Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Feb 17, 2010 17:52:16 GMT -6
Introduction
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Many reasons held such favorite places as the shop d'Ange Vos Ailes, but for Jean-Claude it was a comfort. At the end of the row business bustled with the time of day as the evening hour was close at hand, the amber lights through the paned glass could fancy a closeness to the heavens. The air still held the chill of the vacant winter month, but the promise of Spring was there at hand. It was a busy time for new ideas were brought to life as paintings first; sketches hurried over parchment to inspire the change in fashion. His muse was to the wild, the outdoors a promise of new life and the pallet a soft delicate spectrum. Had it been so hard to convict the man of his sexuality when he cared this much of appearance? In times of old the color purple was of wealth, dignity for the dye too expensive for the common, and here he found little use. The Lady Healer had pegged him for a lover of men, when indeed it was his admiration of the female form that kept him going, for all walks of life could find something behind those elegantly carved doors. A perfect cover, for who could have ever expected such a man to sew up new designs below, and a man's back above? Would their be such a demand should the discovery find itself a name? Madness. They would think him so if only they knew the truth. None thought to question the hands that held them, covered so in leather or silk; hidden from the world, as beneath there was not such finery. It did not stop there..from head to toe, Jean-Claude kept himself covered in courtly fashions of designs a season ahead, but rarely was he ever seen anything other then the dark rich colors of the night. A black wool coat, detailed along the collar and around the hem with wide cuffs folded back and pinned by silver pieces; spilling out from the sleeves the lace of his blouse, tucked behind a silk vest and kept in place by a rich deep maroon ascot that was high about his neck. His was the talk of town, the catapult of Skye's staple in court as already his name was known. Exported to England, France, and even Italy, Jean-Claude built an Empire to support his one true passion--Science. Today the doors were unlocked for the first time in a week, but the front very empty as the purging of dark overstuffed wool would make it's exit and prepare itself for the lighter fabrics of spring. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Though she might have been a princess in dispose she was still a princess and when her would-be husband was finally confronted she needed the proper armor for such a meeting. Besides that if ever one wished to know the full scope of a countries under pinning, then one must simply employ the greatest tailors and milliners of the country. No one gossiped or heard as much gossip as those that catered to the highest levels of society. Her fortunes were intact if only to some lesser degree and there was simply no reason for her to continue to look as a nun when she was indeed not one. Nor was she a prisoner of said nunnery so why did she suffer herself? When she deigned to answer herself it was because she simply had seen no reason to worry over a wardrobe when one's life was at risk. Now, now with the looming concern of her appearance to a man who might not even be her husband before her she thought it high time to seek out the best and so she did. It was easy to procure a covered conveyance from Eirian's valley, but when she stepped into the light of day she nearly balked at how strange it was to be among people. Fashion had left her behind at some point, but then what does that matter when you are meant to pray night and day? Hair of black was left unadorned which had always been the Italian fashion, and the wool of the high waisted gown was fine but colorless which made the evening pale complexion of the principessa all the moreso colorless. Only her eyes gave anything away, gray like strong storm clouds in winter now they peered at the establishment before she crossed the threshold with all the regal bearing of tattered royalty. (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
In all his glory, and state Jean-Claude stood there against the failing light of the day to feed the minds eye of only visions of works yet to come, but it wasn't across his pages did dresses come to life. Quickly the tattered torn book was closed with the sound of the door, tucked away by hidden hands so that when he turned they would be empty--as aways appearing so. He was a tall man, one who could rival the Scots with ease, but besides broad shoulders there was a slender frame; one that only was perfected by his stance. Of wealth and good breeding this grandson of Bordeaux could have given himself away if only by the manner in which he carried himself. His hair was long falling in straight strands along the curve of his spine, and well kept. Of all the ageless faces his did show little sign of wear save for the wrinkles around his eyes, and the ancient soul beneath navy blue orbs. Jean-Claude held the eyes that could look through you, or so they seemed spilling out his soul into another's only to feed of the energy that was present. Like ideas his eyes held stars, but if any dare get closer it was an entire galaxy behind the black velvet of night. "Good Evening.." His gloved hand came to collect the large ruby of his cane to press from his work bench onto a lamb lost onto the sea. "Is there something I can help you with?" His tone was dry void of anything other then the kind offer. Frightening, many found him as rumors fled even still of a darker soul below the finest of manners. "Are you lost?" His question a bit bold, knowing the double meaning, but of what good would it have? She stood out, and somewhere behind that thick crown of raven strands; spider's were spinning their webs searching for her name. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Her eyes trailed briefly, taking in all those darker corners around her as if safety could only be had with hyper vigilance. When those eyes of argent finally did come to rest on the proprietor who she regarded with a sort of stony calm. People who had a talent for looking into the souls of others were automatically religated to the part of her brain that dealt more cautiously. It was a habit born of necessitiy rather than desire. "Good evening. May I presume you are Master Jean-Claude?" Her tone was marked by her country of origin, but there was a cadence there that lay beneath it. A sort of softness that time and torment couldn't rend from her. "I am looking for he, if he is not you." She chose to mark the cane with a glance and spared another toward the interior again. She had never been a woman of gowns or jewels but she knew quality and it could be seen in spades here. (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
