Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Aug 13, 2011 2:42:35 GMT -5
Backdated to several months before the onset of the Skaldic war In the salon, I'd laid again, and again, and again. I'd grown so used to the motions of disrobing and laying on my belly, offering my back to the needle, that in the past months, not going to the marquist had become an exception. I'd caught up my tardiness with my marque, and Elua, it was a bitter sweet thing, bitter because I still had Edwyn's passing to mourn, sweet because it made me feel accomplished. It seemed no joy could ever come to me without being somehow dabbed in the lemon juices of sorrow. Still I was proud, and this time, I'd gotten much more work done than usual. Then again, it was the last time. It had been odd, not to go see Darien for these last touches – but Darien's hands on me, in his professional capacity, when I'd enjoyed his caresses, his kisses, the sweet memory of our one unique, beautiful night together... I feared it might complicate matters, and so I'd let him be. I wished him well, ever. I'd yet to decide what I would do with myself, now that I was no longer bound to Heliotrope. In truth, I did not know, but I was filled with the excitement and trepidation that came with new possibilities, and as I stepped out of the salon, I held my head high despite the strain in my shoulders. It would be a slightly long walk to Mont Nuit, and I could endure it, I told myself as I gathered my dark green skirts about me to step down the hill, before I went up another slope. It was a nice, gentle spring morning, and the fresh air would be nothing, I decided, but invigorating. Though the top of my neck and my shoulders hurt with the sting of the marquing, I was willing to soldier on home, as I usually did. I hummed a sailor's song to myself as I went, to give myself heart. It would perhaps be a bit slower than usual.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Aug 15, 2011 8:30:28 GMT -5
I had been putting off a trip to the Marquist. I don’t fear the pain particularly - although I don’t exactly get off on it either – and I don’t get the screaming heebie jeebies from having to surrender some element of control over my body either. But it takes a while, and it puts you out of action for a bit. Not that I’m exactly inundated with demands for my time or my services. But still. It’s a faff. And I think I’m naturally a bit of a procrastinator anyway. It used drive my teachers at Mandrake mad. Everything always at the last minute. The joke was that I’d probably be late for my own auction. I wasn’t. Just.
Sometimes I think the best of me exists in the assignation chamber.
Everyday Daniel seems to be mostly in a pickle.
I was striding along, at my usual loping pace, lost in my own thoughts and a touch of self-recrimination, when I caught the hint of music on the air. I looked up sharply, because even though I am Kushiel’s entire I still find even the casual music of a passerby almost impossible to ignore. The woman, coming slowly towards me up the slope, was humming a sea shanty to herself as she walked. It was a jaunty air of no particular derivation, as far as I could tell, but the sort tune any of us instinctively recognise.
I smiled to myself, cheered by a small, unexpectedly pleasure.
As I crossed paths with the humming woman, I couldn’t help turning my head to give a face to the music. All it took was a pair of deep seascape eyes, and I was sufficiently distracted that I nudged against her shoulder as I passed.
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Aug 15, 2011 11:07:52 GMT -5
I was labouring up the slope, and each step was more painful then the precedent. Why had I not ordered the carriage? I could have! Heliotrope did not skimp on her adepts' welfare. It was I, the silly girl, who insisted on living simply. Silly, silly, silly. But I didn't exactly surrender to the pain or to blaming myself. Instead, I sang and counted my steps, focusing both on the music and on the fact that every step brought me closer to Heliotrope.
I would do this. I could. Besides, bittersweetness – it was best lived both in mind and body.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't really notice the man coming down the hill until he passed me, and our eyes locked – deep, brown eyes, no, bronze, with an intensity that was arresting, really. I stood transfixed for a millisecond and was about to smile politely, but he then somehow nudged my shoulder.
Oh, Naamah.
I gave a little help of pain, and bit my lip to stifle it. Oh, Elua, that hurt. I could feel the needles pressing into my shoulder blade all over again, like a searing burn that went through flesh and skin, all the way to the bone.
I was winded for a moment, unable to speak, just breathing and trying to not stagger into the wall behind me, which would both make it worse and possibly ruin the ink. I felt myself stumbling a little, and reached for the passerby's arm, before it was too late.
