| An evening Trump sitting… |
| Location: | the entry hall and the southern end of the courtyard garden of Chantris Manor in Amber |
| Date: | August 21st, 14 (OOC Year 2017) |
| Summary: | Eric's son, Prince Tristan, comes running to Chantris Manor when invited to visit by Veronica. |
| Characters: | Tristan and Veronica |
| NPCs: | Alfred Butler (the Chantris Butler, briefly) |
Concepts of time can vary between Amber and the shadows - - with some moreso than others. Tristan realizes that he hasn't heard from Veronica in some time, and the distant memory of a bet, trumps (has he drawn them yet? He doesn't remember.), swordplay. Swordplay is something he always enjoys, and there is a sportsmanship to it when something is on the line. So a messenger is sent to Chantris, a simple note in Tristan's flowing hand from some fragile quill and delicate ink. 'Veronica - thank you for such wonderful conversations when I was having clothing tailored. I believe it has been remiss of me to not follow up. I will come to Chantris at your pleasure to discuss and resolve further. - Prince Tristan of Amber.'
After receiving Tristan's note Veronica steps out of the manor into the front garden and, using Chantris magic, whispers into the wind willing her words to be carried to him. "Feel free to visit this evening. I shall have the gym prepared if you want to spar, otherwise we can sit and talk or otherwise as you see fit," she says.
After that she resumes work on an outfit she is working on making and then, as evening approaches, she has a high protein dinner and then waits for her cousin to call on her.
It's been a while since Tristan has actually ran. Well, other than as a wolf. He does run from his townhouse to Chantris, though he hasn't really broken a sweat by the time he gets there. It feels good on his muscles, though, and as he walks through he dresses far more like a college student from Earth than as a Prince of a fractured realm. The fading on the sweater that says 'Princeton' is profound enough to indicate that the sweater is old, though everything else seems new enough. He whistles as he enters the entry hall, and leaves word for an attendant there that he is calling upon Lady Veronica.
After greeting Tristan, the Chantris' butler nods to the Prince to acknowledge his comments about Lady Veronica and departs to get her.
A few minutes later Veronica enters the room wearing an outfit consisting of a skirt and bustier which are cream colored with subtle patterns of blue and pink pastel. "Good evening Tristan," she says with a smile which appears ever so slightly forced before asking, "Which of our promised activities were you calling on this evening?"
Tristan pauses, then, laughing after a moment as he is taken aback by the differences in their appearance. He runs a hand through his hair and says, "Clearly the wrong one. I find myself with no desire to spar after seeing you as such." He leaves his hand on his shoulder for a moment before he says, simply, "You are, quite literally, breathtaking, Veronica. I think I should insist upon the portrait tonight, unless you have a sudden desire for blood." He tilts his head, noting the slightly forced note of the smile, and offers an effortless one in reply. One that balances the potential between outside forces of reality and him dressing like an undergrad being the reason for displeasure.
"I could easily change of course," Veronica says with a smile that fails to touch her eyes, "But I am more than willing to sit for a portrait instead. Please though, not all of the Trumps you'll be giving me will be of me, correct?"
"Only as many as you wish. You will be able to call upon others to be painted as well." Tristan approaches, tilting his head from one side to the other as he asks, "Is now a bad time? I find myself either giving offense or in error of festivity."
The smile brightens, possibly forced but easily accepted at face value if the audience wants to. "I had a rough night," she says and then asks, "Would you like to sit outside or in one of the sitting rooms?"
Does he buy it? Does it matter? Tristan's nod takes the answer and says, "Well that depends. Do you want to beat the hell out of me or enjoy casual conversation while I paint the sort of trump that will make any who holds it wonder why they didn't reach out for you earlier?" He extends his arm either way, and says, "You would look remarkable in the evening light, I feel, if you strive for a path of pacifism."
Veronica laughs kindly and says, "Sitting for the portrait sounds lovely, I can even assure you light to work with despite the late hour." She then asks, "Lets adjourn to the courtyard then?"
Tristan replies, "Absolutely. And you have quite the remarkable voice. Being able to reply from so far away. Remind me never to make you angry. That was a wonderful way to deliver a response."
The comment about not wanting to be the target of her ire makes Veronica laugh sincerely. She now smiles with no acting at all and says, "Thank you, I needed that," before leading him towards the courtyard.
Tristan asks, as they walk, "Did you make that yourself, or did you have someone attend to the dress for you?"
"I designed it," Veronica answers as they enter the southern courtyard garden. "My seamstress did the sewing… not that I couldn't have done it myself, but I was busy smithing," she explains with a wink before asking, "Would you prefer me in the gazebo or by the pool?"
