The Quietly Overwhelmed

Chambermaid of Clevedon Court

[the-accepting-prince]

Time: June 1st

Place: Savile Row, London

Status: open

Asa had decided that he liked London. It felt like a city he might fit into, in some other lifetime- a city rich with history and tradition, a city filled with buildings designed for royalty. Even on an errand, searching the tailor shops on one of the market streets, Asa felt a little bit more like the version of himself that had been stolen from him twenty-six years ago.

Shopping for a masquerade ball costume was very different than the usual clothes shopping Asa was used to. There were far more things to consider- more fabrics, more colors, more designs- and he had only a rough idea of what costume he was supposed to be looking for. The rules about what a gentleman should wear would be somewhat relaxed, so that was one less worry. But there was still one very important reason why this errand was a frustrating one.

Asa hated the very idea of masquerade balls. Not all of them, of course. But ones like this, when everyone was invited no matter what their standing- they grated on his nerves like nothing else.

“It’s a stupid idea,” he complained as he stalked from display to display. “Shove a bunch of people together, and let them all have at it, dancing and drinking without a care in the world who they’re dancing and drinking with. This? This is where you get ridiculous and impractical situations such as chambermaids waltzing with counts and dukes.” He ran his hand over a bolt of fabric. “And of course they’re all masked and costumed so no one knows who they are. Right. Yes. Brilliant, whoever came up with that idea. Some young lord could fall hopelessly in love with a masked maiden only to find out she’s a kitchen maid who borrowed one of her mistress’s dresses, and then it’s a big to-do and no one knows how to fix it, and the young lord ends up broken-hearted and the kitchen maid has no idea what she’s done and goes on her merry way. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

The tailor shop floor creaked as he moved to a new section. “What’s the point of it, anyway? I tell you, all this modern drivel, trying to foster camaraderie between upstairs and downstairs, it’s going to lead to no good, no good at- hey! Are you listening to me?”

[marian-alvey]

Marian tried her best not to be out on the streets of London too often. Navigating the familiarity of St. Maur was difficult enough; trying to do the same thing in a city she knew next to nothing about was an invitation for trouble, and she kept to the townhouse as much as she could.

But there were times when there was simply no help for it, and she was left with no other choice than to venture out into the city and hope, like she did with most other things, that she was able to manage alright.

At least this time her errand was for herself, and not for Mrs. Luison or Mr. Eshborn. She’d taken long enough deciding to attend the ball in the first place, and she couldn’t afford to take the same amount of time when it came to deciding on her costume. She already knew exactly what she’d be disguising herself as- Cobweb, the only role in the play that she might be able to use as an excuse for why she wouldn’t be doing much dancing, after all, Cobwebs were supposed to stay in the corners, weren’t they? And she knew the base of what she would be wearing, that old gray dress of her mother’s, one of the few reasonably fine things oshe owned.

But that, in itself, did not a costume make. If she wanted it to be one, she’d have to find some way to dress it up some. Which was what had led her to an afternoon of browsing every tailor shop she could find, on the hunt for things that might help transform the old dress from, well, exactly that, to something fit for a masquerade ball.

She’d heard a voice the moment she stepped into this particular shop, but since the owner of the voice seemed to be talking mostly to themselves, she didn’t pay much attention to it, busy weighing every button and ribbon and bit of trim in her mind, trying to decide whether it fit into her mind’s ideal of what she wanted her costume to be.

Until, quite without warning, the voice grew sharper. “Hey! Are you listening to me?”

Marian startled. Nothing good ever came of a sentence like that, and her old fear of making a mistake, breaking some rule that would reflect badly on both Lord Conway and herself, immediately reared its ugly head. “N-no,” she stammered, still not entirely sure the man was truly speaking to her. “No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t. Er…was I supposed to be?”

[marian-alvey]

valentin-talbot​:

He smiled, gratefully. His resolution was maybe, however. He’d have to reach out to Mister Gupta soon, and apologise properly. 

There was more he would’ve loved hearing her discuss, on the topic of monsters, but she was quite right. “And you’re probably far too busy to spend your day babbling away with silly me,” he chuckled and rose to his feet. “It was a pleasure to see you again, as always, and I will contact you shortly regarding the contract. Until then, please, enjoy your time here, yes?” 