“Sweet Naamah,” I breathed finally. My eyes were filling with tears, and I took another stabilizing breath, so as not to embarrass myself further.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Aug 15, 2011 13:13:13 GMT -5
The woman made a stifled sound of pain as I brushed past her. I'd been clumsy but that not that clumsy, and I was momentarily started by the strength of her reaction. Nevertheless, when she reached for my arm to steady herself, I instinctively caught hold of her hand to give her my support.
I suddenly realised the direction from which she had come, and her likely destination. Her loveliness, and her grace under duress, suggested she was an adept just like me. And given how tender I'd felt, making the journey back to Mandrake from the marquist, I didn't like to think how much worse I'd have felt had somebody jostled me en route. I certainly wouldn't be standing in the path gasping for breath. I would have been shouting and swearing at the very least.
As she stumbled I reached for her other hand, swinging my body round so that if she fell or fainted it would be into me, rather than backwards onto the ground or against the wall.
“Gods, I'm sorry,†I said. “I'm an idiot. I wasn't paying enough attention.â€
So much for the grace and awareness of the adept. It's a wonder they let me play with the shiny pointy things at all.
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Aug 15, 2011 20:56:00 GMT -5
I had to breathe through my nose, and the tears started to flow down my cheeks, which were burning with embarrassment.
“It's – quite alright,” I replied raggedly. “It was silly of me to want to walk all the way up to Mont-Nuit after getting so much ink.”
It was only after I'd gasped that long sentence that I realized I was already rambling to a perfect stranger, and I blinked a little at him.
“-- it's not your fault, it's fine,” I said again, and so as to convince him that it was really alright (it wasn't, I wanted to cry, just to think of the trip all the way back to my rooms), I summoned a brave little smile.
I hoped it was my ordinary smile – but in the collection of smiles I kept, there were those that were braver than others, and this one was the bravest. It was the smile I gave a patron who chose another over me, the smile I gave my Dowayne when she asked me to stay behind with the little ones while others went to Cereus for a fete.
It was the smile I'd given when I'd been asked if I was alright, having just heard that a man who once had been my secret lover had not survived the plague. That time had been the most painful of all - I prayed never to have to give it again in such circumstances.
It was my I'm fine smile. The one I didn't really like to give, but gave anyway, not for myself, but for the sake of others.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Aug 16, 2011 7:40:36 GMT -5
I’ve seen adepts walking back from the Marquist with friends surrounding them like a supportive battalion, and I’ve envied them. It must feel so different. Usually there’s nothing for me to do beneath the Marquist’s needle except think about things, but imagine how celebratory it would feel to be there with a friend to hold your hand through the pain. Of course the idea of asking a fellow Mandrake was delightfully absurd. I could well imagine Mordred’s cold, appraising stare followed by his dispassionate no, in the sort of tone another might reserve for “duh.” And even if we Mandrakes weren’t temperamentally unsuited to giving a damn about each other there was something that ran even deeper: we are trained to excel in the giving of pain, which, in general, makes us rather graceless in the receiving of it. And this train of thought made me more regretful than ever that I had inadvertently brought further distress to another adept, walking back to her House alone.
Even though she was smiling at me and offering reassurances. I’m truthfully not the most perceptive man but I am a Mandrake, and consequently something of an expert when it comes to monitoring pain. No matter how dazzling her smile, her eyes told another story altogether. I suppose the tears were a bit of a clue but it was more than that. A shadow behind the smile, I think.
“Yes,” I agreed, cheerfully. “It was pretty silly of you but you weren’t the first and you won’t be the last, and you weren’t counting on being bashed by passers-by. And you can smile at me all you like but I can see I’ve hurt you. I think we’d better sit down a minute, don’t you? Or else lean on me and I’ll help you back up the hill.”
It was only after I’d spoken that I realised I’d taken it absolutely for granted for that she would do what I said without question or hesitation. Ho hum. Mandrakes: bossing people in pain about since 350.
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Aug 16, 2011 11:37:52 GMT -5
It was a very odd thing – how this man spoke to me – this adept, perhaps, there was something about the way he held himself, the way he smiled, though I was at a loss which house he would have been bound to. His smile told me of Orchis, his rather unexpectedly streaked hair and his hands screamed of Eglantine, but I suspected I might have noticed him when visiting Aaliyah. Dahlia, perhaps? He did not lack for confidence.
