LIBERTE
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Post by LIBERTE on Sept 12, 2015 16:40:57 GMT
LET THEM EAT CAKE Welcome to the Masked Ball! Please delight in the pleasures the King Of France is treating you to, dance the night away...but beware...for the night holds many dangers!
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Post by KING HENRI D'ARTOIS on Sept 14, 2015 19:13:11 GMT
Sophia - Now things get more interesting |
Henri couldn’t help but be excited about the Fete tonight.
He knew deep down he probably shouldn’t be happy about it. There were a lot of problems thanks to his “brilliant plan” and he just wished he’d kept his mouth shut and never even mentioned the idea for the party. But he hadn’t. In a moment of excitement he’d blurted it out, and then in traditional fashion they’d just taken the idea away from him and messed it all up. The Chouannerie was very good at messing things up. Henri had started to believe it was their biggest talent.
Despite the fact that he knew he shouldn’t be looking forward to the party given how messed up it was, like an obvious sign of the sickness which addled the minds of some of the French aristocracy, he couldn’t help but be looking forward to the event. After all, he was still young, and there was precious little chance to celebrate and party nowadays. Perhaps if he’d chosen to live a different kind of lifestyle.. but he hadn’t and wouldn’t lead a lifestyle which would make life harder for his people. A simple life without ridiculous extravagance was better. That didn’t mean he wanted to give up his French Rococo room or his wardrobe of fine clothes, or not have food to eat, but there were ways to live life as an aristocrat without such excesses that it literally took his citizen’s food money to sustain him in the lap of luxury. A life of more modesty was certainly befitting of a king in the midst of the kind of trouble his people were in.
And because of those choices, he rarely had the chance to put aside his cares and just celebrate. Even tonight that wouldn’t be possible. He would enjoy himself.. but there was no way he could put aside his worries thanks to the ‘handiwork’ which had been done to his party. But at least maybe he could try to have an enjoyable time since the party was going to happen regardless. He had initially suggested a party to which anyone would be welcome to attend regardless of how much money they had or what their family’s “standing” was. He had thought a good night away from the numerous problems might at least help the mood of the country. The plan hadn’t lasted long before becoming a stratified overkill event which only the aristocratic members of society were to attend. The Chouannerie had all looked at him like an idiot when he had presented his plan to them. Henri was starting to get used to being made to feel quite silly, though he knew he wasn’t, in that room.
Nevertheless, what was going to happen would happen and he could choose to enjoy it or not. And so he chose to at least attempt to have a nice time. A few outfits were chosen and lain out for him so he could decide which he wanted to wear. He chose a brown and gold outfit made of fine cloth. It wasn’t new, but he hadn’t worn it recently, and he liked that outfit. Albeit it did come with a codpiece (a small one admittedly — not one of the big ridiculous ones — but still. Nevertheless, that was what was considered in fashion and so it was what he wore. Dressing like a child wouldn’t get him the respect in his own rite as an adult he wanted to have — needed to have if he was ever going to get the Chouannerie under control.
He continued to dress, muddling over the messy and dangerous political games he was playing with the Chouannerie. Perhaps he could find some way to present this party in a better light.. maybe.. And if he couldn’t do that at least he could look forward to having a less solitary evening than usual. There would be good food, beautiful music, and dancing. And Henri -loved- to dance. It was not the usual pastime of most boys his age, but he had been raised a fil-de-France — a son of France. Knowing how to dance had been an important part of his younger years even though he had spent most of them in exile. He hoped there would be a lot of active dances — maybe even a Volte. He was finally strong enough to dance that one if he didn’t choose too heavy a partner. He grinned in excitement as he finished dressing and fixing his hear and putting on his slippered shoes.
