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sehzade bayezide osman. xxxiii. sehzade & general of the ottoman empire. ————— i have become lost to the world in which i otherwise wasted so much time.

[cyclusion]

with @ofleuchtenberg

with the wedding come and gone, there are now stronger ties that bind the young kingdom of germany and the ottoman empire together, ties that he is keen on solidifying and consolidating for both his and their own shared mutual gain. while he had made the acquaintance of friedi’s half-brother even before, in his cursory check-up of the expansive german family tree, he finds that it is all for the best if he follows up with the one who has caught his eye the most, simply due to the ambition that he had sensed in the other, the quiet sort of determination that seems the type to move mountains, given enough time. bayezide is not half so patient so as to wait forever, of course, but he knows the value of taking his time. it is best, after all, if he ascends to his position as sultan with the backing of everyone.

❛  brother,  ❜  he says, the ever-present smile on his face decorating his face as it always does.  ❛  perhaps there is some happiness to be found amidst all this tragedy,  ❜  he says, having known both the heights of joy and the doldrums of despair in everything that has occurred thus far. both death and good fortune seemed to have visited him in equal turns, fate as fickle as ever, but he stayed faithful to the Ever-Merciful—and look where he is now.  ❛  what do you think of the newcomers to our moot here in switzerland, hm ?  ❜  he asks.  ❛  pray, tell, what think ye especially of that woman who claims she is both your father and the holy roman empire’s reckoning come at last ?  ❜  in truth, it is a matter that disconcerts him so, despite the way he tries to play it off as one big jest. he cannot have anything that threatens germany, after all, because something that threatens germany now threatens him as well.  

[cyclusion]

wilhemina von habsburg.

w i l h e m i n a does not expect to be accompanied, in any way, nor does she desire to be. but she straightens her spine anyways and clenches her jaw, forces her face to fall into a white-satin mask.

but the kindness in the stranger’s eyes almost breaks  her; only dear louisa looks at her like that, and they have known each other since girlhood. what has she done to deserve this?

and she hesitates— hesitates— to take up her rosary, but it feels like blasphemy not to. “ the priests have no answers for me, ” she says bitterly, not bothering to feel horrified at her lack of gratitude, at the fact that she speaks her deepest truths to an utter stranger. she looks down at her clenched fist, rosary escaping from it. “ i am tired of speaking to god with intermediaries, ” she declares on a sigh.

he recognises the frustration inherent in her voice. it is one he knew well, a misery nursed after the death of his beloved huma, a despair he had almost lost himself to before he found strength of a vastly different kind than he was used to: not strength in battle nor in politics, but in oneself, in the action of merely existing.

it was a misery he was familiar with but not anymore. now, there is a greater peace blooming in his bones still, a kind of serenity he knew only by being acquainted with the deepest depths of misery.

❛  perhaps it is because you are asking the wrong people,  ❜  he says, almost as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.  ❛  i would say that there are bigger things in this world than can be conceived of in your theologies and philosophies.  ❜

[cyclusion]

li jingmei.

@cyclusion || closed

Of course following someone around could be considered something less than intelligent, the atmosphere in Sasso Corbaro was somber and she could almost touch the fear with her fingertips, so heavy it was. People were killed again, she had not seem the bodies, but maids and ladies-in-waiting whispered while attending her. All her attempts of getting more information were mistakenly assumed to be an subtle need for comfort and so they lied or distorted truths. Jingmei knew that somewhere deep inside her mind, she was very terrified and this showed on her nightmares and little sleep, the common sounds of the night transforming into threats.

She needed someone that wouldn’t lie and would willingly share information. 

This way why she was following the general of the Ottoman Empire and doing her best to be discreet while doing it. Jingmei only did not think beforehand that the man was extremely scary looking, if her fifth brother was the very ideal of a princely general and hero, Bayezide could probably kill someone with only a stare. Besides, he was a foreigner and a man, if her lady-in-waiting knew what she was doing the woman would simply drop dead on the floor. Good thing that Jingmei had asked her to look for a few things she had purposely lost.

