MASQUERADE! [GROUP THREAD]

[richardgeorgemoors]

[atrb=border,0,true] [/style][style=width: 450px; background-color: ffffff; text-align:center; padding: 8px; line-height: 10px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: 000000;][style=background-image:url(http://i48.tinypic.com/95wmli.jpg); width: 252px; height: 138px; float: left; margin-top:10px;] FAMILY MEANS THE WORLD, FAMILY IS EVERYTHING, NEVER DOUBT YOUR FAMILY AND ALWAYS TREAT THEM WELL [/style][style=width: 252px; height: 26px; float: left; margin-top:10px] made by historyofus of caution It was not love as Richard had said, and it was not Marriage apparently either, he was not surprised, not one bit and too be honest Richard had not been totally trying. Part of him was still absent, no half of him was still absent, his heart even. It distracted him, distracted him from the event, even business, even though he was still conducting it, it was always harder without her, he loved to be seen with his wife, she was a part of him just as he was part of her, together they were one and knew each other well. He always took his wife to places like these, without his family, well he was not sure how he would live. He However would have to put this aside for now, he knew she was fine healthy and safe, she had promised she would catch up after seeing to Gareth, he believed and trusted her and had faith in her as one should with their wife. Though she had taken a bit longer than he was expecting, was Gareth having some trouble maybe. He shook these thought from his mind and returned to finish his business with his political ally, "so that's a promise then you will back me in this agenda?" He never fully trusted anyone in the world of politics, there was many people waiting to back stab you, it’s why he had sweet talked the man, the agenda looked better than it should have as he knew it was not popular in his constituency, however he knew he could spin it, his friend would get something out of it. "Yes on board as promised," Richard smiled and then put his glass down reaching forward to whisper something in his friends ear, who then gulped and went pale. "Good we understand each other then." The Man nodded and took a sip of his own drink. Richard smiled glad he got it and patted him on the back picking up his own drink. He looked up from his drink and towards the crowd when he heard the announcement of SYLVIE ST-CYR one of the people he had been hoping to see, just to try and get confirmation of something. He did however let he music flow over him and an idea came to mind, but first he must deal with talking to Sylvie first. As the dancing and music began he made his way to her waiting until there was a brake in her conversation. He made sure to keep it brief, he was in a hurry himself, but he made sure he was close enough so not to attract attention. " Ah My lady Sylvie, so good to see you again, tell me did you get my gift, I hope it was to you satisfaction." He smiled knowingly at her, having left no suspicions, hopefully she would back him now, it had not been easy to get what she had needed just as it had not been easy the time before that, but his contacts had pulled through as usual, who knew who she planned it for this time. He had also made sure that none of it was traceable to him. He looked at Sylvie waiting for her answer, he would not be surprised if she did not follow up on wanting to be part of his latest project but if it went right there would be plenty of money in it for her. He had promised her this. When that was all over Richard had quickly made his way to where the music was being played and was having a quick word with the pianist there, he exchanged a few words and he suddenly clapped the pianist on the book who then bowed and left the piano all together. So there he was now at the piano somewhere he had been hoping to end up all night and he had the perfect idea of what to play for the feel of the night. It was perfect and Richard had studied it enough to be able to play it, plus it was popular enough in France. He put his fingers to the keys and began to get lost in the music of the Minuet in fact no he was the music. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=on1DDSLdDOo I think)

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[Deleted]

[atrb=border,0,true] [/style][style=width: 450px; background-color: ffffff; text-align:center; padding: 8px; line-height: 10px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: 000000;][style=background-image:url(http://oi45.tinypic.com/2m2xbnr.jpg); width: 150px; height: 151px; float: left;] HOW COULD YOU LET ME LOVE LIKE THIS? NO ONE DIES UPON A KISS ONLY FOOLS BELIEVE IN BLISS Marguerite had been in high spirits, yes, despite, rather than because of, her husband's joke. She knew that he did not truly mean to slight her. Though there had been a time when their marriage had been an unhappy one, when she had felt him pushing her away because of what she was thought to do to the St-Cyr family, things had been resolved between them, at least on that front. She could feel him pushing her away again; every time he grew closer to trouble with his business as the Scarlet Pimpernel, he drew farther away from her. She could only be grateful that she was physically closer to him here in France, if nothing else. Though Percy could be a buffoon, he was a buffoon who was very good with a sword or gun. If she was not safe with Percy, she was not safe anywhere, not even in England. Not from Chauvelin, and not from Sylvie St-Cyr. How she detested these masques, were she could not see anyone's faces! Thank God for the master of ceremonies announcing the names - but now their presence was known as well. That was one danger of being married to someone whose guise consisted of hiding in plain sight through ostentation. "I don't love it," she murmured, her voice made slightly breathless, but there was hardly time to say more. She liked when people recognized her and when she recognized them, but most of all, she liked being safe. Could she be safe any longer in her home country? She lifted her chin, blue eyes focusing in on Chauvelin, blinking slightly at the sound of his rich, familiar voice. She could not deny that she tensed when he brushed his lips across her white knuckles. "Paul," she replied, the name familiar, too much so, but her tone wary. Why such warmth? Such enthusiasm? She did not want to be cynical, for Paul had saved her from a treacherous snake or two, but he had attempted to fill her with his venom before. Still, he needed her no longer, not with a woman on his arm. No doubt it had not been difficult for the suave spymaster to find another one to warm his bed for the right price. "We can hardly refuse when such undeserved generosity is extended," she replied smoothly, recovering her manners, though her blue eyes were stormy and the forced smile did not quite reach them. "I was wondering where I might rest my head." The statement had darker implications - if her head rested separately from her body - but she knew his reaction would not give away nothing. Paul had risen, even without her, and had not done so without learning how to conceal emotion. Or manipulate it according to his whim. He played the benevolent old acquaintance now, charming as ever. She wondered now if he had just been acting; she had seen him at his most vulnerable, and strangely, it was this same chivalry which had won her heart. But it was not real now. It could not be. Still, though she dreaded being separated from her husband, she could handle herself well enough, and Chauvelin would not ask for her if he did not at least have a bargain to make. Perhaps something could be gained from this. Her eyes searching Paul's as the music began, Marguerite hesitantly placed her hand over his. "Your memory serves you well," she admitted, though Sir Percy hardly made a secret of anything. The Pimpernel, however, kept everything a secret - and Marguerite only hoped it would remain that way the rest of the night. "Try not to bore her, Percy," she said finally, tossing a glance over her shoulder at her husband and the other woman. Her hand alighted on Paul's, her eyes not meeting his as they walked. There was no need for pleasantries now, and yet she found herself murmuring, almost wistfully, "Do you remember the last time we danced?"