"Ah.." A breath then as he closed the space between them a gloved hand coming only to mimic the touch of her chin to get her to raise her eyes if only for a moment, "Il mio nome è, Jean-Claude." He could have known her heritage from anywhere, but it was how the light reflected in her skin, with the moon in her eyes to give it away. "Welcome." Though he spoke to her in Italian, he was clearly French from the small form of words that kissed the surface of his lips before leaving on wings. "How may I help you?" Of all the artists in the world, he could have painted such a face a thousand times, written a hundred verses of the lands behind such strong yet elegant features. It was a favorite of his if that was not clear. It was a service to God in moments like this that captured such beauty for the generations to remember. Pure, he found her pure even if she looked a little less then her virtue could allow. He was an arrogant man, and in drawing his conclusion of her there would be little to correct it. Yet how often was it they came to his door? Wishing to look better for their husbands. Did hers threaten to walk out? Did he have a mistress? "As you can tell, Mon Cher, we are between seasons..I fear I will have nothing ready until two weeks from the day." His gloved hand came to gesture around the room as he turned to offer her a seat by the hearth. It was still winter after all. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Beginnings were murky but if she were once more to plunge into the world of intrigue and politics then she would cast her line out into the waters. There would be no more secrets for her. That those eyes never once flickered was a sign that she was more than ready to play whatever game was laid before her feet. Hell or high water she would pay the price. "Everything, as I am quite far from home." Strange that a small smile would break then over her features, casting them in a very different light than they were before, turning them a shade softer than they had been. "Ana-Catalina Theresa de Cervillion, but Ana-Catalina will do for now, Master Jean-Claude." Oh how she thought the days when she was addressed as "Your Grace," and cringing over one's title. Such things were mostly behind her now weren't they? Italy had come to call once upon Skye, but now it simply slipped in like the mistress of an errant husband.
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
A royal family that he knew every name, his father gambled for sport, and had many Italian friends..They had daughters, dinned with country men of all walks of life, but she was young enough to be his daughter. His heart would stop in his chest, and a look would be turned down to her from the line of his nose as to better inspect. She did have their eyes. "Very far from home.." He would come to rise then feeling his knees a bit weak, and in turn just as willing to hide his family line. "Ana-Catalina..It is a pleasure." He walked with a limp on this night, but still would carry himself with a regal manner. "Ana-Catalina Theresa de Cervillion of Naples.." He would close the door, lock it but leave the key. He did not wish to trap her, never was that his intention, but a darkness washed over him that she wouldn't understand. The curtains were drawn together quickly and before he could release them his head turned to glance at her, "What reason have you for this land?" Outside it was growing dark and without the light of the candles the fire would be all that remained. He would let his hands fall to the side, the shadows pulling at his shoulders almost letting him bleed back into the surrounding darkness.."I would not suggest you lie either, Lady Ana-Catalina, Princess..I am very good at getting the truth..Of what plot brings you at my door." Looking the way she did..he should have known. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
What she had expected was certainly not this. Surely he could be eccentric, but that he rose in order to lock the very door from which she entered caused the alarms inside of her brain to slowly start screaming. Features of porcelain were cast into the vicious light of the fire, red and orange and gold. Heavy lidded, her eyes would lower if only to rise once more and in those moon colored depths was temper. "I am here of my own volition and my own business." Slowly did she swallow then, for it was in part truth. Her uncle and his lot were more skilled in subterfuge but she had what she hoped was enough guile to at least get her a little further than mere introductions. That he knew her title, her person was not unusual given she had spent time here in Skye three years previous to now, but she had never met this man so how was it that he called her not only by name but by title? By which crown she had bowed her head to? Fingers scraped at the finely spun wool of her skirts, edging back if only to curl upon one another in a desperate attempt to hide her unease though it remained painted over her very features. "What will you now?" Inching slowly upward was a single, downy brow of black. He was either an agent of her uncle or of another in service to him. Or perhaps her brothers? Or maybe the king of Lithuania? Who knew! (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Jean-Claude had not known her of Skye, he had not surfaced from the Underdark until she was well gone, but her husband..he had known only from a few chance meetings. "Forgive me..but you must understand." He would start in a slow manner, his words lifting him from the door to return to the fire beside her. "I will not harm you.." In all his years he had never known him to be such a man, but as of late, after the fires there was much of him he could not see anymore. He held no soul compared to what was once there, or value on life. "I know your father..very dearly, you see..he was a dear friend of my own, who I can not offer his name, but know this…" but if she looked close enough? The raven black hair was trademark to the Aquitaine, a force that seemed kin to the devil. In fact had the rumors of the fallen son hit the ears of court? The crazed man child who held his degree in many classics to only have it wasted that fateful day in the square. The reason? He had thought life to pulse through their veins in currents of invisible substance close to water..but with a charge. How silly indeed! "..Your secret is safe with me."