The excitement of the evening had almost caused him to forget one of the biggest complications of the whole night until he saw a small rolled piece of paper with a street name written on it which he had placed on his bedside table. Perfectly innocuous to anyone else, to Henri it was far more meaningful. Ever since he had become friendly with the girl named Eponine and her sister Azelma and the other girl who often was near them — Renee he was pretty certain — it seemed they’d been getting him out of sticky spots. First, Eponine had been with him on a tour of the slums where he gave the poorest and sickest medicines, clothing, and good food. That time he had been dressed like the others there — like a poor boy — to avoid drawing attention to himself. He hadn’t expected to ever see Eponine again. After all, she was just a connection one of his Toy Soldiers had found to guide him around Paris. But he had seen her again — and not at too soon a moment, either. He had met all three girls on an afternoon when he had taken his monkey to a hospital to see children. Of course, he’d had to sneak out of the palace to be allowed to do this. But it had been worth it to see the looks on the children’s faces at getting to hold and pet a monkey. Most of them had only seen pictures if even that. Of course, he couldn’t dress like a starving street rat and expect to be let into a hospital, and so he had dressed much more middle class. It was only after that he had run into Eponine. The monkey had an unfortunate fondness for pistachios , and when a seller appeared calling the name of the nut, Capitaine Singe had leaped out of Henri’s rucksack and disappeared into the busy streets. It had been right about that time that Henri saw Eponine. He would have preferred not to meet her again wearing a different disguise as it might well alert anyone with a sharp mind that something odd was up. But he hadn’t had a choice if he ever wanted to see his monkey again. And his monkey had been a special gift from Eduard which was as close to a best friend . And so he had enlisted the help of Eponine and her friends in tracking down the mischievous monkey.
Since then, he had the distinct feeling that at least Eponine wondered who he really was. He could only hope she wouldn’t deduce the truth. At least all three girls hadn’t seen him dressed in two different ways — so they wouldn’t be talking about it with each other. Three minds were much more formidable than one, after all. But, after the day in which they’d worked together to retrieve Henri’s monkey, the girls had invited him — he would daresay begged him, actually — to come to party. He had been excited about a ‘real’ party. He suspected it might be much different than the types of parties he was used to attending within the safety of the castle walls. He wasn’t sure what he expected to be different beyond the types of people and probably that the party would be louder, crazier, and less refined than those parties. Like any boy his age who longed for adventure and more experiences, this piqued his interest and made him excited to attend the party.
Well, that was until they told him the date of course. It was tonight. The SAME night as the party in the palace which the Chouannerie had messed up so badly. At first, he’d done the sensible thing and tried to backpedal as quickly as he could, but the girls had begged and insisted that he come to the street party. And he certainly couldn’t tell them the truth about where he needed to be that night. Nor could he just not show up as that wouldn’t be polite. Even though these were just gamines, they were still young ladies and Henri had been raised to treat young ladies with a certain respect and dignity. No.. standing them up wasn’t an option. Especially in case they got into a dangerous situation. Henri wasn’t sure that he was a match for a full grown man who was strong, but maybe if they got into trouble he could at least scare the offender off somehow. Maybe. Either way, he knew he needed to go to both parties.
The problem would not, surprisingly, be the Chouannerie. He could likely count on them to drunk within a few hours. No.. the problem would with be the spymaster Chauvelin. The republican and the boy king had a rather strange relationship. For the past two years Chauvelin had been educating the boy on all the things he would need to know if he ever wanted to rule France on his own, and he had been teaching the spymaster that it was possible to have the freedoms he wanted while still having a monarchy as well. It was a convoluted but much loved mentorship between the two of them. But Chauvelin was tricky and hard to fool. Nonetheless, Henri would have to find a way. He didn’t care for the man to figure out he was sneaking out to visit the street party — even if there was a good reason behind it. Deep down he knew seeing what was going on there might be important even if Eponine hadn’t invited him. It was just then he could have sent one of the Toy Soldiers. Now, he needed to go himself. But.. you only lived once.. right?
Henri finished dressing and fed some fruit from a plate he hadn’t touched to Capitaine Singe before putting the mischievous little monkey in his cage and seeing the Chasse had water before shutting the two animals carefully in his room. In a niche behind a stairwell on the way downstairs he hid his clothes for the street party. If he was lucky, he could sneak back here to change in the shadows of a curtain and make off while no one was looking and be back before anyone noticed he was gone. Hopefully. Of course it would require a miracle for Chauvelin not to notice but Henri could deal with that problem after tonight.
Little did the boy king know as he went amongst the finely dressed aristocrats that he would have far more things to deal with and bigger problems before the end of the evening. Bigger problems indeed. For now, though, he was just going to enjoy the party. He smiled at one of the young ladies and gave a nod to them causing the group to burst into giggles and his cheeks to redden. Why did they all have to giggle all together that way? He blushed deeper before going to get a glass of punch and staking out the crowd to see who was there.
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Post by SIR PERCIVAL BLAKENEY on Sept 17, 2015 19:48:34 GMT
Let Them eat cake! “Sink me! Your taylors have betrayed you! T'wood serve you better to send THEM to Madam Guillotine” . What a delight! A ball filled to the hilt with Frenchies, Percy was certainly in his element and quite frankly he couldn't contain his excitement. He'd worn his best suit made by his favourite tailor to his very specific instructions. Sir Percy was a gentleman of class and flare, his cravat symbolized that perfectly. It was clean, crisp and tied with the very flare he prided himself on. It stood to attention perfectly shaped and mocked the cravats that sat limply around their owners necks.