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[SIR PERCIVAL BLAKENEY]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]480 WORDS FOR EVERYONE ack! Percy hates me tonight! BALL! [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;] What a sly fox Chauvelin was, and as cunning as one too. Percy was in no doubt the demmed Frenchie was up to no good. Percy recalled Chauvelin’s visit to England; he had been spying on the British Aristocrats, looking for his Pimpernel. Of course Chauvelin knew the Pimpernels identity now, and Percy pondered how long the old fox would keep his identity a secret. The man was certainly a liability, especially if the Pimpernel was going to be making a reappearance. Percy was playing his part well this evening, already re-establishing his reputation as one of the silliest men in England. Percy may have been playing the part of a fool, but he was not one. He knew some game was being played tonight, but what game exactly, he had yet to determine. Each move made was another move on the chess board, only the figures were wearing masks, making the prediction of moves even harder. Percy raised an eyebrow as Chauvelin addressed him and his Lady, returning the formality with a quaint bow. ‘Shuffle-on!’ Percy exclaimed brightly, his eyes twinkling at the chance to jest as his old friend’s expense, although inside Percy was seething at this turn of events. The Frenchie had the gall to ask his wife to dance, and leave his own guest alone. Percy could only guess Chauvelin was either trying to renew his old ‘friendship’ with Margo…or he had ulterior motives. Zounds! Chauvelin was likely to be up to both, but his wife was a bright woman, and Percy had every faith that she would unearth his motives. It wasn’t like Margo had not used her wiles before to charm Chauvelin for her own means, but Percy did not like the idea of her possibly being used by Chauvelin either. Pushing his concerns from his mind, he hid them behind a smirk, whatever the problem was, Percy would deal with it later. So long as Margo was in his sight nothing else mattered. ‘Lud man!’ Percy said at Chauvelins suggestion he dance with Adrienne, ‘I’m feeling rather tired this eve and I’m positively itching to find the Hazard table!’ he said nodding his head at Adrienne. He desperately needed to seek out Andrew and pass on a quick exchange of suspicions, ‘No one could possibly be bored at Hazard malady, it’s a gripping game don’t you think?’ he asked, before the two moved away to dance. His sharp eyes followed them for a moment before he glanced back at the woman he had been left with, ‘how French of him to leave his guest with an Englishman, I hope he’s saved you a dance.’ He said, studying the woman closely. He didn’t recognise her and Percy couldn’t imagine where the man had picked up such a creature. No doubt she was another charade. Oh this masked ball was truly becoming an interesting game. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/whitesilk_zps07d335a9.jpg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] Let my heart grow colder and as bitter as a falcon in the dive "I remember every time we danced." The pattern separated them and his hand felt cold where the touch of hers had warmed his skin until it reunited them once more. He did remember. But that had been nothing like this, he thought, as the basse danse flowed into the minuet. This was precise and passionless. The steps were careful and measured, partners kept at arms-length. He and Margot had been revolutionaries, and there'd been nothing arms-length about their relationship. However it had ended, however deep the gulf between them might have grown in the years since, together they'd never been careful or measured. The dance became a waltz and Paul smiled. While the music shared the same leisurely, 3/4 tempo as the minuet, the waltz was very different. Still considered shocking and indecent in some quarters, it was a far more intimate dance, with partners face to face and close enough to touch. And, while he certainly enjoyed that part of it, it had another advantage the old spymaster welcomed as well. Unlike the minuet and basse danse, the waltz let you speak privately. "Margot." Though Chauvelin's smile didn't change and his steps remained as perfect as ever, all the light humor vanished from his voice as he murmured in her ear. "You're in grave danger. The St-Cyr woman is a Borgia." He hoped she'd understand the reference, but knew that she'd come late to the level of society where the name had meaning, so he continued in an urgent whisper, "She can kill in front of a hundred witnesses and they'll never see a thing. Eat nothing, drink nothing, and whatever you do don't let her touch you." [/style] [style=width: 205px; height: 400px; background-color: 101010; float: right; margin-top: 10px; border-left: 3px solid #353535; border-right: 3px solid #353535; padding: 5px; border-bottom-right-radius: 20px; overflow: auto] [style=border-bottom: 1px dotted #cacaca; width: 30px]TAG: Claudette NOTES: Made a bit free with his & Margo's past, Em please let me know if you want any edits. LYRICS: "Falcon in the Dive" by Terrance Mann CREDITS: table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0 [/style]