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
How was it that no in no matter what situation she found herself, she was constantly being told that she must understand? Did she seem so dull witted, or slow? Or was it perhaps the fact that she was still an innocent no matter how embroiled she became in the intrigues of the World Theatre? "Had you wished me harm, no doubt I would not be here now would I?" He had locked the door, casting them into near-darkness and now he was telling her that her secret was safe with him. It gave her some measure of comfort to know that he would take so great a length to ensure she did not believe him to be an agent of her uncles, or her brother. It was because of that half-light that she needed to lean closer, to spy those soul-piercing eyes in order to assure herself that he did indeed speak the truth. And she was astute enough to recognize the features, but said nothing of them. She was not the only one with secrets to keep. "Then you know I am here as a fugitive of the Crown of Naples, and the Duchy of Ferrara?" Her voice remained firm, but still there was that softness of youth that belied she had seen so much. "I seek information discreetly." For better or ill she was all but casting her lot with him in the hopes that he might help garner something of what transpired beyond the borders of Skye.
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Jean-Claude would offer her a look that could have been a confession had he not such a serious tone, and the single twist of his lips would have him frown. "Indeed I do.." He had known of her from the years long gone, having listened to the gossip on the trail of the sailors and wondered if she had known of the bounty on her capture. His was an old soul, with a mind lost in future ideas but there in his deep heart had he felt himself a bit lost. He could not imagine how hard it was for her, how dear she must have been searching for a way out. Ana, had indeed come to the right place. He had good ties with both France, and was planning a trip to Italy in the spring as it was. With England now at his doorstep, he would wonder if perhaps he should offer to take her with him. "But you are not dead.." Not at all, for he saw her very alive if not simply flouting about in some form of soul searching to see the world open with a wave of her hand. They still searched for her, did she know? "Ma petite, You look so tired..so worn. Weary from your life on the run..may I offer you a good nights rest before we talk of such pressing manners?" Jean-Claude was a member of a great Order with a tower high above the streets, guarded like well kept secrets, and armed to the teeth, was fitting of a Princess no? "Where are you staying? Have you had dinner?" He would worry to be seen with her in such public places, only for fear of sharp minds putting together the puzzle. Jean-Claude was the epitome of a playboy, a wealthy businessman who was expected to dine with such rare beauty, or powerful political figures. How quick would it be to put a name to her face as they stood together. Her attire did horrify him, but he knew perhaps it was simply a way to hide the rose, but had the idea not been done before? How many rich hid behind rags, he would find her something more suitable, better shoes, and a warmer coat.
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Though she thought her attire quite fine for a nun, it was clearly not the sort she was used to wearing. But then, she hadn't exactly been worried about being the height of fashion while being on the run. A fugitive she might have been, she realized that until she knew of her uncle's scheme she was forced to traveling in disguise, buying the trust of those caring for her. "At the moment, I am housed with the Lady Eirian. She says that my husband is kinsman to her. But yes, I have not yet dined and am weary." He was certainly of the gentry, and his features were unmistakable, but who was she to unmask another who might be in hiding for their own reasons? 'Tell me, Master Jean-Claude, to which part of the House of Aquitaine do you belong?" The pallor of her cheeks changed then, heightening with a rose like blush as her eyes roamed from his face to the fire and back again. "Surely others have noted it?"