Adept or no, he did make sense – he spoke reason, but at the same time...
“You really shouldn't be obligated,” I protested. “And I'm sure you have plenty of trouble of your own to tend to, without having to coddle a silly girl back home. But you are very kind,” I added, quickly, not wanting him to think it was a rebuff.
A pause, and then – I took a deep breath, and kept that irredeemable smile of mine plastered on my face.
Why had I done this alone? My last trip to the marquist, and I'd not found anyone to come with me. Danny had to stay behind with the little ones while I was out here, making a fool of myself. Aliyah had an assignation. I'd been shy to seek out Navarre at Mandrake house – besides, it had been too long since I'd last seen him. The same could be said of my friend at Gentian.
That left me by my lonesome, and I'd accepted it without a moment of self-pity. It was, after all, a rather private moment, one way or the other. And I needed to think about what came next. Would I stay? Would I go? I'd rushed to finish my marque so that Edwyn and I could be free to enjoy each other. Clearly, that was... a useless thing, now. Tragically sad? no. But certainly, it felt like the world was laughing at the irony of my life.
Ah, well. It was just one, in a long series of disappointments. If it kept up, I'd lose all expectations of happiness and all hope. The thought was a touch distressing – I pushed it away.
I could soldier on – I ever did.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Aug 17, 2011 8:20:59 GMT -5
Her attention alighted upon me briefly, and I felt the evaluative journey of her lovely eyes as though she was tracing a fingertip across my skin. It suddenly occurred to me that I was thrusting help upon her – whether she wanted it or not – and I hadn’t even introduced myself.
“I’m Daniel no Mandrake,” I said, to ease her curiosity and to reassure her that I was an adept too.
And, to be honest, I was starting to feel slightly curious myself. She wasn’t a Mandrake, that was obvious. And she certainly wasn’t from Valerian because they’re taught to take their responses to pain seriously. She was far too vibrant for Cereus, not exotic enough for Jasmine ... actually I had no idea, at all. And I wasn’t exactly seeing her at her ease, just now. But if you’d pressed me I would have guessed, on very little evidence at all, Balm. I thought that when she wasn’t in pain, there might be something soothing about her. And she clearly had an open and generous heart – so much so that she would rather endanger herself than risk disobliging the stranger who had hurt her. Though that was likely just an excuse so she could deal privately with her pain.
Of course, if she insisted that she did not want my assistance I was no in position to demand she accepted it but I was certainly reluctant to leave her – at least until I was moderately certain she would come to no further harm. When I cause pain intentionally I deal with the aftermath; I saw no reason to behave otherwise simply because this had been unintentional.
I went on: “And I know that you probably feel vulnerable because you’re in pain, and that you’d probably prefer me to leave you alone, but I don’t think my conscience will allow it. Why don’t you rest a moment, at least? Is there someone I could fetch for you? I spent my adolescence at Mandrake so, as you can probably imagine, I’m quite a fast runner.”
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Aug 18, 2011 0:31:51 GMT -5
I was going to say something about how his first name, just that, had already made me want to trust him. After all, Heliotrope had a Daniel too, and he was one of the kindest men I'd ever met. That wasn't even to mention that what little experience with his housemates I'd had had in fact been rather positive – Navarre was both playful and charming.
Instead, I grinned a little bit wider, and found myself trying not to laugh, because the tremors made the burning sensation all the worse.
“Your conscience sounds like a terribly demanding mistress,” I teased. “And I don't think I'm about to die just yet, so there's no need to run and alert all of Mont-Nuit – but thank you, that is so kind of you, really. If you are willing to endure occasional whimpering, then I'd love company for the walk back.”
Whimpering. I suspected that was something he was quite familiar with, if half the tales about Mandrake House were true.
I paused, then, and after another deep breath to stop myself from chuckling at myself, I added, “And I'm Geraldine no Heliotrope, and very pleased to meet you, of course.”
It then occurred to me that I was still holding on to his arm, and I colored a little, letting go, lest I appear to be clinging. Not that he wasn't lovely – on the contrary – but that was something I'd been trying to work on with myself, and now was as good a time as any to practice it.
