Plottings!

[Gabrielle Marsters]

Who: Gabrielle Marsters and Aurele Cyrille
Timeline: Shortly before Winsol, nearly a year after purge
Summary: will fill in after
Status Active

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Gabrielle leaned back in the chair in the Steward’s Office, her stocking-clad feet propped up on the desk as she turned the pages of the adventure she had picked up this morning and had been avidly reading since. The main character was an archaeologist, and he and his team were trying to win the race to collect all the pieces of an ancient, secret Relic of Power that, if the right ritual was performed at the right place at the right day and in time one Territory would be able to dominate all others for one thousand years. And all Rafael and his team needed to do was get one piece and keep it hidden until that day was over and the Realms would be protected from a millennium of servitude. Gabby loved reading novels like this; she liked the suspense and riddles, but most of all – in the end, the good guys always won and everything worked out for the best. It wasn’t reality, but as far as she was concerned books were meant to be an escape, so why not indulge in fantasy? These Adventure/Thriller novels had replaced Romances for her. Those she couldn’t read anymore; she always ended up in tears, and would be snarly for a day or two after finishing and then would inevitably get prodded about why she was in a temper. So she’d stopped reading about love. No, adventures were better, just excitement and no mushy feelings or yearnings for a bucket of ice cream at some point.

A knock sounded on the door of the Steward’s Office and Gabrielle swung her legs off of the desk and tucked her book into one of the desk drawers and pulling out a ledger and opening it. Aurele had yet to appointe a Steward as finding someone who wouldn’t be opportunistic with the Territory’s money was a challenge. And so far she and the Warlord Prince had been splitting the work, though some of that splitting had also been hours spent together helping the male who had not been trained for this sort of life. Aurele was far from stupid, but like she’d be oblivious to certain things he knew, the subtleties of court life were still new for him, and she was teaching him. In all honesty they needed each other – a true symbiotic relationship.

The Black Widow Queen shoved her feet into her black and white shoes, and stood a moment to smooth her black and white plaid pencil skirt and white blouse. Once satisfied that nothing about her apparel might embarrass Hayll’s new court, she called, “Enter.”

The court’s butler opened the door, and announced a messenger from Little Terreille, and Gabrielle raised an eyebrow at that. A messenger? From Kaeleer? Mother Night. By the time the Kaeleeran messenger entered the room around the butler; the young Queen had risen from her seat and walked around the desk. “Welcome to Hayll, Warlord,” Gabrielle said, Offering her palms, face down, to the messenger. With a nod, the young short-lived male returned the greeting before rustling in his bag for an envelope.

He handed it to her with an accompanying “Lady.” Gabrielle accepted the parchment, and then gestured towards one of the chairs before the desk. She sat on the other side, grabbed the letter opener, and slid it along the seal, opening the rather ornate envelope. Then she slid the parchment out of its casing and found, instead of a letter, an invitation:

Dear Hayll,

I cordially invite you to the first annual Inter-Realm Ball which will be held at Marteau Estate, the Court Seat of Little Terreille, in Goth, on the 25th of December. Enclosed with this invitation are Day Passes to Little Terreille for each of your court as well as thirty extra passes that you may spread amongst respectable members of your Territory, this only applies to those coming from Terreille. The ball is being held in the hopes of boosting relations between the Realms, and so that the people of Terreille have the opportunity to hear a rather special announcement I have to make.

We hope you attend,

Yours Sincerely,
Penelope Ithica,
Priestess Queen of Little Terreille

Gabrielle read over the invite several times, and found that a few things irked her. This Queen of Little Terreille claimed to be wishing to boost relations between the Realms, and yet was only offering day passes. Certainly not enough time to truly meet each ruler and get to know each other and talk of possible trade. Terreille was floundering after that massive unleashing of power a year ago from Kaeleer’s Army, and many Territories had folded under the pressure to produce a good ruler, and others had already been taken by Queens that were almost as bad as the ones they’d had under Dorothea. And also limiting to thirty people and the Territory Court – a restriction only applying to those from Terreille. As far as the Gabrielle was concerned, this seemed an excuse to show Terreille what it was lacking and then send them home. Give them a taste of the untainted Shadow Realm and then send them back to their own Tainted shores.