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
There was a pity to him then as he regarded her lightly, the hold nearly unable to be released as he studied her. Such a beauty, of fine elegance even in her outfit of a nun. It amazed him what memories could spark, the feel that revived inside of days long gone; what would it be like to simply have but one more day to not worry of the one before? He was so careless in his youth, arrogant as if nothing in the world could home him to ground and the world was simply his wings. For what better purpose was there then of passion? In his days of old, Jean-Claude was full of it as life lit the backs of his eyes and every new discovery excited him. Now. The wolf that sat across her was just that--a monster. "Come now..You can not expect me to be so willing to give away my surprise." With his chin resting on the back of his hand he gave her a long look, inspired alone by the scene. "Perhaps over dinner." Hidden boney fingers would curl over the tip of his cane to aid in his rise once more but he would leave it be just were it rested. Without the aid of the clutch he could move just fine, but only when he sat still for too long did they ache. His body forgot to work if he stopped moving, and perhaps this was reason for the dark circles that lined his eyes. Who needed sleep when, all it would do was make him ache; his heart the most. Disappearing in the back over his arms perhaps the last of the finery for the season. Nothing of anything too fancy, but at least the hem was not bursting at the edge. It was a soft shade of rose, and the crimson cape though display only would be drawn down. On her way to grandmothers, or was it someplace secret. "Here..Ma petite..I can not be seen with you like this." A jest? Perhaps, but she would not know him well enough yet now would she? Though there was a bit of a smile there of contentment as he waited. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Monsters came in many forms, many of which were not monstrous at all but deceptively innocent. Some were more surprising than others, her life too full of them. "Perhaps." Gray eyes continued to watch him, but without judgement as he rose with the aid of his cane. Though he left it behind she wondered how often he did require its assistance but did not have the opportunity to ask as he disappeared only to reappear a short time later with a gown over his arm. Ana-Catalina had never been one to care for what was on her person, since her whole life was spent in some form of finery or another but to tentatively touch the quality of the cloth she was nearly undone. How long had it been since she'd worn anything but wool? Trying hard not to consider herself a vain woman, she took the garment with a small measure of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "As you will, Master Clothier." Dark head tilting to one side, she waited while he showed her to an area where she might change. It was only recently had she mastered the ability to dress herself, and though pleased with the ability she sighed over how once upon a time it had taken three people to assist her. How crazed was that? Once she was bereft of her previous gown, she slipped the new one over her head and let it glide to the floor. It's weight warranted a happy sort of release of a breath. She need only tie the stays and be done, tricky but then she had grown used to angling herself in order to finish the task set before her. When done, she stepped from the curtained area and marked with some satisfaction the look of approval in his eyes. "A goodly fit, sir." Turning then slowly, just as she might have for any other master tailor she faced him once more with chin tilted upward and features carefully schooled. "Thank you for the garment. It is quite a bit warmer than the one I wore here." (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Approval was there in amusement, as one might look upon their child, for that was what she was to him, but still very much a woman. "It could be a shade lighter, but I fear your coloring is perfect." Always had he such a love for her nation, the favorite vacation spot of his mother they had spent many summer's on the coasts of Italy. Dear sweet girl would find her shoulders covered by the cloak, the hood drawn together for modesty, clasping just over her chest. "When you are rested, Mon cher, we shall find you a wardrobe, something to take along with your travels." Wherever she would go once gone from the sheltering arms of a mad man. "But those details take a good deal of time, and tonight we have so little." Already the lamps were lit in the streets, the moon gone for the night was too dark even for her light. For what seemed to be forever they would walk, his arm extended to her in the motion of any courtly gentleman, but there was just enough space he could feed off of her warmth; draw inspiration in the manner of her steps. They would walk long down the row to a place close to the Ebony Hall, a private tavern of nothing like the sort in the markets. At the door they were greeted with a warm smile, the door held open and shown to a private table were the night could have been shouted and none would ever hear. "Forgive me, I am old fashioned. Have you any objections?" He would order for them both, select the wine, and even fall into old habits of criticizing the menu. Nothing would be Paris. Ever. "So tell me of your plan." He spoke then the private table seeming off center then the rest, and the entire place seeming a bit too much for Skye. It too just like the Great Hall, was a well kept secret. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
"There is something to be feared in the perfect coloring then?" She asked while glancing at him askance from beneath the vantage of dark lashes. Her question might have seemed juvenile but she had her own motives for the need of good garments. At his side, she walked with the same gait as she always had, one painstakingly taught to her at the behest of her mother. Her duenna had once upon a time been a formidable woman and it hurt to think on Lucrezia even after all these years. "Time seems to be something I have had a great deal of. No doubt it will last until what I have come to Skye for is accomplished." Or so she hoped. When at last they came to their destination she regarded the interior curiously. Taverns and Inns she had used as a means rather than a desire but she had never seen something of the like as this. When seated, one hand would motion for him to take back his apology. "As you will, please." She had finely boned hands, a grace of some distant Aragonia relative no doubt. "I have little in my mind that one could call a plan. I have need of answers regarding my brother and my uncle and what they intend of me. I need to know if my marriage is in fact still legal and binding and from there ... " Motioning again, she felt herself deflate. It seemed so much more complicated than how she phrased it? But then she couldn't divulge everything. (d