Hiding behind some bushes she was again thinking how ridiculous the situation was and how she should not be filled with anxiety for just speaking with a man she didn’t know. Distracted with her thoughts, Jingmei barely noticed how the wind was gently moving her buyao, enough for it to do the soft dangling sounds Jingmei was so used to hear.

there is someone following him.

this is nothing new. in the courts, there was always someone attending to him, vigilant to his every need. during war, there was an aide-de-camp instead, ready for the next order to come pouring forth from his lips. sometimes, though, the presence was sinister: spies or ne’er-do-wells who might wish a sehzade of the ottoman empire be brought to harm. either way, bayezide was used to it; and so he had been alert to the other presence for quite a while now.

the only difficulty was, of course, in setting up a confrontation—if a confrontation was even the most viable strategic option available to him right now. he could let the other presence follow him for a little while longer, of course, baiting them more and more, only to see what their designs for him were. the danger in such an option was fraught, for bayezide could not ignore the fact that a slip of his attention might mean an assassin’s blade on his neck, especially so close to the attacks where tensions were high and death seemed to lurk just around the corner.

yet before he could decide, it seemed that fate itself decided for him. the winds blew, and there is a tinkling in the air, light and airy, almost a far cry from the situation that he found himself right now, which was tense and rigid. he turned around, eyes trying to scan his environment, using the twinkling to tell him where the source is coming from; before he eventually settles on a spot of greenery.

❛  who’s there ?  ❜  he asks, voice loud.  ❛  i know you’ve been following me.  ❜  it almost sounds like a threat, but then:  ❛  come out. if you mean me no harm, then i welcome your presence and forgive your actions—but if you mean me otherwise... well, then...,  ❜  his words peter off, as if he did not find it necessary to continue that line of thinking.

[cyclusion]

vitória madalena de bragança.

she merely shrugs in response, light smile on her features. she thinks herself fairly good at reading others—it is a skill honed by gauging the motivations of simpering duchesses and countesses, of gleaning ulterior motives hidden beneath compliments and well-intentioned advice. “ do not fret—i am not easily bored. ”

before she can nod in agreement or get another word in, he makes his request. “ oh, a gift! ” her face lights up at the thought. “ i would be happy to assist you in such a manner. it depends on what you’d like to give—i suppose she already has enough jewelry and gowns, and you would like to stand out, yes? something that is unique and can leave an impression, show what you mean. ” at least he’s making an effort. that’s more than she can say for half the men in lisboa. 

“ it would certainly make for interesting conversations if people said what they mean and did not dance around it, ” she muses. “ but it is the same in my court—i suppose that is a universal truth amongst all the deceit. ” arching an eyebrow, she lets out another laugh, hand waving idly in the air. “ i dare not call myself an expert, but i can assure that you will not be bored. do you consider yourself a master? either way, i suppose i will see for myself. ”

❛  a habit well cultivated from court politics, i would suppose,  ❜  he says, and here he is being more honest than he should be, though it is a sentiment well-shared amongst the many nobles he had come across. how droll the politics they ingratiate themselves in. bayezide knows nobody who takes such great thrill in the inanity of it: the small talk, the minutiae of hierarchy, the memorisation of long titles that nobody much cares for—and yet they all participate in it anyway.

❛  they say that a way to one’s heart is by the giving of gifts,  ❜  he says, before he hastens to add:  ❛  not that i think, of course, that friedi would be so easily bribed away—but i do so wish to please her.  ❜  it’s almost a childish desire: to see her smile, beaming expression all reserved just for him. he did not think it a gross sin to want that, and surely nobody would deny him the pleasure of seeing his fiancée happy ?    ❛  i had thought as much,  ❜  he says.  ❛  jewellery and dresses might bore her, but i did think about giving her something from my country—as a welcome, if you will, to the place she will eventually call home.  ❜  there is a slight pause. he tilts his head.  ❛  have you had experience in receiving a lot of gifts, su alteza ?  ❜  he asks, genuine curiosity wrapping around his words.

perhaps he would be embarrassed at such a forward question, but all is forgotten when she begins to speak of chess.  ❛  i consider myself an enthusiast of it,  ❜  he says, voice almost modest, a far cry from his usual braggadocio.  ❛  i have won a great many matches, but i have learned not to take it for granted. chess is a skill—and like any other skill, it demands to be practiced regularly.  ❜

[cyclusion]

dorothea of germany.

