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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 3, 2005 12:01:02 GMT -5
It’s rather shameful to admit it but my courage rather failed me on the way back to Mandrake. So I eschewed the inevitable publicity of walking through the main entrance, and followed the garden wall to a gnarled old apple tree I knew of old. My ridiculous buckled shoes made climbing it impossible so I flung them over the wall and scaled the tree easily enough in my stockinged feet. Coming down was slightly more difficult and I was scrabbling for purchase on the other side of the wall, when a sardonic voice drawled out:
“Need a hand there?”
I lost my grip upon the branches of the tree and fell a meagre few feet to land at the Dowayne’s feet in an unceremonious heap of velvet.
“What are you … I mean … how did you,” I spluttered.
“Oh come now,” he sighed, and for all the studied weariness of his tone his dark eyes held fire enough to scorch anyone who strayed too close. “I do know you rather well. What do you take me for? And what have you been doing – or not being doing. Actually I know what you haven’t been doing.”
“Uh…” I started, having regained my feet and making a conciliatory gesture with my hands.
“By Elua, what is wrong with you Louvel?” he said so explosively that I actually took a few steps away from him. “Why is it beyond you to please a Patron? You’re almost a walking blasphemy. I ask you now: do you want to serve Namaah?”
My mouth had gone unexpectedly dry. “It’s … it’s all I know how to do,” I managed, somewhat pitifully.
“Not exactly a model answer,” he growled. “And where have you been?”
“Nowhere,” came my less than ideal answer.
“Nowhere. I see. And nowhere shredded you to tatters, did it? Have you been in sort of fight?”
“N-no,” I said again.
He descended up on me and scraped his fingers across the scratch marks Douleur had left across my cheeks. I could not help myself. I gasped. Less, perhaps, at the pain but at his touch and the heat and the fury radiating from him. “How did you get this?”
“I … I … fell over?” I tried desperately.
He slapped my face with all the force I probably deserved … and it was hard enough to knock me off my feet. My mouth filled up with the taste of blood and lights danced across my vision.
“I’m not a fool, Louvel,” he roared. “Yet you keep taking me for one.”
There was a long silence.
“What’s wrong with you Louvel?” he said, again, softly this time. “You used to at least try to please your Patrons. I had hoped you had it in you to become … well … you’re too much of an individual to ever be a credit to anyone except yourself … but at the moment you’re the bane of your House.”
There was another long silence. I was half-inclined to try and dig my way through the ground in order to escape.
“If you can’t, or won’t, explain is it at least going to cross your mind to apologise?”
“It has … crossed my mind,” I said, finally.
“Well?”
“I. Um.”
He watched me, an incredulous smile curling over his lips. “You just can’t, can you?” He went down on his knees beside me in the long, damp grass. He cupped my cheek and brought his face close to mine, so close I could see the sparks of light like dancing flames amidst the darkness of his eyes, close I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips, so close I wanted more than anything to flinch away from him. “I’m not going to whip you again,” he said, in a voice so warm and silken it gave the promise of a whipping all the sensuality of a caress. In spite of myself, I shivered. Satisfied, he withdrew, and his voice was cold and harsh again. “The main staircase is at its most gleaming best just at the moment. The maid who usually deals with it has hurt her back. Why don’t you see what you can do, hmmm?”
My eyes widened. “What?!”
“You heard me.”
“And you’re not … you’re not being entirely serious with me are you?”
“Louvel.” His voice had taken on an edge of menace, like the tinted clouds that promise an oncoming storm. “If you aren’t at work upon that staircase within the next ten minutes I will have you whipped. I’ll have you whipped from this house. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “Yes. But how … how … do you clean a staircase?”
“You learn if you know what’s good for you. You’ll find buckets and soap and water and cloths and polish aplenty in the kitchens.”
“Can I at least go to my room and change?” I asked.
“If you can do it in the next eight minutes and thirty seconds.”
“I won’t have time,” I whined, and then was ashamed of whining.
He laughed, and the sound of his mirth flicked across my skin more surely and painfully than the lash of the whip. “I think you’re most fittingly attired.”
I wanted, more than anything, to have a witty retort at the ready. But instead, conscious of the rapidly dwindling seconds, I turned and fled through the gardens back towards the house, with the sound of his laughter still echoing in my ears.
