SYLVIE ST-CYR
Aristocrat
French
Posts: 45
Joined: Feb 13, 2013 12:28:43 GMT -5
|
Post by SYLVIE ST-CYR on Aug 16, 2013 23:33:15 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background: url(http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a223/Achillea/black-silk-repeating-background_zps22606a56.jpg); 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 arched an eyebrow as her gaze followed the departing figure of the King. From anyone else, she would have taken the almost rushed greeting and figurative handing off to the servants as a brush off -- and reacted accordingly -- but in Henri's case she told herself otherwise. The boy was young yet, all in a flutter over hosting the first party that had ever really been his. A bit of distraction was perfectly understandable. She'd simply have to get him alone sometime later, and someplace quieter.
There was a rustle of fine cloth and she turned to find Victor at her side, bowing and greeting her politely. His manner was perfectly tuned -- friendly without being overfamiliar, and she mentally accorded him style points for that. "A pleasure, indeed, Captain," she said, honestly enough. She was incapable of love, but she liked him more than most people. The cavalry officer was useful, smart, and cut a very fine figure in his uniform.
"I was just speaking with your pupil, the King," she said, flipping open her fan with a graceful flick of her wrist. "An impressive party he's managed to put together, especially given his youth and the short notice. He seems rather ... caught up in it." However little she thought of him, Sylvie was neither gauche enough nor foolish enough to criticize him openly or directly, but the implication that some matters should be handled by servants was there, unspoken.
|| tagged: Marie || notes: none yet || lyrics: "Black Unicorn" by Heather Alexander |
Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!
[/quote]
|
|
Deleted
Posts: 0
Joined: May 9, 2024 5:13:33 GMT -5
|
Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2013 14:41:43 GMT -5
Though she pitied Percy's pain, there was nothing to do to keep him still. Even if they hadn't been dancing and walking at this event, he would have been off doing some foolish adventure, so this was probably the better. His wounds would have to heal eventually. Even though she knew him now and was aware the Pimpernel was a man and not just a legend, her husband still seemed somewhat invincible to her.
Terrible theatrics aside, of course. She scoffed into her drink, waiting until the amused passersby were out of sight and earshot before she looked between Percy and Marie in greater concern.
She had been like that once, and perhaps she was still – reckless, childish. How passionately she and Percy had loved at the beginning! And they did still. They were no longer young though, and she wished that she and Percy could return to England together as well. She was quite insistent upon not going without him.
Marguerite gave her husband a pretty smile, not fazed by his teasing. It was better than coldness; he could not be too angry with her. As much as she joked about wanting him to be quieter from time to time, the worst was when he was silent. Arguments, she could handle; jests were her forte. But he was still just as chivalrous as ever, and though that was in his nature, she liked to believe that he stood out of his affection for her as well. She eased gracefully down onto the bench; sitting was never easy in an elaborate dress, especially not now. It had been great fun before to dress up and have the crowd's eye on her before, and seemed worth any discomfort incurred, but it was more tiresome than ever in her condition. Which, of course, Percy still hadn't a clue about.
“Sir Percy,” she replied, throwing his third person back at him, “is a perfect gentleman. And I always admire him when he stands up.” This was said innocently as she took another sip of her drink. She would let her husband and her old friend discuss their plans uninterrupted.
|
|