[Lavandula-for relaxation] -- Briseis x Luca

[vanner]

Any garden was such a relaxing place. Herb gardens, however, topped her list of favorite spots to be of all time. The scents and the colors were enough to woo any common passerby, but the biology behind it made her itch for it, desire for it.

In her finest bodice (a Mediterranean aquamarine corset with crystal embellishments, laced up the back and bringing bringing out her identically hued eyes and bringing out her ruby tresses) and her black bustle underneath the flowing skirt (mimicking the twilight as the sun began it's descent to earth), she could hardly keep herself from dancing in the magic which was the garden. The Echinacea, Cinnamon, Fennel, Dill, and various other herbs enchanted her nostrils, and in her mind she imagined herself as a young girl, sitting at the single child's desk in his greenhouse laboratory, as she spoke and respoke and memorized and rememorized the various medicinal properties of roots and twigs, flowers and seeds. Briseis pondered if the royal doctor knew of their properties, or if the ideas her father and her Nation had acquired over the years would only seem like witchcraft.

With her ivory hand she brushed a bushel of lavender, watching with scrutiny as its pollen grains drifted from the plant and danced in the wind. Her position in this strange land was a dangerous one. Briseis stood on a miniscule tightrope, one she had to balance with reason and religion. She had to make the right move, at the right time, or she would be almost instantly killed. Parchment didn't move quickly enough to save her from a conviction of treason or witchcraft in this foreign land.

Briseis let her arm, wrapped in a sheer ebony shawl over her shoulders, slide halfheartedly back to her side. She had had all the time in theworld in her seemingly eternal trip here to think of the pros and cons, every bad situation and everything she must do to succeed. But here, in this country, housed in a lavish inn with only one of her ladies in waiting, she was feeling the realism of it; this was no longer a dream, or an idea, or a hypothesis, this was the start of the life she was supposed to live, and the goals she was supposed to meet.

Her alabaster nose crinkled, and a half-smile twitched to her face.

There was nothing more damned exciting to her than this.

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[ollie]

luca hated coming to the castle. he hated knowing that his sister was in there, either dying or losing most of her strength, and he especially hated the gardens. they were so lacking; no roses, no lotuses, no tiger lilies, no reeds—the beautiful plants his sister loved most, she couldn’t look out her window to see. he rubbed the petals of a lotus flower in his hands, studying the pink, raising it to his nose slightly. zenda had looked pale and gaunt when she’d seen him, but some sort of excitement had come to her eyes when she’d recognized her brother, and the flowers he’d brought in a jug. he’d left the jug beside her table; she’d reached over and dipped her fingers into the water, eyes closing. there’d always been something spiritual about zenda; the feeling of a prophet deep in her soul, something that luca had somehow missed. they were siblings of the same parents, which had always befuddled their people. their parents had been star-crossed lovers, barely together enough to create luca, and within a few months there had been a new baby, a crying, white-haired baby. the fact that zenda had had no pigment in her hair had been enough to decide she was a prophet, rather than a partial albino.

he sighed, taking a seat on a bench. he looked down at the lotus, and his eyes stung with tears. it was ludicrous, the feeling of vulnerability. his mother (really, stand-in mother) had told him long ago that tears came from frustration, not sorrow. and he was frustrated, endlessly so, that he was losing his sister, even maybe a fraction. he was away from caine, too; he’d gone early, left caine to pack all their things. swallowing the lump in his throat, he rubbed his eyes before standing and walking onward, beginning the pick the petals. and then he saw her. red hair, pale skin, blue eyes. he didn’t quite like how she was wearing her hair—far too high, too styled and powdered. he wanted to see her hair washed, let loose—free.