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 4, 2005 10:44:46 GMT -5
The reaction of the kitchen staff when I turned up, panting and dishevelled, in the doorway to request a bucket and scrubbing brush (to say nothing of my reaction to their most unseemly and uncouth mirth) hardly bears description and I shall not dignity it with one. But they supplied me readily enough with everything I would apparently need for my repugnant labours. I lugged a large and ancient bucket filled with warmish, soap-filled water all the way to the top of the main staircase – which is ancient, sweeping, majestic and, as I realised for the first time, dauntingly immense.
I had to stop a few times en route to get my breath back and I spilled a considerable quantity of water over the entrance foyer floor … perhaps it should have given me a new found respect for the serving staff but mainly I found it demeaning and infuriating. Which I’m sure was just Ignace had intended. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him. And her for confusing me and making me behave in foolish, irrational way and reducing me to this.
I could have done without the curious, somehow triumphant (or was that my paranoid imagination?) stares of the other adepts. Well, I must have been quite a sight in my ruined, outlandish finery … and I’m sure I must have looked as outraged as I felt. I finally made it to the stop of the stairs and my heart sank at the enormity of the task ahead of me. Despondency swept over me, and it was almost enough to subdue the fire of my fury. Almost. But not quite. I lowered myself onto my knees, my velvet frockcoat pooling absurdly around me, and carefully folded back the lace ruffles at my wrists … I don’t know why I was even bothering to be careful, the costume was completely ruined anyway. As I plunged my hands into the lukewarm water, I had a sudden completely unprecedented attack of vanity. It’s true I have the hands of a gardener right down to the dirt beneath my nails but they are not the hands of a common labourer. And now they were.
I mustered anger again, and controlled it and shaped it until it was hard and cold and glittering like ice. It strengthened me as anger always does, and I forced myself to my task, cursing the names of all who had led me to this.
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 4, 2005 19:06:43 GMT -5
It wasn’t until I’d actually stepped in one of the puddles of water dotting the entrance way that I even noticed them. Cursing a little, I pulled off the dainty blue slipper, which had immediately soaked through. I scanned the hall, looking for someone to blame, and I noticed a most unusual figure crouched one the main stairs, scrubbing.
Drawing closer I recognized him, and had a moment of shock to see an Adept working at menial labour before I understood that he was being punished. Which was when I managed to put a name to the face, Louvel. I knew him vaguely, in the way that most Adepts know each other, not well, but just well enough to enjoy teasing at his expense.
Drifting past him I sank gracefully to the stair, sitting just below where he was working. Setting my face in my best, pouty, patently false, look of sympathy. Clutching my wet slipper like a lover’s token, I looked up at him through my eyelashes. It was then that I noticed the state of his outlandish garb, and his lovely face for that matter, but it didn’t even give me pause, “Oh, Louvel,” I sighed dramatically, “whatever is the matter? Don't you enjoy serving the House?”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 5, 2005 6:33:25 GMT -5
I had progressed a depressingly pathetic distance down the enormous, endless, accursed, damned, taunting, infuriating staircase … and I was running out of names to curse and people to blame. At this rate, I was going end up at myself, and that was the last thing I wanted to deal with. Ever.
I heard footsteps upon the stairwell, the delicate tip-tap that signified a female approach, but I did not look up, assuming it was just another ‘astonishingly’ be-muddied adept come to contribute to my task. But the footsteps stopped and a felt a swirl of air as a gowned figure settled herself upon the step below me. I glanced up with my most intimidating scowl to recognise Dominque … the angelic seeming-vulnerability of her features has always stood out in the house of stern, haughty, prideful beauties. Not that one needs to have one’s pride painted upon one’s face like rouge – she had quite the reputation for that as well.
The condescending look she wore was almost enough to inspire me to dump the entire bucket of filthy water over her head, and damn the consequences. But I managed to restrain myself. I could always fall back upon it later, if she continued to bother me. Instead I placed a damp, dirt-streaked upon my heart, rolled my eyes heavenwards and sighed in accents positively throbbing with passion: “Quite the contrary. My adoration for my house is so excessive, so dedicated that I could not stand the sight of this neglected staircase for another minute. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you don't feel the same. Why don't you grab a cloth?"