Percy let out a bellowing laugh which resonated around the ballroom. He had arrived with his wife, but for appearances sake the two had split for a short time. They could cover more ground if they were separate. He could not help but let his eyes wander from the group to search for his wife. She looked spectacular this evening, no different to how she looked all those years ago when he had met her at the royal dinner party. It was funny how things changed. That royal family was now dead, executed by their own people and yet here they were in the same building celebrating the rein of a new King.
He laughed again, his reputation proceeded him and he had quickly managed to gain a small group of people who were all begging him to entreat them with one of his rhymes. You see...he was a poet and he certainly knew it!
To those around him he was merely an Englishman and a foolish one at that. He waved his quizzing glass around, foppishly smiling at those beside him, it was unlikely anyone would guess he was The Scarlet Pimpernel! The idea of this man stealing Aristocrats under the very eye of Robespierre was absurd. Tonight though Percy had other matters to attend to. He had the job of keeping a close eye on the boy King. He wanted to know who moved in the Kings circles. Who was influencing him and if there were any clear dangerous to his new and precious linage.
'A Ditty?' He exclaimed loudly, as he was asked about his poetry. 'Ah but of course you must of heard of my most prided Poem!' He laughed, scanning those nearby him with his quizzing glass as he answered the question of a French Aristocrat. 'I call it The Scarlet Pimpernel, By Sir Percival Blakeney Baronet!'
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Post by PAUL CHAUVELIN on Sept 22, 2015 15:17:03 GMT
[nospaces] [attr="class","YAMtable"] [attr="class","YAMtitle"] Paul Chauvelin [attr="class","YAMfooter"] [attr="class","YAMcontainer"] [attr="class","YAMcontent"] | [attr="class","YAMtext"] 'I call it The Scarlet Pimpernel, By Sir Percival Blakeney Baronet!' [break][break] Apparently that was the only one Percy had, Chauvelin thought uncharitably, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, which had too much to do already. [break][break] As was his usual wont, he kept to the fringes of the evening's festivities, observing from the shadows and sidelines. On the surface, it looked like a lovely, happy party. The ballroom was beautiful -- the marble floor gleaming, the gold and gilt polished to a high shine, every candle alight and setting the crystal chandeliers sparkling. And the people were beautiful, too, or at least as much so as expensive cosmetics and even more costly couture could arrange. The fountains chimed, harmonizing with the quiet music and murmur of voices. [break][break] The old spymaster, however, had not survived almost half a century of blood-soaked French politics by believing in appearances. He was fully aware that outside the walls, just a few scant yards away, Paris still seethed with revolutionary tension that could boil over at any time at the slightest excuse. Still, given his choice, he would have preferred the torchlit and mob-dominated streets of the capital, for within these walls practically every single explosive element of his life had gathered all in one place and at one time. [break][break] There was the king, his secret protege, a relationship of which both the aristocrats and Chauvelin's own republican allies would violently disapprove. Then there was his former lover, Margo, and her present husband, Percy, who happened to be his greatest and most cunning nemesis. And his own present lover, Marie, who believed him to be a minor royal functionary, along with her son, Henri, who knew he was anything but. And Henri’s lover – the thought made him grind his teeth – Chauvelin’s own illegitimate daughter, Helene. [break][break] As if that weren’t enough, he was fairly sure the King planned at some point to slip away from this particular gilded cage, to attend the party the boy had wanted to have all along, the one in the streets of Paris. Despite the warmth of the room, the thought made Chauvelin’s blood run cold. Even if the boy’s true identity remained undiscovered, the Paris darkness held perils aplenty for a sheltered youth abroad alone. [break][break] As he couldn’t physically prevent the King from leaving, the best Chauvelin could do was ensure that he wasn’t alone. To that end, he had stashed a suit of more common clothes, along with his swordstick, in one of the palace’s many hidden places. If le Roi slipped away, the old spymaster would be right behind him. [break] [break] |
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Post by HENRI ROQUEFEUIL-BLANQUEFORT on Sept 26, 2015 16:18:45 GMT
If it were not expedient, Henri would not have come to the party. His mother was there, which hardly helped matters--rather, her presence made it more important that he behave as if everything were perfectly normal. Behave as if his politics did not extend to armed insurrection, and instead found their highest outlet in... what, exactly? The occasional complaint? Running away from his responsibilities? He had always preferred forests over ballrooms, but a ballroom that contained the King of France was a little more unique.