“why are you so uptight?” he asked, looking around them. herbs weren’t very impressive to him—they were more zenda’s favored type of plant. she’d asked for the lotuses just to make her favorite meals, and the tiger lilies because… well, she loved water lilies. she always had. it reminded her of lake regina, which she’d always loved; it was good that she was staying here, that she could have a jar of the lake water and its beautiful flowers. she’d asked for reeds, maybe just a few, and even fish, when she’d seen that he’d lacked the total environment. he’d smiled and nodded, knowing that it could possibly worsen her illness. but what more could happen when she was already so low?

he cleared his throat, studying briseis harder. caine was at camp, and this redhead looked tasty in a way most women no longer did. she was intelligent, cultured—he could tell. but her fashion style… she was simply so uptight. he could help her unwind, and that was exactly what he wanted; for them to unwind, together, between the sheets of course. “i could help change that.” he said calmly, the suggestiveness of the offer embedded in the words.

[vanner]

"why are you so uptight?"

The voice made her start; it was the first time a voice had been directed towards her since she'd arrived here. Strange, she pondered, how one just notices a voice when it's aimed directly at you; like the tip of a sword tickling the skin on your neck... Briseis gracefully turned her head only minutely, allowing this stranger to see only the profile of her porcelain face, feigning disinterest but lending an ear to this prying man. This being her first conversation, adrenaline tickled her nerves, writhing through her like a living thing. Briseis had fumbled through formalities with the various servants and townspeople she spoke with, the ones at the inn where she resided and the many she'd met on her way to this country. This entity that spoke to her, he lusted for attention, she could hear it in the way he spoke. He was either quite rude, quite royal, or both, and here in the gardens she believed it was the latter of the three options. Her hands made their way to find themselves and her snowy fingers laced between one another, locking like the turquoise ribbon that danced up her back in her corset. Her matching eyes stared forward, further into the gardens, and she witnessed golden sunflower and various fruit bushes. Allthewhile, she listened. This was where she must start her life. This man, whoever he may be, was now very special to her, very dear; not in a specifically heart-touching way, but as a starting point. We all remember our first days.

"I could help change that."

Briseis reddened, as any modest woman would. Well, not modest, per se, but she knew how to act. Blood rushed to her face, dusting her high cheekbones. He was crude, yes. But he had to have some importance if he'd found his way to the Castle, and the gardens themselves. She looked down at the ground, turning in a graceful sway to face the lass. She kept her eyes down until her hands fixed her skirts into her palms and she crossed a leg to curtsy. pausing in this stance, she looked up at the man through her full eyelashes, stained dark with a salve her father had made her of beeswax and pigment from blackberries. Her mother, a quiet woman, had night died too early to teach her prepubescent daughter how to fool a man into letting her into his evening thoughts.

"If I had a shilling, sir, for everytime i heard such a thing."

Briseis' relaxed her muscles and released herself from her curtsy, and her Mediterranean eyes stayed towards the ground. Whomever she spoke to, deserved respect. When she had glanced at him, she had seen his lavish wear; garish indeed, something she had seen her more rural people wearing, but lavish nonetheless. He was daringly handsome, and his obscure crown hardly managed to stay on his head due to his gigantic ego. She was prepared, though; her father had taught her how to gain respect from her male counterparts. This was his dance, and he was to lead. She remained still as one of the gardens' many busts, and contemplated the vulgarity of him, his overtly sexual body language. He was no stranger to women. She knew that the bureaucracy could take as they pleased; this man could have many notches on his belt of unwanted lovers, but she bit her tongue. It was not her place, and she surely would not be one of them. Briseis argued with herself; who would say no to he? But you have to start somewhere. We all remember our first days.

