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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 24, 2011 15:42:38 GMT -5
The return of spring meant that I was out more often, once again falling into the routine of taking a walk in the City of Elua. Unexpectedly, I found myself near the cemetery, a turn of events that a more superstitious man would term ill-omened. The dirt was still fresh on Queen Sabrina's grave, after all.
I cared not who ruled Terre d'Ange, so long as they did not interfere with my work, and Coretta seemed as fit a ruler as any Courcel, even if she had doubtlessly been coddled and spoiled, never having to do an honest day's work in her life.
I paused at the apex of a bridge to stare into the water at my own clouded reflection. There was not much to see, and what little there was was obscured by the foulness of the water. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of morning air. Ah, a quiet spot such as this was a rare find in this city, but I was not one for enduring the incessant chatter of my countrymen.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 24, 2011 17:25:32 GMT -5
My arms were laden already. A result of the chores I had undertaken for my House. Fresh loafs of bread, peeked from their wax-paper casings. Each one golden hued and softly scented of baked yeast. Themselves joined with a cask of wine brought from a sommelier in the area.
Secretly, I was thankful that My Lady Dowayne did not send me to my Uncle's establishment. Mayhaps, saving me the possible awkward embarrassment that in itself was cunning.
Chores were completed early, however. A fact that I was keenly aware of as I took in these early morning hours. The stillness of the morning was rife with opportunity. The book held within the pockets of my cloak ached to be read. But, I bade myself patience as my free hand reached up to adjust the hood currently held fast over my head.
I found myself climbing over a bridge with the Cemetery in the distance. My gaze slid off of the sight of the grave stones like water. Rather, turning them to the bridge itself. Quiet footfalls made little noise. There was something Alyssum about me after all; though, I could never muster up the modesty my Mother exuded. It at least left the man, with his scowl, to his own thoughts as I too paused at the apex. A free hand grazing the rough stones that spoke of the many pebbles cobbled together to create the cement in the old Tiberium way.
Instead of speaking, while I gazed at the water, I enjoyed the silence.
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 24, 2011 19:30:27 GMT -5
I noticed the woman out of the corner of my eye, fine featured, beautiful, for certain, but like the majority of her sex, did not stir anything in me. She was blissfully silent, not like the gossiping biddies in Elua's Square, and so I saw no need to engage her in conversation.
I took another deep breath, holding it a moment before letting it out. Now was as good a time as any to practice the exercises I used to aid my prowess with the bow, I was sorely out of practice as I had not gone on many hunts in winter, that would surely have to be rectified.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 24, 2011 21:41:23 GMT -5
Gossiping biddies. They have always been around me. Their vicious whispers cutting to the quick. 'Oh, that poor creature, that poor creature.' they would say. All of them hoping that I would not latch on to what the people would be saying. It has fallen out of favor with those Gossiping biddies; though they do seem never to forget. I long remember that first lesson. Listen. So many say more in their silence than they ever will in their words.
I relieved myself of the burdens I carried. Setting them gently upon the ground near to my feet. The man near, got a simple inclination of the head. A simple gesture of greeting, nothing more nothing less. He took in a deep breath and held a moment and let it go. I wondered, idly, what it was that weighed so heavily in his mind. The air was sweet with that sharp clean tang of the moment. Mayhap the scent of freshly baked bread would find him.
I took the moment to reach within my cloak and proffer forth a small, thin, leather-bound book. It was a treatise, translated from the Caerdicci by a Philosopher on the nature of Logic and Reason. There were many facets to the deceptively simple cannon of House Camellia. Of course, perfect beauty would be the first many thought of. But, there was also, at least in my view, the Perfect Thought. A partner to the Perfect Gesture.
A crystallizing of something offered to a Patron. To those around us. A simple something that was only one word Perfect.
The pages flipped in their fashion. Old, yellowed around the corners, smelling immediately of old ink.
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 24, 2011 22:50:06 GMT -5
The smell of old books assailed my nostrils, bringing back memories of a childhood spent surrounded by the books in my father's library. I glanced over at the woman, and saw that she indeed possessed such a volume, pages yellowed with age. The title I recognized as a particularly well-written treatise. This one was in translation, whereas my own copy was in Caerdicci. I preferred it that way, to preserve the purity of the text.
The words came to me with practiced ease, reciting a favourite quotation from the book in Caerdicci. I wondered if she would understand or if she was like so many other D'Angelines, never bothering to learn anything about others, much less their languages.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 24, 2011 23:02:50 GMT -5
It is the words spoken in Caerdicci. At least, I likened them to be Caerdicci, and I turned and glanced at Léandre with ill-hidden admiration. I had wished to learn a new language, but as it has always turned out, there was always other things to do. The Ecstastica to learn from. Chores to accomplish. Offerings to be made. The fosterlings to care for. As such, the admiration did not give way to flickers of understanding.