He would have preferred to send someone else. But Helene had come, and he would not send her alone--or even with another. She would be safe enough, but he still couldn't bring himself to do it. He had come for Helene, he had come to keep up appearances, he had come to learn what he could.
And he knew, further, that he did not like Chauvelin's presence. He didn't like the Englishman reciting what he supposed was poetry of his own composition. He didn't like the heat of the room or the crowd or his own formal attire. He had been taught the manners for these kinds of occasions, but he didn't make attending them a common practice.
He glanced at Helene as the Englishman announced his poem, wondering if she found the situation quite as ridiculous as he did. She hadn't remained in the woods quite as long, after all.
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Post by LADY HELENE DE ROCHAMBEAU on Sept 29, 2015 15:24:58 GMT
The bright lighting and gentle music certainly set a stark contrast from the serenity of the forest. Helene felt out of place, like she didn't belong among the finery and false chatter of the ballroom. She had never been suited to this way of life, but she had never felt so out of place as she felt tonight. Already she was missing the stillness of the forest at dusk, with only the sound of crackling fires and children playing. She couldn't imagine ever returning to such a life. She would be content living away from the glory of Paris for the rest of her life.
She stood close to Henri, her dark eyes scanning the ballroom with anxiety. She was here to help Henri, maybe among these pompous aristocrats would be someone with the means to help Henri's cause. She wore a dress borrowed from Henri's mother, it was heavy and suffocating, quite the opposite of what Helene had become accustomed to. 'We seek him here...' The loud melodic voice of the English Aristocrat reached Helene and she glanced at Henri, trying hard to stifle a giggle. How utterly unbelievable the English were! What cheek! For him to be reciting such a poem amongst some of the very people who didn't appreciate the Pimpernels existence. She expected a number of people here would happily thank him for saving them from the guillotine, but still! The man had gall...or he was completely dimwitted...it was hard to tell with the English.
Leaning in close to Henri she whispered 'remind me again why we are here?' Even living in the forest Henri had managed to remain impeccably dressed, but his being dressed in formal attire was something quite different and Helene couldn't help but marvel at his appearance.
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Post by KING HENRI D'ARTOIS on Oct 4, 2015 18:04:43 GMT
Sophia - Maybe Renee should dump the punch first. Then him slip. T'would make in character sense. |
Henri moved from courtier to courtier at the party. He addressed them all regardless of the seething, writhing politics amongst the room. He knew well he was shaking hands and bidding good day to people who wished him dead along with people who supported him, but the boy king had learned early that politics was as much acting and appearances as it was actual law making and getting anything accomplished. That was certainly the case tonight!
So he put a smile on his face and sought out everyone at the party just as good decorum told him to do, saying hello to them, asking how their husband or wife was, asking how their children were, asking about how life was for them. He wasn’t sure whether the last question would actually reveal any honest answers, but at least he showed an attempt.
Of course, it couldn’t be ignored that he was looking every minute to see if now was a good time to escape into the shadows for the street party. He had warned ‘Nine and the others that he would probably be a little late. ‘There is much I am expected to accomplish from my master before I will be allowed to leave.’ he had explained. He suspected that Eponine might know more than she let on about that but it was the best he had to offer. Nonetheless, he knew her intensely clever mind needed something to keep busy so she didn’t suspect just how much more than a simple servant he was. It couldn’t be helped, though.. he had to choose the right moment to sneak out.
And so far it hadn’t come.
But it would. Patience was another well-placed skill the games of political intrigue had taught Henri. The wheel of politics rarely moved at anything but a maddeningly slow pace — except when revolutions occurred — then everything felt like it was moving a hundred speeds too fast. And that, he thought to himself, might well be all too soon. But that could be dealt with another night when he wasn’t trying to be two places at once!
It was barely long after that when he knew it was time to announce supper. So, he leaned over to the man introducing those who had entered and who would call the dances later and asked him, in his loud, booming voice, to announce that it was time that everyone should take a plate from the table laden with food at the back of the room. In that area, small, intimate tables were placed for those who wished to be seated, but Henri suspected most might eat while milling about as people rarely had so much time to visit.
For this distraction, he had a feeling he would be thankful. In the hustle and bustle of the supper, he knew he’d have a chance to sneak out at some point. |
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