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[ollie]

“if i had a shilling, sir, for every time i heard such a thing.” it was so blatantly conceited, and his lip curled almost instantly. if you had a shilling for every time you heard that. why don’t you just enjoy the attention, you stuck-up slut? she was just as used to the attention, but she had such a slimy way about it; as if she thought he was lower than her, that he was just some imbecile that wanted to court her because she had breasts. it was stereotypical, rude, and just plain ignorant to think he was like the rest—and while he was a virile man, he was in no way lewd, very rarely saying something to upset someone unless he wanted to do so. and damn, did he want to upset this stuck-up redhead. rarely ever did he touch a person without their permission, but still he stepped forward, wrapping a thick arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against him.

an evil grin spread across his handsome face. “understand me now, bitch,” he said, “i’m not amused by anyone that is vain. take a compliment, or say nothing at all. that was rude and uncalled for; and just so you know, when i mean you’re uptight, i mean i think there’s a damned tree stuck up your rear. i’m not sure anything could possibly undo that; it’s probably grown into your skin.” there was a lot factoring into his quick shift in personality, other than the fact that he did so often—he was so ruffled by zenda’s illness, he could very easily have been mean to anyone, but caine. then again, he could always be mean, and now, despite the fact that she had such a fantastic body, he let go of her, stepping back.

“so, let’s try again.” he said, tone cooled so simply. “you have beautiful hair, but you need to loosen up. properness isn’t very attractive; especially in that dress you’re wearing. very gaudy.” he said, grimacing at the bright colors. he was being insulting and he knew it, but he still didn’t like her and nothing could change that except whatever she said next. if she was insulted, all hope would be lost—but if she at least tried to act differently, to respect the fact that what she had said had been demeaning and childish, whatever came next would go over much better than what had just happened. “and i don’t typically touch people in such a manner, but you irritated me.”

( short, sorry. all i could think of. next one will be longer. )

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[vanner]

The man grabbed her. Her lip curled into a snarl, and she bared a canine in the process. Rude... She thought. Short-tempered? Yes, he was a royal. But his closeness, the smell of the river on him, he was not a royal from the area proper. But she had never been this close to a man, even of her own blood. It was her theory that intimacy, even that between family, had died with her mother. It didn't make her sad, it was merely something Briseis had lived with. And now this man had grabbed her, and pulled her close, and through the thick fabrics of her clothing she could feel the solidity of his muscles. Her eyelids fluttered, and she felt short of breath. Not specifically because of him but because of this new sensation. Any touching she did of anything was inanimate, it usually didn't touch her back.

"understand me now, bitch, i’m not amused by anyone that is vain. take a compliment, or say nothing at all. that was rude and uncalled for; and just so you know, when i mean you’re uptight, i mean i think there’s a damned tree stuck up your rear. i’m not sure anything could possibly undo that; it’s probably grown into your skin.”

Briseis was shocked. Not by the comment, by what it meant. What were the women like here? Did they allow anything with legs into their bedchambers? Apalling, he thought i spoke in seriousness...

"So, let’s try again. you have beautiful hair, but you need to loosen up. properness isn’t very attractive; especially in that dress you’re wearing. very gaudy. and i don’t typically touch people in such a manner, but you irritated me.”

[/center]And now he was insulting? Interesting. She raised her cold eyes to him with furrowed red brows, her teeth clenched and her mouth closed. She stare at him, and felt him unhand her; still, she stared into his eyes. She was a scientist; she could only analyze the things she did not understand. He was seemingly reasonable, allowing for his change to a more good natured introduction, and angry. Angry about something, although she wasn't sure what. And to dislike her wardrobe? He was obviously foreign. But she was proud, and she was not to be scared, even with her pounding heart. It didn't beat entirely out of fear, though. He wasn't to know. He obviously knew everything about him, that she was such a floozy with a lack of morality.through her next words carefully, as humor was obviously not this man's forte. Her eyes softened as she smoothed away the recent misunderstanding.

"Kind sir, where i come from, what i said was merely humorous, nothing more, and what you said was unfortunately not a compliment. I appreciate it nonetheless.

Her head lowered and she placed her body in a curtsy once more, not releasing it.

"I'm not sure of the women you categorize me with, but i do not believe i would like them. They sound troublesome; and as i am troublesome it is not in the same way. Would you please tell me your name, sir? I have never been touched by a man, it would ease my thoughts to know the name of the first to do so."

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