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[COSETTE FAUCHELEVENT]

“Why are you not dancing, Lady Claudette?”

The deep seductive voice came from behind her and Claudette sighed in resignation as she turned to face the exceedingly handsome countenance of Lord Xavier Fontaine, a young man in his mid-twenties whom all of her friends considered to be one of the most attractive gentlemen in Paris. While Claudette did not deny he was very pleasant to look upon, she was repulsed by his obvious arrogance.

“Let me guess,” he said with a smile that would have made most women swoon, “you've been waiting for me.”

“You flatter yourself as usual, Xavier. Go away.”

“You know you want me, Claudette. Why not just admit it?”

The young blonde fought the urge to toss the contents of her crystal goblet into his face. She was not the least bit interested in him romantically. Rumor had it that he had slept with half the women in the city and their mothers as well. She thought too highly of herself to become yet another of his conquests … to be used and easily discarded when the novelty of the relationship wore off. And that was precisely why he continued to pursue her … she was immune to his charms.

“Of course I do,” she replied, her words dripping with sarcasm. “But I want to come first in your life, and I know I could never compete with your love for yourself.”

Xavier placed a hand melodramatically over his heart. “You wound me, Claudette.”

Her grin was sardonic. “Good.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned around and walked away. A group of her friends were conversing in a small circle, and she went over to join them, hoping that Xavier would not follow her. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her that he had found someone else to dance with, a rather plain girl who was looking up at him in abject adoration. No doubt he was just using her to soothe his injured pride.

After conversing for a few moments with her friends about the latest fashions, she excused herself and gravitated toward the music. She noticed that the man playing the piano was dressed more finely than the rest of the musicians, an aristocrat by the look of him. She did not remember seeing him before, and she found herself standing beside him, watching his fingers fly across the keys. Closing her eyes, she allowed the music to flow around her and through her, humming along softly to herself.

[SYLVIE ST-CYR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/redsilk1_zpsee2e3270.jpeg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] I am the nightmare of your own desire I am the song that the devil sings Sylvie turned as someone approached and spoke to her and her face lit up in a smile when she recognized Richard Moors. Her smile was even mostly genuine. The man was English, of course, but he spoke French passably well, albeit with an accent. He was relentlessly mundane on a personal level, being apparently very, very married, but he'd been of great service both to the Chouannerie in general and to her in particular. "Mr. Moors!" the Marquise said, warmth in her rich contralto voice. "I did, thank you. It was perfect, so very thoughtful of you." The gift he spoke of was a respectable supply of black arsenic. Most of the poisons she used she could extract from plants or animals, but some, especially the various arsenics and very especially the rarer black arsenic, were more difficult to obtain. As it was primarily an industrial product, that was particularly the case for a highborn woman like herself. As she spoke, she continued to watch the St-Just woman out of the corner of her eye. Her quarry was still dancing, out of her reach for now, but her time would come. The mignotta* doubtless thought she was safe amid so many people and wouldn't be on her guard. Sylvie wasn't good at deferring gratification, but she could counsel herself to patience when she had no other choice. "We must speak more later," she murmured to the English politician, reaching out to brush her fingers lightly across the back of his hand. The smile remained as he bowed and moved on, then vanished like a snuffed candle when she turned back to Etienne. "All is in readiness?" The Comte d'Armanac nodded gravely. [/style] [style=width: 205px; height: 310px; background-color: 101010; float: right; margin-top: 10px; border-left: 3px solid #353535; border-right: 3px solid #353535; padding: 5px; overflow: auto] [style=border-bottom: 1px dotted #cacaca; width: 30px]TAG: Adrienne NOTES: Please just imagine her outfit in the pic as diamonds & red. * motherless whore (in Italian) LYRICS: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander CREDITS: table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0 [/style]

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[adrienne]

A frown settled on Adrienne's forehead. She said nothing, but nodded. She watched Chauvelin and the woman. She didn't quite remember the name. Her lips pursed before she fluttered her eyes closed for a moment and then collected herself and smiled. She was a little bemused by the eccentric English man, and agreed with him. "Hazard is an interesting game M'sieur" she brushed her hands down together. "I doubt I would be bored" Card games didn't really bore Adrienne that much. Some of them did, but others not so much.

