(no subject)

[1mistress_nomaster]

Characters: Elizabeth Tudor, Open
When: [Forward Dated to:] 19th of May
Where: Her sewing chair, common room thing.
Rating: PG
Summary: Feels. Alcohol. How depressing it is to have all your stories end in "and then they were executed." Also: drinking from mid morning is perfectly acceptable for Tudor-times. Triggery? For executions and general horribleness? 

Elizabeth prided herself on her mask. Chipped as it was in places, it did not take much for her to smile and cover almost every ill completely until something made her snap. To breeze by like she was unaffected when otherwise her heart was in her throat. So when it slipped, she was left at the strangest feeling of vulnerability. Today happened to be one of those days, where it felt like it was falling out of her hands again, when for sheer anniversaries sake, her mind strayed from her otherwise tight hold. She couldn’t find the energy to be her usual self, her hair was left free, her dress plain black and as she took up her usual seat for sewing, it felt a physical effort to summon a smile. She longed for company, but had long since lost the ability to ask for it.

Her design for sewing was simple, and selfishly only for her, though she’d promised to do things for others (they were at a bundle in a basket next to her chair). A swan with red edging. The mundane action let her mind drift, and the more it drifted, the more she drank, forgetting to even eat. A glass for her fierce mother, whose bold day it was. Another for her father, and Jane Seymour. Half a bottle for Katherine Howard, another half for her brother and sister. A bitter mouthful for Thomas Seymour and Katherine Parr. It became almost calculated. Dudley, Wolsingham, and the decision she had to make. Duty, her country and loneliness. The horror of being in this place, when speaking to Thor and Loki had made her miss her home so much.

By the time she reached half way through the third bottle some time had passed, she was feeling light headed and she sunk back into the chair. She longed for home, of her ladies to sit with, as they laughed over this Lord or that Lady. She fell into memories, and found solace like that. The sewing fell out of her hands, the red thread unravelling as it hit the ground, the swan missing all but it’s head, she drifted off into a unhappy doze, light as it was. The bottles and her half filled glass by her feet, rather telling proof of how much she had drunk. There was enough left, that someone else could have a glass too, should they want it.

Comments

[azrthmtrnznthos]

Rare enough that Raven was uneasy--usually any feelings of anxiety were the fault of others, and easily filtered out--as all emotions were--so she did not feel or lose control of her powers. Some of this unease likely came from the fact the river was flooding...others were likely general malaise all the residents seemed to feel, herself included. It still left her feeling a need to move, to do something.

She'd scouted the river's flooding, and now was back in the building, wandering aimlessly. Which was how she stumbled now on Elizabeth. A vague sense of intrusion permeated the scene--no one else was meant to see this, and yet it cried out for someone to talk to, as well. Or so it seemed to Raven, as she moved over and gently called Elizabeth's name. Hoping to wake her.

THIS SET UP LOOKS FAMILIAR.

[outsidehistory]

Lavi was worried, he hadn't heard nor seen Elizabeth all day and he'd seen her for at least a few seconds every day since she'd arrived. Just a passing hello. A smile and a wave. Anything he could to remind her she wasn't alone in a place where company was not always constant like it was at home. It was a hard transition going from never being alone to almost always being alone. So he was worried.

When he finds Elizabeth passed out in the chair he does his best to quietly clean up the bottles and the glass, pouring the wine back into the bottle. For just a short moment he thinks about taking a swig of it but then shakes his head, putting it back down on the table. He glances at Elizabeth and lightly puts his hand on her arm, "Majesty..."

If she won't wake he'll try - the keyword here is try - to carry her to her apartment room as carefully as he can.

[wineandwomen]

He had stopped over to check on something with Alma about his lessons that was when he saw Elizabeth... When he was heading out. A small frown crossed his features when he caught sight of the empty bottles and he moved over to her, examining the area by her. The general picked up the bottles carefully, moving them from the floor before returning for the glass.

"Elizabeth?" He dropped formalities, even in such a public place... He was concerned for her with how much wine she had consumed, Cross was afraid she would be sick. Not to mention make awful choices if left here by herself for too long.

Cross leaned forward, a hand going to the queen's cheek, stroking gently with his thumb. "Lizzie... Come on lovely. I should get you to your room..."