A pause, then, and because he was obviously going in the direction of the marquist's studio, I added, “Were you going to get ink of your own? I'd hate to make you waste your appointment...” Elua knew, it was so much trouble arranging for it, at times, that going through that all over again was probably not a desirable outcome.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Aug 28, 2011 12:27:29 GMT -5
Whimpering, eh?
For Elua's sake, Daniel, the woman was in the bad kind of pain.
“Whimpering, eh?” I said, aloud, because my mouth often works quicker than my brain. “I think I'll somehow manage to bear it.”
And, then, rapidly wiping the smirk from my expression. “I mean … um … please don't worry. And I won't even leer if you do. I mean, um, I genuinely won't. Not that you aren't worth leering at. You're very lovely. It's just “whimper” is one of those of words, you know? One responds automatically. And, gods, isn't it a nice day? Look at that clear sky – blue as your eyes.”
I cleared my throat, hoping she might ascribe the entirety of my previous speech to hallucinations brought on by the Marquist's needle, and drew her arm firmly back through mine so I could support her if she needed it.
“My conscience is a demanding Mistress,” I agreed, turning to safer topics, “but she was trained at Mandrake so what do you expect? And when I offered to fetch someone I wasn't suggesting I was going to run up Mont Nuit, waving my arms and shrieking that a random woman had fallen over. I meant I could get a friend from Heliotrope for you so you weren't reliant on a passing, hitherto unknown Mandrake."
Heliotrope … should I have guessed that? I stole another glance at her, trying to work out what “thou and no other” actually meant and what it would feel like.
“I was actually going to make the appointment, so you're not taking me from anything, or inconveniencing the Marquist. Besides, I'm so disorganised, it's really not a problem. What about you? It must have been a significant amount of work to leave you so weak.” I grinned at her, mischievously. “Unless, y'know, you're just a total wuss.”
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Sept 3, 2011 14:49:11 GMT -5
Disorganized, charming and voluble, I would have said, if I'd been asked to find three adjectives to describe Daniel no Mandrake. Oh, dear, and complimenting me, too – he seemed my age, perhaps a bit older. I suspected he had finished his own marque until he told me otherwise... or was the appointment for another?
“I'm sure that question is rhetorical, as you see me being rather the fool rather than the wuss,” I replied with as much humour as I could express without laughing. Arm in arm, then, I would let him guide me up the hill.
“As you see me,” I said, smiling a little, “I just got out of the last marquing session I would ever attend.” I coloured happily, even there was still a tinge of sadness in my heart for all the missed opportunities of the past.
“It's alright, really – I think I can suffer to walk with a stranger, since you are so agreeable to it. Besides, as my friend Navarre only escaped this walk through my own silly fault, it's only fair that his housemate would stand in his place, isn't it?”
My tone was easy, light, bantering, and it was hard for me not to succumb to my natural inclinations that would inevitably make me give Daniel my undivided attention. In fact, it was hard not to do so on many counts, several of them absolutely unrelated to my personality, and completely linked to his person.
“Besides,” I added, “it would be terrible of me not to take advantage of such charming company.” Before I could help myself, I gave him a beaming smile, even though my body hurt, simply because, well, I could, and he had naturally beckoned it with his charm.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Sept 9, 2011 15:37:04 GMT -5
My word that was quite the smile. Out-dazzling the sun, eh? And her hand fit into the crook of my arm very companionably, as if it was designed to sit there. She had pretty fingers, and wrists that … well … I suppose it's just my nature that means my first response to beauty is a desire to restrain it. It had been rather too long since I'd had a patron patient enough for ropework. To be honest, I'm not especially good at being patient myself but that's where the pleasure lies. It's a subtle agony but I can be an artist as well as a beast. For the right occasion. For the right muse.
“For all I knew,” I said, before my mind wandered any further from acceptable paths, “you could have been one of those delicate flowers who faint and fall over at the slightest provocation.” Not the most gallant thing I've ever said to a lady but she seemed to be entertained by my teasing and perhaps it kept her mind off the pain. Even if it did mean I was reduced to the equivalent of pigtail tweaking. On the other hand, there was a knowing twinkle in her eyes that she suggested she had always known precisely what a little playground hair pulling really meant. “And,” I added, grinning shamelessly, “you're very welcome to take whatever advantage of me you please.”
