* // 𝖉𝖆 𝖋𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖆 𝖆𝖓 𝖑𝖆 𝖙𝖆

CClár, born in dublin, ireland on the twelfth day of october. Personal servant to the crown of England, twenty and three years had, and now residing in Sardinia due to current circumstances. Comes with an accent that boasts her homeland.

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&&. WILLIAM WINDSOR. 

W i l l i a m could have rolled his eyes at her statement. He doubted but that she was good–if she were, wouldn’t she be able to keep one man around? Indeed, the prince was convinced that the reason she couldn’t was because she had bandied herself about too much to be properly enjoyable. “Yes, I believe you’re right,” he said in the most uninterested voice he could possibly produce. “Your stench would be next to impossible to remove; it would repel any decent woman no matter how bad she might want me.”

BROWS RAISED -- A SMIRK ON HER LIPS AT HIS rather out of line comment that stepped a bit too far from their area of play. nevertheless, she nodded casually and took a glance at the floor to regain herself before looking back up to the prince. ❝ alright. well excuse me, i do not think you’d like me so close to you. given my stench, as you like to call it. ❞ while it was passive aggressive, there was a sense of graciousness to her words as well -- something that may have been uncommon from a person of her rank. ❝ let me know if you’d like more wine. perhaps you could drink yourself into oblivion tonight at last. you could choke on it for all i care. ❞

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&&. ALASDAIR WINDSOR. 

alasdair missed feeling … jovial. even at a masque, he had trouble finding his smile. so he sought out the easiest way to remedy that, at least in his experience. cup after cup of expensive italian wine, he was finally feeling loose enough to make a fool of himself on the dancefloor and even rub a few elbows. after a particularly uproarious dance, alasdair practically collapsed against a table on the edge of the room, reaching for another glass of wine. he panted slightly, wiping away the sweat around his mask. “they really don’t consider how hot these things are, do they?” he couldn’t be sure who he was talking to, with the masks and all, but he didn’t care much at this point.

CLÁR WAS WORKING AS A SERVE STAFF, as usual. not like the girl wouldn’t thought that she would do anything else, but there was a small ounce of hope that she might be able to take the night off. but now, there she was with her tray of wine and deep maroon gown that the rest of the staff matched as well. not to say that she didn’t notice alasdair make an ass of himself, but she was a bit too busy with keeping up with high demands of alcohol. the one time she allowed herself a small break, there came the prince of scotland with his drunken amusement. ❝ you would not be sweating so profusely if you danced like a normal attendant, alasdair, ❞ clár chuckled, bowing her head to a king who had taken a cup of wine from her serving tray before turning her attention back to alasdair. 

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&&. WILLIAM WINDSOR. 

W i l l i a m scowled behind his cup at her jibe. You’d be lucky to lay with me, you little— he thought sourly as she grinned at her own wit. Not that I’d ever want to lay with her anyways. Just the thought made him sick. No, he only wanted bragging rights. But were bragging rights worth his pride? Or were bragging rights the source of his pride? Too much philosophy for a night like this. Best to forget it all, he thought, taking a large gulp of wine to help with the forgetting and relishing the burn of the alcohol going down his throat. He imagined that it was burning away the servant’s presumptuous insults. It made him feel a little better. “Yes, we had better stop talking about this now, before I say something to unintentionally entice you into my bed; I would rather not have to deal with your wounded vanity when I refuse to sully myself with you,” he said, giving her a demeaning, pitying look.

SHE COULD HAVE LAUGHED AT HIS RETORT. wounded vanity? clár had never had a vane ounce of blood in her body -- a result of her rough upbringings filled with intensive labour and little possessions. his pitiful look only received a small chuckle and a nod from her before taking a glance back at her own mask in her hands. it was loaned to her, of course, from a kindly governess, but she would have to give it back the morning after. for clár could never own something so expensive. in fact, everything she wore that night was something borrowed. ❝ of course, your royal highness. and i would never ask you of such a thing either. i couldn’t inflict that type of damage to you. once with me, it would be quite hard to seek another lover. ❞

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&&. WILLIAM WINDSOR. 

“ O h , fie,” William said, reaching gratefully for the tray of a passing servant which held wine. He needed the strength to get through the conversation. His blood boiled to hear her talk so well of the Scots–it boiled all the more when his body reminded him that she was right, for he had known many a bonny lass and they had always been particularly passionate adventures indeed. He wanted to walk away from her and to be left in peace to enjoy this night, yet he was very aware that to do so would mean withdrawl on his behalf and he refused to lose to this servant. “I should rather think not; I spend quite a lot of my time with serving girls, though playing a much better sport than this,” the prince said with a snide smile. “I am very egalitarian that way. No discrimination. In fact, I prefer a zesty servant over a well-packaged lady any day.”