She looked up at the English Man. "M'sieur Percy" she started and paused hoping she hadn't recalled his name incorrectly. "I do not mind if he hasn't. I was never one for dancing." she smiled. Adrienne's eyes drifted to all the different costumes and wondered for a moment if her dress paled in comparison to some of the others. Her own friend had made the dress for her, and of course, she had been able to get all the expensive jewels and what not, her friend was not the fancy seamstress that other women might have had. "I confess I am not a brilliant dancer" she chuckled softly.

"So where is this game?" she asked looking around for a table that might house the game. When she said it was interesting, it didn't mean she had first hand experience playing it, and probably wouldn't be able to tell it apart from any other card game. Except for poker. She was rather acquainted with poker, more than any woman probably should be. She looked back to the dance floor to see the dance had changed. She battered her eyelashes and tapped her foot, delicately clad in heels, which she was beginning to refer to as delicate instruments of torture for the way they dug into her feet.

(OOC: I'll make it pretty later on)

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]718 WORDS FOR EVERYONE Notes here: Enjoy your waltz, Chauv. DANCE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri sighed as he finally gave in, ascending the dias where he was meant to sit in the throne and sat for the moment. His toe tapped slightly along time with the music which was playing. It was the kind of music that made you want to dance. Well, of course it was. that much would be obvious given it was a dance. The music should want to make one dance. It made him want to. Perhaps he should ask a girl, though he always got a little shy when it came to that. He worried about things like whether she'd turn him down. Now that he was King of France, no one in her right mind would turn him down, but that wasn't the point. What if she danced with him and thought him ugly. What if she agreed to dance with him only because he was the king of France. He didn't want pity dances and, how could he ever tell if they were? No one was going to tell him, and he was well aware he was in that stage of his youth where he looked a bit.. well.. gawky. He had been told by Ettore that everyone had one. Most of the time he didn't worry too much about stuff like that, but situations like this made him. At times, he wished it was permissible for -girls- to ask for dances. Then, at least, he'd have an idea which of them might like him. He supposed sometimes he really was still just a normal teenager with normal teen concerns. He wasn't always worried about France - though the older he got and the worse the situation got, the more that weighed on him. He had a duty to his country which he was having a great difficulty fulfilling right now because it felt like no one in the world - except his friends and his dog listened to him. Sometimes Chauvelin too - if it pleased him. Chauvelin. Paul attracted his attention again for a little while. He had given him a subtle nod, but the spymaster had not acknowledged it. He was paying too much attention to the Blakeneys. That was interesting enough. He had not known that Paul Chauvelin would be friends with Percy who was, if appearances held, the most foolish fop. Of course, he could, he supposed, judge Percy wrong. He was not a close personal friend of him, but it was how he seemed. Appearances must be deceiving if Chauvelin was paying him such attention, however. If there was one thing that Henri knew about Paul, it was that he did not suffer fools. Either the man had a motive or something Blakeney could get for him, or else perhaps he wasn't as foolish as he seemed, or perhaps it's not Percy at all. Henri thought to himself as he watched Chauvelin lead Marguerite off for a dance. Percy did not look impressed. Henri couldn't help but be slightly amused, though he supposed he wouldn't be anymore amused if someone stole his partner. And of course then there was Percy left with the woman Chauvelin had brought to the dance. Interesting. He was going to need to remember to ask him about this later. For the moment, though, he was tired of sitting. There would be time enough later for cornering Chauv. Likewise, there would be time enough later to consider the strange events thus far in the evening. For now, it was time to get off of this stupid dias and do something interesting. He drew himself to his full height and cleared his throat. "Excusez-Moi!" He said waiting for a moment until people were paying attention. "Though I know this is not traditional, I would like very much to call for a waltz! It has become quite popular at the English court, and as so many friends from that place join us tonight, I wish to make them feel welcome! A waltz - if you please!" Henri jumped off the dias, not bothering with the stairs as he meandered over towards Claudette. Perhaps she'd dance the waltz with him. If they were going to have fun, he intended on joining! He made her the most formal bow, though the corners of his lips turned into a smile. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[LUCIEN DE LA TOUR D'AZYR]

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[style=text-align:center; text-size: 9px;]WORDS: 617 TAGGED: aristos
NOTES: mwahahah

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A masquerade...! There was probably nothing that would better suit Lucien’s craving for aristocratic splendour, mystery and games, and he had been looking forward to this night for weeks. It had started nicely, with the master of ceremonies announcing them one by one, seeing that in here no one seemed to care about looming rebellions and dirty people on the streets. It was a wonderful scenery, with splendid gowns, glittering jewels and delightful cleavages coming from the ladies.and elegant coats and shirts from the men. Many had chosen a certain theme for their costumes and it was an interesting game to one: guess who they were trying to portray and two: who was behind that certain mask. It was thoroughly intrguing to see how covering just one part of a face could make a person turn into a mystery. He liked that… especially concerning himself.