I tried to recall if I'd met the Navarre she mentioned, but Mandrake is not the most sociable of Houses and I came away with nothing. However, there was something far more important to say:
“Although, I should offer my congratulations,” I went on. “That must be quite a feeling – pain and exhaustion aside, I mean.” I honestly couldn't imagine it, but it was probably another year away for me, at least if I continued in the lackadaisical and disorganised fashion I'd maintained thus far. And assuming some lovestruck (preferably gorgeous and obscenely wealthy) aristocratic didn't whisk me away to be their personal pain toy. Well, hope springs eternal. “What are you going to do now you're...” I nearly said free, but hastily changed it to “done.”
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Sept 14, 2011 21:02:48 GMT -5
Slowly we were going up the hill, tall and handsome Daniel leading me both in my steps and, it seemed, in our conversation. There was a playful double entendre in his words that I didn't quite respond to – admittedly, while I'd always been curious about his house, I wasn't in the exact shape to consider indulging in such play.
Beyond it, though, there was the more deeply seated fear that I might in read something that went beyond mere polite flirting, while it was really nothing more than what it appeared to be. Ah, I'd read beyond simple meanings in the past, and it hadn't always served me well. Best to leave it be, then.
“Thank you,” I replied to his congratulations, smiling still, even if it was asking a little more of me, just as the slope we were going up required perhaps a little more stamina as it became steeper.
For a moment I walked quietly, trying to focus on my steps and on his question, and finally settled on an alas unsatisfactory answer.
“I'm afraid I haven't thought that far yet,” I replied, “you see, I suppose I was hoping for an outcome that isn't quite possible at this point in time. I will have time, at any rate, to think of it while I heal, of course.”
Why I'd opened up, enough, at least to give him enough reasons to ask me what those lost plans were, I could never have told. It must have been the effort I was putting in, perhaps, that made me speak more loosely.
Then again, I'd never been all that reserved, when I felt trusting.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Sept 15, 2011 8:12:57 GMT -5
The hill was a little steeper here and I slowed my pace accordingly, casting the occasional sideways glance at my companion to make sure, all joking aside, she wasn’t pushing herself too hard. There were a few tell-tale markers of a struggle with pain, most noticeably in a hint of tightness in her smile, but I thought she was going to be fine.
Well. Who’dve thought it. I had transferable skills.
I was surprised to learn she hadn’t as yet decided what she was going to do – perhaps it’s just Mandrake being more than usually organised but nearly everyone I knew was depressingly focused on their future. I, of course, had no idea at all. I knew in general terms that I wanted to keep doing what I was doing but without the discipline of adept life, what would I do with the music? Perhaps I read too many romances at an impressionable but I’d always rather naively assumed someone would take a particular interest but although most of my patrons are devoted regulars none of them have showed any sort of inclination to Take Me Away From All This. Perhaps it’s for the best, anyway, since variety is its own pleasure.
My new-found companion’s words were somewhat evasive, however, and I thought I had perhaps strayed unknowingly into uncomfortable territory. I couldn’t quite read from her manner whether she was presenting me with an invitation to enquire further or a recommendation to back right off. It’s strange how like the assignation chamber life can be sometimes – here I was trying to judge whether or not push someone a little further, except at least in the assignation chamber I’d have more faith in my own judgement.
“What outcome was that?” I found myself asking, never one to take a safe route when there was a hazardous alternative.
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Sept 21, 2011 21:03:54 GMT -5
Somehow I wasn't even surprised that he was asking. For a moment I walked quietly – painstakingly, too, though I focused more on the quiet and on the way I wanted to answer his question than on the pain. I am no Valerian, of course – and so I take no pleasure in it, if it is not the pleasure that it might give my lover, and that in itself is a generous act, utterly selfless. That was, at any rate, the logic within which I liked to keep my relationship to pain.
What outcome had I hoped for? Ah, it was foolish, perhaps. Still, it was a time since it had happened, and I figured it was perhaps time for me to let go.
“There was someone,” I said, simply, without disclosing that he was an adept, and one who had had me outside the confines of an assignation, in fact, outside in the literal sense, too. We walked past a crate, past an alley, and I wondered if that was the one where Edwyn and I had been utterly, absolutely mad.