And as such, I shook my head in that vein.
"Forgive me, Monsieur," I offered gently, "I do not understand." The voice is quiet but the notes are undeniably silvery. But it lacks the coquettish nature others might give with the statement. I dare say, with the way this man looked upon me that he would have hated it in any case. "I assume, then, that you know this treatise well?"
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 25, 2011 9:35:07 GMT -5
I nodded. "Indeed, although I am more familiar with the original Caerdicci than any D'Angeline translation, that passage in particular is dear to me." I repeated it, in D'Angeline this time, so she would be able to understand it. "As for the rest, I am a scholar, and it behooves me to be familiar with many texts."
"Leandre de Guivre, reluctantly Baron Citrine," I added by way of introduction, with a slight incline of my head. I would rather have claimed the title of scholar for myself, but now apparently everyone expected me to name my ill-gotten rank as well. I inwardly cursed my uncle for dying and saddling me with responsibility, something that I did not desire.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 25, 2011 11:17:56 GMT -5
The book was still in my hands, open as I curtsied to Léandre. A curtsy limed with an easy grace, an easy way of moving causing my simple wool gown to puddle about me. The folds fell back to their positions when I rose back to full-height. "Well met, Your Lordship," I replied to his introduction simply given. The words, likewise, simply offered in reply. "I have wished to learn Caerdicci; but, it seems that Time itself is an enemy of my wish."
I turned my head up and looked upon the man. The weight of the world reluctantly upon his shoulders; which have sewn the seeds of that scowl that colors his face. Though, I wondered then if it is the responsibility or rather what it represents that is so odious to him.
"Inès nó Camellia," there are no titles other than that which he may suss out himself. My fingers danced over the leather binding of the book which is afforded a quick glance to the words keeping track of where I left off. The stolen moment, however, has escaped by grasp this I became increasingly aware.
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 25, 2011 13:01:34 GMT -5
I refrained from rolling my eyes in disgust as she observed the expected courtesies due a man of my station, but that did not mean I was required to like it.
Nor was I shocked to learn that she was an adept. Actually, I was more surprised that one would bother to explore philosophies that had nothing to do with carnal acts, but I suppose Camellia adepts would strive to be head and shoulders above everyone else. How dull.
"Caerdicci is not so hard to learn for D'Angeline speakers, our languages are related, after all." Of course, it had taken less than a year for me to learn it, so perhaps I was not the best judge of ease of learning.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 25, 2011 13:16:23 GMT -5
"I see," the words said into the breezes. Words that Léandre could either catch or release out into the ether. Slowly, I closed the book. The crinkling of old bindings and leathers nearly inaudible in the air. "The time I have to sate my own curiosities is short, however. I shall have to be akin to a thief in the night to put in the time needed to learn Caerdicci."
The book was spirited away within the folds of my cloak. Held fast in the pockets within. There were a few things that I wished to ask him. This man swaddled and wrapped in blacks as dark as shadows. Though one question would lead our conversation away from the philosophy I was wading into myself. The other isn't quite related to the current vein of words being exchanged and taken.
Instead, I opted for the later, "What do you think of the author's position on universals? That they do not exist, rather suggesting the existence of predicates instead?"
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 25, 2011 13:32:05 GMT -5
I considered her question. "An interesting assertion, but one which I respectfully disagree with, at least, to a degree." I gestured to the grass on the other side of the bridge. "My universalist colleagues would no doubt assert that the grass and my favourite shirt share a quality of 'greenness'. I think that fact is obvious to anyone with eyes, but what is 'greenness'?" I stroked my chin thoughtfully. "But as much as I respect Hellene philosophers, I must say that I disagree with Plato's assertion that universals are referrants of general terms...and still a part of me wonders why men waste time wondering about such things..."
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 25, 2011 17:05:32 GMT -5
I nodded, my gaze falling on the green grasses swaying softly in the morning breezes. "So then you believe there are no universals?" My questions really a pre-face for what I was thinking. The words of the treatise flowing through my mind like so much a babbling brook. "That there is no universally held thought that Green is Green. That the sky is blue -- and that what we see is in-fact blue? That what we stand upon is a bridge agreed upon by a convocation of souls, simply because the predicate of 'it is a bridge' applies to them both?"
I paused, a break in my thoughts. I yet held no opinion upon the work yet, nor where I stood upon in the argument. But, I wished to suss out the thoughts of this man, this Lord Baron.
"It is good to ask what may be the simplest questions," I reply mostly towards his idle thought of why. "Why would men waste their time wondering what would be to most an obvious thought. Perhaps, it is because the simplest questions are the most deceptive one. Who's resultant trains of thought may have quite far reaching reverberations for a man's world view?"