Vain and craving for attention as he was, Lucien had spent a lot of time on thinking about his attire for this evening and had finally decided to go with a typical figure of the Venetian masquerade, and someone he’d really like to be viewed as: Casanova, the legendary heartbreaker, the excellent swordsman and mysterious, dangerous man that ought better not to messed with. For this, he had attained a silver, elegantly enchased masked to which a small tricorn was attached. A black cloak over black trousers and a white shirt completed his attire, and he was feeling quite good in it. This night held many promises and he intended to milk it to the last drop. For now, he hadn’t engaged in many conversations, but had rather been content with watching the others, silently guessing the people behind the masks. There were two women his eyes followed more than others, one of them being a blond young noblewoman, of which he guessed it must be the Lady de Bridoire, one of his newest conquests-to-be. She was a true prize with her beauty, and he had already charmed her succesfully earlier that day… which left so much open for more… particularly in an enchanted night such as this.

But there was also another woman which he had watched tonight, a figure clad in black and red and moving with an unmistakable elegance and lissomness. She was a panther, a snake, a deadly predator, and she was a challenge. A night like these held many possibilities indeed, and he intended to take his chance. Lucien and Sylvie St.-Cyr already had a little history of hide and seek, of dare and counter-dare, and he had enjoyed every minute of the thrill. She was ruthless and deadly, and he had no scruples. It was a dangerous game to be played, a lethal one even, but he would either win it or perish.
He was torn from his thoughts by the little boy-king raising his voice. Politely everyone stopped their talking and listened to him, he was still the king after all, even though Lucien felt no respect for this boy. He was the Chouannerie’s puppet and he was doing a good job for that, that was all that mattered. A smirk crept over Lucien’s face as Henri announced the scandalous waltz, causing a lot of buzz and whispered comments. The waltz was a pair dance where the partners did not change and were dancing so close it was shocking, with the man’s arm wrapped around the woman’s waist. It was… thrilling. As his eyes once again found the Marquise, Lucien knew exactly who he wanted this dance with.

Before anyone could beat him to it, Lucien sauntered over to Sylvie and gave an elegant bow, murmuring. “May I have the… pleasure of this dance, Milady?”
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[Deleted]

(OOC: It's been 48 hours so I posted, but I can try to delete it and repost it if Nate wants.)

[atrb=border,0,true] [/style][style=width: 450px; background-color: ffffff; text-align:center; padding: 8px; line-height: 10px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: 000000;][style=background-image:url(http://oi45.tinypic.com/2m2xbnr.jpg); width: 150px; height: 151px; float: left;] HOW COULD YOU LET ME LOVE LIKE THIS? NO ONE DIES UPON A KISS ONLY FOOLS BELIEVE IN BLISS I remember every time we danced. Marguerite did, as well, and she hated that his husky voice could still affect her, but she only blinked and moved smoothly away from him as the dance commanded. Her movements were just as mechanical as the facade she put on at these parties; he received no special treatment. But she could not quite maintain her straight face as the music changed. She had not known that this set contained a waltz. If she had, would she have denied Chauvelin's invitation? No, she could not say that she would have. Raising her arm and placing her palm against his, she met his gaze, her blue eyes flashing in response to his smile. The impertinence! Now he was just trying to... As he stepped closer to her, as the dance required, she felt her breath seem to stop in her throat. Not because of his proximity, or even the feel of his whisper in her ear, but its contents. The reference to the Borgia family was perfectly clear, and his following words even more so. Ever the actress, ever the sympathetic, already she could imagine she were dying. She and her unborn child. She could let no one know how affected she was, how scared. Not even Chauvelin. He might be her best protection for the moment, but he was also, in his own way, even more dangerous to her than the St-Cyr woman, because he knew her. She would never again let herself be vulnerable to him. So, she would do what she had always done: she would act. “Lud, man! – inventing some silly tale as an excuse to draw me close,” she chided, affecting a smile that wavered just slightly so that only someone who knew her might catch the tremulousness of it. “What, is your latest hussy not to your satisfaction?” The dig was an unnecessary one, even inappropriate. “You know I am a married woman.” She laughed gaily, though it was forced. Could she have teased him about the possibility that he had never gotten over her? It would be too cruel, after the way he had helped her, and anyway, she could not believe that it was true.