"Not at all," Marian reassured him. "It was a pleasure seeing you, too." He'd been a welcome interruption to her day, and their conversations were always ones she enjoyed...even if they always tended to leave her with plenty to think about afterwards. She could already tell that today would be no different; she would more than likely spend it with her mind full of questions about stains, and monsters, and whatever it was that had made him bring them up to begin with. Hopefully her advice had done something to help, even knowing as little as she did of what the situation was.

"I will," she promised. Nervous as she had been about coming to London, she was starting to be glad she had, and enjoying her time here, though still as overwhelming as everything else in her life, was beginning to seem like less of an impossibility.

[marian-alvey]

thenewlyfreed​:

If Cobweb was under the impression the injuries weren’t serious (on Ira, specifically – Deepak’s were mainly superficial, after all), then the two of them had succeeded in spinning their tale of a very angry horse. That should be a good thing. Yet Deepak suddenly wanted to tell her that it was, in fact, extremely serious. That Ira had been unconscious for more than eleven hours. That he’d been very painfully concussed for days. That Deepak had made himself physically unwell with worry. Why else would the two of them be so inseparable tonight, other than for Deepak’s deep fear that some horrid thing would happen to Ira again?

He stayed quiet.

Or at least he did until she flushed, the redness of her face evident. Without need to hide his expressions, Deepak smiled under his sheet and mask. It wavered slightly with the puff of laughter that left his mouth, which then quickly twisted into a sympathetic moue.

“You shouldn’t think that way,” he said, not yet too soft to be heard. He didn’t know for sure that her lack of confidence was more than just skin-deep, but he knew from experience that when one had been told something many times over, even if that thing was false, one started to believe it. “You belong here just as much as anyone. More, even. You deserve to have a night only concerned with enjoying yourself.” Did that give away that he had recognised her? Probably. Yet just as with the compliment, which had slipped through due to booze-eased lips, Deepak couldn’t unsay what had been said. It simply had to be there, in the air between all three of them, and in its wake he had to curse himself again for not eating those pastries.

She got it! Marian got it! Understated in his delight, Deepak turned quickly to Ira, to celebrate that finally, finally, someone had understood what he was dressed as. He gave him a light nudge. Then he turned back to Perhaps-but-definitely Marian. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely pleased. “Really, I just didn’t want to paint my bedsheet.”

Marian was beginning to think it was a pity she hadn't chosen a different color for her costume. Gray didn't go very well with red, and it looked as though she was not about to stop blushing any time soon. There was something strangely familiar about the way the Moon was trying to reassure her, the warmth and kindness in his voice. But the bedsheet didn't give her much to work with in the way of forming a guess as to who he might be underneath it, and she was still too dazzled by the grandeur around her to truly set her mind to figuring it out.

"Oh, I am," she said quickly. "Enjoying myself, I mean. I don't get many nights just to do that, and I'm going to make the most of this one." Just as soon as she stopped being dazzled by everything and actually made up her mind as to how she wanted to do that, what memories she wanted to take with her when this one magic night came to its end.

But maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. She had no idea who she was talking to, after all. For all she knew, the Moon might be a lord, someone who'd seen far grander sights than this. Maybe she should try and get a grip on her giddiness, maybe she should stop going on about everything, maybe she should-

Her mind would have been happy to continue that downward spiral, but her attention was captured by his next comment, his explanation of why he'd chosen his unusual costume. She had to laugh at that. She was doing a great deal of laughing tonight, far more than she usually did, but she found, oddly enough, that she didn't mind it. It was nice, being so light-hearted for once.

"So you saved yourself the work," she said. If there was one thing she could appreciate, that was it. "That may be just as clever as coming as the Moon in the first place."

[marian-alvey]

thenewlyfreed​:

Oh! Cobweb covered her mouth to hide what seemed like a laugh, and Deepak’s head tilted as he suddenly cottoned to who it was she reminded him of. She carried the harried rush of an overworked woman. The bright eyes of an inexperienced young girl. The wisdom and maturity of one pushed beyond their years. The willingness to listen of one who had been spoken over one-too-many times. She reminded him of the taste of over-brewed, bitter tea, drunk lukewarm at a lamp-lit table. She reminded him, even if she might not be her, of Miss Marian.