Dorothea could not believe her ears - or her eyes, for that matter. An older sister. Honestly, another one? Really? She wondered if there might be a few more of those coming in the future - but, that was not the worst thing about it; the worst thing was… it was the emperor. It was he grandfather who orchestrated the abduction of her elder sister, the emperor who was behind all of this. She hates him. She had never hated a person in her life, but oh how she hates her grandfather now - and the Holy Roman Empire. Her father was right to rebel all along, and if this had proven anything… it furthered her support of king Maximillian. She was returning from Friedi’s chambers, strolling towards her own when a familiar voice called out to her and she turned around. “Bayezide?” She answered with a concerned frown, remembering how his family got taken out. “Neither should you. Are you - are you alright?” Dot asked, taking a few steps closer to him for a quick check-up. He seemed to be well ( as well as someone who lost his half sister and step-mother could be, given the circumstances ). She was genuinely concerned about his welfare and naturally worried about anyone who was in her family - and that, with Friedi’s engagement, extended to him. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

the question surprises him in its abruptness, almost as if he is being roused from some great slumber. all of a sudden, the wall breaks: there is in him a storm of rage and anger, all the more inflamed by the simple reason that there was nobody for him to target his anger towards.  ❛  i am... well, thank you,  ❜  he says, the words almost grudged out from grit teeth. he tries not to let his anger show too much, lest he scare her, but there are too many things happening at once. he has not yet fully gotten over his personal adviser’s death when this, too, happens to him, as if the world so delighted in taking away the people close and dear to him.  ❛  or as well as can be, considering the circumstances,  ❜  he amends, trying not to let any weakness show. he is a sehzade of the ottoman empire; he must act like it.  ❛  i am... grateful that you have spared a thought towards me,  ❜  he says, before he looks at her, eyes all concerned and worried.  ❛  but how are you ?  ❜  he asks.  ❛  there have been many revelations and discoveries for this day—your family being one of those affected. tell me, are you alright ?  ❜

[cyclusion]

{ tracker page // tag }

post count this week (  mar. 22 - mar. 28  ) : n. of replies (  7  )

point gained: 7 points (  in-character replies  ) + 2 bonus points (  per five replies  ) = 9 points

point allocation:  + 9 luck

health total:  136  /  150

point deduction: -25

point allocation: - 10 physical, - 10 wealth, - 5 influence

health total after deduction: 111 / 150

[cyclusion]

with: @lovelesslettrs

bayezide is not a stupid man. he might be overly wilful to the point of almost deliberate self-deception, but he can be and is perceptive, even as others decry him to simply be another common soldier. he was raised, after all, in the ottoman courts, where favour of the sultan was competed for between sons wanting to stake their own claim to the empire, using any means necessary even to the point of deception, subterfuge, and murder.

this is to say: he is wise to such tricks. he grew up with them. he is not blind to the machinations of others; and so when the list of the deceased is read out, a tragedy so quick to follow after the attacks that have already robbed him of his advisor, and he notices—yet again—another notable absence. how can he stop himself ?  he is only seeking justice, after all.

❛  you spanish !  ❜  he calls out to the first one that he recognises as being one of that accursed ilk.  ❛  you foul dogs !  you are too afraid to meet us in war and so you resort to underhanded attempts such as this ?  inshallah, you will get your due.  ❜

[cyclusion]

with: @holstcin​

it has only been some mere few hours after that black news heralded by trumpets sounding like the end of the world arrived in bellinzona. the news of his half-sister and his step-mother’s death would almost feel like an insult against the might and power of the ottoman empire, had bayezide not felt so barren of emotion, almost as if in self-defence for the oncoming tidal wave of grief and anger that would threaten to overcome him. he is a man of volatile emotions, and he always felt too much and too deeply; and these two deaths just sear an invisible wound onto his soul, two more notches in the list of sins that the world has committed against him. it is almost enough to make him seclude himself, hide himself away as he did so with huma’s death; and yet now is not the time for hiding. he walks along the lengths of the hallways of sasso corbaro, almost as if in search for any sort of company; yet when he comes across another figure, he almost scurries away, almost losing courage, before he realises who the stranger is.  ❛  dot ?  ❜  he asks.  ❛  is that you ?  ❜  he takes a few steps towards her, before:  ❛  you shouldn’t be outside all on your own, not with everything that’s happened.  ❜

[cyclusion]

lucia della rovere.