I dipped the scrubbing brush back in the bucket and splashed it unceremoniously down on the stair on which she sat. Water puddled across the step, coming perilously close to the edges of her fine dress.
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 5, 2005 8:22:36 GMT -5
Resisting the urge to jump to my feet to protect my fine, not to mention expensive dress, I merely smiled and set my already ruined slipper between my seat and the tiny river of soapy water, stemming and diverting the flow. Ah good, I thought, witticisms are always more amusing when both parties are ready, and able, to quip. I find nothing so annoying as a great boor who thinks themselves cleaver.
“Why Louvel,” I exclaimed, “how can you suggest such a thing? I love our House most dearly indeed. I, however, choose to serve it in that most predictable fashion: taking, and pleasing patrons. As my marque well reflects.” Smiling and doe-eyed I paused, “But I am sure Ignace would be most moved by your personal show of devotion should I inform him. But, then, I suppose he is well aware of your undertaking.”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 5, 2005 18:36:48 GMT -5
“And, you’re currently hindering my personal show of devotion,” I muttered, plucking up the slipper and tossing it casually out of my way, before making a big show of scrubbing at the area around her. “You don’t see me interfering with yours.” Unfortunately I made the mistake of looking up, and crashed headlong into her smug, self-satisfied and incongruously cherubic smile. I wondered how her Patrons could stand it. Possibly it added to the thrill of abasement. “And there’s no need to gloat so unbecomingly,” I added, kneeling upright. “You only draw attention to the undiscerning nature of your Patrons.”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 5, 2005 23:10:41 GMT -5
I ignored the loss of the slipper, not even bothering to mark where it fell, it was no good any more anyhow. Sighing softly I slid gracefully down two steps and slid to my left until I sat with my back to him. Craning my neck slightly I watched him over my right shoulder, out of the corner of my eye, still smiling sweetly.
“And if your patrons are so clever, what is it that they discern in you that keeps them away, hmm? Perhaps they prefer a clean Adept to one who cleans?” Turning my face a fraction away, and not looking directly at him, I batted my carefully kohl darkened lashes in a false fit of nerves, “Or maybe it is that they do not like having to deal with you in kind?” Trailing one finely buffed finger nail down my own lily-white cheek in reference to the gashes on his I turned my face back to him, the mocking in the question writ clearly in on my face.
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 6, 2005 6:06:11 GMT -5
“It wasn’t a Patron,” I said, instinctively resenting the implication of her words. “Not,” I added snappishly, realising that I’d let myself be drawn and said too much, “that it’s any business of yours.”
Hazily, almost as if they had happened to someone else, the events of the last evening rose into my mind and with them came something distinctly like regret. Should I have tried harder with the lovely Princess, and let her play her games with me as she had willed? By all accounts she had gone home to a Valerian adept who must have suited her fickle inclinations better than I could have done? I opened my mouth to voice my confusions and frustrations and then stopped myself. I had no need to justify myself to this preening cherub, who had only come to bait me anyway.
I swept my eyes contemptuously across her exquisitely posed form. “And if your Patrons are so innumerable and pleased … why are you wasting precious time annoying me?”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 6, 2005 7:03:18 GMT -5
Now, that was an interesting tidbit, and one it was clear he had not intended to slip. I knew for a fact that he had been with a patron for at least part of the night, most Adepts had been contracted for a celebration. I had not but I did not think he knew that and had no intention of making the same mistake he had. To his credit the only qualifier he placed on the information was that it was not my concern, before he quickly rounded on me.
But I chose to ignore his very pointed question. Pouting impressively, I whipped around to face him, all overwrought concern. I enjoy melodrama, its a flaw outside of assignations, I’’m aware. “Did someone pick a fight with you, Louvel? Are you going to tell the Dowayne on them?” Smiling wickedly I leaned in a little bit closer and stage whispered, “Or did you finally just fall out of a tree in the courtyard?”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 6, 2005 10:21:15 GMT -5
I watched the studied innocence of her expression give way, momentarily, to something more shrewd and calculating as she considered the information I had so stupidly revealed. She was like a cat in the sun, all fluffy indolence covering sharp, sharp claws. Literally, if the rumours concerning her particular predilections were true.