CLÁR NEVER TRULY KNEW WHETHER OR NOT SHE WOULD ever obtain him. yes, he was this gorgeous prince who had a voice to match, but it was clear that her abstinence from him was an annoyance. she wanted to keep that going. the girl grinned at his statement, even wondering if he was trying to get under her skin. ❝ ah, you and i are similar in that way then, ❞ she started, ❝ i also prefer a servant over a man of nobility any day. ❞ and william certainly was a man of nobility. ❝ and very few are as noble as yourself, your royal highness. ❞ she grinned at her own words, sparkling emerald gaze watching him drink that wine. ❝ anyhow, why must we speak about our conquests in bed? i do not wish to reveal my secrets. ❞

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&&. WILLIAM WINDSOR. 

W i l l i a m scowled at her cruel and blatant rejection. Well, not rejection, really, seeing as he had not proposed anything. The technicality was a sorry balm for his wounded pride. He didn’t understand how this wench thought she was so much better than he–a prince! Who did she think she was? All of the other servants were practically tripping over themselves to undress for him, and here stood Clar, the most wanton of them all, and for him alone she was closed for business? Absurd! He took another angry puff of his cigarette and didn’t bother to blow the smoke away from her. “You must be deaf as well as daft, then, if you think I sound like a filthy Scot,” prince said. “The Scots only sound more lighthearted because you can’t understand the drivel emanating from their maws. If you could, I bet their words would be just as savage as their phonetics.”

BROWS RAISED AT HIS SUDDEN ONSLAUGHT OF HATRED towards the scots, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. he was drunk, and william always had that easily angered personality.  she was a servant for england, so no, she would not be fighting against the prince, but scotland was far superior. ❝ the scots have heart. may not have clear words, but the people can fight like hell without the privileges of full armies even. ❞ those were probably the most serious words she’s spoken all night, yet clár soon defaulted back into that teasing, sharp tongue. ❝ hell of lovers as well, those scots. i’m afraid i cannot say even half as much for you english. everything seems to revolve around formalities and upkeep with you -- sometimes barbarity is good in bed. ❞ with a small wink, the girl leaned against a wall and kept her gaze on him who was now haloed with smoke. ❝ what an honour for the prince to forgo his time at the ball to speak to a lowly servant. ❞

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&&. WILLIAM WINDSOR. 

W i l l i a m chuckled and took a drag of his smoke. “Oh, yes, girls like you certainly need to take breaks–we don’t want you getting too worn out and overused,” he said in the most innocent, nonchalant voice he could possibly muster, even while giving Clár a sideways glance. His smile faltered when she took a stab at his accent. It was a confusing feeling; at once shame for the peasant’s habit and wounded pride for his homeland and culture. Pride won out–he was far too fond of Yorkshire to let an actual peasant insult it. “You do, you love it?” He made a point of not bothering to restrain the accent anymore, let his mouth push all the vowels to the back of his throat. “And all this time I’ve been employing other methods to gain your affection, when all I had to do was talk like this? My god, woman, you are easy to please.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, his gaze sharp and his smile just a little too steely to be ‘just joking.’

HE HAD TAKEN FAR TOO MANY JABS AT HER to feel any sort of shame anymore. it was second nature -- their insults hurled at each other in the most casual of ways. clár smirked, lithe hands smoothing over the skirt of her dress. ❝ easy to please, perhaps. yet still unattainable to you, your royal highness. ❞ the reply came easy to her. william -- who was able to sleep with any woman in the palace being rejected by a servant instilled a glimmer of happiness in her own heart. was he trying to have her? she could not be sure. but she enjoyed the thought. and oh, how she hated that look. he was trying to hurt her, but did he not know that she was too hardened by her own life to care anymore? hand moved from her skirt to brush through her hair idly. ❝ but yes, i love it. nearly reminds me of the scots that would frequent dublin. though the scots tend to be more lighthearted than the english. ❞

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&&. WILLIAM WINDSOR. 

“ A h , bugger the other guests,” William said, pulling the mask off his face and looking at it, as though he were surprised that it had not been doing its job. “I just had a pretty good… ah… conversation with a lady, I think I’m allowed a break.” Only when he was drunk did his acquired Northern accent peek out and morph all of his words from something properly English to something that wanted to be Scottish but couldn’t quite get there. He heard it now: the long, flat a’s and the oddly rounded u’s. His royal pride wilted to sound so lowborn before this annoying little serving maid, but his Northern pride wouldn’t let him stop. “And you? Shouldn’t you be in there doing your day job? I didn’t think you’d have time to pull your regular night shift this time,” he said, sniggering.

