Elizabeth Tudor (
1mistress_nomaster) wrote in
niteo_logs2012-05-16 12:12 am
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Entry tags:
(no subject)
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.
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.
no subject
Lavi leans against the back of his own chair, supporting them both, "Even if it is a sad memory my lady cherishes it, I can hear it in your voice." He tilts his head, "Is there a need to be stone here?" When they won't remember this place at home? When they will find themselves returned to the very moment that they left?
"You sound scared of him."
*saw, wtf fingers?!
"Human beings cling to memories I think, even imperfect ones, because it's all we have at times." His next question though, made her go quiet for awhile. "Sometimes I feel I still have to be. Some things are just who I am, others are a choice. I just have to make up my mind about what."
"... I'm drunk enough to admit that yes, he does scare me. Badly." There was a shaky laugh to go with it. "Scares and confounds me."
xD I guessed.
"Memories make up who we are in the end, the past shapes and forms us. But the future still has many possibilities..."
Lavi pats her hand, "He scares everyone. No one really understands him."
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"It does. But I don't like the future that waits for me." That still felt so childish, she should be happy to do her duty, it was what she was born to do.
"... Does he?" She laughed quietly. "Glad to know. I have a terrible feeling I'm an open book to him. That's so settling. I'm not used to being unsettled. Men are usually so predictable to me."
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"He is one of your subjects, of course you are known to him." Just how far Lavi doesn't know, "He is also experienced with women... To read all of them is an easy task for him."
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"Ha. Subject, him? Never." She laughed again when he said that, reading between what he said. "So you are not all saints. I can't say I am surprised with him. Though that does no wonders for my vanity, I don't like being exposed. I don't like showing my emotions, or having others know what lies in my heart. At all."
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Lavi lifts his head again, "He is a subject of England at least. Though I have no words of advice on how to avoid being exposed by him. Aside from avoidance."
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"Avoiding him would be rude, after all he's done for me. But... ah, I have no idea what I shall do about him, except find a different want to be closed off." That would probably be best. Keep her heart hidden, safe. Where no man could touch it ever again, she refused to let it be open. She couldn't take that kind of bleeding, not again.
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"Treat him as one of your suitors that you have no intentions of marrying? I do not know how to advise you, my lady."
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At that though, she let go of him, looking away completely, quietly for a long while. "I do not expect you too, fear not... but I couldn't do that either to him. Suitors are politics that like to kiss and touch, treason in pretty packages. They're just a pull to -- to keep this army from moving, that Lord from voting, this country from trade to some other region. Then I push them off, because nothing will come between me and my country again." There was a cold vehemence to her words that wasn't usually, she wasn't looking at him, just away, at the far great country only she could see in her mind. This was what she was, raised to be, Queen, a lion's child. "And until I can find a man that respects that in me, I cannot want for one. They are immaterial wishes. Even here, it's still... there. It's changed me. I don't know when, but it has. I could no more stop it, then you could from recording history."
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Even if Elizabeth doesn't want his advice like one of her advisers would give he can still give a few words as a friend, which he's done. "He is not a literal suitor though, my lady, I would not suggest him as such. Just treat him as one minus the kisses and touches. I know that they are a sore subject for you at home. But as much as I like my lady I do not wish her to be married to Cross of all people."
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"Tch, I'll never marry you don't need to worry. He could want to all he liked, it won't happen. I can't stand the thought of any man owning me, deciding my fate. Better to be single and a beggar then married and Queen." She smirked quietly, cynical as ever.
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"I think you would like Lenalee then, she does not let even her brother govern her life. She fights alongside Kanda and myself, she is a strong fighter." Though her choice in clothing might...shock Elizabeth more.
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But that being said, hers was not of the same kind of arrogance that many Prince's had. She was all too aware of the fickleness of fate, and how precarious her position was. That was not something she could express though. To admit it, was weakness. She could openly admit to being less then them, not even privately, not just because she wasn't. Weakness and uncertainty would be the fall of her, and plunge her country back into war and destruction. She could not fail, not ever.
"She does sound like a remarkable young woman. To fight too. I've met a few young women here that do so. Or at least one other."
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He certainly doesn't believe in divine providence either. That and he knows how royalty are made to live, she's not a figurehead, she gets things done. Even at the risk of losing her crown, country, and life. To him she's fearless in many things.