I wondered how well I could cover it by playing up to her theatricals. I, too, leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re right on both counts,” I whispered, with the air of one imparting a huge and dramatic secret. I widened my eyes and held a finger to my lips as if to invoke her discretion. “As it happens, I did get in a fight, a lover's fight … with the dryad of the apple tree in the old orchard. She was so loath to release me from her embrace she slapped me with a sharp-edged sapling as I slithered from her arms.”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 6, 2005 20:57:30 GMT -5
He turned coy, responding smoothly with a jest. I hadn’t really expected him to reveal anything anyway, he clearly knew he’d slipped and he was no fool to lay his life story before someone as potentially adversarial as a fellow Mandrake Adept. “It would be a dryad for you, wouldn’t it. I’m surprised you wanted to leave her, I’d have thought you could find no better match.”
His startling love of plants was a point of interest only because it was so at odds with every other facet he presented to the world. Seeing him with dirt streaked hands and stubby, cracked nails had become a joke in and of itself among most of the younger Adepts. “Did she have a name? Or will I just have to try to identify her by the lash striped bark?”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 9, 2005 4:26:17 GMT -5
Her casual mention of a match for me – as if such a thing were even impossible – brought Douleur suddenly to my mind with the force and romanticism of absurd adolescent fantasy. I really don’t know what’s happening to me, what’s she done to me. But there she was, pale skin glimmering moon-bright amidst a swirl of glowing russet leaves. I dragged my attention reluctantly back to my less-lovely present, with its filthy water and its menial tasks and its irritating companion.
I ignored the mockery in her voice as she quizzed me about my ‘dryad.’ I know my compatriots and, from them, the younger adepts view me as ridiculous. If you asked me – which none of them ever do – I would say my preference for the company of plants and growing things over the companionship of shallow, gossip-mongering, tedious fools shows a good deal of common sense, rather than the reverse.
“I think I’ll let the Lady keep her secrets,” I said instead, raising a provoking eyebrow. “Unlike most of us, I don’t kiss and tell.” That's an old saying - we Mandrakes have a slightly different version.
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 11, 2005 19:14:24 GMT -5
There was a brief but loaded pause as he seemed to drift elsewhere. It made me vaguely uncomfortable, watching him turned inward as he was. Which is a testament to the moment as it is very difficult to embarrass me, it was especially so in my youth. For I, as most adepts of Mandrake, have a compelling superiority complex, and that is a difficult thing to shake. Nonetheless, I was distinctly relieved when he returned to his standoffish self.
I wasn’t sure if his comment was directed particularly at me. I am no Alyssum to guard bedchamber matters so carefully, but neither am I known as a gossip. At least not to my knowledge. Still, the insinuation pricked me enough for me to rise to his bait. Sniffing primly, I crimped my curls with one hand and snapped waspishly, “Well, you would have to be discreet wouldn’t you? For that little ‘party’ you were contracted to at Valerian. I’m sure discretion was top priority for that Count… whatever his name was.” It was a bit of a sore spot for no few of the Adepts that he’d been paid to play with a Valerian Adept. That wasn’t a chance that came around often, and there was little enough love lost for Louvel within Mandrake that his good fortune inspired envy.
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 14, 2005 10:06:36 GMT -5
My lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk as a look of annoyance flashed across her face. There’s nothing quite as gratifying as pricking the pride of a Mandrake adept, as I’m sure several of the other Houses know to our cost. All the same, her retaliatory efforts took me a little by surprise. I had not quite realised how much envy and resentment I had garnered for landing the guest spot at the Comte Ricco’s party. At least the discretion Dominque derided had paid off and nobody knew quite how that fiasco had ended, or even that it had been a fiasco. Well, I might have known the Comte’s arrogance would keep his tongue in check.
“The Comte Ricco,” I offered. “Like most aristocrats of his inclinations he was about as subtle and appealing as a rampaging boar. It’s a waste of the skills of Valerian if you ask me.”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 14, 2005 14:01:54 GMT -5
I smiled at his jest at the expense of the nobility in spite of my resolve to remain disdainful. It’s a House point of pride that our skills far outstrip those of patrons, especial noble patrons, of similar inclination. I also smiled in recollection of my own recent encounter with ‘the skills of Valerian’ as he put it. I smiled more as a fellow Adept passed us on his way up the stairs, for I was sure that his boots would not normally have been so muddy, nor his step so heavy.