Life was full of little surprises. 

Usually, it was not for the better. The death of her family had not been a good surprise as they departed this life one by one. Losing Urbino, her marriage, none of that had been a pleasant surprise. 

But then, against all better judgement, she had come to appreciate Piero as a man who was worthy of her, a man with a brilliant mind and ambition to match her own. Her children had come into the world, filling her with a love she had never known. That alone had proven that some surprises, at least, could be good ones. 

But this, perhaps, was the sweetest surprise of all. 

She had never truly trusted the rest of the De Medici. Francesco, perhaps, had never done anything to earn her ire, and whilst Giulio and she worked together for the moment, their alliance had an expiration date. It was something she worried about, a problem she wasn’t sure how to conquer. Giovanna was an enigma she watched carefully, but calling Piero into question had made her dangerous. And now, to learn that the lot of them could be illegitimate, not Medici after all? Oh, what joyous news it was. 

Many were occupied with the murders, and Lucia supposed she should appear more dour, more concerned with the deaths, particularly as one of Italy’s own sat amongst them. But she just couldn’t help it. The smile that decorated her face was a rare one, but she just couldn’t seem to shake it. Her gaze rose to meet another, and she gestured for them to take a seat next to her. “Won’t you join me?” she asked. “It is a rare occasion that I find myself without my children for a short while. I intend to make the most of it.” 

his heart is on fire, his soul: a barren wasteland. he did not much care for peace or for any of the people that would have it. he also did not mind whatever strategies could have been used to break the fragile truce  (  already so delicate after the attacks !  )  and spur them all back onto war. bayezide, for a moment, thought only about events: the breaking away of countries, the usurping of a crown, the calls to war, the flag of the ottoman empire flying in the hofburg; yet he had forgotten a simple element to the narrative he’d been constructing in his brain: that of the human element.

he had forgotten, and he had lost.

here is what bayezide knows: he had lost a half-sister and he had lost a stepmother. these are the facts, but they tell so little of the affection between them. he had never been much close to beyhan, it is true, but safiye, his half-sister... he had treasured her, loved her, looked out for her and wanted the best for her. when his first wife died, it was with safiye that he picked up the calligraphy brush that huma had been so fond of, and she was the one who taught him how to exorcise the demons of grief that beleaguered his soul. she was a treasure, and he had cared for her, and now she is gone, and she is here no more.

dare he think that her death was painless ?  he cannot even think about it.  why must she be dead at all ?  why her ?  what use did her death serve ?  it was all so senseless and bayezide did not understand, cannot understand.

(  what was all this for ?  )

so when someone turns to him, accursed smile on their face, it almost feels like they are gloating.  how can one smile in the face of all this grief and tragedy ?  how can one be so gleeful in the face of such senseless deaths ?    ❛  one would think that six people had not just died judging by the smile on your face, my lady,  ❜  he says, and his tone isn’t even angry. instead, he is just... weary. in all his accountings for war, he did not think that people close to him would die.  ❛  i would suggest you make the most out of this peace as well.  ❜

[cyclusion]

dorothea of germany.

“I do! I was told I can be rather overwhelming when I am bored - and I do agree with that - so I plan on never being bored, again.” She replied with a beaming smile on her face, a smile which only widened at his words. “Perhaps I should! Now, that would be a sight to behold, would it not?” She retorted with an amused chuckle escaping her lips. Yes, it was certainly a polite and benevolent way to scandalise the general public - it was hardly suited for a princess, but it was the most trivial scandal, so her father’s, mother’s and country’s image would not be tarnished ( in fact, she was rather certain the general public would look at her feat with an affectionate smile ).

