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Post by Damon Neville (I) on Apr 8, 2007 20:43:14 GMT -5
It was an obnoxiously sunny afternoon to nurse a hangover. The small bakery at night's doorstep had just a few tables in the inner yard, a bit secluded for all the bustle on the streets outside, where one could sit and enjoy a nice cup of tea and a glazed pastry with raspberry jam. At one of the three other tables sat a couple that were obviously disgustingly in love - or at least thought that they were. I would give them two more weeks, by the looks of it. Spring might incite all sorts of euphoric feelings in youth, but there was nothing like a good hangover and a bucket of cold water to wash away all remnants of the romantic illusion that was forever and forevermore. Nothing good lasts forever.
I was wearing a loose, wrinkled dark green shirt with embroidery along the neckline, black leather cuffs that were chafing uncomfortably holding the sleeves in place. The leggings black, thin, finely woven wool that had been meticulously ironed into creases at some point - an effort now mostly undone as it was rather evident that I had slept in these clothes. I had slithered down a bit at the chair, sitting almost at its outermost edge, long legs stretched out before me, one calf resting atop the other's ankle. My hair had been hastily drawn back and held into a ponytail by a silver clasp, containing some ornate pattern and a round piece of amber at the midst. It was Alban by origin.
Pouring myself some more tea while waiting for Leala to show up, I eyed the sugar bowl with a frown, before slowly adding no less than three spoons of it, slowly lifting the cup to my lips to take a careful sip. At least the tea didn't set my stomach in uproar. I still had not touched the pastry, not daring to challenge my good fortune quite that far yet. Oh, they had forbidden us these delicious little treats in Eglantine, warning us that they went straight to the belly, ruining a good figure. These days, no one told me what to eat, and yet I was skinnier than I ever had been since my early teens. A steady diet of wine and liquor, interspersed only with the occasional meal also went a long way towards staying slim.
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Post by Leala L'Roche(H) on Apr 8, 2007 20:53:50 GMT -5
After young Christophe had been chosen for the role of Sun King in the Midwinter Masque the business had been growing more steadily busy, though with people far less experienced in the arts than I was used to- and a few children who'd had the audacity to lie to me about their ages. A disappointed look from me and a warning one from dear Archard had sent them on the run, but still those old feelings of sorrow, of never havign a child of my own had stirred. Understanding, Archard had instructed me to have some fresh air and visit with a friend on one of the days we were closed so he could do some of the harder blacksmithing and, with a nod of aquiescence if not submission, I'd made arrangements to meet Damon somewhere for tea.
He'd backslid, some would say- I could only think that his teenage angst had caught up with his nature. He'd pull himself out of this, and until then I would simply be the open ear for his problems of heart, talent and exhaustion. My gown was a fawn brown, the fabric fine but the cut modest, blonde hair in the ordinary braid that hung to my waist; I was looking to make no strong impressions, nor had ever been. My matching slippers were nearly silent on the stones as I slid into a seat and looked serenely over my wreck of a friend. "Some say one can only do art if they dream," I reminded him quietly as a cup of tea was brought over.
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Post by Damon Neville (I) on Apr 8, 2007 22:04:02 GMT -5
One of the reasons why I could tolerate Leala - even at a day wen I was in particularly bad mood, like today (it was all bad moods and worse moods with me) - was that she didn't care so much about what other people thought of her. Praised by the world though we were, D'Angelines; for our beauty, for our art, for the finer points of our culture, we were a hopelessly vain lot. I knew well enough that I was no exception. How could I be, when I had been raised to become a courtesan, made to please? And pleased I had, although such a time as when I still pleased those who crossed my path was now over and done with. a burned out candle, left only with the remaining shadows. Leala was something different altogether. Hers was the odd lot of being ordinary and being perfectly content with it. I suspected that she would never know how much I envied her that.
Lifting my gaze as my companion for this afternoon arrived, cup still held high concealing my mouth, I arched an eyebrow at her quiet greeting. "How quaint. Everyone dreams, dearest Leala. It is the nature of the dreams that varies. Would you hear of dreams this past night?" I taunted her lazily. Oh, I knew she did not. She would not have liked my dreams at all. They were hardly the kind on which one based art of any sort.
Setting the cup down in the table, eyeing it thoughtfully and then adding another spoon of sugar, i decided to be nice and let her off the hook. "Tell me, how was your day? It must have been dreadfully droll, since you sought my company." I frowned suddenly, expression serious for once. "Did something happen?"
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Post by Leala L'Roche(H) on Apr 8, 2007 22:08:19 GMT -5
He was trying to frighten me off whatever subject was bothering him- well, if that was what he wished. "Nothing terrible, just in a musing mood and Archard is always happiest doing metalwork by himself," I replied. My husband and I loved each other, and we did both enjoy the bedroom games of domination and submission, but in our regular life we were both happily independent. "It's been a busy time."
He may dream, Damon, but it wasn't honest dreams. "What of yourself?"