The truth was, I couldn't remember which alley it was. What I remembered was his eyes, and the way he'd touched me, the way he'd possessed me in ways both animal and perfectly gentlemanly. As expected of a Camellia adept, I mused, in retrospect.
“But he died in the plague, and so whatever future he and I might have had together...”
I let the tale go untold – enough had been said for Daniel to piece it together. Forgetting my newly acquired marque, I shrugged, then immediately winced. That brought me back into the now, and I smiled bravely.
“I guess one can't live on might-have-been's, is that not so?”
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Sept 24, 2011 7:07:14 GMT -5
“I'm sorry,” I said, simply, turning the touch of my hand upon her arm into a light, comforting caress.
I'm as unembarrassed by emotional pain as I am by physical pain (although I'm glad to note I don't get off on it). And the one often can often follow in the wake of the other, not by way of a connection, but way of a release. It is strange that a culture so accepting of the sexual dimension of pain will turn its head from the small, inevitable and everyday agonies of loneliness, uncertainty, disappointment, and grief, as if these things are shameful.
In many ways, I've lived a charmed life. I've suffered no great setbacks, lost nobody close to me, accrued no failures beyond minor ones. It's probably fortunate that Kushiel claimed me, for how could I have written music knowing so little of life's dark corners? Life is a chiaroscuro, after all.
As with my patrons, I let the silence guide me, for there need be no discomfort in it. I am one of nature's babblers but when it matters I can yield to peace. Finally I said, “I was lucky, absurdly lucky really, for the plague took no-one from me, not even," I added with a small smile, "people I didn't like."
And then: “Do you want to tell me about him, or should I ask you something else? You certainly can't live on have-beens but the past shouldn't be brushed aside either.”
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Sept 24, 2011 23:33:59 GMT -5
Daniel knew just what to say, the right amount of humor, of ruefulness, of silence. The right amount of curiosity, too, formulated with enough interest to appear genuine, but enough respect to convey what seemed to me to be an earnest desire to be helpful.
Well-meaning was the word, I suppose. Had I been the proverbial little bear from the tale I used to entertain the fosterlings in my days at Heliotrope, I might have asked Daniel to make my porridge, and he would have perhaps figured out the temperature, thickness and sweetness that were required to keep little bear happy. Ironic that I thought of porridge in the middle of this conversation. It made me find a small smile.
“I... I suppose it doesn't matter anymore,” I said softly. “He was... perfect,” I started. “Eyes the richest brown, and manners that would have made the dirtiest street urchin think she was a princess. His name was Edwyn. He served at Camellia.”
For a time I was quiet, walking and finding words as I did, still with Daniel's help. “He made his mark some years before I did – he was older, better experienced than I. We used to tease that we would live together, when my own marque was made.”
The rest of it was left to silence. He was the son of a fisherman. A beautiful man with humble beginnings, just as I was the daughter of a seamstress, and had a past as unremarkable as any. And yet he had shone for me in the brightest light.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Sept 25, 2011 13:35:31 GMT -5
It was quite remarkable, really, the way a few words could paint a picture of a man so completely. Manners that would have made the dirtiest street urchin think she was a princess – a trait I would have admired, and even envied, under other circumstances. My own careful politeness is about as middle class as it comes – strange that the social inbetweeners should have the least in common with the top and the bottom of the hierarchy.
“I've never met anyone from Camellia,” I said. “I have to admit, the idea of perfection would frighten me a little. I always imagine it as being cold like a sculpture, you know, but you've just shown me how wrong I am.”
We walked a little further, at the same slow, steady pace, in comfortable silence. Her words had made me pensive but since given the topic of conversation I did not think she would mind.
“I suppose,” I ventured finally, “it must be good to have that knowledge, though. Of love, and promises, and a future together, even if it didn't happen. Or perhaps it just makes the sense of loss keener, I don't know, I can't even pretend to know what it must be like. But I think I would take some degree of comfort in having been so loved. In for the long haul, I mean, not just the passion. Not,” I added, smiling again, “to under-value the importance of passion. As to that, I'm a big fan."
To be honest, I didn't know which was worse: never having had that promise, or having had it broken by the vagaries of life.
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Sept 25, 2011 20:26:03 GMT -5
Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
Ah, this tale. I would have had something to say about it – in the state I was in, I imagined it was perhaps better to not know what was missing. The daydreams of love are less treacherous than the real thing – I thought waking up barely paled in comparison to the searing pain that had fleeted through me when I was told, even as I was barely convalescing myself.