The compliment left her with a soft smile on her face, and her own was honest as she replied; “I would quite like that. You are a very insightful and determined man yourself.” He certainly seemed like it, and Dot was rarely wrong in her judgement of others. Perhaps she tended to give everyone the benefit of the doubt first and foremost, but she was not foolish to be idealistic. Still, so far he was most pleasant. “Oh, I loved it! The pigeon in particular. We must have more of these little tours. The next one is on me and our chocolate pastries. I hope that will be enough to tempt you to meet with me again, sometime.”

❛  a feasible strategy,  ❜  he says, almost laughing. while he does not think her overwhelming, he can see how other people would think her to be such.  ❛  i’m sure such a display of unorthodox skill would bring many a person’s attention to you too—and who knows ?  with their attention, perhaps you can use such an opportunity to win their favour.  ❜  the smile here is almost one of cunning, one that turns appreciative when such honest words for himself spill forth from her lips.  ❛  ah,  ❜  he says,  ❛  then i will say this is my objective fulfilled—and now i am free to be as horrible as i like towards you.  ❜  a chuckle punctuates his remark. the spirit of good humour was easily enough achieved with her, and he thinks, quite fondly, that he is glad to marry into a family that has her in it.  ❛  that is good to hear,  ❜  he says.  ❛  i shall be very much fondly looking forward to your invitation then, dot—though, of course, i am only ever saying yes because of the chocolate.  ❜  his teasing tone is almost broken by his snicker.  ❛  but in all seriousness,  ❜  he says, though his expression wasn’t entirely serious as of yet,  ❛  this has been a good meeting. i am glad to have met you, dorothea of germany.  ❜

[cyclusion]

empress yang.

Bayezide’s inquiry drew a hum from the Empress Dowager. “Man becomes restless in peace.” The results of the game did not matter. It was the journey that interested her, and indeed her sole point of interest was how the would-be Sultan traversed through brimstone and fire to the ends which he sought. The game was long but fruitful, filled with near-wins that fuelled excitement. Yang herself played a game of subterfuge — she would let the other near his victory, think he was winning, and then she would strike for the kill. In the end, as their pieces dwindled to the very last, Yang claimed her victory. 

“I admit, I have the advantage of knowledge and experience,” said she, her hands moving together once more to rest beneath her sleeves. “But you fought valiantly and tirelessly. I commend your aptitude. You will play this game until you win. I will see to it. For now, I am satisfied. And, young one, it would benefit you and, ah, future games, if you learned the Chinese tongue. Have you any further concerns, before I dismiss you?”

he tried his best but ultimately, he lost. he is not ashamed of it; he has fought valiantly, after all, and the empress dowager has commented as much.  (  still, he would have liked to impress her with a victory, underline some sort of strategic brilliance that might be helpful with their alliance.  )  and so he accepts his loss with a gracious smile.  ❛  and i will see to it that you shall be much rewarded for such generous sponsorship,  ❜  he says, affirming their deal.  ❛  i have no other such concerns, however, save for one: that of our shared neighbour.  ❜  his smile here grows tense, almost as if it is held up by mere force of will alone.  ❛  yet perhaps such a conversation can be had at a later date, empress dowager, and hopefully be had in your great tongue.  ❜  he stands up, waits for her dismissal, and does the customary departure that has been taught to him when facing the empress dowager.

[cyclusion]

wilhemina von habsburg.

( for @cyclusion​ )

a disgusting tempest of feelings ripped through her as she stormed down the aisle of the town’s chapel. with her rosary clutched in a white knuckled grip, she burst through the heavy wooden doors, not entirely surprised at her own strength. her faith, it had seemed, had waned with every pass of the smooth beads through her fingers, with every ave maria and pater noster and every other hollow chant that fell from her lips. she was still veiled for prayer and confession, and hopefully the thin fabric would hide any errant flushed cheeks.

rounding the chapel’s impressive stairs, wilhemina pivoted and with a small cry of frustration, flung her rosary to the ground. she simply could not stand it, how every fervent prayer she made went unheard and unanswered. no one was listening— not here, and not in heaven, or so she thought. 