She sighed. Aurele, however, couldn’t afford not to go. Hayll wasn’t in so much turmoil that it would implode without him if he was gone for a day. And if he didn’t go it would look terrible, not just for him, but for Hayll. She doubted he was going to like this much.

Her smile, however, didn’t waver as she rose from her seat. “Thank you for delivering this,” she said. “But before I send you off with an answer, I will need to speak with Prince Cyrille. Trystan,” she said, turning her attention back to the Rose-Jewelled Prince. “Would you please show our guest to a suit of rooms and inform the kitchen that we’ll be having a guest at dinner?” The butler nodded. “Thank you.” She smiled again. “Now gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”

With that, Gabrielle walked around the desk, invitation in hand, and headed down the corridors and to Aurele’s private study. She could sense him in there. Gabrielle rapped softly on the door a few times. “Aurele,” she called. “We’ve had a messenger, and I think his letter will be of interest to you.”

[Aurele Cyrille]

Aurele's arms were stretched over the top of his desk, his head resting on the cool wood. The cold felt good against his forehead. His head wanted to explode. He had tried to stay in his public study all day, the one that was easily accessible to the entire palace, but by the time lunch had ended and he still hadn't gotten a chance to eat, he had given up and hidden in his private office. He wouldn't tell his court that he was running, he had a little too much pride for that but he had to admit to himself that he was running.

But at least he was productive. He had gotten a fair amount of work done. Not nearly as much as he had thought he could. His expectations for this job had been completely unrealistic. There were mounds after mounds of paperwork to do. So much so that he wasn't able to spend time to go and find a steward. A real steward. He felt bad that Gaby was taking care of the majority of the work. She had become his advisor in all things proper and court life related and well, everything he had never had training in. He felt really bad.

The truth was, he didn't know what he was doing. He was making this up as he went along. It was a learn on the job kind of deal. He didn't know the stuff as first nature and the amount of headaches he was having was increasing daily. There were so many things to fit into his brain and figure out. He wasn't spending nearly as much time on the training fields and that really needed to change. So maybe he still had his ripped muscles but he still wanted to keep working on them.

With the announcement of a visitor, he made a loud, audible grunt, using craft to open the door for Gaby. He wondered if she would lecture him on sitting there with his shirt crumpled in a ball on the floor like she was apt to do at times. She was really strict on his wardrobe and he still didn't understand why. He raised an arm up to take the letter. He felt a little bad for not greeting her but he didn't want to raise his head up. Too much work.

He slid the paper across the desk and rolled his cheek onto his arm. He looked at it confused a bit. He read it again. "Do we have thirty respectable members who can go to this thing?" He asked. "And if we go, are you going to dress me up in some horrible suit? I hate those things." He rolled his head off his arm and back onto the desk, now placing his head on the invitation.

[Gabrielle Marsters]

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow as all she received in the way of greeting was a groan and a Craft-opened door. She walked through the doorway, the three inch heels clicking on the hardwood floor of Aurele’s office. The young Queen closed the door behind her and then started walking towards the desk at the other end of the room. Another eyebrow rose as she noted the crumpled shirt on the floor. The curtains were closed, and in the dim light she had a hard time seeing the Warlord Prince she now technically served. Gabrielle walked a few more steps and then paused, mentally swore, and then bent over to remove her shoes, leaving them beside Aurele’s shirt. The Warlord Prince was having a hard time adjusting to his new life, and she knew he was getting headaches often; sometimes sound added irritation to the pain, and other times it didn’t, but she wasn’t going to take the chance of causing Aurele pain.