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. -Romans 12:2
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Many reasons held such favorite places as the shop d'Ange Vos Ailes, but for Jean-Claude it was a comfort. At the end of the row business bustled with the time of day as the evening hour was close at hand, the amber lights through the paned glass could fancy a closeness to the heavens. The air still held the chill of the vacant winter month, but the promise of Spring was there at hand. It was a busy time for new ideas were brought to life as paintings first; sketches hurried over parchment to inspire the change in fashion. His muse was to the wild, the outdoors a promise of new life and the pallet a soft delicate spectrum. Had it been so hard to convict the man of his sexuality when he cared this much of appearance? In times of old the color purple was of wealth, dignity for the dye too expensive for the common, and here he found little use. The Lady Healer had pegged him for a lover of men, when indeed it was his admiration of the female form that kept him going, for all walks of life could find something behind those elegantly carved doors. A perfect cover, for who could have ever expected such a man to sew up new designs below, and a man's back above? Would their be such a demand should the discovery find itself a name? Madness. They would think him so if only they knew the truth. None thought to question the hands that held them, covered so in leather or silk; hidden from the world, as beneath there was not such finery. It did not stop there..from head to toe, Jean-Claude kept himself covered in courtly fashions of designs a season ahead, but rarely was he ever seen anything other then the dark rich colors of the night. A black wool coat, detailed along the collar and around the hem with wide cuffs folded back and pinned by silver pieces; spilling out from the sleeves the lace of his blouse, tucked behind a silk vest and kept in place by a rich deep maroon ascot that was high about his neck. His was the talk of town, the catapult of Skye's staple in court as already his name was known. Exported to England, France, and even Italy, Jean-Claude built an Empire to support his one true passion--Science. Today the doors were unlocked for the first time in a week, but the front very empty as the purging of dark overstuffed wool would make it's exit and prepare itself for the lighter fabrics of spring. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Though she might have been a princess in dispose she was still a princess and when her would-be husband was finally confronted she needed the proper armor for such a meeting. Besides that if ever one wished to know the full scope of a countries under pinning, then one must simply employ the greatest tailors and milliners of the country. No one gossiped or heard as much gossip as those that catered to the highest levels of society. Her fortunes were intact if only to some lesser degree and there was simply no reason for her to continue to look as a nun when she was indeed not one. Nor was she a prisoner of said nunnery so why did she suffer herself? When she deigned to answer herself it was because she simply had seen no reason to worry over a wardrobe when one's life was at risk. Now, now with the looming concern of her appearance to a man who might not even be her husband before her she thought it high time to seek out the best and so she did. It was easy to procure a covered conveyance from Eirian's valley, but when she stepped into the light of day she nearly balked at how strange it was to be among people. Fashion had left her behind at some point, but then what does that matter when you are meant to pray night and day? Hair of black was left unadorned which had always been the Italian fashion, and the wool of the high waisted gown was fine but colorless which made the evening pale complexion of the principessa all the moreso colorless. Only her eyes gave anything away, gray like strong storm clouds in winter now they peered at the establishment before she crossed the threshold with all the regal bearing of tattered royalty. (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
In all his glory, and state Jean-Claude stood there against the failing light of the day to feed the minds eye of only visions of works yet to come, but it wasn't across his pages did dresses come to life. Quickly the tattered torn book was closed with the sound of the door, tucked away by hidden hands so that when he turned they would be empty--as aways appearing so. He was a tall man, one who could rival the Scots with ease, but besides broad shoulders there was a slender frame; one that only was perfected by his stance. Of wealth and good breeding this grandson of Bordeaux could have given himself away if only by the manner in which he carried himself. His hair was long falling in straight strands along the curve of his spine, and well kept. Of all the ageless faces his did show little sign of wear save for the wrinkles around his eyes, and the ancient soul beneath navy blue orbs. Jean-Claude held the eyes that could look through you, or so they seemed spilling out his soul into another's only to feed of the energy that was present. Like ideas his eyes held stars, but if any dare get closer it was an entire galaxy behind the black velvet of night. "Good Evening.." His gloved hand came to collect the large ruby of his cane to press from his work bench onto a lamb lost onto the sea. "Is there something I can help you with?" His tone was dry void of anything other then the kind offer. Frightening, many found him as rumors fled even still of a darker soul below the finest of manners. "Are you lost?" His question a bit bold, knowing the double meaning, but of what good would it have? She stood out, and somewhere behind that thick crown of raven strands; spider's were spinning their webs searching for her name. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Her eyes trailed briefly, taking in all those darker corners around her as if safety could only be had with hyper vigilance. When those eyes of argent finally did come to rest on the proprietor who she regarded with a sort of stony calm. People who had a talent for looking into the souls of others were automatically religated to the part of her brain that dealt more cautiously. It was a habit born of necessitiy rather than desire. "Good evening. May I presume you are Master Jean-Claude?" Her tone was marked by her country of origin, but there was a cadence there that lay beneath it. A sort of softness that time and torment couldn't rend from her. "I am looking for he, if he is not you." She chose to mark the cane with a glance and spared another toward the interior again. She had never been a woman of gowns or jewels but she knew quality and it could be seen in spades here. (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