“ damn it all, ” she said under her breath, voice wobbling as she braced herself on the sun warmed stone of the building, hoping none of the priests had heard her fit of temper.

he sees the frustration in her rather than hears it, her voice too low of a whisper for it to be intelligible; yet some actions have a universal meaning, and bayezide is perceptive enough to realise that she has in her some great frustration, a longing almost to be fulfilled in some sort of manner.

he picks up the dropped  (  or would it be more accurate to say thrown ?  )  rosary on the ground. he does not immediately give it to the woman in front of him but rather, he surveys the item itself, thumb going over the crucifix and finger going over the beads almost as if he’s curious.

yet soon after, he gives it to her, kind eyes almost looking with some small degree of compassion for her and whatever plight or trouble she harbours.  ❛  you seem to be troubled,  ❜  is his sole remark, not wanting to overly pry and yet giving her the opportunity to offload on him should she wish to.

[cyclusion]

friederike anna.

She smiles at the mention of Johanna.  “Aside from my birth siblings, she is my oldest friend. I was glad when she joined our family properly,” She said of the Landgravine. “I do not think Matthias would have had to tell her. She has always been gracious,” Johanna knew well the rules and customs, and she did not doubt that the gift would have been her idea. She was the kind of woman Friedi could only ever hope to be, one who could navigate propriety well, dignified and above all, patient. It was something that had always plagued Friedi. She was quick to act with whatever emotion took hold of her heart in that moment, but perhaps with his self-confessed experience in the art, he could temper her impulsive nature, or at the very least help to focus that energy. Where it had always been a flaw of hers, he did not seem to take it as such. It was a strange feeling for Friedi. Even those who loved her seemed to think she needed to improve on who she was, but perhaps their opinions no longer mattered. “It sounds like between us, we may find a sort of balance,” she suggested. Patience was all well and good, but she was prone to growing restless. And then his request came, and her smile only grew. If it was accountability he wanted, it was certainly something in her remit to provide. Her life had been spend pushing, demanding justification, answers, and action where others had been content without. The only question was if she could do so without the fiery exchanges that often came with it, for that was not what she wanted with him. “That is something I can promise you,” she says, nevertheless. and her words are sincere. It is as though everything she has ever done has led to this, and every word from his mouth only convinces her that this is the right choice. 

And so the choice is made. She came to Switzerland for peace, but somewhere along the way, she has hardened. All roads have led to this point, and now she isn’t just choosing a life of turbulence, but embracing it. If he wanted a throne, she would not dissuade him. The path they commit themselves to is not easy, but if anybody could walk it, it was she. Had her father not chose the same path once? Had he not so recently pointed out that she was, despite all resistance, like him in so many ways? “Then this is the life we choose. Glory and happiness shall be intertwined,” she says, and her voice is firm, as though it is already decided. Her eyes find his, and she can hardly believe what she is hearing. She does not know how to accept his gratitude, because accepting him has not been something that hadn’t come natural to her. He leans ever closer to her, and her heart is hammering in her chest so heavily that she would not be surprised if he could not hear it, loud as a war drum. The notion he may not be worthy of her is almost laughable, for it is she who should be grateful. Grateful to be matched with him, and grateful that he sees her, recognises all that they could be, presents her with such opportunity. “You are worthy,” she insists, her voice no louder than a murmur. Her hand comes up to rest at his cheek, tilts her chin to meet him as he leans toward her until their lips touch. Her kiss is soft against him, but she does not hesitate. There is no nerves, for she has already made her choice. It is him that she wants, and she is prepared to commit herself fully to that. Of that, she is certain. 

❛  she sounds like a worthy friend,  ❜  he says, though his mind is distracted almost by the sight of her that his mouth seems to move on its own, dropping words that he cared little for about persons who were the least of his concerns. for now, there is only him and her in this garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature. she speaks of balance—and isn’t that such a gift ?  they complement one another, are perfect for one another. whereas before he only knew a kind of rage the type that sea-swept waves in tidal storms could only harbour, being with her is a kind of peace in and of itself; because he knows that he will have what he wants soon, he knows that he will have what he has struggled for in so long, and he knows that he will have it with her. is there any sort of greater peace than this ?  bayezide could only think of huma—huma, dead and gone, yet ever still in his heart !  did he have room for another ?  can he have room for another ?  at first, he had thought it impossible, that he would never love another as he did his first wife; but being with friedi is a type of serenity that he thought his soul would never capture once more.