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 25, 2011 17:42:21 GMT -5
I snorted. "Perhaps in some places Green is Pink, but certainly not in any culture I have studied. And I suppose one could call this bridge a mountain, but any idiot can see that what we call a mountain has vastly different properties to a bridge. 'Tis simple observation, not a philosophical conundrum."
I paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to express such concepts in simpler language. "You adepts, is there not something that links you to each other?"
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 25, 2011 17:54:44 GMT -5
"Tis our Service to Naamah that links us together. The details may change, depending on the House. But at its basest core what links us is our Service to Naamah; to do as she did." My reply came easily, born of a comfortable understanding of the happenings that allowed the Companions to continue upon their journeys. To keep Blessed Elua fed and clothed while he drank in the land.
I noticed Léandre's snort and I stifled a chuckle. Mayhap he did not understand my attempt to make him more clear in his own thoughts. A Hellenic philosopher I read of once did that in his squares quite a lot; much to their own chagrin. I wondered, then, if this was what that Philosopher felt. "Tis the predicate and the quality that makes a person or a bridge or a blade of grass what they may be. Nothing more, nothing less. Mayhap you believe the Universals real, then."
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 25, 2011 21:27:08 GMT -5
I scoffed at this. "A universal is only real in that it finds expression in its instances, so some say, but I find myself increasingly certain that nothing beyond what can be experienced with the senses is truly real, despite the stories our people believe." I knew this was treading dangerously close to admitting heresy, but all her talk of Naamah was giving me a headache.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 25, 2011 22:21:43 GMT -5
I blinked. Once and then twice at Léandre. I queried myself wondering at all what it was that he was scoffing at. I ran through what I said again in mind, for the moment keeping my own counsel. But, when I came up with naught I canted my head towards him, just slightly to the side. "And yet, Your Lordship, you speak of things being a given. You speak of things such as simple color being universally understood."
I paused, standing tall - straight. The ever so slight bend that prevented me from being named Dahlia flashing into the fore. No, it shan't be confused with pride. It is, however, confidence. "You spoke as though you believed that despite the differences in adepts; like the different species of grasses , that you cannot deny it's 'adept-ness' nor it's 'grassy-ness.' Of which I quantified that as the singular link between Adept-Ness as our Service to Naamah. Where, Your Lordship did I err in thinking that you preferred to speak and believe of Universals?"
Earnestly asked, because in truth he confused me now. Did he change his line of thinking? My eyes were wide as I looked upon him, not out of exasperation but of wishing to know exactly what it is that he spoke of.
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 26, 2011 0:36:02 GMT -5
Ah, yes, I had contradicted myself, falling prey to the very fallacies that I had forsworn so many years ago.
"I am a man," I said simply. "And therefore I reserve the right to be inconsistent when it suits me. I did say I was a scholar, not a philosopher. I do not generally deal in such abstractions, but I do not deny that certain abstractions exist. Numbers, for instance, it is impossible to show me a two or a four, only a representation of two, an instance, if you will."
I turned my gaze from her to the water, as if I could divine some truth from its depths. "I wonder if our Caerdicci philosopher would say that humans are linked solely by the fact that they are called such. I for one find it disturbing that a concept such as 'humanity' might not exist, but I admit that I do hold that to postulate the existence of...certain abstract concepts...seems absurd to my mind."
I spread my hands in a gesture of resignation. "As I said, I am no philosopher. I am a man of facts, figures, and observable phenomena."
I glanced up at the sky at the sound of a bird call that I had not been expecting to hear at this time of year. "Ah, Oriolus oriolus, if I am not mistaken, but they usually only appear in summer in Terre D'Ange. Their song is unmistakable." I coughed. "Ahem, the burden of having such a...precise...memory is that sometimes I imagine I sound rather like an encyclopedia at times."
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 26, 2011 16:57:43 GMT -5
While Léandre spoke again, I knelt to retrieve my basket. Items for the House, things I volunteered myself to do during these moments. I liked having a little bit of a purpose for my wanderings after all. Likewise, though, I turned my gaze towards the water. It's mysterious depths; unfortunately I am not a Gentian to be able to tell what the water may say to me.
"Ah, then we have that much in common. I, too, am no philosopher." A light smile played at my lips then as I continued to look at the water. "Just a woman who is interested in expanding her own horizons in time, from time, stealing those precious moments to do so." All of which, said as though there is no shame in not being a philosopher. No shame in pretending to be what one isn't.
The mention of the Oriolous oriolus, drew my attention to the sky. Stolen away from the water. Eyes scanned the bright white clouds against the cerulean sky looking for the bird, during which the hood of my cloak nearly falls backward. Caught, at the last moment by my hand though it did not stop golden strands from peering into the morning air.