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[SIR PERCIVAL BLAKENEY]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]322 WORDS FOR EVERYONE ^^ BALL! [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;] Percy’s sharp eyes surveyed the ballroom as he wondered where the demmed popinjay Ffoulkes had vanished off to. Sometimes he wondered who exactly was running these missions, but at least he had the designated meeting point later this evening for a quick exchange of information. Percy couldn’t help but notice that the St-Cyr woman seemed rather interested in his wife; her side glances to Marguerite had not gone unnoticed by Percy, which sent a shiver of unease down his spine. He had learnt from early on to trust his instincts and they were telling him to beware of the woman. Percy returned his attention back to the Lady, usually there was more to the women Chauvelin picked up and he couldn’t help but feel this woman was there to spy on his movements this evening. ‘Zounds!’ Percy exclaimed at the woman’s words, ‘then we are in luck, for I’m feeling devilishly lucky tonight’ he said merrily as he held his arm out to the Lady. ‘Ah, we clearly have a lot in common for I finding dancing very tedious. As tedious as London’s fashion is at the moment, it’s all sepia browns and mundane blues, it simply does nothing for one’s appearance’ he spouted as if London’s current fashion trends were the be all and end all of his life. Percy yawned before replying to the Lady, ‘I believe the Hazard tables in the other room, I promised Lord Laval I would save for a game for him. He does love losing his money.’ Percy added brightly pausing and nodding towards a gentleman who was also dancing, ‘Lud! It seems he is currently engaged, how demmed unfortunate.’ Percy said shaking his head, ‘Perhaps the Lady would like to rest a moment?’ he asked, ‘I’m certain M'sieur Chamberton? Will not steal too much of my wife’s time’ he said, hoping he could extract himself from the woman’s company as soon as was possible. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/whitesilk_zps07d335a9.jpg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] Let my heart grow colder and as bitter as a falcon in the dive Paul flinched at Margot's jibe. It was a subtle expression, just a slight tightening at one corner of his mouth, imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him well. Almost as painful as the sting of what she'd said was the knowledge that even now, after all these years, she could still hurt him. Just the sight of her had wakened an ache like that of an old wound in winter, and her words could draw blood. With an effort, he kept his hand from clenching on hers and his voice light and even. "Rienne is perfectly satisfactory," he replied. "And she has the virtues of loyalty and honesty." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized that the shudder he felt through the touch of his palm against her back wasn't revulsion at his closeness, and the edge to her own words wasn't malice, that she was simply unsettled and frightened by what he'd told her. He could see the fear in her eyes and hear the quaver in her voice. But he'd long been like that with Margot, just reacting, strike and counterstrike. He didn't know why, and was afraid to look inside to see. He'd never actually hit her, but by the time they ended, they'd been more retaliations between them than relations. Not missing a step, he matched her laugh with a chuckle of his own, knowing even as he did it that she knew him too well not to hear its hollow quality. "Ah, m'lady, I know it full well, and to my eternal regret." Like her, he was playing to an audience that might or might not be listening. Even the old spymaster couldn't be sure who was in St-Cyr's employ, but he'd been at this game long enough to know never to drop his mask. "Still, as you pine so for his arm, I shall return you to it." There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to promise her that he would protect her, but she wouldn't believe him. Not after the way she'd last seen him, crossing swords with that very husband to defend the tumbrel carrying her to her execution. He'd been acting then, too, though it wasn't difficult at all for him to feign murderous rage against Percy Blakeney. He wanted to ask her how she'd fared in that foreign land with her foreign lord, and tell her how much he'd missed her, but the music was running out and he couldn't find the words. So he simply shook his head and smiled. But, as the final chords of the waltz played, he shifted their steps subtly so the dance ended with his stocky form between Marguerite Blakeney and the murderous attention of the Marquise de St-Cyr. [/style] [style=width: 205px; height: 400px; background-color: 101010; float: right; margin-top: 10px; border-left: 3px solid #353535; border-right: 3px solid #353535; padding: 5px; border-bottom-right-radius: 20px; overflow: auto] [style=border-bottom: 1px dotted #cacaca; width: 30px]TAG: Claudette NOTES: Please let me know if any edits are needed. LYRICS: "Falcon in the Dive" by Terrance Mann CREDITS: table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0 [/style]

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[COSETTE FAUCHELEVENT]

Lost in the allure of the music, Claudette gave her thoughts free reign, allowing them to wander where they would until they finally settled on her friend Helene, and the childhood friendship that had become stronger over the years through the letters they had regularly written each other. It had been quite some time since she had heard from Helene, and she wondered how the other girl was faring, and why she wasn't here at the ball. Or was she? Claudette had not seen her since she was six, but she felt that she would be able to recognize her if she saw her again. Opening her eyes, her gaze once again meandered about the ornate hall, studying the dancers and the people gathered here and there in groups with more interest. There were very few strangers among them, people that Claudette did not know at least by sight, and none of those could have possibly been Helene. Either the age was wrong, or the hair color, or the gender. She was not here. Certainly she would have been invited. Why had she chosen not to attend?

Hopefully, she would hear from her soon. Her last letter had not yet been answered, nor had it been returned to her. Helene had most likely received it. Perhaps she had just been too busy to write.

Her gaze fell upon Lucien de La Tour d'Azyr, and a pleasurable little thrill meandered involuntarily down her spine. He looked quite dashing and mysterious in black and white and she remembered their encounter earlier in the day. He had been quite charming, but she was not completely certain what to make of him yet. She did not trust him fully, but contrarily, she wished to know him better, to ascertain for herself what type of man he really was. Perhaps he would ask her to dance before the night was over. Claudette was curious as to how well they would dance together, if their styles would harmonize perfectly or not be compatible at all. One could tell a lot about a gentleman by the way he danced.