I cleared my throat softly and tried desperately to keep my face neutral. A ruined slipper I could ignore, but my dress could not be so easily replaced, and the delicate, cornflower silk would most definitely not survive an upended bucket of soapy, mud filled water. Clearing my throat once more for good measure I decided my best option was to let him spend his anger before calling his attention back to me.
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 15, 2005 9:32:36 GMT -5
I nearly smiled in response to the one I had inspired, but thankfully I remembered that I didn’t do that sort of thing just in time and avoided what might have been an unpleasant and awkward moment of social intimacy. It was a strange feeling, though, to have made her smile, in accord with me as opposed to at me or to conceal some taunt that had cut too deep. I never normally bother talking to anyone long enough to get to the smiling stage. Well, except for Ignace, he smiles at me all the time. I think it’s because he knows how much it annoys me.
At that moment, an adept I didn’t recognise clumped ostentatiously up the stairs past us leaving a formidable trail of filth in his wake. I behaved as any gentleman of dignity would have done under such circumstances, that is I leapt to my feet and pursued him up the stairs, roaring obscenities that made the very walls of Mandrake flinch. The adept turned out to be both younger than me, and shorter than me, and slighter than me … and from the pallor that suddenly overcame his features it would seem he realised this at about the same time I did. He took to his muddy heels, leaving me to rage impotently at the top of the stairs and offer anyone within earshot a scathing condemnation of his parentage, his masculinity and, finally, the size of his manhood.
“And you can stop sblack personing as well,” I added for good measuring, rounding on my companion. “I’m going to have to start this all over again. And what's his name? For future, err, reference."
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 15, 2005 22:36:44 GMT -5
His linguistic skills were most impressive and raised no few eyebrows on the smattering of people, patrons and Adepts alike, dotting the courtyard bellow. “Henri,” I proffered helpfully, struggling all the while to keep from breaking into a ridiculous grin. “Third floor, west wing,” then after a pause, “He’s is, however, my age, so it might be prudent to stop short of actual blows. You don’t want to develop a reputation for being the type to beat on the meek. Well… except those who are paying you. Besides which, though you and I, and any one of any taste I might add, surely find Henri to be a prig he has managed to secure himself a not-so-little group of like minded prigs. You, Louvel, can claim no such feat. And in this particular one on ten battle lacks even the redeeming interests of honour or chivalry.”
After another long pause to fight the corners of my mouth back down I decided to push my luck a little bit. Allies within Mandrake House are hard won and if Henri ever discovered where Louvel heard the next tidbit I had to offer, I could find myself on the wrong end of the pointless battle I’d just denounced. Nonetheless, “I do however happen to know that Henri is afflicted by a most distressing fear of snakes, of all things.” And then I did smile, quite wickedly I imagine, because whatever else happened, my room was close enough to Henri’s that I would hear quite clearly how my advice had been heeded.
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 16, 2005 5:39:49 GMT -5
“I never intended to demean myself with mere physical violence,” I retorted, slumping back down on the newly mud splattered stairs. The costume was ruined anyway and, at this rate of progress, I was liable to still be scrubbing well past midnight. Of course, (and, now I thought about it, this applied to many things) it was the performance of the task that mattered, rather than its completion. “Although I could take him,” I went on speculatively, “abominable prissy little smatchett that he is. And his friends besides. He’s a disgrace to the name of Mandrake.” Belatedly, I remembered that, currently, I was a disgrace to the name of the Mandrake, fell silent and took to glaring at my companion while she wrestled with her mirth. Mirth at my expense, of course.
When she had finished speaking, I narrowed my eyes and pondered the potential for sweet sweet vengeance in what she had told me. I wondered what had inspired her to do so. Feuds and rivalries in Mandrake are certainly not uncommon; however they tend to be vindictive and fierce enough to discourage even the most philanthropically inclined from involving themselves in those that donot directly affect them. And, yet, she here she was. Smug, spiteful, infuriating Dominque who had lingered upon the staircase only to taunt me … hmm … perhaps she had a vendetta of her own to fuel?