"Ah.." A breath then as he closed the space between them a gloved hand coming only to mimic the touch of her chin to get her to raise her eyes if only for a moment, "Il mio nome è, Jean-Claude." He could have known her heritage from anywhere, but it was how the light reflected in her skin, with the moon in her eyes to give it away. "Welcome." Though he spoke to her in Italian, he was clearly French from the small form of words that kissed the surface of his lips before leaving on wings. "How may I help you?" Of all the artists in the world, he could have painted such a face a thousand times, written a hundred verses of the lands behind such strong yet elegant features. It was a favorite of his if that was not clear. It was a service to God in moments like this that captured such beauty for the generations to remember. Pure, he found her pure even if she looked a little less then her virtue could allow. He was an arrogant man, and in drawing his conclusion of her there would be little to correct it. Yet how often was it they came to his door? Wishing to look better for their husbands. Did hers threaten to walk out? Did he have a mistress? "As you can tell, Mon Cher, we are between seasons..I fear I will have nothing ready until two weeks from the day." His gloved hand came to gesture around the room as he turned to offer her a seat by the hearth. It was still winter after all. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Beginnings were murky but if she were once more to plunge into the world of intrigue and politics then she would cast her line out into the waters. There would be no more secrets for her. That those eyes never once flickered was a sign that she was more than ready to play whatever game was laid before her feet. Hell or high water she would pay the price. "Everything, as I am quite far from home." Strange that a small smile would break then over her features, casting them in a very different light than they were before, turning them a shade softer than they had been. "Ana-Catalina Theresa de Cervillion, but Ana-Catalina will do for now, Master Jean-Claude." Oh how she thought the days when she was addressed as "Your Grace," and cringing over one's title. Such things were mostly behind her now weren't they? Italy had come to call once upon Skye, but now it simply slipped in like the mistress of an errant husband.
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
A royal family that he knew every name, his father gambled for sport, and had many Italian friends..They had daughters, dinned with country men of all walks of life, but she was young enough to be his daughter. His heart would stop in his chest, and a look would be turned down to her from the line of his nose as to better inspect. She did have their eyes. "Very far from home.." He would come to rise then feeling his knees a bit weak, and in turn just as willing to hide his family line. "Ana-Catalina..It is a pleasure." He walked with a limp on this night, but still would carry himself with a regal manner. "Ana-Catalina Theresa de Cervillion of Naples.." He would close the door, lock it but leave the key. He did not wish to trap her, never was that his intention, but a darkness washed over him that she wouldn't understand. The curtains were drawn together quickly and before he could release them his head turned to glance at her, "What reason have you for this land?" Outside it was growing dark and without the light of the candles the fire would be all that remained. He would let his hands fall to the side, the shadows pulling at his shoulders almost letting him bleed back into the surrounding darkness.."I would not suggest you lie either, Lady Ana-Catalina, Princess..I am very good at getting the truth..Of what plot brings you at my door." Looking the way she did..he should have known. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
What she had expected was certainly not this. Surely he could be eccentric, but that he rose in order to lock the very door from which she entered caused the alarms inside of her brain to slowly start screaming. Features of porcelain were cast into the vicious light of the fire, red and orange and gold. Heavy lidded, her eyes would lower if only to rise once more and in those moon colored depths was temper. "I am here of my own volition and my own business." Slowly did she swallow then, for it was in part truth. Her uncle and his lot were more skilled in subterfuge but she had what she hoped was enough guile to at least get her a little further than mere introductions. That he knew her title, her person was not unusual given she had spent time here in Skye three years previous to now, but she had never met this man so how was it that he called her not only by name but by title? By which crown she had bowed her head to? Fingers scraped at the finely spun wool of her skirts, edging back if only to curl upon one another in a desperate attempt to hide her unease though it remained painted over her very features. "What will you now?" Inching slowly upward was a single, downy brow of black. He was either an agent of her uncle or of another in service to him. Or perhaps her brothers? Or maybe the king of Lithuania? Who knew! (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Jean-Claude had not known her of Skye, he had not surfaced from the Underdark until she was well gone, but her husband..he had known only from a few chance meetings. "Forgive me..but you must understand." He would start in a slow manner, his words lifting him from the door to return to the fire beside her. "I will not harm you.." In all his years he had never known him to be such a man, but as of late, after the fires there was much of him he could not see anymore. He held no soul compared to what was once there, or value on life. "I know your father..very dearly, you see..he was a dear friend of my own, who I can not offer his name, but know this…" but if she looked close enough? The raven black hair was trademark to the Aquitaine, a force that seemed kin to the devil. In fact had the rumors of the fallen son hit the ears of court? The crazed man child who held his degree in many classics to only have it wasted that fateful day in the square. The reason? He had thought life to pulse through their veins in currents of invisible substance close to water..but with a charge. How silly indeed! "..Your secret is safe with me."
