of myself in front of Felix. I've sat with Edouard and Duc d’Lorraine, struggling to keep my focus on their matters of importance, all the while thinking I should have allowed the slimy Marquess to have his way with me! To save you the pain of an injury and the humiliation of an attempt on your life! I thought it better to force myself into what I used to be."

Dramatic exit forgotten, the end of her tirade saw her halting at the other side of the bed, staring at Octavien, who at this point deemed it most wise to stay silent. But he was watching her face closely, in an attempt to try and figure out what he should expect to happen next. It now seemed the anger was slowly seeping out of her, but as he wasn't sure, he warily withdrew a few inches when she sat back down on the bed, this time on the other side. He wasn't in the mood for another slap. He'd had quite enough of them already, thank you very much!
Though a slap was not what she had in mind this time, apparently.

"I'm sorry", she started instead, her voice now softer, calmer.

Then she hesitated for a moment, before doing what this time he saw coming; drawing closer to him, as though she was seeking his embrace, only stopping once there was but an inch or two seperating their lips. The look in her eyes as their gazes locked seconds earlier had been more than enough to dispel any vigilance he'd been feeling, and he now saw the invitation that he had seen so many times before, dancing in her eyes. And at the same time, it was different. Where before there had been mischief and mirth, there was now only honesty. An unveiled desire for him to claim her, with the same force and fire as he used to when she was successfully enticing him, beckoning him to pursue her.
And like always, how could he do anything but comply?

Just as a soft "Thank you" eased it's way past her lips, he seized them firmly with his own, and his good arm slid around her waist to pull her even closer, to feel the intense, electrifying tension that had built in him since their anything but sweet parting the night before. Only once he was satisfied, having had his kisses convey everything that had been left unsaid, did he pull back slightly to look at her.
Something had just occured to him.

"Duc d’Lorraine?", he questioned, recalling the names she had mentioned, the names of people he hadn't even heard of before. "Felix?"

He couldn't help it. Her use of this Felix person's first name made him wary. Needless to say, while it just had brought them closer to one another, last night's incident was still fresh in his memory, and her showing signs of being on first name basis with another man didn't sit quite well with him. He doubted it would, for a very long time, even if it would turn out to be perfectly innocent.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Original Poster
#118 Old 7th Feb 2008 at 1:54 AM
It's now a cold, dark winter's night for our courtiers!
Field Researcher
#119 Old 7th Feb 2008 at 6:02 AM
Default Dimitri and Annelise - Palace Gardens
((Yay, Ruby! Oh, I just noticed the similar 'de L'orrin' and 'd'Lorraine' of our titles. Am tempted to put together some kind of plot just because. :P))
______

Evening was rapidly descending into night when Dimitri finished skimming the periphery of the Garden. He was not tired, but he would return to the Palace either way. His narrow path converged with another, and amid the sleeping roses and bushes, he met a black-haired, ruby-lipped woman.

"Excuse me, sir, but I feel as if we've never met." Her eyes were smiling in that unguarded manner he expected, and she approached him first. "I'll allow myself to introduce myself. I'm Duchesse De L'orrin. And, whomever you are, pleased to meet you."

“Now, that’s a dangerous thing to say, Duchesse,” Dimitri began gravely. “I could be the murderer’s accomplice; the one who got away—and surely you would not be pleased to meet me then.”

His mind pulled out a cabinet of dusty name scrolls, barely consulted in his decade-long absence from court. It sorted through them meticulously, looking for any knowledge he may have of the Duc de L’orrin, for indeed there must have been one. Another half of his mind wondered if he should repay her greeting with his own title; for many reasons he should not, but for honour and civility, he should.

The Duchesse seemed equally caught in her own thoughts—perhaps his joke had been too macabre for a woman—but Dimitri was ready when she returned to him. He smiled kindly and kissed her hand. “Fortunately, I am but Duc Dimitri-Josèphe. There is nothing to fear from a man like me, who merely appreciates rose bushes in winter. Do you walk alone tonight, or have you a companion I should greet as well?”

He decided he would not withhold his title from this one, because the network of knowledge between the country’s ducs and duchesses were too vast and intricate to risk lying to. But if she recognised him from Lorraine, then it would be to her credit.
#120 Old 7th Feb 2008 at 11:33 AM
“Now, that’s a dangerous thing to say, Duchesse,” “I could be the murderer’s accomplice; the one who got away—and surely you would not be pleased to meet me then.”

Annelise briefly caught on to his first statement, and kind of half smiled. It wasn't exactly her type of a joke, but at least he tried to make her laugh, anyway. Her humor, she guessed, didn't like jokes about murder, and perhaps it could've been better, had she liked murder jokes to begin with. Or grave jokes, or the fact that she was beyond friendly to strangers.