Thankfully, no-one at Heliotrope had know about this secret dalliance – this love. Had I been told earlier, I might not have had the will to fight the plague down.
“Passion,” I said softly, wanly. “Ah, yes. It's pleasant, I suppose.” I walked quietly for a bit, trying to gather myself and find the right words. In the end they were woefully unoriginal.
“But it's not the same thing.”
I said it tiredly, and felt myself suddenly exhausted. How had I carried on and taken on the last few patrons that had got me where I was this day? I could not say – habit, perhaps? Boredom? I only knew that it had taken more resources than I knew I had to honour the assignations, no matter how lovely, charming, desirable my sweet patrons were.
In truth, I envied Daniel.
He was unbroken, beautifully so. And I suppose it was kindness that stayed my voice when I stopped myself from telling him that to wish for love was akin to a death wish.
But perhaps it was because I knew it was heresy, too.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Sept 27, 2011 7:59:09 GMT -5
I was surprised to hear an adept (ex-adept?) talk in such a fashion, and I wondered if it was some combination of grief and pain that was making the world seem so dreary to her eyes. It worried me, for her sake and for mine. Would I be like this, then I was done? Assuming I would ever be done since I kept putting it off.
“Pleasant?” I repeated. “Not the first word I would have reached for, I’ve got to say. I mean, I know it’s not the forever fairytale little house in the country kind of love, but it’s not some lesser thing either.”
I mean, patrons aren’t perfect, and assignations aren’t perfect either, and I’ve had moments when I’ve wondered if all the effort and training was worth it, but I couldn’t imagine being quite so ... tired. And even I think I was probably a year or so older than her, I felt suddenly, peculiarly young. And even naive. Which is not something I'd ever have thought about myself.
My head filled up suddenly with the deep sobbing purple of a single cello, and I burst into speech to banish it.
“I don’t know,” I said, rather anxiously, “I just don’t think you should be so hasty to dismiss one thing just because it’s not another thing, even if the other thing is the thing you really want. Err, I've put that really badly. But just because you kind of want an apple, that doesn't mean pears aren’t nice too, right?”
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Sept 29, 2011 11:31:14 GMT -5
I hadn't realized how distressing my comment could be to a fellow adept, and I felt myself redden a little. I paused in my walking, both to take my breath, but also because I wanted to look at Daniel while we spoke.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disparage the Service, of course,” I said apologetically, “or those who enjoy it, of course not, and --” I reached and placed my hand on his arm, looking into his eyes searchingly. “I suppose it's only that it feels, well... I suppose I've had a lot of pears, and I may be in need of a change, somehow, and want to taste different fruits. Patrons are lovely, and I loved every single one of them with all my heart, but at the end of the night, it's only one night, and in all earnest, it feels incredibly lonely.”
Why I was pouring my heart out to him, when we'd barely met, I couldn't tell. Perhaps it was his ability to make me confortable. Perhaps it was simply that I needed to speak it out.
I took a deep breath, and tried to smile bravely. “Don't worry, I'm sure – I'm sure it'll be fine, really. We carry on, don't we? It will pass – just like everything else does, ever.”
Was it a facade? Not really. Though mainly, I wanted to soothe Daniel – I felt as if I'd repaid his kindness with distress, and that was unfair to him.
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Sept 30, 2011 18:35:23 GMT -5
She was trying to reassure me again but, as before, I wasn't sure if I entirely believed it. For someone with such a ready smile, she seemed to use it more as a distraction than an expression of any real happiness. Which saddened me because it was a very lovely smile. And her eyes, gazing into mine with such intensity, were truly extraordinary, even though they were as melancholy as her smile. She just didn't seem fashioned for despondency.
But, then, neither was I. And maybe in a few months, or a year, I would be like her. Maybe I, too, would be sick of pears. Maybe apples are just very rare in our world, but until now I'd never doubted their existence, nor questioned that I was, in my way, searching for one. I'd joked about it often enough, mainly for the incongruity of a Mandrake waiting around for his Prince to come, but it wasn't completely a joke. I'd always assumed there would be a day when some patron came to like me – or even love me – sufficiently to want me on his (or her) terms. Perhaps I'm overly romantic but mine is not a jealous, or a demanding heart. I didn't need a fairytale. I wasn't holding out for everything, just … you know … something.