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
How was it that no in no matter what situation she found herself, she was constantly being told that she must understand? Did she seem so dull witted, or slow? Or was it perhaps the fact that she was still an innocent no matter how embroiled she became in the intrigues of the World Theatre? "Had you wished me harm, no doubt I would not be here now would I?" He had locked the door, casting them into near-darkness and now he was telling her that her secret was safe with him. It gave her some measure of comfort to know that he would take so great a length to ensure she did not believe him to be an agent of her uncles, or her brother. It was because of that half-light that she needed to lean closer, to spy those soul-piercing eyes in order to assure herself that he did indeed speak the truth. And she was astute enough to recognize the features, but said nothing of them. She was not the only one with secrets to keep. "Then you know I am here as a fugitive of the Crown of Naples, and the Duchy of Ferrara?" Her voice remained firm, but still there was that softness of youth that belied she had seen so much. "I seek information discreetly." For better or ill she was all but casting her lot with him in the hopes that he might help garner something of what transpired beyond the borders of Skye.
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Jean-Claude would offer her a look that could have been a confession had he not such a serious tone, and the single twist of his lips would have him frown. "Indeed I do.." He had known of her from the years long gone, having listened to the gossip on the trail of the sailors and wondered if she had known of the bounty on her capture. His was an old soul, with a mind lost in future ideas but there in his deep heart had he felt himself a bit lost. He could not imagine how hard it was for her, how dear she must have been searching for a way out. Ana, had indeed come to the right place. He had good ties with both France, and was planning a trip to Italy in the spring as it was. With England now at his doorstep, he would wonder if perhaps he should offer to take her with him. "But you are not dead.." Not at all, for he saw her very alive if not simply flouting about in some form of soul searching to see the world open with a wave of her hand. They still searched for her, did she know? "Ma petite, You look so tired..so worn. Weary from your life on the run..may I offer you a good nights rest before we talk of such pressing manners?" Jean-Claude was a member of a great Order with a tower high above the streets, guarded like well kept secrets, and armed to the teeth, was fitting of a Princess no? "Where are you staying? Have you had dinner?" He would worry to be seen with her in such public places, only for fear of sharp minds putting together the puzzle. Jean-Claude was the epitome of a playboy, a wealthy businessman who was expected to dine with such rare beauty, or powerful political figures. How quick would it be to put a name to her face as they stood together. Her attire did horrify him, but he knew perhaps it was simply a way to hide the rose, but had the idea not been done before? How many rich hid behind rags, he would find her something more suitable, better shoes, and a warmer coat.
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Though she thought her attire quite fine for a nun, it was clearly not the sort she was used to wearing. But then, she hadn't exactly been worried about being the height of fashion while being on the run. A fugitive she might have been, she realized that until she knew of her uncle's scheme she was forced to traveling in disguise, buying the trust of those caring for her. "At the moment, I am housed with the Lady Eirian. She says that my husband is kinsman to her. But yes, I have not yet dined and am weary." He was certainly of the gentry, and his features were unmistakable, but who was she to unmask another who might be in hiding for their own reasons? 'Tell me, Master Jean-Claude, to which part of the House of Aquitaine do you belong?" The pallor of her cheeks changed then, heightening with a rose like blush as her eyes roamed from his face to the fire and back again. "Surely others have noted it?"