As she slid the invitation onto the desk for him to read, Gabrielle watched his motions with concern in her eyes for the exceptionally dark-Jewelled male. His questions, however, eased the worry lining her brow. If he was feeling well-enough to joke half-heartedly, then she wouldn’t need to call a Healer, or offer him a brew of her own. He would, however, be subject to her fussing. Fair was only fair after all.

Her stocking-clad feet moved almost silently over the floor and she walked around Aurele’s desk and lifted up his head, vanishing the invitation before something happened to it. Then Gabrielle slid herself onto his desk, and laid his head in her lap and ran her fingers through his long dark tresses for a bit before her fingers deftly found a few of the muscle attachment points on the skull and began massaging. These places were where the head gathered it’s stressed, and Gabrielle knew that it was the stress that was getting to the Warlord Prince.

Gabrielle continued her massaging, not just working on his skull, but his neck and his shoulders. “Aurele,” she finally said. “You’re far too tense.” She brushed his hair away from his brow. “Have you even eaten today?” The Queen smiled softly down at him. “You’d best be with that Jewel you’re wearing. You’ll make yourself weak and ill if you don’t.” She brushed her fingers tenderly through his hair again.

“And yes, we’ll need to go to this party. As to thirty people, we’ll have to think about that.” Her lips quirked a little. “And yes, we will have to dress up. Balls are black tie only event. Just think, my first official party as your First Escort. Been a while since I’ve had an excuse to buy me a pretty new dress.” Yes, she was teasing him a little now.

“Buuuuut... we don’t have to decide right now. I had Trystan show him to a room and have the kitchen told we’d have a guest for dinner.” Now her grin turned impish. “All work and no play makes Rele a dull boy. What do you say that we raid the kitchens, and wander off for a day in the woods with a picnic? I could use a day with the land, and I think you could too. We’ll hit up a jog and a hike; how does that sound?”

[Aurele Cyrille]

Tense. Yes tense was one way of describing what went through Aurele's muscles. His entire body ached by the end of most days due to the fact that he was not using them to beat on things or fight or do anything physical like that. No. He sat at a desk all day, hunched over a desk, reading and writing and doing paperwork. He was really beginning to hate paperwork and anything that sounded like that word.

The only thing more frustrating at times was the witch who was trying to help him. Aurele knew that her circumstances in life had been incredibly difficult and that she hadn't exactly learned about personal boundries. He knew that she wanted to help him but he also knew that she did not know better. For that reason, he didn't move his head until he felt a tug. She smelled so good and musty and it only reminded him that he was also sexually frustrated. Someone had pointed out that Gabs hid in her house more after he brought people home and he knew what her hiding meant. That never ended well.

As he lifted his head and stood, pulling her to her feet, he spoke. "Do you remember when we had that talk about the best ways you can help a male without pulling at him sexually? I think I forgot to tell you about where the best places were." He knew she wasn't going to like what he had to say. She may spit and snarl but he would give into going outside. "Never put anyone's head in your lap except your lover. The crook in your neck is much more calming for us." He said, just holding her and taking in her scent until he felt better. "Thank you."

He offered her an arm and began processing the questions and statements that had gotten lost while her scent had invaded his mind. He sat her down on the couch and took a seat opposite her, still not ready to give up the darkness of his study quite yet. "I don't want to put everything off. It will just be more stress later. We have our backers from the war that we could consider right? They would make good choices. We need someone to take care of stuff while we are gone though. Can you just pick out whatever I'm going to wear? I'm sure I'm not going to like the amount of material on my body anyway. Oh, and I need a practice suit to do training in. I want to make sure I can move correctly in it."

He sat back a moment before giving in and laying down on his couch. He curled his arms around one of the pillows and looked at Gabby. "What kind of dress are you going to wear? You seem very excited about it. Are you going to the store or are you having one of the seamstresses do it?" He asked as he sent a message to the kitchen to make sure that Gabby's favorite dessert was in the fridge so they could steal it for their picnic.