“Are you all right?” I asked, struck primarily by the absurdity of the situation. I almost reached out a hand to touch her forehead as if to check her temperature before remembering I was offensively filthy and, besides, I don’t go in for casual physicality. “Any delirium, fever? I hope,” I went on, falling quickly back into my usual scornful manner after this humorous lapse, “you don’t expect me to thank you for this.”
The words hung there for a moment, ungracious enough to shame me. I looked away. “I will remember this. I don’t accrue debts if I can help it but I honour them when I do.”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 16, 2005 10:03:39 GMT -5
It was almost endearing how determined he was to remain aloof… almost. Presently I was finding it infuriating. Try to be nice to someone, try to help him down off his high horse, but no. His damned boundaries might as well have been physical. Apparently they were since he recoiled from touching me, even in casual jest. Not that I was longing for a steak of mud across my brow. Still he didn’t even give me a chance to bat him away.
“Actually,” and now I was feeling snippy, “I had expected a thank you. Debts are all well and good, Louvel, and I’m not turning down any boon you offer, but a thank you is simply polite and friendly. Too good to be polite? Too good to need friends? It’s not difficult to say, watch. Thank you.” I leaned in quick as a cat, leaving our noses about a half foot apart, and I flicked him. Right on the bridge of his nose. I doubted very much that many people had ever dared to flick Louvel and I was trusting to his surprise to give me a couple seconds more to talk. “Why can’t you say ‘thank you’ Louvel? What cataclysmic event will befall us if you make a friend, hmm?”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 16, 2005 10:41:09 GMT -5
I was sufficiently startled by her swift, sudden proximity to do anything other than blink at her in a bewildered sort of fashion as her face loomed before me in its porcelain perfection. And then … I saw her hand move but I was too busy drowning in the flood of her prickly words to react quickly enough. My hand fluttered absurdly and belatedly at empty air and I found myself well and truly flicked. Me! My first impulse was an equally ridiculous one to cover my nose protectively. Thankfully I managed to restrain myself from that. I even managed not to say “ow” which also seemed as it wanted to erupt in automatic protest from my lips. It would have been my dignity speaking, for that was the wounded party here, certainly not my nose which had hardly registered the light pressure of her immaculate fingertips.
I was completely at a loss. A reaction was definitely called for, but I had no idea how to respond … either to the flick itself or to her words. I knew I was offended. Yes, definitely offended. But there was a very small, very secret part of me that wasn’t at all. I had the oddest impulse just to laugh … and the impulse grew slowly in magnitude and intensity until it was all I could do to stop my lips twitching into the most reluctant smile imaginable.
“W-what was that for?” I managed, amusement and outrage warring in my voice.
She was still sitting perilously close to the mad, bad, dangerously unpredictable creature that is Louvel no Mandrake, so I reached out towards one of her doll-like curls and pulled it, not hard enough to hurt or even disarrange it, but definitely enough to suggest the spirit of a flick.
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 16, 2005 11:19:29 GMT -5
I grinned fox-like when he tugged on my curl. I don’t really know what I was expecting but it was an excellent response by all accounts, and certainly in the proper spirit. “I thought maybe I could deflate your head a little bit if I exerted the right kind of pressure…. A theory which I think we’ve proved quite well, don’t you.” I fluffed my hair a bit just to make sure I didn’t look ridiculous.
“Come on old boy, you need some new water, and maybe if we carry the bucket together we can avoid flooding the main hall and ruining some unsuspecting beauty’s slippers, hmm?” I hopped lightly to my feet, feeling quite giddy as I am wont to do when things are going well. “First you dump it out over there. Water I can deal with, but not of that ilk. And you have not yet inspired me sufficiently to get muddy on your behalf Louvel.”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 16, 2005 14:19:00 GMT -5
This was all going too fast for me. “Deflate my head! … Old boy! … Unsuspecting beauty …” I spluttered, having found so much in her latest speech to take exception to that I hardly knew where to begin and was reduced to incoherence. “And what are you smirking about now?” I added, finding her sudden attack of high spirits suspicious. “Oh I give up,” I concluded finally, throwing up my hands in an extravagant and eloquent gesture of despair.