“Fortunately, I am but Duc Dimitri-Josèphe. There is nothing to fear from a man like me, who merely appreciates rose bushes in winter. Do you walk alone tonight, or have you a companion I should greet as well?”

She smiled at him, almost remembering his name. She thought she'd met one of his sisters a few years back, mentioning his name casually. She had mentioned he was very nice, it wasn't like he really was a murderer's
accomplise anyway.

"Ah, you do have a sister or so, right? I believe we meet up some time ago." She smiled brightly, eyes sparkling lightly as she did in the cool night air. "I had a companion, but, alas, I left him on his own for a while, so now, I walk alone. But is that even accurate, because I have now run into you?"

Annelise looked at him, trying very hard to remember exactly where she remembered him from. He was someone she, at the very least, thought she should remember. But she didn't. She remembered his sister, and her few mentions of a Duc for a brother hadn't exactly been varied in the few conversations they'd had.
Field Researcher
#121 Old 7th Feb 2008 at 6:35 PM
Default Dimitri and Annelise - Palace Gardens
“I had a companion, but, alas, I left him on his own for a while, so now, I walk alone. But is that even accurate, because I have now run into you?”

“Not accurate at all, if you will allow me to accompany you back to the palace.” Dimitri offered his arm, not wanting a lady to walk in the growing darkness alone. The Duchesse took it with that bright smile of hers.

She did not seem to recognise his name, but the Duc’s own interest in her was already piqued. The name “de L’orrin” finally struck some part of his memory: he knew the family to be rich, though not as powerful as some. It was not a particularly unique trait, yet considering the number of bankrupted Ducs he knew, it was still quite something. But more importantly, he remembered his sister delightfully prattling about her “new friend the Duchesse,” and he was curious if there was a connection.

“I do indeed have a sister, Duchesse: three, in fact.” They turned a corner, and the pale moon highlighted his grey eyes and white scars. “You must have met my youngest, the current Comtess Anastasie d’Lorraine, who shares my eyes but not my lack of artistic skill. Her passion is for the opera and ballet, like our dear mother.”

Dimitri could feel her studying him, and he intended to jog her memory as much as he could. For no reason other than to confirm if this was the young lady who had befriended his—painfully shy—Ana.

“Perhaps that is where you met her? At an opera house, or a ballet recital?”
#122 Old 7th Feb 2008 at 8:06 PM
“I do indeed have a sister, Duchesse: three, in fact.”You have met my youngest, the current Comtess Anastasie d’Lorraine, who shares my eyes but not my lack of artistic skill. Her passion is for the opera and ballet, like our dear mother.”
“Perhaps that is where you met her? At an opera house, or a ballet recital?”


Annelise nodded, pushing her hair behind her shoulders with her free arm. She gave him the look over in the, briefly recognizing the eyes. Those lovely grey eyes sparked her knowledge of her friend. She smiled, eyes dancing about with her excitement.

"Oh, Ana! I remember, she mentioned you! Dear lord, I don't believe we ever met, just that she wanted me to met her 'lovely older brother.'" She smiled, suddenly the idea of an opera making her memory increase of this Ana. "Ah, we seat in the same box once at the opera. She was enthralled, simply for no reason, that there was a Duchesse near her sitting next to her, talking! What a marvelous girl! I was delighted with her attitude, and we met up a few more times after that before my presence was requested here!"

She giggled quietly, the words his sister had used to desribe him were out of this world. He had always been nice, is one word she remembered. She guessed that was possible.

"May I ask a question about your marital status? As the lovely Comtesse Ana never mentioned a Duchesse d'Lorraine."
Original Poster
#123 Old 8th Feb 2008 at 1:13 AM
Default Isabella & Octavien
Once again, Isabella found herself in Octavien’s grasp, and pleased to be there. The forcefulness of his kiss was testament to the fact that he was not intimidated by her status and title. It was something that she had desired all along unknowingly. Though his kiss was powerful, there was also a gentleness to it that spoke of his protection of her. Perhaps it was all more expressive because of the tension that had built between them since the night before, maybe it was a signal of their relationship moving to a new level. Whatever caused it, Isabella now felt as if they weren’t simply lovers behind closed doors. She now saw him as a partner. One who was entirely capable of holding his own in matters.

With his arm still on her waist they finally managed to convey their feelings, and Octavien released her from his grasp. “Duc d’Lorraine?” he questioned her. “Felix?” Isabella smiled at the tone of voice he had used when asking who Felix was. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think there was a tinge of suspicion in it.