“Its rider was a berk,” Deepak said, bluntly. “Also The Wall fell down next to it; that would spook most people, let alone an animal.” Despite the sheet and mask covering head to toe, Deepak turned his face towards Ira and gave him a shit-eating grin. “Then I swooped over, and it mistook me for a ghost,” like everyone at this damned ball- “so it stomped on my hand.” Deepak wafted about his strapped and bandaged finger some more, turning back to Cobweb-Marian. Odd, that a chambermaid would come as a cobweb, the enemy of all maids around the country. But then again, it was odd that Ira came as a wall when he was so keen on tearing them down, and odd Deepak came as the moon when…. Well, maybe there wasn’t anything too weird about the moon.

Letting his hands slip back under the sheet, Deepak peered through the holes of his mask to get another really good look at the woman before him. This was the only person he had lain eyes on who he had recognised, so far, and it was… fascinating. Fascinating, to see Maybe-Marian out of her maid’s uniform or the clothes she donned on her day off, to see her made up pretty and fair, all floaty and gauzy and cobweb-y.

“You look lovely, tonight.” Ah, perhaps Deepak had had a little too much to drink, a little too fast. He should have grabbed a few more of those little flaky pastry things besides the drinks before having another glass of that sweet, pink concoction everyone was passing around.

From the way the Moon spoke about Ira, the light teasing tone of his voice, Marian could tell they’d been friends for some time, and likely close ones. Strange. She wouldn’t have picked Ira as the type for friendships like that, but perhaps there was another side to him after all, one she had yet to see.

And likely never would, given the fact that every conversation between her and Ira seemed to end well, but it was a nice thought, anyway.

  The horse story was seeming slightly more plausible now that it was made up of less heroic exploits and more awkward bumbling, and she decided, finally, to take the Moon’s word for it. “I’m glad it wasn’t more serious,” she said. “And not serious enough to keep you both from coming tonight. It would be a shame for anyone to have to miss this.”

“This” was accompanied by a vague hand gesture in the direction of the glittering room around them; she really didn’t know what she was referring to, what part of the whole affair impressed her most. She just knew that this night was something unforgettable, something that didn’t often come a servant’s way, and she hated the thought of anyone not having a night like this in their memories.

Or maybe that was just her naïveté talking, and this whole thing only felt grand because she’d never seen grander. It didn’t matter. She was here, and she was happy, and she was glad that so many others from St. Maur would be able to say the same when the night was over, even if she didn’t know exactly who those others were behind their masks.

At his compliment, she blushed behind her own mask, and then blushed even deeper at the thought of how obvious the pinkness in her cheeks would be with the scrap of lace doing nothing to hide it. “Thank you,” she said, sounding more shy than she’d hoped to. “I almost didn’t come, I didn’t think I could ever make myself fit for a place like this, but I’m glad I did.”

It felt as though she should compliment him in return, but that was hard to do when he was wearing a bedsheet. So she cast about for something else to say, and finally found it. “I wouldn’t have thought of coming as the Moon. I don’t think anyone else would have, either.”

[marian-alvey]

valentin-talbot​:

“Thank you for your kind judgement.” He meant it, even if he had to follow it with a ‘but’. “But don’t be too kind on strangers. I’ve not always been the best version of myself. Well. I doubt I am the best version of myself right now, there’s certainly a lot I still need to learn but-…” He shook his head. “If Mister Gupta holds anything against me, he’s most likely right to do so. So if ever he says something like that, be on his side, okay?”

He nodded. Smiled, softly. “Monsters hide in the most innocent of faces, don’t they?” 

She nodded. “I’ll be on his side,” she promised, and though she said it partly to reassure him, she found that, strangely enough, she meant it. What she shared with Mr. Gupta over those cups of tea in the kitchen…it was special, somehow, simple as it was, and it had forged something between them that would not be easily broken, or so she hoped, anyway. But in her mind, the question of whether Valentin bore any guilt over the situation at Tynthesfield had been settled. A guilty person wouldn’t have cared so much.

“I don’t know about that,” she said in reply to his next words. “I suppose they can hide, for a while, but eventually they give themselves away. No one likes living with a part of themselves hidden. It’s got to come out somehow.”

It was only a guess, really, born from her own experience of keeping a secret, but she hoped for his sake that there was truth to it. “I shouldn’t keep you,” she said after a moment, regret tinging her voice. More likely than not they’d been standing here too long already. “Lady Dinah must be waiting.”