A young voice rang through the room, and Claudette turned her attention to the young king on the dais, who called for the next dance to be a waltz. She knew the dance well from her years in England and hoped that she would not have to sit this dance out. Watching the king step down from his dais, her eyes widened when she noticed him moving in her direction, his tiger-skin cape bouncing behind him. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest when he stopped before her and bowed gallantly. Even though he was only a boy, already he was taller than she. To share his first dance was quite an honor and she was pleased now that she was more than proficient in the steps of the waltz, for she certainly didn't want to embarrass herself by stumbling or stepping on his toes.

She dropped into a deep curtsy and then rose, a warm smile turning up the corners of her lips as she noted that both of them wore the masks of felines. “The majestic tiger honors this humble house-cat with his attention,” she said, and then placed her hand in his so that he could lead her onto the dance floor.

[SYLVIE ST-CYR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/redsilk1_zpsee2e3270.jpeg); border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; padding: 10px;] I am the nightmare of your own desire I am the Song that the Devil Sings At the King's announcement of the waltz, Sylvie's dark eyes flicked toward the sovereign for a moment as she smiled with pleasure at the thought of that dance. It was an expression that those who knew her knew to fear, as the Marquise's pleasures never came without pain. But to those who didn't, the curve of her crimson lips was sultry and sensual, easily mistaken for an invitation. A middle-aged comte nearby, portly and with a rosy flush to his features that spoke of much drink already taken, looked at her with a frankly lecherous gaze. Either unaware of the sour expression on the heavily made up woman at his side or blissfully uncaring, he actually took a step toward St-Cyr before one of his fellows caught his arm. Evidently the other was a friend -- and a better friend than the man knew -- for he anchored his bewitched companion against Sylvie's gravitational pull, whispering urgently in his ear. " -- worth it, by God," Sylvie overheard the fat one say in reply, but he ventured no closer. “May I have the… pleasure of this dance, Milady?” de la Tour d'Azyr. Flashing the comte a final haughty glance of mocking disdain, Sylvie turned to look up at Lucien. The smile still graced her lips and sparked wickedly in her eyes as she regarded him. "I would have no other," she purred. Brushing the backs of her fingers lightly down the side of his throat, she rested her left hand in position on his shoulder even as she put her right palm-to-palm with his. "Your lead, my lord," she said, allowing him to draw her in as close as he desired. [/style] [style=width: 205px; height: 350px; background-color: 101010; float: right; margin-top: 10px; border-left: 3px solid #353535; border-right: 3px solid #353535; padding: 5px; overflow: auto] [style=border-bottom: 1px dotted #cacaca; width: 30px]TAG: Adrienne NOTES: Please just imagine her outfit in the pic as diamonds & red. Please let me know if any edits are needed. LYRICS: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander CREDITS: table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0 [/style]