IT TOOK QUITE A LOT OF HER TO NOT ROLL HER EYES at his admittance. it was such a double edged sword when it came to a woman’s love life, yet men could sleep with an entire kingdom and be praised for their conquests. regardless, clár grinned at that northern accent peeking through his usual tone -- the servant quite preferring it to be honest. his constant quips did nothing to wound her, but the prince was an overall annoyance who clár needed to discover a way to shut up once and for all. ❝ even servants require breaks every now and again, your royal highness. i am glad that i’ve taken mine the same time you’ve taken yours. otherwise i might not have heard that northern lilt to your voice which i love so much, ❞ clár teased -- hoping to take a dig at him as he had to her all night. 

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&&. WILLIAM WINDSOR. 

W i l l i a m , having stepped outside for some fresh air–that was, the fresh-feeling sensation that tingled in his brain after a smoke–was now making his way on tipsy feet back into the ballroom. He had spent the night thus far winning the conquest for a serving wench’s innocence, and having won it, now meant to set his energy to conquering new territory. He was most displeased, therefore, to find that the woman he had accidentally stumbled into while laughing at a joke a passing duke had shared with him, was the one land he had never managed to take: the servant, Clár. Disguised though she was, he could tell her by her voice, her disdainfully cool tone, any day. “Well, I’d wager I was just doing the same thing you were,” William replied with a naughty yet hateful smile. “But how did you know it was me? This is a masquerade! What–are you a witch as well as a loose woman?”

SHE COULD HAVE LAUGHED AT HIS REPLY. in fact, she did. ❝ you tell me i am loose while your conquests are never ending, your royal highness!❞ clár slid her mask up above her hair, shining smile ever present. ❝ i would have had a more difficult time guessing your identity if your mask was on you face, ❞ she continued, moving closer and reaching up to gingerly slide will’s mask down over his eyes. his behaviour was only a point to her belief of him being drunk off his ass already. she couldn’t blame him though, if she herself had a title she’d be drinking as well. that hateful smile only fueled her desire to put forward the most pleasant grin possible as she thought it would tug at his temper. ❝ should you not be in the grand ballroom conversing with all the other guests? ❞

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THIS MASKED BALL WAS NOT SOMETHING clár was looking forward to. it was enough to serve the king and queen, but now she was tasked with waiting on the entire guest list? no, she was not happy. the servant dressed as all the others were -- attire that was far more elegant than their normal wear, but that wasn’t a positive. if anything, it was more restrictive all for the sake of blending into the theme of the night. clár had slipped away at some point during the evening to meet with one of the men she’d started a casual relationship with since arriving in sardinia. it consisted of a quick visit to a vacated closet and clár slipping out with slightly disheveled hair back to the hall leading to the main ballroom where, unfortunately, the servant ran into william quite literally. eyes widened in the fear of her insulting some foreign king, she turned in full anticipation to apologize profusely yet calmed when she saw it was the prince. with a small sigh and a nimble hand stroking back a loose strand of hair behind her ear. while she didn’t like william in the slightest, she at least had to be formal with the man that could request his parents to ruin her life. ❝ your royal highness, what are you doing away from the festivities? ❞

@william-of-york

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&&. THOMAS NEVILLE. 

It was only Clár. Good. Thomas wasn’t sure if he would be able to stand being prodded for information by the staff from other kingdoms. “If you’d like.” He was no master artist, but he thought he talent for sketching was fairly good. “Roses.” He replied. Thankfully it was just flowers at that time, and not another sketch of Anneliese to go with the countless others that filled the pages of his sketchbook. “Rough day?” With his free hand he picked up his cup and took a sip. Thomas had thankfully little to do with the Queen but had heard enough about her from both Anneliese and the other members of staff. “I don’t quite know how you put up with her.”

SHE GRINNED AT HIS AGREEMENT -- the girl’s mind already conjuring up just what she wanted the man to draw her. surely something that she could tack up to the wall near her small bed in the servant quarters. clár would quite like something to brighten up her day to look at -- perhaps a nice ocean? ❝ between you and i - ❞ she started before taking a small sip of her own drink. ❝ she’s quite the handful. do you interact with her often? you tutor her daughter, i would think so. ❞

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&&. THOMAS NEVILLE. 