"Water would play lovely with the evening sky, especially with the color of the trees. It also adds motion, as if you were sitting briefly during some sort of event. And it will go rather well with your hair." Tristan says, after a moment, "Oh my. Smithing - taking to your more martial recreations?"
Veronica nods to acknowledge the request of the bench by the pool which she proceeds to move to and sit upon the bench. "Please let me know if any additional lighting would help," she offers and then answers the question by saying, "Well I have a heavy sabre I'm making for a friend, you know?"
Tristan grins at that, nodding and glancing around. He settles for one of the stone seats nearby, undoing a leather satchel and beginning to sort supplies. "A heavy sabre? That's pretty pretentious. Your friend sounds like a tool." He glances up, winking at Veronica before he notes, "I still remember the first trump of mine ever done, and the portrait I sat for it. I think there are some who still have a copy. Flora for certain. I wish I could go back and have that one redone."
"I have no problems with the previous Trump you made of me, but a new one is very welcome," she says as she sits, back straight with her hands folded in her lap. "Do you want me positioned differently or is this good?"
"Oh, this is indulging me, I accept that. It's why it won't count against your…" Tristan thinks of the right phrase, before he settles with "Requests." Studying Veronica for a few moments he says, "That's good. The shadows play well with you, which is another reason this time is good." Fingers snap up a charcoal pencil, and he begins easily and idly outlining, studying as he says, "We never live long enough, but I like the idea that by the end of my days, you could run your thumb through all of my trumps and see a life in motion through the changing portraits. And I can't wait to try the sabre. There are few things better than holding a new blade that was meant for you."
Veronica nods without truly moving her head and speaks carefully so as to not shift her position. "I hope you don't mind my asking you to talk to me while you sketch, but can you tell me what it is like being a weir and anything about life in your home shadow… hunting, socializing, etc…?"
"Talk to you? Why I never." Tristan grins a Cheshire grin before he adds, "And you can relax. Hold roughly the same position, but you can smile, scowl, spit, and so forth. I've got a good eye for detail, and part of a trump is relearning. You may even alter the trump in some way I had not seen, which is the best way to do it." He says, then, "I can, though it's complicated. I was raised to be better than my breed by Eric. I think he lusted after my mother, but love was never ever really there. Even when she moved to Amber for him and came between there and Weirmonken, he was king and she lived in a town house." Eyes flicker everywhere, darting like dragonflies above the pool as he takes in details while talking. "I was civilized, though the beast has always been at the … .edges of everything that I do. Like a leather headstall in my mouth guided by a bridle of an unseen force. Though I guess that's more my own dormancy and less the social cultures. I can speak to that as well."
"So… no personal anecdotes about life in Weirmonken then?" she asks as she relaxes her stance slightly.
"Not as many as I think you would find interesting. I found myself involved in clan business sometime - I belong to a clan named Moonsong. We served as arbiters and judges in our eyes to clans and the others. My human, or Amberite side, was strong there. I would hunt weir who would hunt villagers and kill them. Socially I'm something of an outcast because I've never taken to the ways of things like the hunt - I have never reveled in murder like so much of my other kin do." Tristan smiles slightly as he says, "Socially, it's in infighting, alliances, your enemy one day friends the next." He makes a gesture as he continues to draw. "Not too different from Amber except we lacked the light of civilization. The shadow is dark and terrible."
Veronica ohs softly and asks, "So, no wild revels and boar hunts with the pack and such?" evoking the spirit of stories she has obviously heard about the weir.
Tristan grins slightly as he thinks about it and says, "I had one wild revel. They threw of all things a masquerade in Weirmonken, and that appealed to me. That was a rough night. Dancing and loving and fighting. Torn clothes and lots of blood in the morning."
Veronica smiles at the image and then asks, "What kind of hunting do weir do when not hunting men?"
"Oh, that depends on taste. I prefer foxes. Though, I will settle for rabbits. There is something just amazing about rabbits." Tristan smiles widely at the thought. He adds, "Woof." Then, he refocuses on Veronica for a moment, taking in the dress and shadow and evening and working rapidly. "Deer if you're really hungry. Bears for packs and sport."
Veronica smiles wistfully and says, "I can see them hunting wild boar also… or are there no boars in Weirmonken?"
"Oh there are." Tristan smiles slightly at that as he leans forward and confides, "The tusks are always a pain though. We may be hard to kill, but the pain is still, well, painful." He settles for then, talking absently and he speaks as he draws. Of the shadows, of the details, of the particulars that make up people. As he draws her on the portrait, so he talks of Weirmonken and draws himself for her, well into the night as the sun sets and the lights of Chantris cast only longer darker shadows to be carried in memory and in portrait.