[marian-alvey]

thenewlyfreed​:

Watching Ira was actually not that hard, tonight. Deepak would admit to having worried a little, this being the first crowd the two of them were entering together since the riot, but so far there had been no bubbling tensions, no angered shouts, no uniformed thugs. All there had been were a lot of very fancy costumes, a lot of very boozy drinks, and a lot of very odd, strangely flirtatious conversations (too many of those, in Deepak’s opinion, which said a lot as his tolerance for such nonsense was high, indeed). By this point, Deepak had all but tuned them out, hovering at Ira’s side like the ghost people kept on mistaking him for, and only coming into the conversation when he was referenced (usually for a joke. Ira liked jokes.), or when Ira made the sort of movement that sent Deepak’s stomach lurching with worry (for example, falling. Ira liked falling.). So when his pseudonym for the night was called, Deepak snapped to attention, sharpish.

“Hm?” he grunted. He’d been asked to grab drinks, to pass judgement on attractiveness, to show off the fact that he really was just wearing a bedsheet, and even to hand over a family heirloom he definitely, one-hundred percent did not have, but he’d not been asked to dance in Ira’s place before.

Thankfully, the woman before them (fairy costume, brown hair, South-Western accent, familiar somehow, Cobweb?), turned down the offer before Deepak could awkwardly bumble his way about on the dancefloor with her. He knew how to dance, a little. He could spin a girl about, should she want, but he’d never done it in a bensheet before, and so many of the attendees that night were the types who could properly dance.

“It’s a true story,” Deepak cut in, and wriggled his bandaged hands out from beneath the sheet. “It mangled my hands, too.” Which was, actually, not true at all. The Police and the ground had mangled Deepak’s hands, and they were mostly healed by this point, only his fractured fingers still bound whilst the rest of him glinted with flecks of shiny new skin. Deepak jerked the thumb of one towards Ira. “He fainted at the sight of it, and it trod on his leg and broke it.” The fainting was a lie, also, but if they were going to spin tales from the truth then there was some fun to be had in teasing the man at his arm.

Marian hadn't immediately realized that Ira had brought a friend along- "Moony" hadn't sounded like an actual name, and she had chalked it up to one of those strange Ira-isms she had given up trying to understand- but now, getting a closer look at the newcomer, she could see the similarities between the two of them. Which was, mainly, that they'd both based their costumes around bedsheets, and it was rather hard to tell what either one was supposed to be.

It dawned on her after a moment- the moon, another role borrowed from the play within a play. And almost as clever as the wall, really, especially when it came to hiding someone's identity. She and Ira rarely ran in the same circles, with her having so much to do at Clevedon, and she had no idea who he might have talked into coming along with him. But that was all part of the fun of the night, wasn't it? She lifted a hand to the bit of lace that covered her own face, suddenly wishing she'd come up with something substantial enough to disguise her own identity just as completely.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the newcomer's bandaged hands. This horse attack was definitely quite a story, even if it was true. Which, if she was being completely honest, she wasn't completely sure of anymore. Part of her was still certain they were only pulling her leg, but part of her had no idea of anything else that could have caused their injuries. And part of her was starting to wish she'd crafted a similarly exciting story to explain her own decision to stay off the dance floor.

Ira fainting, though...she covered her mouth with a hand to disguise a giggle. Obviously a broken leg was no laughing matter, but the mental image the newcomer's words conjured up certainly was. "I don't know much about horses, but I've never seen one of them do something like that," she said. "What on earth did the pair of you do to get on the wrong side of it?"

[marian-alvey]

ira-vaisman​:

“No, I usually tend to take out the books only after I’ve c-…. Hng. Hmm. Ha. Okay. Yes. Moony. Moony, you got two good legs, why don’t you go for a little dance with the cobweb.” Because I say something wholly inappropriate. 

“Very vicious, that one. Mostly because the guy who was on top of it, really, but it sure contributed to it. Red gleaming eye and all that. Wanted me dead. Am sure of it.” 

Why was it that half of what Ira said was impossible for her to understand? And was that due to a problem with her, or with him?

She understood the bit about the dance, at any rate, and quickly shook her head. "Oh no. I'm not dancing tonight either. At least, not much." She scrambled mentally for a moment, trying to find an explanation, then decided it was better to go without one and quickly went on. "Not because I was attacked by a horse, though." She was fairly certain by now that he hadn't been either, but she also wasn't sure where else he could have gotten his injury, so she only raised an eyebrow. "If you hadn't just told me otherwise, I would almost say you've been doing some reading after all. Because that's...quite a story."