“Of course it'll pass,†I said, decidedly. And then, more honestly: “But that doesn't help now. I...†I paused, wondering what I was trying to say, “I suppose that it's one of the difficult things about being an adept. I mean, all the lessons, all the training, all the discipline, all the rules, spending all your time making ready for patrons in various ways, then being with patrons, you're meant to be so … so … fantastical and fabulous all the time, there isn't really much opportunity for sitting around feeling shit. Or an outlet when you do.â€
I wondered if there was such a thing as too honest. “Although,†I said, smiling, “the last time I was feeling down I had the good fortune to … well … there was a Valerian and it was glorious. An encounter like that could keep you warm all the days of your life, I think.†I put a finger to my lips. "But, shh, it's a secret, obviously."
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Oct 1, 2011 18:57:55 GMT -5
I smiled a little more earnestly – it was still forced, but fondness and complicity made it a bit truer. “Don't worry,” I promised, “your secrets are safe with me. Besides, didn't I just tell you of the adept I loved? I'm sure... you see, it's not that love won't come about. I'm sure it will, and you are very kind and handsome, and frankly I can't imagine that you would not be loved, and I do mean it in an apple way, not a pear way.”
I chuckled, suddenly realizing how absurd my words would seem to anyone who was not Daniel, and felt suddenly a little bit closer to him for it.
“It's just, I suppose, that in my experience, it's incredibly difficult to make it work, even with both parties willing and reciprocating, and well...” I shrugged, “it wasn't really about the emotion – it has nothing to do with the plague itself, does it?”
I was almost trying to reassure myself, that it wasn't our idyll that had brought about the awful pain – I remembered it acutely, having been ill myself. In the darkest moments of illness, I had almost wished for death, for anything that might have made it stop, but never quite – somehow I'd clung to life with more ferocity than I'd ever displayed before.
And well... I had to add, “You know, I'm sure I'll enjoy passion again. It's just that between our conversation and the marque still raw on my back, I suppose I don't quite feel it just now.”
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Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Oct 10, 2011 12:52:24 GMT -5
I laughed aloud, glad to have my potential appleness confirmed by an independent observer, and wondering if maybe I'd been looking for apples in the wrong places. Perhaps it was just laziness and conventionality that made me think I was looking for a patron to sweep me up and solve all my problems. Maybe there were other apples, other solutions.
I took her arm again and we continued our slow ascent towards Heliotrope House, our bodies a little closer now, our steps more naturally aligned, our movements falling to a natural harmony.
“Well,” I said, “I think that's entirely understandable. After all most people find pain, either the giving or the receiving of it, a passion deterrent. It's probably not exactly helpful to have me holding forth about the glories of passion when you've just had a very talented man stick needles in your back for more hours than I care to contemplate.”
I paused thoughtfully, and then babbled on. “Really, Valerians are ahead of the game on that one. Except maybe not. I guess it would be kind of embarrassing, to say nothing of uncomfortable of lying there with a massive … um yes. So anyway.”
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Géraldine Grangier
Citizen
Former Heliotrope adept; Fully marqued
Thou, and no other.
Posts: 2,001
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Post by Géraldine Grangier on Oct 10, 2011 23:00:42 GMT -5
Daniel, oh Daniel. I couldn't help the chuckle that was pouring through me, really, it was impossible to stay sad with him. I grinned a little bit wider.
“You're terrible,” I said, “positively terrible. Though I suppose the embarrassment would be mutual – both for the adept and the marquist. Have you ever tried to imagine how it might be, to marque an anguissette? It's said that it was particularly harrowing, and I can well imagine it would be, for both.”
Really, I could more than imagine – for a time, I'd been, in my silly days, infatuated with my marquist. It had been quite the complex thing, which had thankfully been relieved by an assignation. Still, I remembered it with fondness – it, and him, and those days in which I believed.
Somehow, Daniel made me want to believe again – if not for myself, for him and his bubbly enthusiasm. Even if he was making me laugh while I was in pain, and making the pain a bit more raw. It was a little price to pay, for a moment of sincere joy.
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