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[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]1726 WORDS FOR Everyone; Claudette; Marguerite; Chauv esp. If you're not familiar with La Volte please see the following clips on youtube that shows it si'l vous plait and Merci! Here and Here and if you want to know what the music for one sounds like Here . DANCE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri's face broke into a smile - though the sparkling of his blue eyes was not as obvious through the slits in the tiger mask he wore. However, the smile at his lips was evident. He'd been a bit nervous about calling for the waltz. The dance was still considered something of a scandal, even though it was becoming far more widely accepted with time. He hadn't wanted to cause anyone to be angry with him though, tonight of all nights, tonight was supposed to be about revelry and having fun. The last thing he wanted to have happen was any sort of confrontation or argument - especially about something as simple as what kind of dance they were going to have. Though, perhaps the amount of people here who were English or had been to England helped soothe more conservative French guests' tempers as they realized they were out numbered as to what sort of dance would be done anyway. Once he saw that no one intended to debate him on the issue (he was still only a thirteen year old boy and the Chouannerie still basically ruled his life) he turned back to Claudette happily. At her words, his cheeks turned red, and he was grateful for what protection the mask offered him from her gaze. She was older than him, and he didn't want her to think him foolish. He wanted her to think him handsome, an excellent dancer, divinely interesting, God's gift to females - okay.. so not really on the last because he knew better but still.. but.. he wanted her to think highly of him and was still in that state frequent to teenagers where they feel as if the whole world is shining a spotlight on him even if in reality they arent. For Henri, though, he had the feeling they -were-. a feeling which had unsettled him more at the beginning but was beginning to die down a little now. Still.. he wanted her to think the best and it was better if she didn't realize that a) he thought her comment rather ODD (in the way that any boy his age would - though he did get the idea that it was meant to flatter him ) and b) he was a bit embarrassed. He smiled softly at her. "My pleasure." He said quietly, taking her extended hand gently in his and raising her from her curtsy. Such formality was hardly needed in his mind, though he understood why people carried it out all the same. He led her forward amongst the other couples who had already come to the dance floor. "You look lovely tonight.." He complimented quite honestly, for she did. "I've never had much talent for dresses.. and coiffures, so I suppose it's a good thing I'm a boy. I could never sit still for all of that." He pointed out as he twirled her elegantly around and pulled her close again as the dance called for it. He was glad he was as tall as he was, or this would have been somewhat difficult. However, he managed it in fashion, a feeling of simple exhileration and pleasure flooding through his young veins just to be out, for once, socializing with people near his age and having a grand time of it. "Have you been enjoying yourself? You had a pretty song.. " He pointed out "I heard so many compliments about it.. and you've hardly been free a dance... It's too bad the waltz is still so new here.. I think I could dance all night long!" He said rapturously, letting a bit of his youth slip through his careful facade as the last strains of the song began to play signalling his disappointment that it was over. He didn't want it to be, but it was. Part of him wondered if he could push his luck and call for another waltz, but decided against it. "Thank you for the dance." He said, giving Claudette another elegant bow before he backed slightly away from her in time for the next dance. Suddenly, he got a brilliant idea. How interesting would it be if he called for another dance particularly popular in English and Italian courts... another small scandal known in France as La Volte. He practically grinned at the genius of it. The dance was another little scandal because. It started off like a simple galliarde with each couple doing a simple cinq pas five step set. The steps went right, left, right, left and then a simple hopping cadence which required each person to hop up landing with one leg ahead of the other - called a cadence. The couple would repeat this cinq pas to each other in turns as they moved about the dance circle. However, at the end of a few of these cadences, the galliarde was separated from La Volte by a scandalous closed lift and turn. At the end of a cadence, the partners would transition to a closed position while the man placed one hand just beneath the woman's busque and the other on her back just above her hip to support her. He hands went on the man's shoulders and in a sixth of a beat the lady would poise for a spring which would follow immediately after the step as the man lifted and supported her while she leapt. At the same time, the couple would make an approximately 3/4ths turn as the lady was lifted and then the man would promptly set her back on her feet. Those move would be repeated for several measures before the galliarde resumed in the open position. The dance was physically demanding and, thus, a favorite of young men eager to prove their mettle and young women who liked being lifted scandalously by their partners more than they could properly admit while matrons frowned on. The dance had been mostly accepted in European courts, Henri well knew, since Queen Elizabeth I of England had declared the Galliarde containing the La Volte as her favorite. It was said that even at the age of sixty she was still dancing this dance. He took a deep breath before taking advantage of the momentary lull in sound at the end of the waltz to speak again. "Good people! Thank you indeed for putting up with boyish energies and fantasy! If you would permit me, I would request one more favor! One of my most favored dances!" For a moment, even now, he was still suprised by how he, at thirteen, could command a roomful of people. Every one of them was stopping and looking at him as he spoke. "Play la volte! Si'l vous plait!" For a second, Henri was unsure of his own boldness. La Volte was a challenging dance and it would definitely test his endurance. He was, after all, only thirteen and a half years old. He'd been working on swimming laps to strengthen his muscles - and was pleased with the success of it - but a full Volte took a lot of strength. It had been the one dance he regretted not being able to do with Maria Antonia as a boy. Now, however, he was quite positive he could do it. He had practiced in his dancing lessons of course.. so surely he could do it here. The only difference was the amount of people in the room that he'd need to watch out not to run into - but that was the same for any dance. And plus, the decision was made. And that left him looking over at the Marquise, again, whose expression sent a shiver up his spine, though why he could not say. He had an urge to get far away from her the way her eyes glittered far colder than the diamonds on her dress. He swallowed slightly. Okay. Time to get away from her! It was then that another idea came to him. Marguerite was now free - Chauvelin had stepped away from her. Perhaps, if he could dance La Volte with her, he would be able to stay close enough to figure out what it was Chauvelin liked about her - and if he could do that.. perhaps he could find some way to help the situation - if there was any help for a man who seemed attracted to another man's wife. Aside of figuring out the intricacies between Chauvelin and Margot, he did like Margot from the few times they'd been in proximity to each other. She seemed quite friendly enough and was certainly a beautiful woman, and young enough to make dancing with her fun -even during a spirited dance. Yes - he definitely would not mind dancing La Volte with her. He hesitantly approached her with a slight smile. "Bonne nuit, Lady Blakeney. Might I have the pleasure?

[/b]" He inquired, giving her a polite little bow as he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed them gently across her knuckles in a gesture of polite greeting and squeezed her hand gently in his in a friendly, boyish way, gently doing his best to navigate the both of them away from Sylvie.

"You've been enjoying yourself this evening? Have you found everything to your comfort?" He inquired, as the initial steps of the dance brought them together and then apart. Together and apart again. He kept careful count of his steps in his mind, though his eyes never left her sweet face. "I was very glad to see you and Monsieur Blakeney accepted the invitation, it's been a time since we've seen each other. I hope that you've been well?" He came close to her again for the closed position as he summoned his strength on the next step and happily found that he had little trouble in lifting her and twirling her around before setting her gently on her feet once more. Perhaps his dancing lessons had -indeed- been helping him! "I hope also that you've kept busy and not been bored this long winter.. do you have any hobbies? Well.. besides acting.. I know you used to do that.. " He offered her a soft smile as he lifted her and spun her again and back on her feet, his voice slightly breathless both with giddy excitement and the dance itself. [/div][/style][/td][/tr][/table]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

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