I’d had a long, traumatic night and a long, traumatic morning, and this was just about the cherry to on top. The maddening, mercurial creature seemed to be offering to … help … or at least she wasn’t actively hindering me (Henri … revenge … later …) and, to be honest about it, scrubbing the stairs with company – even if was Dominique who, I reminded myself firmly, was someone for whom I had no particular liking because I didn’t like anybody – was about a thousand and ten times better than scrubbing the stairs by myself. And for the life of me I could discern no ulterior motive for her, yes, there was no other word for it, friendliness. To be absolutely honest I couldn’t discern any obvious motive either.
I climbed to my feet, hoisting up my dangerously sloshing bucket of filthy water. And, despite the fact that I swore to myself I wouldn’t, I shifted it awkwardly to my left side in order to avoid splashing her dress.
“I suppose you’re going to expect thanks for this as well,” I said, with a grumpiness that sounded unconvincing even to my own ears. “Quite frankly I’m surprised I could have inspired you sufficiently to even get wet on my behalf.” There was a brief appalled silence. “I mean …” I went on hastily, “with the clean water and the bucket. And things. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m better with the words … with my Patrons … truly.”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 16, 2005 19:23:00 GMT -5
He was adorably sweet and awkward when he forgot to be a prick, like a very large puppy trying to play with much smaller animals. The trick seemed to be to keep him off balance, a feat which I happen to excel at. I suppose he had become very comfortable in the little niche he’d carved out for himself as someone not to be approached willingly, and certainly not one to be ruffled. But I was finding it a most amusing enterprise.
I walked directly in front of him, facing him. Navigating the great hall by memory, not really worrying about who had to jump out of my way as I went. “I’m sure you can be quite eloquent when you choose too. In fact if there’s a soft side of that tongue to match the sharp one you turned on Henri I don’t doubt you could talk the paint off the walls.” I popped the kitchen door open with my hip and beamed at Louvel as he passed, “Or anything off anyone for that matter: clothing, ducats, land, titles.”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 17, 2005 9:45:00 GMT -5
I stamped along behind her, managing to spill muddy water on the feet of any adepts who did not scramble to get out of our way. The under-servants goggled openly at us as we entered their domain but I held my head up and paid them no heed as I hurled the rest of the water down the nearest drain. I pushed the filth-streaked lace back from my wrists as I filled up the bucket again and re-supplied myself with soap and scrubbing brushes. Sick of the stares, I turned in the doorway and performed an ornate and flamboyant courtly bow before hustling Dominque through the door and slamming it behind us.
“Well I don’t have a softer side,” I said, as we headed back towards the Great Hall. “Or a secretly charming side. So don’t fool yourself about that.” I slid a sideways glance at her. She was tripping along beside in her cornflower blue silk, looking as if she hadn’t had a care in the world and I still had no idea what her game was. Damn her. “Anyway,” I went on slyly, “if we’re speaking of sharp tongues, they say yours is a perfect match for those claws of yours. Or is that just hysterical adept rumour-mongering?
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 17, 2005 10:23:40 GMT -5
I tripped a little at the mention of claws and very nearly soaked myself, but I managed to right my side of the bucket in good order and merely left a bit a puddle behind me. I knew I was blushing but I couldn’t seem to cool my cheeks. I’d never known that particular bit of information had somehow leaked out of the bed chamber. On the Brightside this was good natured ribbing instead of the jabs he’d tried to use to prod me off the front stairs.
“Oh my tongue can be as sharp as the next.” I smiled, pointedly ignoring his remark on my claws, to little effect, that blush had already revealed me as clearly as if I’d been wearing them. “And just for the record,” I blustered on, “I think you could be imminently charming if you so chose. Maybe not wearing that… What are you wearing anyway?” So there it was, I’d finally let my curiosity get the better of me.
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 17, 2005 10:58:39 GMT -5
I shifted my weight quickly to stop the bucket over-turning … it would probably have been worse for her than for me but one can never be too careful. At least that was the excuse I made to myself. I had never seen Dominique so flustered and I was torn between the malicious satisfaction I knew I should be taking in her discomfort and feeling that it was more than a little dishonourable to needle someone who is helping you, entirely of their own volition, to carry a heavy bucket of water. I had only mentioned it because it was something I heard once upon a time, not because I had suspected any particular truth in it. Adepts seem willing to believe anything of anybody regardless of veracity. Only last week someone had sworn himself black in the face that he’d heard that Etienne had a particular fondness for goats. In some ways, I was almost sorry I’d stumbled upon a truth … private rituals are just that. Private. All the same, you had to applaud the imagination of it.