Thomas existed in a strange, in-between world. He was not born into high enough nobility to move in the same circles as the royals and dukes that now populated Sardinia, and his position as tutor to the princess set him apart from the rest of the staff. Neither one nor the other, he found that he drifted between the two worlds. The servants’ hall was quiet at this time of day, and he had settled himself at the end of the long wooden wooden table, his sketchbook and a forgotten cup of tea in front of him. The piece of charcoal scratched over the page, his attention on the drawing. At the sound of footsteps approaching he looked up, hastily scrambling to close the book. “Can I help you?”

THE QUEEN WAS NOT IN THE MOOD for anyone that day it seemed. the woman was irritable even towards her husband which had clár either going to the king for his orders and keeping out of the way while she carried on with her normal routine. the day was almost done -- sun setting and the sky quickly falling into night when clár finally made her way to the kitchen to make herself some tea to sooth her nerves. with an exhausted sigh as she passed her company, the servant searched the cupboards for a cup and brick of tea before getting on with the process. ❝ not yet, thomas. maybe i’ll have you draw me up something later though. ❞ clár stirred her tea, taking a seat opposite of the table thomas was at. ❝ what are you at today? more flowers? ❞

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&&. OLLY FORESTER

He approached to the counter and picked a couple of grapes before dropping them into the pocket of his coat as he continued eating the bread quietly and carefully as if any sudden movement triggered an alarm; his stomach grumbled hungrily, though, because he hadn’t eaten in a while and was now demanding food. Oleander briefly looked at the girl so… energetic and fiery and he wished he could have some of that boldness that characterized her, maybe that way he’d be able to get more funds for his investigations.

The sound of the ran soothed him, although some thunders startled his thin frame, most likely due his anxious state, if he had been alone somewhere else, then it would have been more comfortable; in fact, he was getting accustomed to the situation when a flash grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over.  CONTACT. CONTACT. CONTACT.  He wasn’t good with contact, which caused him to trip and almost fall more than once as the girl drove him to the library. “I— I don’t think we should be here without permission”, he commented bashfully, yet notably impressed with the vast collection of books. “…Regarding what topic?”, he asked quietly, eyes starstruck by the amount of knowledge in one room, “…I mostly read scientific papers, I haven’t given myself enough time to read anything else just for… fun”, he admits, “what’s yours?”

A FUNNY ONE -- OLLY. clár caught on to his quirks early on. his skittishness originally worried her; clár thinking that she’d done something wrong for the man to ask like such with her, but it was simply him. over time, she’d grown to enjoy his company and different personality that thoroughly contrasted her own. perhaps clár could learn a thing or two from oleander though -- she truly should be more cautious in her own duties, but the girl hardly thought she would be able to handle everything if she couldn’t let off some steam every once in a while. 

the two had made their way to the library quickly -- clár’s clover eyes wandering the space before looking back to olly at his voiced concern. ❝ it is only a library, oleander. and if anyone questions it, we are simply here to retrieve a volume for a duchess, ❞ the excuse was far too easy to come up with since it was one she’s used many times before.  which duchess? she did not know. but it was believable. and of course he mostly read scientific papers -- he seemed like the type. the man was brilliant and clár felt herself get a bit defensive when people would just dismiss him. however, his question back to her produced a small shrug by the girl, gaze wandering to the shelves in the hopes of finding one of the few books she recognized. she hadn’t been educated on how to read, though she could copy down her name along with a few more easy words. would she let anyone know that? of course not. so she instead nodded towards a particularly large volume before pulling it out-- The Encyclopedia of English Vocabulary -- it read. but it did have a rather interesting design which had her thinking that it may have been a work of history that might make her seem more intelligent. ❝ this one. been readin’ it since i was a girl- ❞ 

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&&. OLLY FORESTER

Olly remained against the wall, clutching at his satchel as he watched the girl so carelessly settle down in a corner, reaching for bread and… OH! CATCH, BOY!   Oleander had to drop his things to be able to grab the half thrown his way. He thanked her with a nod of the head and nibbled a little bit of the night snack he had received. “I— I don’t know… the storm seems.. promising…”, he opinionated as he looked through the window. “—-won’t the king and queen need you, though, Clár?”

HE WAS SO WORRISOME -- if clár had been anyone else, she may have been stressed about it all just by listening to his words or watching how he moved so nervously about. why did he have his belongings clutches so close like that? on the journey there, he’d done the same thing and the girl wondered if he’d ever seen an ounce of fun in his life. people were productions of circumstances and she could only imagine what had happened for him to be so cautious like this. would she ask? no. but she could wonder. 

perhaps... it was not best for a person like oleander to be in a room that only engorged the harsh sounds from outside. with a quick bite of her bread, clár stood and went to the other to take hold of his arm before leading him to a far more comfortable room. the library to be exact. any sound from the outside world was muffled by the dense bookshelves lining the walls. ❝ the king and queen are occupied with more pressing matters, ❞ she replied cooly, ❝ tell me, which is your favorite? ❞ clár asked if only to occupy his mind. 