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
There was a pity to him then as he regarded her lightly, the hold nearly unable to be released as he studied her. Such a beauty, of fine elegance even in her outfit of a nun. It amazed him what memories could spark, the feel that revived inside of days long gone; what would it be like to simply have but one more day to not worry of the one before? He was so careless in his youth, arrogant as if nothing in the world could home him to ground and the world was simply his wings. For what better purpose was there then of passion? In his days of old, Jean-Claude was full of it as life lit the backs of his eyes and every new discovery excited him. Now. The wolf that sat across her was just that--a monster. "Come now..You can not expect me to be so willing to give away my surprise." With his chin resting on the back of his hand he gave her a long look, inspired alone by the scene. "Perhaps over dinner." Hidden boney fingers would curl over the tip of his cane to aid in his rise once more but he would leave it be just were it rested. Without the aid of the clutch he could move just fine, but only when he sat still for too long did they ache. His body forgot to work if he stopped moving, and perhaps this was reason for the dark circles that lined his eyes. Who needed sleep when, all it would do was make him ache; his heart the most. Disappearing in the back over his arms perhaps the last of the finery for the season. Nothing of anything too fancy, but at least the hem was not bursting at the edge. It was a soft shade of rose, and the crimson cape though display only would be drawn down. On her way to grandmothers, or was it someplace secret. "Here..Ma petite..I can not be seen with you like this." A jest? Perhaps, but she would not know him well enough yet now would she? Though there was a bit of a smile there of contentment as he waited. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
Monsters came in many forms, many of which were not monstrous at all but deceptively innocent. Some were more surprising than others, her life too full of them. "Perhaps." Gray eyes continued to watch him, but without judgement as he rose with the aid of his cane. Though he left it behind she wondered how often he did require its assistance but did not have the opportunity to ask as he disappeared only to reappear a short time later with a gown over his arm. Ana-Catalina had never been one to care for what was on her person, since her whole life was spent in some form of finery or another but to tentatively touch the quality of the cloth she was nearly undone. How long had it been since she'd worn anything but wool? Trying hard not to consider herself a vain woman, she took the garment with a small measure of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "As you will, Master Clothier." Dark head tilting to one side, she waited while he showed her to an area where she might change. It was only recently had she mastered the ability to dress herself, and though pleased with the ability she sighed over how once upon a time it had taken three people to assist her. How crazed was that? Once she was bereft of her previous gown, she slipped the new one over her head and let it glide to the floor. It's weight warranted a happy sort of release of a breath. She need only tie the stays and be done, tricky but then she had grown used to angling herself in order to finish the task set before her. When done, she stepped from the curtained area and marked with some satisfaction the look of approval in his eyes. "A goodly fit, sir." Turning then slowly, just as she might have for any other master tailor she faced him once more with chin tilted upward and features carefully schooled. "Thank you for the garment. It is quite a bit warmer than the one I wore here." (d
Jean-Claude of Aquitaine:
Approval was there in amusement, as one might look upon their child, for that was what she was to him, but still very much a woman. "It could be a shade lighter, but I fear your coloring is perfect." Always had he such a love for her nation, the favorite vacation spot of his mother they had spent many summer's on the coasts of Italy. Dear sweet girl would find her shoulders covered by the cloak, the hood drawn together for modesty, clasping just over her chest. "When you are rested, Mon cher, we shall find you a wardrobe, something to take along with your travels." Wherever she would go once gone from the sheltering arms of a mad man. "But those details take a good deal of time, and tonight we have so little." Already the lamps were lit in the streets, the moon gone for the night was too dark even for her light. For what seemed to be forever they would walk, his arm extended to her in the motion of any courtly gentleman, but there was just enough space he could feed off of her warmth; draw inspiration in the manner of her steps. They would walk long down the row to a place close to the Ebony Hall, a private tavern of nothing like the sort in the markets. At the door they were greeted with a warm smile, the door held open and shown to a private table were the night could have been shouted and none would ever hear. "Forgive me, I am old fashioned. Have you any objections?" He would order for them both, select the wine, and even fall into old habits of criticizing the menu. Nothing would be Paris. Ever. "So tell me of your plan." He spoke then the private table seeming off center then the rest, and the entire place seeming a bit too much for Skye. It too just like the Great Hall, was a well kept secret. (d
Ana deCervillion of Naples: [/u][/color]
"There is something to be feared in the perfect coloring then?" She asked while glancing at him askance from beneath the vantage of dark lashes. Her question might have seemed juvenile but she had her own motives for the need of good garments. At his side, she walked with the same gait as she always had, one painstakingly taught to her at the behest of her mother. Her duenna had once upon a time been a formidable woman and it hurt to think on Lucrezia even after all these years. "Time seems to be something I have had a great deal of. No doubt it will last until what I have come to Skye for is accomplished." Or so she hoped. When at last they came to their destination she regarded the interior curiously. Taverns and Inns she had used as a means rather than a desire but she had never seen something of the like as this. When seated, one hand would motion for him to take back his apology. "As you will, please." She had finely boned hands, a grace of some distant Aragonia relative no doubt. "I have little in my mind that one could call a plan. I have need of answers regarding my brother and my uncle and what they intend of me. I need to know if my marriage is in fact still legal and binding and from there ... " Motioning again, she felt herself deflate. It seemed so much more complicated than how she phrased it? But then she couldn't divulge everything. (d