(  he had offered her a choice to direct his life. he had never before given anybody that kind of control over his own actions—and yet, with her, it had felt so natural.  )

❛  glory and happiness,  ❜  he breathes against her skin, their lips touching, almost a flutter-like wisp of a feeling, as if he’s almost hesitant.  (  he’s a brave warrior who would march onward to a field stacked against him, and yet this makes him nervous ?  how strange the heart works !  )  yet when she pushes up against him, fully meeting his own kiss, he does not waver anymore: a hand reaches up to tilt her chin ever forward, thumb stroking her cheek, as he closes his eyes to lean into her, at first gently, then passionately. in this moment, he cannot help but want her—all of her: her affection and her regard, her thoughts, her concerns, her dreams, her every waking moment. it is an irrational selfishness, but he cannot help himself: he has always been a man of many wants, and now the focus is set on her and he wants to help himself with her, almost as if to have her in all the ways she would let her have him. yet even as these thoughts pool into his gut, he realises that they are in public, and such display might almost be unseemly.  (  yet pah ! what care he about unseemly when he has her ?  )  he breaks away gently, even almost longingly, as if he did not wish to break away at all.  ❛  ah,  ❜  he says, voice almost a soft exhale, almost as if he sounds like he has discovered something and is greatly pleased with it.  ❛  so much for a respectable public first meeting,  ❜  he says, tone almost amused, not even able to contain the smile on his face.

[objetpetita]

“I myself am an absolute abyss.”

- Antonin Artaud, as quoted in The Diary of Anais Nin

“I myself am war.”

- Georges Bataille, Acéphale

[cyclusion]

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post count this week (  mar. 15 - mar. 21  ) : n. of replies (  17  )

point gained: 17 points (  in-character replies  ) + 3 bonus points (  per five replies  ) = 20 points

point allocation:  + 10 wealth, + 10 influence

health total:  127  /  150

[cyclusion]

matthias of leuchtenberg.

Matthis paused, wondering how to phrase his questions. If any of his questions would cause insult then no doubt it would reach his father and Matthias had already done enough to test his father’s wrath. “What do you gain from the match?” It was blunt but Matthias wanted to know that his sister’s life was going to be one of happiness and not one that his step mother’s had to endure. Freidi was a wonderful woman and she was a sister that he was proud of and one that was more than a pawn for their father to play. “Let us pray for peace so neither of us has to fight,” Matthias spoke with a forced smile. He knew that peace was the better option but Germany would gain so much in the wars to come. From land and wealth it was also a chance to show the world just how powerful they could be. Matthias was impressed with his skill, although not surprised. Matthias wasn’t nearly as skilled or quick as his future brother in law. With the returning blow, it struck Matthias in his nose and the blood came gushing out. “You know how to land a punch,” Matthias laughed as the blood poured down from his nose to his face. “I’ve never let a little blood stop me before, now will be no different.”

so his soon to be brother-in-law is indeed astute. bayezide’s almost proud, even if he has no right to be, because that kind of directness is just proof of a hardy spirit that would prove well in an ally. yet even as he freely welcomes such directness, he is himself confused as to how to answer it ?  he cannot reveal, of course, his full plans to the landgrave; but he is not so willing to lie either—not out of some fortitude to honesty, as bayezide freely lies when it suits him, but out of some sort of respect for the german.  (  and, if he is to be truthful, a small part of it is strategic as well: if it comes down to it, he may yet implicate matthias in his careful scheming, bringing the other to the fold. would it not reflect well on him that he has been honest all this time ?  )  ❛  brother,  ❜  he says,  ❛  it would please me to remind you that i was not the mastermind of this match.  ❜  a pause before:  ❛  still, i am an enterprising man, there is much to be gained in friendship with your kingdom, and so even if i did not choose this for myself, i freely welcome it for its opportunities in politics.  ❜  he almost wants to say: why not ask yourself why your kingly father would push for this match in the first place ?  but he almost wants to know if the other would come to that question by himself or if he would need guidance in doing so.