[marian-alvey]

valentin-talbot​:

That was decided then. So first the contract, then a talk with Florence, and then maybe a night out with the two of them. He did so want to know how their friendship showed itself when they were together.

It was normal. People talking about their past, about their experiences, especially when they had been so … notable as the ones at Tythesfield. Valentin wanted to feel betrayed, feel scared over the idea that people spoke about it without him having any control over it, but he simply knew better. Knew that it was important that it was discussed. That this didn’t mean it was gossip or an attempt at bad-mouthing. “And for you, please know that-… That while I could’ve done more, should’ve done more and so it is not an excuse, that I never meant to contribute to the horrors of what happened. I did not … help, or-, I don’t think I made it worse.” But he had also not made it better. “I hope I didn’t.” He bowed his head. “Please know I’m not like my father.”

It was always strange, no matter how many times it happened, to see how quickly even a simple encounter like this could turn into something more serious. Stranger still that she should be the one confronting this particular situation, since she had navigated so few serious situations in her own life. But here they both were, and the best thing she could do was...well, do her best.

"I never thought you might have made it worse," she said. "Not for a moment. And I'm sure, under the circumstances, you did all you could. I don't imagine there was much you could have done." The words felt like a poor reassurance, and certainly not much of a comfort, but they were the only words she could manage to find for something that was so far beyond her depth. "I'm sure Mr. Gupta knows it too. When we've talked, he's been nothing but kind, and sensible. I hope...that is, I think he would understand."

Sincere as she was, it didn't feel like enough. She needed something else, something more. She reached out a little, then drew back. "I haven't met your father," she said. "After all I've heard, I can't say I ever hope to. But I don't have to have met him to know you're nothing like him."

[marian-alvey]

ira-vaisman​:

“Oh yeah? Is it a literal part of the play or a symbolic part representing Billy Boy’s rhymes?” 

Marian laughed and Ira raised an eyebrow. The lack of explanation was odd – after all, for once he had not even tried to be particularly funny, but really, that seemed to be a theme with her – but he wasn’t sure he cared enough to ask. Odd was also that she didn’t know. Or, rather, it felt odd. But Ira had been promised that this would be kept a secret. It was just surprising that it had actually stayed a secret. “Was attacked by a horse.” 

"A literal part," Marian said. "One of the fairies. Didn't you read the play, before you came?" True, there wasn't much time in a servant's day for reading, but if he knew enough of the details of the story to show up as the wall, of all things, she imagined he'd at least given the play a cursory once-over.

His explanation of his injuries was...it was harder to know what to say to that. One of the difficult things about Ira- she was sure it was Ira now- was that that dry, sarcastic tone of his sometimes made it difficult to tell when he was actually serious and when he was just being, well, Ira. The horse story wasn't entirely impossible, but it didn't seem entirely plausible either. "I didn't think horses attacked people. Not often, anyway."

[marian-alvey]

valentin-talbot​:

Valentin said nothing to it, but his smile was still very fond. He had never doubted Miss Marian’s good heart, but if Florence approved of her as well, he could be certain that she was indeed a wonderful, wonderful person. “Well, and if there’s anything you’d like to do or see while you’re here, I’d be happy to  join you.”

He hummed, thinking about it for a moment. The way she phrased it, it was a little too familiar. “Would it-… Would it be too much to ask if perhaps you could speak well of me to him? Only if the topic of Tynthesfield arises. Please let him know that I-… That I regret.” 

"Of course!" Marian said. There was so much to see in London that it had seemed quite overwhelming, and she had kept mostly to the townhouse, but in Valentin's company it wouldn't be nearly so much of a challenge

She frowned a little at the next words. Somehow, when she was with Valentin, it was so easy to forget about what his father was like. But she remembered, now, that he was a Talbot, that he and Mr. Gupta shared a great deal of the same past. She didn't know what it was that Valentin had to regret, and she didn't need to ask. "Of course," she said softly. "We've spoken of Tynthesfield, a time or two. Never in much great detail, but..." She trailed off, the implication clear: that little detail had been more than enough. "I'll tell him. The very next time we talk."