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Post by Damon Neville (I) on Apr 9, 2007 0:23:33 GMT -5
"A busy time? And yet here you are. Should I be flattered?" I gave her one of those slightly twisted smiles - the only kind people were likely to get from me these days. I found that there was surpassingly few things in the world worth smiling about any more. If I had been a better friend, I would perhaps have had one to spare for Leala's happiness, the one she clearly found with her husband. I could not. I supposed that made me a bad person, but could not bring myself to care about it. Allow a broken man his petty grievances.
Picking up my tea cup again, twirling it in my hands, half-lidded eyes slowly meandering over our surroundings, I mused out loud: "A brooding mood and a husband otherwise engaged. About brooding, I know. Regarding husbandry, however, I fear that Anael neglected to lay his hand on me. Or perhaps he tried, and I was too busy dawdling with my muses at the time to notice." I held up a waggling forefinger in a mock warning gesture. "Be warned, Leala, for muses are no faithful companions." Taking another sip of my now ridiculously sweet tea - it at least served to somewhat replace the foul taste of stale alcohol in his mouth - I cocked my head to one side, regarding the shopkeeper with a piercing gaze. "What then can we do to entertain you? Perhaps I shall tell you about my adventures last night - what I remember of them anyway - or, better yet of my new student, whom I'm meeting tonight. It will take your mind off whatever concerns makes your mind run in little circles, like a cat chasing its tail."
I closed my eyes briefly when she asked what of me. Oh yes, what of me? "Don't you know better by now than to be asking that question? But if it will amuse you, I will, of course, romance an answer to dazzle and amuse you."
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Post by Leala L'Roche(H) on Apr 9, 2007 17:12:24 GMT -5
"I find it impossible to flatter anyone," I replied in a flat, facetious tone that was completely jesting- sometimes my sense of humor was so dry that few understood it. "As to being romanced with stories and advice about muses, I fear I am too old in the ways of the world to be swayed by either. My muse seems to be a hard-won but loyal companion, more likely to keep at me than leave. Husbands- well, on those I have had only one and intend to have no more, but being wed to a former Mandrake is a singular experience I assure you. Though I doubt you are the type to try and mimic it."
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Post by Damon Neville (I) on Apr 11, 2007 14:00:55 GMT -5
I arched my eyebrows. "Oh do you now? Perchance does your husband need those tools he crafts to wring a word of approval from those comely lips of yours?" I retorted, smile gaining a wicked twist to it. I was only too happy to exchange banter, but I would not be restrained by the boundaries of propriety.
I made a face at the comment about being too old to be swayed by stories or advice, setting down my tea cup and instead picking up the spoon, poking ineffectually at the pastry. It still looked as though i might choke on it if I tried a spoonful of it, my stomach at the same time grumbling from hunger, and rejecting the notion of eating. "Too old, are you? That makes two of us, my dear. Spring is a time for the young and the impressionable. Tis an easy thing for Elua so say love as thou wilt, when he had so much love to spare. And here we sit, relics, one bound to a single person, the other a burned out candle. Yes, I suspect it is far too late for advice for either one of us. Set in our ways, we are, not likely to be swayed by a good story." I glanced up at the sky, squinting against the brightness of the sun. "Do you remember a time when it was otherwise?"
I chipped off a corner of the pastry, pushing it around on the plate, not intending to eat it. "You have the right of it. Did I desire pain, I would sooner try my mettle against a Kusheline lordling, than that of one trained to play games. It is a more exotic and exhilarating experience, I am sure, to someone has not been trained to another aspect of it. But I fear that my appreciation for those arts has gone stale. I am too old to play games of dominance. And I fear that my pain would be a bit too real to sit well with a Mandrake adept."
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Post by Leala L'Roche(H) on Apr 11, 2007 22:13:33 GMT -5
"That is one way," I agreed. "And my husband wasn't chosen because he was an adept. I was nothing but another maid in the Mandrake servant's ranks until my skill for design came to me. before that I was a serious, reserved child, daughter to a kitchen maid and destined for more of the same, ignored by the adept children as I didn't fit in. Then they all wanted me, for the access to my designs was coveted and promised a future. Archard was the only one who didn't change his manner and play a game at all."
I rested my chin in my hand for a moment as I pondered his question about memory. "I was never naive I don't think- too much world walking by the doors where I worked and lived, I'm afraid. I have to admit, though, that I have love, even if it's not the type commonly understood. But I also believe love takes effort. Nothing worthwhile comes easily."