[Gabrielle Marsters]

After a time, Aurele lifted his head and stood, pulling Gabrielle off his desk and to her own upright position. For a moment she smiled, thinking that he must have been feeling better and that she’d done something right with him for once when taking the initiative with touch, but as he opened his mouth her smile faltered and her eyes instead found a piece of wall over his shoulder. Failed again. He held her, and eventually thanked her but the only change in her demeanour was that her eyes found the floor as she leaned against the desk a moment.

She’d lost so much and she’d lost it so fast. All of her family, and everyone she’d ever loved and cared for. To some degree Aurele helped fill that void, that need she had for wanting a family. If she was honest with herself, Gabrielle knew that what she felt for the Warlord Prince was something different then the kinship of family, and the camaraderie of friendship; what she felt for him was more then that. Still, she knew he didn’t feel the same, and after a few bumbling incidents of her creation she’d done her damndest to ignore the feelings she had and pretend they didn’t exist. Unfortunately, trying to bury her feelings hadn’t been possible and whenever Aurele would bring someone home she’d practically flee to the little cottage he’d had built for her on the Palace grounds. What she did there varied, but even she knew that it wasn’t healthy, and she just hoped that Aurele didn’t know the extent of it.

When he’d first taken the Territory seat, Gabrielle had constructed an illusion to hide the scarring on her wrists from her cutting. She’d told Aurele that it was unseemly for her to be seen with them, and small illusions were commonplace enough, particularly in those who had survived Dorothea. What she’d said was true, though only part of the reason – she’d gotten worse. Much worse. To the point that she kept blood replenishing brews in her house and studio. The Healer had no idea who she was, just that she received payment for a product. Not just her wrists now, but her arms were a pattern of thin scars, some even going the length of her arms when she’d a few legitimate attempts at ending her life. But most of the time she was just looking for a physical release from her mental anguish. Pain for pain. Distraction.

So to once again have him rebuke her, and simply for wanting to make him feel better, made her want to scream at him. Gabrielle bit down on her lip to keep from doing just that. The Queen took his arm and allowed him to lead her where he would. He sat her down, and she listened to his words, nodding here and there, and almost rolled her eyes at his comment about the suit. Well, she thought in annoyance. Perhaps if he’d learn to wear clothes like a normal person he’d have a few less problems.

“I’ll look after the suit, Aurele, but you will still need to go to a fitting and have a seamstress take your measurements. You’ll also need to decide which of your Jewels you’ll be wearing so I know what to toss around for a colour palate.”

He flopped down on the couch and asked her about the dress. “I’m not sure yet, to be honest. I’ve not exactly had time to think about it yet.” Gabrielle’s voice was a clear indicator that her mind wasn’t completely on the topic at hand any longer. Her feet tapped on the floor a few moments before she rose from her seat and went and stood at the window. Her fingers brushed the material aside as she stared out at the grounds; yearning for an opportunity to be out with the land.

“Aurele,” she started, without looking at him. “I try, I really do, but I just can’t ever seem to do it right as all you ever seem to have on the brain is sex. Did it occur to you that the only way I could have offered you the crook of my neck would have been to sit in your lap? Would that not have been worse?” She made a small sound of annoyance. Gabrielle opened her mouth to begin speaking again, but then stopped.

Again she crossed the room. Gabrielle picked up her shoes and started putting them back on her feet; hoping to get out of the room before she got some words of sort that would only add to her current feelings of inadequacy where the Warlord Prince was concerned. She swallowed the ball in her throat. “Let me know once you’re certain about which Jewel you’ll wear, and I’ll think and then make an appointment with a seamstress for you.” Finally she managed to pull both shoes on. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

[Aurele Cyrille]

Aurele hated, HATED that damned cottage. He knew what went on out there. He knew what she did. He had tried to give her an outlet that wouldn't cause herself any harm by making the art studio and yet, he knew, that all she seemed to do was create horrible art out of her own flesh. After a few weeks, he quit pulling the memories from the walls, knowing he would not like it. He knew the scars were getting worse because the web that hid the scars had creeped ever so slightly up her arm. It pissed him off and at least once a day, he wanted to rip that damn cottage apart by hand. No jewel in sight.