In order to spare her further blushes, I answered her question far more readily than I might have done in other circumstances. “It is … or rather was … a costume for Prince Augustin’s Natal Celebration. Absurd thing isn’t it? And just think, twenty years ago, everybody was dressed like this. Doesn’t it make you unspeakably glad to be born in this enlightened age?”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 17, 2005 11:14:56 GMT -5
“Oh certainly, but then again that’s not what I’d be wearing now is it? Makes one even more appreciative to have been born female.” By now we’d reached the front steps, for which I was grateful, it is difficult to be graceful when carrying a bucket that comes to your knee. “Besides fancy as that coat is it still doesn’t compare to silk skirts.” I twirled on the spot, then stood swishing my hips. It was at that moment that I realized I was still short a shoe and was suddenly stuck by what a ridiculous pair we made. Two Adepts, both wet, one muddy, one dressed out of the pages of history, one missing a shoe, both endeavoring to clean the steps of Mandrake, albeit only one was doing the actual cleaning.
Flopping gracefully down on a spot that had managed to remain clean in our absence, I smiled and wiggled my toes at Louvel. Pulling off my other shoe for the sake of balance I laughed, “Quite the pair we are, hmm? Positively the picture of Night Court pride.”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 18, 2005 10:21:38 GMT -5
“Oh don’t,” I said with a hollow groan, casting my gaze at the staircase which was still immense and no cleaner than when I had begun. If anything, it was dirtier, given that most the adepts who had passed oh-so-casually by had show a muddier disposition than was common for anyone over the age of six. “My pride feels about as tattered as my clothes. Not,” I added, anticipating her next comment, “that it’s anywhere near as ridiculous.”
I lowered myself to my knees beside Dominique and half-heartedly began work upon the steps again. Ignace hadn't specified a time limit on my task - it seemed set to be a very long day for me. “It was meant to match the outfit the Princess Phreya was barely wearing. Where were anyway? If your patrons are as highly regarded as everyone says they are, I’m surprised you weren’t at the Natal. Or did I just not see you?”
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Post by Dominique nó Mandrake (D) on Nov 18, 2005 11:44:18 GMT -5
A few minutes ago I would have easily given the lie but as it stood I didn’t feel right, having browbeat him into this entire encounter. I didn’t think I could repay his burgeoning trust with falsehoods just to save a little pride. After all, I hadn’t been the only one left home. “Actually- I didn’t get an escort. I spent the night here with a slightly less ennobled patron.” I wrinkled my nose in distaste, “Boring as anything he was. And his patron’s gift will barely get me new shoes.” The last said with a smile so he’d know I wasn’t actually that upset at the loss.
I paused to stare down an Adept who had decided that gawking was perfectly within the realm of acceptable behaviour. But he quickly decided staring wasn’t worth being stared at and moved on. Watching Louvel shove back his lace cuffs for the millionth time I smiled sympathetically. “Is the costume specifically part of the punishment of would you like me to retrieve you a less encumbersome shirt? I promise not to rummage if you’ll tell me which draw to check.”
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Post by Louvel nó L'Roche (D) on Nov 18, 2005 11:58:38 GMT -5
I saw a moment of uncertainty cross her face and realised that I’d been drawn – in spite of everything – into something that seemed horrifically close to casual conversation. I’d even asked a question. A non-taunting question. A question that could have indicated interest or caring or something equally implausible. All the same, her dismissive response almost made me smile; it was so similar to what my own would have been.
“Hah!” I said savagely, sharing her distaste. “Count yourself lucky, my girl. I’d have given anything for boring. I swear the woman was on something from Gentian. She didn’t know what she wanted from one second to the next. And her brother is the most insufferable … insufferable,” I sought a term that could suitably convey my utter contempt, “wannabe you could ever imagine.” I stopped to take a breath. This was a new and intoxicating pleasure. Expressing scorn for others has always been one of my hobbies but sharing it was … simply delightful. Shocked by this realisation, I gave her a rather wild look. “What do you want from me?” I demanded.
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