[marian-alvey]

zahir-qureshi​:

♣ ♣ ♣

“It is certainly a burden,” Zahir nodded, having more compassion for his employers than other might have in his same situation. He had almost corrected Marian, told her that Mr Bannister, Clevedon Court’s butler, was exactly the kind of man who would be watching her not just for anything that might reflect badly on Lord Conway but that might reflect badly on her, point.  But it felt cruel to do so. Maybe the man had changed. Maybe he would not care for any of Marian’s actions as long as they did not mar Lord Conway’s good name. “But luckily not one we have to carry. There, since we have finish our tea, what you say we go look at some materials?” he proposed, hoping to get Marian’s mind off of such upsetting topics.

Not a burden they had to carry. Well, that much was a comfort, at least. She had enough burdens to carry, and likely as not more to come once they were in London. Anything more might have finally proven too much for her. "Thank goodness for that," she sighed.

At his suggestion, she brightened. She hadn't wanted their time together to end, even despite their empty teacups. It was always so difficult to carve an hour or two out of her day, and she didn't want to waste this opportunity now that she had it. "I'd love to!" she said, pushing back her chair. The sooner the two of them gathered materials and started their lessons, the more prepared she'd feel when the Season came around.

[marian-alvey]

ira-vaisman​:

“It’s clever, and contrary to yours also part of the actual play,” he replied, just as drily as before. He’d now been stuck with Marian in a house for a month, and there was no way he wasn’t going to recognise her. Not with just a flimsy lace mask covering her face. And the mood between them in said last month had been rather, uh, icy. She had decided that he was a troublemaker and good-for-nothing, and he had decided that she had a stick up her bum. Which didn’t mean that they – or at least Ira, he wasn’t so sure about her – hadn’t tried to be civil around each other whenever Deepak was around. 

So he actually bothered to answer her: “Because it’s the only hope I have at not being asked for a dance.” With his cane, he knocked against the cast on his leg. 

"Mine is part of the play!" Marian protested, a bit more heatedly than she might have if she hadn't been starting to form a very good idea of the wall's identity. There was no mistaking that dry sarcasm; she was just glad she didn't have a bucket this time. True, her costume might have been slightly more recognizable if there had been people playing the other three of Titania's attendants, but there wasn't much she could do about that.

At his next comment, she couldn't manage to hold back a laugh. Not because there was anything humorous about it, but because of the irony of the fact that she'd somehow managed to end up talking to the one other person who was here at the ball despite being physically incapable of dancing. "Sorry," she said immediately, coloring a little behind her mask. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just..." But there was no way to explain it, was there? Not without letting Ira in on her secret, and he was the last person she'd ever think of doing that with. "I don't quite have my wits about me tonight," she finished awkwardly. Then she nodded to his leg. "How'd you manage that, anyway?"

[marian-alvey]

valentin-talbot​:

He nodded. “And that’s why Florence likes you.” Any lesser person than Marian could’ve easily accepted the offer, knowing full well the family was obligated to pay her, and then blackmailed them into doing so. The reputation of their name once again at risk, but this time not for something the Baron had done maliciously, but something the children had done innocently. "And once you receive your pay, and you still really think that you don’t need it, you may always do what I do: Buy some silly little gifts for Florence.”

Mister Gupta talked. Mister Gupta shared information. Mister Gupta eased anxieties. Valentin shivered, just a little bit. Mister Gupta was a good man, wasn’t he? “Does he seem happy? At Clevedon? With Lord Conway?”

Laughing, Marian accepted his suggestion. “That’s exactly what I’ll do, then. Heaven knows I owe Florence more than just thanks, for a chance like this.” She gestured to the window, indicating all the vastness of London outside.

At his next question, she tilted her head for a moment, mulling over her answer before she gave it. It wasn't that she didn't know what to say, but that she wasn't sure how much of it she should say, not wishing to betray the confidence of her nights with Mr. Gupta in the kitchen. "He doesn't seem unhappy, exactly," she said slowly, searching for the right words. "I think he could be happy at Clevedon, eventually. He just has to get used to happiness being a possibility, first."

[marian-alvey]

zahir-qureshi​:

♣ ♣ ♣

See, that was what Zahir liked about Marian: she was willing to put in effort and hard work into everything she did. And that was made him so confident to say “She hasn’t,” with a firm nod. Though, he would not argue it further than this as he had settled on prove it to her with actions rather than words. “And it is. That’s the other thing about London,” he said, with a smile and a sigh at the same time, “it can be unpredictable.”