But he couldn't do that. He knew she still needed that place, somewhere where she was in control and what she did was her own business. Even if it did piss him off. He thought about what she said and buried his head in the couch. He still didn't understand anything about the wardrobe requirements of a court. What the hell did it matter if he wore a suit, which was a lie in his book, or his regular clothes? Those were his personality and what he was comfortable in. He was not a suit wearing, butt kissing, smooth talking (while, not smooth in court matters) court monkey. Wasn't there a suit that could work with a red and an ebon-gray. What if he changed his mind? He wasn't going to. He was going to wear his jewel of rank but he liked having options.

He heard Gabs get up and move to the window. He turned in the couch to watch her, the sliver of light searing the back of his eyes. He knew Gabs was trying. So was he. Hell, they didn't know eachother a year ago and Aurele had, for the first time, taken a woman in for the sole purpose of caring for her. It wasn't that he had sex on the mind all the time. All men did. It was the way they were wired. Sure, there were days when thoughts of sex were pulling at him particularly hard and he had no idea how he did his job. It was those days that he brought someone home or didn't come home. He had started gravitating towards the second option because of Gabby's reactions but what was he going to do? He needed sex. Wanted sex and he was not about to put Gabby into that situation.

He waited until she was at the door before he spoke up. He was bothered by the way she had just given up on everything. She didn't fight. He knew this was hard and learning things was hard. "You know something. Women are just as difficult to figure out. Especially ones who still don't think I care about their well being. So you can either go back to your cottage and fuck your arms up or you can go on that picnic you promised me." May the Darkness be merciful but that was going to hurt.

[Gabrielle Marsters]

As her hand landed on the handle she cringed at the sound of Aurele’s voice. Dammit! couldn’t he have just let her leave and lick her wounds and get on with her day? Apparently not. Her hand tightened on the handle as she bit down on her lip to try and avoid the tears that wanted to fall. Why was it that he could always do this to her? Rip her apart with just a few words when she was trying to make a retreat before she made an ass of herself. Hurt, however, turned to anger as he continued talking, and anger let the tears fall as she pulled her shoes from her feet and threw one at the Warlord Prince.

“Firstly, Aurele, I know that you care about me, but just how I need to learn how to appreciate certain things better, you need to learn how to deal with a witch who is not your aunt who cares about you and isn’t just around for a fuck-and-suck!” Vulgarity was a clear indication of just how much Aurele had now upset the young Queen. She opened her mouth, about to throw out an “I love you,” but re-routed herself just in time from lying open that wound again. “And that cabin is mine, Aurele, and what I do in there is none of your damned business!” She threw the other shoe with enough force that when it hit the wall, her eyes too blurry for proper aim, that the heel snapped. “I cope, Aurele, in the only way I know how. That pain distracts me from the other pain, and after a while I can settle my emotions.

“Though in this case you seem to have once again forgotten that I’m a Queen – though not that I can blame you as I clearly suck at being one – but I was going to go and do a little gardening.” She picked up the vase that was within reach. “Though now, now I just want to throw things!” And she threw that at him too.

“So you can either go back to your cottage and fuck your arms up or you can go on that picnic you promised me.” Those words kept playing over and over again in her head, and each time she got angrier. It felt like an ultimatum. How dare he give her one of those when half the time what drove her to “fuck up her arms” was the things he did and said? The tears momentarily stopped as an angry sort of haunted look took over her golden eyes. She watched the Warlord Prince a moment before she ripped the arms of her blouse open with her nails and then dropped the illusion that had been in place for months and then she thrust them in front of his face, letting him see the extent of what she’d done to herself the last few months. Some marks now just scars, thin and thick, and other’s fresh enough that it was clear they were no more then a few days old.

“Why is it, Aurele, that whenever I try and retreat a little to protect myself that you insist on hurting me?”