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Post by Fyremage on Dec 28, 2017 14:41:05 GMT
"First, you can make it legal to geld men who think with their manhood rather than their heads." Margie said with an icy bite. She did not break stride to her chambers, but continued speaking - naturally assuming Marielle would follow. "What in the world was he thinking - treating his wife that way in public?"
She paused briefly, but continued on in spite of whatever may have been said next. "NOT TO MENTION that he doesn't even care how his behavior reflects upon me, or his house." Her tone was rising with each sentence, to the point where she was almost yelling at Marielle by proxy. "There's no telling how much damage he's done whilst we were away. By the grace of Artis, at least I am here now to fix whatever he's screwed up."
Her servants struggled to keep pace with her, with one of them managing to get ahead of her to open the door to her chambers. After she proceeded within, her hands reached up and removed the tiara from her head and nearly threw it atop the dresser which stood resolutely beside her. It was clear at this stage that she was fuming, even further indicated by her incessant pacing and heavier breathing.
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Post by Retrograde on Dec 28, 2017 16:12:48 GMT
Albare threw back his head in laughter, then looked to Sabelle. "You head on inside, okay? Bring Nanda with you." Sabelle nodded, and then rushed into the apartments, leaving only him and Emre in the courtyard. He looked down at the boy, analyzing him. Albare realized he couldn't be more than 15, and was probably terrified at this moment of making any sort of bad impression. Hell of a job to thrust onto an awkward kid.
"Look," Albare said gently. "It's fine, you should just know you were doing it. You're like sixteen, right? You're new at this, I get it. Marielle's a good kid and she's probably going to be a pretty good boss for someone like you so try not to be constantly on the verge of crapping yourself the entire time, okay? You'll get the hang of this."
He knew how hard it could be to live up to expectations. For much of his life he had to play it safe around his cousin, King Odo, and that was definitely hellish. Now that he was the King's Father, he was able to finally relax a bit without worrying someone was going to get hurt. Sometimes that lead him into trouble, like now, of course, but going back to walking on eggshells was not something he was particularly willing to do. Hopefully he could get this kid to relax a little bit and stop worrying so much.
He extended his hand.
"By the way, I'm Al, not 'your majesty'," he said with good humour. "
Don't really care for all that well-to-do stuff."
--
Marielle's struggle to keep a neutral expression became harder and harder as they got closer to the Queen Mother's room. She had seen Margarethe agitated before, but it was never pleasant for her. She felt guilty - she had known Albare was home and wanted to surprise Margarethe, but she had no idea he was going to be so publicly affectionate or that it was going to set the Queen Mother off like this. She was now torn, somewhat, between trying to make Margarethe less mad or simply nodding and agreeing and avoiding getting pulled along into the warpath. By the time she got into the actual room itself, her mind was racing, but she forced herself to keep her shoulders square and her stance proper. For all she knew, the smallest breach in decorum could lead to the anger Margarethe presently had for her husband turning and directing itself onto Marielle herself.
"Your husband has done nothing to displease you in his tenure as ruler to displease you, your majesty," she assured her as diplomatically as she could. "You need not worry."
She kept her arms at her sides, standing at attention. Her eyes wandered to the large rectangular object that lay within the Queen Mother's apartment, wrapped in silk. Albare had spent much of the pension he got from being Regent on a restoration project of sorts. The painting had been unconventional at the time, a painting of the couple together while Margarethe was heavily pregnant with Sabelle, with Albare's arms around his wife. Odo had seen it on a surprise visit and promptly ordered it ruined by deep slashes drawn across the canvas. It had been assumed to be ruined beyond repair, but Albare had sunk a good bit of the Regent's pension to find an artist who could restore it.
"If you'll forgive me, your majesty, I'll direct your eyes to the object in the corner... Your husband had prepared a welcome home gift. He was very proud of it."
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Post by Asinity on Dec 29, 2017 22:55:19 GMT
Emre couldn't help put purse his lips together thoughtfully as Albare straightened him out. The teenage boy knew the older man was right, though, and such a realization made him feel a bit guilty. In his defense, however, the Tlem batman had a lot more to lose than the king recognized, at least out loud. Emre did his best to keep the man's eye contact, and for his part the dark-skinned boy took the lesson in stride. He nodded conclusively, and reached his own hand out to shake Albare's.
"Thanks," he enthused, with a reassured smile. "I'm Emre...Brightsail. I think you know my mom."
The statement sounded like more of a hesitant question, but he had a feeling he was right. From what he remembered, the teen's mother had returned from the past few Assembly meetings in a better mood than she normally did. Emre thought she had said something about the Regent being gone, and if Albare was the Regent's husband, maybe he knew her. All the important people attended the Assembly, after all.
"Will Marielle get mad if I call you that?" Emre thought aloud, as he looked at Albare expectantly. "She's been pretty ok so far. Like, as a boss. She's...weird about things, sometimes, but she hasn't yelled at me for anything yet."
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Post by Fyremage on Jan 4, 2018 14:32:35 GMT
Margerethe was indeed angry, and Marielle's words did little to soothe her. When the younger women directed Margie's attention to the painting off to the side, Margerethe stopped pacing all together. Her eyes draped themselves over the painting, with the only visible manifestation that she was calm being the fact she wasn't pacing and wasn't clenching her fists. She so desperately wanted to remain angry at her fool of a husband, but time and again he had always proven himself quite resourceful at climbing his way out of the deepest proverbial holes he had dug himself into. She slowly strode over to the painting, reaching out with her hand but restraining herself from touching it. She was surprised that this piece was even salvageable, let alone able to be fully restored. Her usual icy demeanor remained relatively intact as she said to Marielle, eyes still remaining upon the painting.
"That will be all, Marielle. Thank you." She waited for the young woman to take the hint that she wanted to be left alone. After she was, the faintest hint of a smile - a real, genuine smile - creased upon her lips, with tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at the portrait. She wheeled about and struck the bannister of her bed in frustration. "Damn it all!"
And so it seemed, that the Ice Queen had on this rare occasion, been thawed as drips of her frosty shell shed from her eyes.
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