"Raven you mean? She is on a task force in her own home as well. We used to have several girl fighters here but they have all gone. General Klaud is also a strong woman."
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His words were kinder then she deserved really. She lent up and kissed his cheek, smiling. "Oh Lavi, if the world were made by you, perhaps I would not hate myself so much." She laughed quietly, and it wasn't so false. She appreciated that, even if she knew that sometimes it felt the complete opposite.
"Yes, Raven, and that young maid... ah what was her name again? Lee? She fights too as well. And I would think my lady Klaud was, to have such a title as General." She certainly didn't fit with most of them, she knew that at least. But she was useful in her own way, so that made it bearable.
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Blu-blushing at that cheek kiss, "If the world were made by me there would be no wars, my lady. No lies." He hates so much bad in the world even without having a heart.
"Ty Lee fights as well?" He hadn't known that, "She is the only lady general, most Exorcists tend to be male."
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She smiled again, listening to what he said. "You dream of a noble world, Lavi. That requires a noble heart. Please do not ever lose it."
Nodding about Ty Lee. "Yes, she does. Something to do with fire but... I'm not really sure... and most Kings tend to be male too, but here I am."
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His mouth quirks upward slightly, "I should not have one to begin with, my lady.
"I shall have to ask her if she would spar with me then. At least they let women rule, many other women have to fight for rights."
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She shook her head. "No, you should. You must. Don't--" she fumbled at the words, leaning her head back down again, against his shoulder as she tried to find what she wanted to say. "When I make mistakes, people die. Hundreds of people. It's my fault." The tears stung in her eyes, thinking of it. "Every person burned, every boy that is dead on a battle field. But it's because of my heart, that I can learn to be better, and want to. Fear has it's place, of course, I do not want to be beheaded. But I do not want people to die for me, even when I ask them too, and must ask them too." She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the boys face that stared at her, and the guilt racked her again.
"That's what I was told, to rule supreme, I must be touched by nothing. By extension, that I must love nothing but my duty." That was all that was safe to love any more. "I don't want to. I suspect... even without you telling me what is to happen. I am going to be alone for the rest of my days, it scares me." That bone grating loneliness without anyone else's affection, especially given what she had. "So have a heart, for my sake. Have a heart when you write of fools like me, my lord. Record us as we are, not as we like to be, all of it. It's the only justice we have for our lives. The only vindication or punishment for that which we suffer for, and make others suffer in kind. You do us kindness, you do everyone us so, every King's whore, every bastard child." She wasn't even sure any of that makes sense, it was just a tumult of thoughts, because she'd spent so much time on thinking what she had to do. Babbling every bit of feeling she had on her duty at him. Nonsense no doubt from the alcohol.
"You'll enjoy fighting with her no doubt, she seems very capable, or at least as far as I can tell. I'm hardly the best judge." She shrugged, distracted slightly.
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He smiles a little by her vehemency, "You will keep a heart for the both of us, my lady. Even if it is encased by stone, you wish only well for your people and the end of wars. To keep living life without fear of threats on your person. Those too are my wishes. But I cannot have them, I cannot have a heart. A Bookman has no need for a heart." He must be devoid of emotion and thus no heart, because they would make his records impure and opinions and preferences would leak their way in.
It's not the way that he was taught and he couldn't dishonor his mentor so by letting himself have a bleeding heart for every child he saw on the battlefield. To favor one side over the other simply because he has friends there. Yet that's what is happening to him now, he cares for those in the Order. He cares for the people he's met here. He has a heart here but has to lose it at home in time. "I do what I can while I can is all..."
Lavi just lets out a light hum in response.
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She nuzzled briefly against his shoulder, "don't have it for the people, have it for your duty then. Like I do. How else do you think I make peace with myself for those murders? We do what we have to, because someone must." The words are dry though, thin, and worse she knows it. Knows how frail that is as a reason, but it's the only one she has any more.
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"My duty forbids it." That is all that Lavi will say on the lack of his heart.
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"That might work on other people, Lavi, but I say the exact same thing to my suitors." She slid an arm around his waist, regardless if it was proper or not, then got comfortable again. "And I am always lying through my teeth to them."
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He sighs a little but doesn't push her away, arm tightening around her waist in a brother-sister fashion, "I do not lie about that my lady..."
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