His admission was easily waved away, "Be not apologetic about such things; 'tis admirable to know as much. The Natural world is not something that I have learned overmuch about." In truth, it was not in the curricula of an Adept, other than understanding and trying to capture it's inherent beauty in the arts.
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 26, 2011 21:39:36 GMT -5
"I wonder if anyone can truly say such a thing, especially since we are so dependent on the natural world for our very survival," I mused. "But I suppose an adept must needs devote much of their time to the study of those things pertaining to the flesh." In that I suspected we were diametrically opposed, for I did not care for such things.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 26, 2011 21:51:47 GMT -5
"You would be correct, in part. Learning of Matters of the Flesh does not begin for any Novice until they are dedicated." I replied, to Léandre. "It is not all that is taught nor all of our responsibility. Most of what is taught to us at a young age, is both metaphysical and honestly practical. Though once our true training begins, our responsibility for helping to care for our fosterlings is as equally important." My eyes traveled from the sky back to the crown of verdant green that was atop the trees. Down to the murky water.
I took a step forward, "I quite enjoy helping to care for our fosterlings. As I too, was once one from quite an early age." A breath is taken, savoring the freshness of it all. I took a step forward resting against the bridge in earnest. "After all," I said easily enough, "if our time was devoted to simply one thing then it would make us ill-prepared for when and if we choose to leave the Service."
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 26, 2011 22:36:37 GMT -5
"Ah, of course," I replied. "It is, I believe, quite prudent to develop skills in multiple areas so as not to limit oneself to one career in the future." I myself was proficient enough in archery that I could hunt my own game, unlike others of my status who seemed to shy away from even the barest mention of work, who viewed hunting more as sport for nobles and their dogs.
"I have read that Bodhistani courtesans are expected to learn sixty-four arts, at least, and not all of them pertain to things of the bedroom. 'Twould seem that you and they are of the same mind." I remarked, knowing that what I knew of adepts could possibly fit a single page of my latest book. Oh, I knew all about them, of course, for I made it my business to know as much as possible, but not of them, not in the way a patron would, and I had no desire to be a patron. Why join the ranks of the frivolous when I could be so much more?
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 26, 2011 22:50:36 GMT -5
"Sixty-Four arts?" I asked while looking back to Léandre. That, in itself was interesting to me. There were courtesans of other countries of that I was sure. But, each of them held their own cultures and their own reasons for being.
He spoke of us however, at arm's length. "Your love of scholarship, shines through," I observed with a ghost of a smile playing across my lips. Fluttering through like the call of the bird he pointed out. Some people are engulfed by their loves of things that they could see nothing else. In that Léandre struck me as a true d'Angeline.
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 26, 2011 23:10:29 GMT -5
I shrugged. "I am merely a man who is weary of the sometimes appalling ignorance that my countrymen display, ignorance stemming from pure arrogance for the most part. We see in the Bodhistani a certain exoticism, for instance, but who among us knows of the sixty-four arts or their elaborate system of castes and sub-castes?" I took a breath, very much aware that I was probably on the verge of flying into a passion, which did not lend itself well to coherency.
"As you have no doubt surmised, this...tokenism...with regards to foreign nations is...quite the vexation for me." I said, calmer now. Ah, the benefits of cool spring air were many, not the least of which was calming the nerves.
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 26, 2011 23:18:07 GMT -5
What else was there to do, other than to listen? Mayhap, that is what Léandre strives for, what his wish was. To be listened to. For a man who knows much to be able to share that? I knew not for sure and could only conjecture. Part of us, was to know our Patrons. To give that perfect moment. I'm surprised, sometimes, how little some of us actually Listen.
I adjusted my burden in my arms, reminding me that I should be returning to Mont Nuit as I needed. "Mayhaps in time, I may learn from you in the future about these other worlds." I used my free hand to adjust my cloak offering a gentle inclination towards Léandre. After all, who better to have learned from, than someone who's true love was this knowledge of which boils and simmers beneath the surface? "But, it seems the sun is rising high in the sky, reminding me that I should return to the errands that are my responsibility."
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Post by Léandre de Guivre on Feb 26, 2011 23:27:35 GMT -5
"Perhaps," I replied, reflexively noting the sun's position in the sky. "One must never shirk their responsibilities, far be it for someone like me to keep you from them." I returned her inclination with one of my own. "Well met, it has been a pleasure, and that is not something I say to many women."
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Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 26, 2011 23:33:53 GMT -5
"Indeed, it has a pleasure." I replied in kind to Léandre, a man with the weight of all that he has learned and all that he has not on his shoulders. There's nothing more to say, and thus I left him to ponder the sky, the world and that which he may or may not know. Light footfalls carrying me away passed the Cemetary where Mother is buried, where I disappeared around a corner.
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