the match is quickly over and bayezide almost worries about the other, stepping forward to see if he has broken the other’s nose, before:  ❛  ah,  ❜  he says.  ❛  you will still attract women yet, do not fear.  ❜  the remark is punctuated with a chuckle, before he tries to find a loose cloth somewhere in his person, ultimately producing a silken handkerchief for the other.  ❛  my apologies, dear brother,  ❜  he says.  ❛  i did not mean to hit you so hard.   ❜

[cyclusion]

giovanna de medici.

she tried to tell herself that he was the enemy. that he would only find her weaknesses and report them to someone else amongst his legions. but still, emotion won the battle against the brain as she blinked back full and fat tears to look upon the sehzade instead. and though she did insist on taking his comfort with salt and something bitter, giovanna found herself open to him. her very soft core exposed for him to take advantage off if he decided to make such marks - her eyes wide, large and wet as her hands clutch together; as if she herself was the vision of the mother mary in all of those church murals along firenze’s walls. 

“i hope so,” she sighs, her eyes only falling to centre upon the earth beneath - lazily watching the marks made into the soil and dirt that presented life and how they had come to me two souls beside the switzerland landscape. would they find peace at the end of all this? how long would such a treaty last? giovanna had watched as children returned parent-less from the war, watching as supplies and clean water were kept from the infants giovanna had, in some way, adopted. she yearned and mourned for them in equal turn. part of her almost leapt from the boundaries of the city to find a horse and ride through the night to return with the dear children near the boarders of tuscany itself. 

such passion would also be found in him, she was sure. he seemed worldly, his eyes alone may have seen pain and hurt as much as giovanna’s own had. she wondered - was there more in common than either thought? she assumed so, but then, giovanna always overthought. 

though the question was meant with kindness she could not help but feel a pain within her body as he spoke the truth. an answer she had not expected as she blinked slowly and rose one hand to fondle the locket that lay against her chest. “oh,” she muttered, her tone soft and almost inaudible to the man and sole companion. “i am very sorry…” her eyes hooked on his, watching in case he searched for comfort in some way - despite their difference in standing she could try, and would be there if needs be it. “but no, we were lucky to remain unharmed… this whole ordeal must pain you even more than it does me.” 

❛  you have a heart for peace, my lady,  ❜  bayezide cannot help but remark.  ❛  it is a rare sight to see in these troubling times.  ❜  the comment is genuine, because he himself did not possess that virtue; and though he would not wish it for himself, there is a certain level of admiration for those who chose the path of peace. they had their principles; and he had his. while they are inextricably in opposition to one another, it is helpful to remind himself that the people whom he would otherwise call his enemy are just as human as he is, with their own passions and desires and melancholies.  ❛  where do you hail from, that is blessed to call you its citizen ?  ❜

the question is, perhaps, almost sudden; perhaps it is even too intrusive, but bayezide thinks that this meeting is almost somewhere out of time, or somewhere out of reality. instead, they meet as but one person to another, well-met after a trying time littered with tragedies and confusion and the air of supposedly righteous death hanging above them. in this atmosphere, it might be forgivable, even, to forget that borders existed, to simply regard another person and meet them face-to-face, then extend a helping hand.

(  yet, as all mirages are, bayezide knows that it will not last.  )

❛  apologise not, my lady,  ❜  he says, voice almost too quick, too sharp against that idyllic sanctuary they found themselves in.  ❛  it is a far better thing to air out such melancholies,  ❜  he continues,  ❛  than to let them simmer inside the soul.  ❜  a sad smile decorates his features, almost wistful. he will not forget his adviser, no; but he will not condemn himself to being beholden forever to some kind of grief nor to do his adviser dishonour by choosing to forget about him. this, he thinks, has been the best option.  ❛  you have done me a great kindness i did not even know i needed,  ❜  he finishes.