She bit her lower lip, trying to decide if she should give him a straight forward honest answer, or toy with him a little. “Oh yes, my beloved Comte d’Cognac.” She said playfully, not even trying to hide the smile on her lips. Octavien’s face however warned her she should explain herself. Raising her right hand again, she placed it softly on his cheek this time, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Relax, I have never even thought of sleeping with the man.” Her arm dropped as she looked away and added, “Though, I do suspect the thought has crossed his wishful little mind on more than one occasion.”

She returned her gaze to Octavien’s face to see his reaction. With a serious tone that was void of any harshness she continued. “Comte d’Cognac, Felix Delarue Peitou-Charentes.” Seeing Octavien’s brow raise, she answered what she was certain was his question. “Yes, Silvius’ brother, younger. Though they have a few things in common, primarily their love of bedding women, Comte Charentes is not delusional about the fact. Though on the surface he seems a bit odd, deep down there’s a respectable man, even if he’d never admit to it. He at least, unlike his brother, respects my title and appreciates my power.”

She looked towards Octavien, trying to decide if she should withhold what she was going to say next. When her gaze was distracted by his bandages, she was reminded that he was not a man that needed protecting. Her voice lowered a bit as she continued. “The Comte has been in my service for some time. It was he that took care of the Duc of Mollier for me.”

She watched Octavien’s face, hoping to decipher what he was thinking and feeling. Remembering what she had said during her mindless rant, she continued. “He was relaying some news to me about Adalita’s condition when Giles came into the hall. Not thinking correctly I rushed out of my Salon, my desire to see you took over my senses.” She swallowed after having admitted she had not kept a level head. “Anyhow, he kept me back, with reasons of protecting me from a murderer. Honestly he protected me from possible humiliation as I saw Edouard exit his salon just as I returned to mine.”

Her gaze roamed the features of his face. Giving him time to think about all the things she had just told him. She would allow him to come to terms fully with that, before continuing on to explain who the Duc d'Lorraine was.
Field Researcher
#124 Old 8th Feb 2008 at 5:19 AM
Default Dimitri and Annelise - Palace Gardens
“...She was enthralled, simply for no reason, that there was a Duchesse near her sitting next to her, talking! What a marvelous girl! I was delighted with her attitude, and we met up a few more times after that before my presence was requested here!”

Dimitri listened carefully. Why would the King make such a request? Her family was nothing so powerful that... Could this young lady be contending for the position of Advisor? She was young in Dimitri’s eyes; too young for the title of Duchesse or Advisor. Yet he knew banishments had been made already. And she still remained here...

“’For no reason’?” His words, though far removed from his thoughts, flowed effortlessly. “My sister is passionate about the arts, but not so much for conversation with strangers. That my lady Duchesse even got a full sentence from her makes you quite extraordinary already.”

She giggled quietly. He wondered if she believed him. He spoke honestly. Extracting conversation from his Ana paralleled extracting a bad tooth with flaming tongs. But based on her next question, perhaps the Duchesse simply thought he was being coy: “May I ask a question about your marital status? As the lovely Comtesse Ana never mentioned a Duchesse d'Lorraine.”

“Certainly you may, as long as I may return the favour.” His expression was light, yet there hovered an expectation that she would honour her end of the bargain. “There is a Duchesse d'Lorraine: my cousin. Nevertheless, all that is quite irrelevant to the Comtesse Anastasie, who only acknowledges our mother as the true Duchesse. As she has long passed away, perhaps that is why my sister failed to mention anyone at all.

“What of you, my lady? I’ll admit, to my disgrace, that I do not recall your husband or what he does. Could it be there is no one at all?”

He spoke in jest, of course. Surely someone of her age could only be a Duchesse if she married into it.
#125 Old 8th Feb 2008 at 8:13 PM
“What of you, my lady? I’ll admit, to my disgrace, that I do not recall your husband or what he does. Could it be there is no one at all?”

Annelise blushed, flattered.

"Oh, I believe I am quite the opposite. I am quite the single lady. It's quite the predicament, I suppose. My mother expected me married before I was twenty-four. And yet, here I am, unbethrothed and twenty-four." She swallowed her own thoughts quickly, leaving her speechless. Her thoughts implied other things, but she kept silent, and smiled.

"So, your cousin is the Duchesse, eh?" Annelise changed the subject, just to keep herself out of the conversation. She didn't feel that she had to be talked about at all, really, maybe she could just avoid the topic of herself entirely and without problems. Though, in all reality, she probably would fail trying. That was so like her.
 
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