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Post by Damon Neville (I) on Apr 12, 2007 21:49:39 GMT -5
"Not easily understood, you say?" I propped up my chin on the knuckles of one hand, regarding her with half-lidded eyes. One could always trust me to pick up on the part others least desired to extrapolate on and turn my attention to it, ignoring the rest. I was nothing if not obnoxious. At times, when I liked to flatter myself, I considered it almost a form of art in itself. "Perhaps, even so, you could hazard an attempt at explaining it to me? That kind of love one has with a former Mandrake adept, but which is not a game, playful, harmless excitement at playing roles or trying one's limits. I fear I cannot grasp what else it would be." I leaned a bit forwards, attention all fixed on her. I had an intense gaze when I chose to give someone that kind of undivided attention and I knew it well. Most people were uncomfortable under such scrutiny, feeling perhaps that they did not measure up to whatever standards I was measuring them against in my mind. I wonder whatever would have given them that idea. "Tell me how it manifests, this love that is expressed through pain and domination, but that has nothing to do with innocent games. I would like to know."
I shifted my legs underneath the table, withdrawing them to rest my feet underneath the chair, stiff riding boots creaking as I did. I had ridden here, not fancying a prolonged walk in my current state. I had commanded a carriage, once upon a time, but no more. These days, when I was of a mind to go anywhere, I could ride, unescorted, as common people. Ah, how easily one gets used to luxury! Leala would have it that nothing worthwhile ever came easily. I would ament that to that nothing that came easily would last forever.
"I must confess, if it were me... I would like as not have wondered, when the lash bit into my skin, if it was always love, every time, or if perhaps sometimes, it was his pent up anger and frustration at things, finding an outlet, an easy mark:" I spread my hands in a disarming gesture. "But then, that is me. He is a better man, your husband, I am sure."
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Post by Leala L'Roche(H) on Apr 14, 2007 15:51:40 GMT -5
"To understand, one must see," I told him simply but with the barest amount of sympathy, which I knew would be all he would allow me. "And we are not made to be teachers, he having too much passion and I too little. It woudl sound like rote from some dusty text."
His words caused me to think for a moment. "Also, I would say love was about trust. I see Archard plainly and he me; we have trust due to our respect for one another. He would no more hurt me out of malice than I would him."
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Post by Damon Neville (I) on Apr 16, 2007 19:11:09 GMT -5
"Some dusty text? Such as Trois Milles Joies? Now that's a cursed boring book, isn't it?" I dead-panned, carefully studying one hand's nails. What it was about getting drunk that always afforded you dirt underneath them, no matter if you never ventured anywhere dirty - literally speaking, of course I had to wonder. Surely one of the great questions in life. I could think of few worthier. "Humor me. I have so few pleasures in life, now that the Dauphine is engaged and there are no more silly suitors to entertain us all with their coquettish, fanciful little pursuits."
I just barely restrained the impulse to yawn, when Leala draw the old parallel between love and trust. Apparently, to truly love someone, you had to trust that person. Meaning that persons of more suspicious nature, such as myself, must be cold creatures, because that by D'Angelines so cherished emotion could not drown out every last smidgen of sense the mind possessed. "Ah, trust. Such a fragile thing. Do you claim I delude myself, in this notion I have that it is better to hold back some little bit of it, just in case my perception should deceive me? Is this but frippery, an excuse for the fearful to make himself feel superior in his restraint, rather than a coward? Distrust - wisdom, or folly?" I tapped one forefinger against my jaw line. "That is a question worth thinking about. I could give you a hundred and a hundred more reasons why it this trust you're talking about it an illusion, and you would still give me the one reason - you know it inside your heart to be right. Alas, so be it." I rolled my eyes heavenward, making an extravagant gesture with one hand. "But I fear we have strayed from the subject at hand."
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Post by Leala L'Roche(H) on Apr 24, 2007 16:06:31 GMT -5
"What was the subject at hand?" I asked with a slight smile, knowing he would never see eye to eye with me on such a matter- we were far too different and had no chance of becoming close to the same. He'd have to learn his own way out of his bitterness. And I, as a friend, would be his living page and canvas to test new words and colors on, ideas bouncing off of me to return to him in whatever form seemed most fitting.
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Post by Damon Neville (I) on Jun 3, 2007 18:48:51 GMT -5
Glancing down again at the tart I had not even touched - and still found very untempting, with all its butter and cream; too much for a delicate stomach - I pretended to ponder the question. Yes, what was the subject at hand indeed? "My usual hangover brooding? Or, better yet: your evasive answers. If I shall ever be able to get an answer to a question from one of these days, I am sure that pigs will grow wings and fly to Terre D'Ange that lies beyond, and leaving us staring like the fools we are." I canted my head sideways, giving Leala fond smile. "At least you force me to exercise my wits, keeping them ever sharp like a Cammaeline's sword,." My expression suddenly grew pensive, in that somewhat ominous manner that usually meant that I'd just gotten another idea that was even worse than my previous ones. "Now there's a thought... What do you suppose Cammaeline lordling might do, given the right sort of provocation? It could be quite the show, do you not think, my dear?"
Draining the last of the tea, I wrinkled my nose. The spring sun was starting to suffocate me. "Come now, it's getting warm and stagnant here, is it not? I think I may need a fresh breeze to clear my head. Shall we take a walk together?"
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