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&&. OLLY 

   “I— I guess we will have to share a room until the storm has passed”, Olly commented as he grasped to his things.

THE NERVOUS LOOKING MAN HAD CLÁR chuckling to herself, making herself comfortable on the floor against the corner wall of the kitchen. ❝ ah, it’ll pass in a few minutes. nothing to be worried about. ❞ the servant reached up to a tabletop to grab a piece of leftover bread, tearing the loaf in half and tossing him the other. ❝ we could make our way out of here whenever, but i quite prefer to take a small break every now and then. ❞

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paledhorses·:

“i am, though, my family hardly has much to claim.” he remarked, ruefully, “after my mother and sisters were murdered, we have very little power back home.” he explained, softly. it’s clear he is still hurting. “i’m a prince, though i think, if i was to be anything else i’d like to be a blacksmith.” he nods, thoughtfully.

━━━━ clár’s face paled at his words. murdered? the man was truly an open book -- and she appreciate the transparency though she didn’t know how to respond. with his almost casual mentioning of it, she assumed that he was not unstable in the conversation. ❝ a blacksmith is a difficult task, ❞ she went off of that train of thought, this being far more comfortable than speaking of death, ❝ you have experience then? ❞

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maximillian.

“others like me?” he repeats, a small smile curving his lips, “at this point, my family is, well, not much better than others like you.” he looks down. the loss of his mother and sisters had been hard. it hung like a heavy weight, crushing him and his family. he should have stayed, for his their sake, but he had a son to protect. he knew they’d understand. he shakes himself from his revevire, maxmillian’s eyes are saddened, “well, miss domhnall, what do you do in the service of your royals?” it’s a genuine question.

━━━━ CLÁR PARTED HER LIPS TO SPEAK, the girl thinking that he too was of a higher position. it was a common thread with her, it seemed. there were plenty of people she simply assumed help a title of higher importance. ❝ i apologize, i assumed you were of nobility at least- ❞ she replied quickly, head bowing down slightly, apologetically as her cheeks flushed in faint pink. his shift in demeanor was obvious, only leaving clár feeling more quilty about her assumptions. ❝ i serve the king and queen. general duties -- assisting with their dressing, responding to their orders... and yourself? ❞

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agafya.

agafya was used to people forgetting her last name. or, at least, foreigners forgetting the common surname culture in russia. the difference between female and males in that society. so, she did hope this woman had the common sense to not take her last name to be the last name of her brother as well. that would be rather funny, but serious at the same time. agafya chuckled lightly to hear the woman let out the sound of relief. politics was not her forte, nor did she want to try and understand it. she nodded slightly, dismissing her apology with the wave of a hand. “oh, please. don’t worry about it. anyone who has the audacity to say what i said is rather odd in my books as well.” she remarked, looking away as to not let the advisor know that they were talking of him. “unfortunately, i am. it seems i’m a little too wild for their taste and wish for me as proper as my dear sister. they obviously aren’t aware that proper manners don’t quite exist out within the people.” she commented, motioning for someone to bring her a drink. “but it doesn’t quite matter. i know what i must do, and i live on to hopefully see the day i can go back home to my little home and to my people.” she said, seeing two glasses of wine being brought to her. “would you care for one?”

POLITICAL TALK WAS SOMETHING THAT clár would frequently partake in when she was still living in ireland and able to sneak to that bar her brother and his friends would gather and talk about a better tomorrow as they put it. no, she never led a conversation or spoke for long, but she was able to ask questions, voice her theories, and clár learned from it all. but here, surrounded by royalty and nobility, the girl had to hold her tongue in more than a few occasions. clár disliked even the thought of agreeing with those in power simply to support them while keeping her job. after all, the position was better money she’s seen in a while -- money she was able to send home to her family. nevertheless, she was relieved to know that this princess did not want to talk about something that could potentially get her into trouble. one another servant came at the princess’ motion, clár stepped to the side a bit and listened to her speak. ❝ i do miss my home as well, ❞ ireland, not exactly england. in fact, clár didn’t even want to work for the crown but royalty had directly asked her previous employer for her and she couldn’t exactly refuse. blinking herself out of a small little train of thought, clár had to keep her eyes from widening in surprise of the offer. did she want wine? always. but was it allowed so openly? she was off her duties... ❝ if you do not mind, yes- ❞