He had to laugh a little at her question. It wasn’t a mean laughter, in a way he had once thought something similar. “I am sure of it,” he said, once more with a confident tone, “you serve a Lord who has mysteriously inherited a country seat, and I an Earl who has lost his heir,” now his smile had dimmed until his expression turned more serious again, “with three unmarried daughters. London will be buzzing with gossip about all of them. And the Talbots, too, especially with Lady Florence having her coming out.” He only hoped that for the young lady’s sake, London society would not be too harsh on her and her family. “It will greatly depend on how their season go, but there will be gossip for sure,” he said, with a nod, “and that’s why we also have to be twice as careful there.”

"Unpredictable" wasn't a word Marian liked to hear too often. At Clevedon, under Mrs. Fletcher and Frau Bauer, every hour in her day was full, every piece of it moving like clockwork. The idea of a place where none of that was true, where anything might happen and anything that did happen might have any number of unforeseen consequences, wasn't an idea that sat well with her. But there was little, if anything, to be done about that other than to face it and hope she could manage.

His description of the St. Maur families and the mysteries they were wrapped up in was yet another new idea, and she considered it for a moment. When it was put like that, it was obvious that, however small their little town might be, there was still plenty in it that might fuel the rumor mill of the London gossips, provided they were bored enough. That didn't sit well, either.

"I could never do it," she declared. "I could never live like they do, watched all the time. It's bad enough knowing that everything I do is a reflection on Lord Conway, but at least there's no one watching me for my own sake. If there was, if everything I did might end up the talk of the town the next morning..." She trailed off, shaking her head. No matter how busy her days might get, there was still something to be said for being exactly who she was, and never anything more than that.

[marian-alvey]

valentin-talbot​:

“That is so kind and sweet of you to say,” Valentin said, “but we still have to pay you.” His expression said exactly that, a note of regret mixed with fondness. “I will put up a contract and we can discuss the pay. If you think that the mere invitation to London is worth a salary, then you can haggle with me, and it’ll be a form of volunteer compensation. But I really can not have you work for us for free. Your work is valuable, and nothing valuable should ever be given for free.” 

Valentin too chuckled a bit. “That is rather charming.” And it was good to know that David, or rather, Mister Deepak Gupta, along with so many of the old Tynthesfield household, had found a better home. “May I ask if you are amicable with a certain Mister Gupta?” 

The gentle argument back and forth between them was too good-natured to be called a battle, but all the same, whatever it was, Marian could tell she wasn't going to win it. Smiling yet again at his kindness, she acquiesced. "If you insist. Although I still say it's more than enough just to be here."

At his next question, she brightened immediately, thrilled that the tide of their conversation had turned to a subject that meant so much to her. Of course, it fit that Father Valentin would know Mister Gupta as well. "Oh, yes! He's the only one of the servants at Clevedon that I've really gotten to talk to. We get along quite well, or at least we do now that we've been able to puzzle each other out a bit. I was nervous about going to London, before we came, so he told me all about it. I might have talked myself out of coming at all if it hadn't been for him."

[ira-vaisman]

Time: 9th of June Place: Masquerade Ball Status: Open

Ira looked at the person for a long moment with such a straight, dry face that even with a mask it was perfectly readable, then raised his arms to the side. “Wall. And you?” 

[marian-alvey]

"Cobweb," Marian answered, blushing. Her costume had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that she was actually here, with glittering grandness all around her on a scale she'd never seen before, she couldn't help but feel self-conscious about every decision she'd made- the decision to attend at all included.

"I like yours," she said. "It's clever." And it was, simple to execute and definitely unique enough to stand out from the dozens of women dressed as fairies or men wrapped in white tunics. Although it did beg one obvious question. "If, uh, you don't mind my asking, why the wall, exactly?"

[marian-alvey]

soleil-timide​:

.

She nodded, pleased that Marian was indulging her. A smile lifted her lips at the thought of her brother. “He will. He has always been able to comfort me,” Florence admitted softly. They’d always been close, and they adored one another. Between her family and the friends she’d managed to make and keep in the wake of scandal, Florence was truly lucky. Even having a friendly face to go through her gowns and accessories with was more than she could have dreamed of. Granted, if she’d requested her siblings to help, they very likely would have, but there was a different feel to the room with Marian. An easy camaraderie that she appreciated.

“I think you are right,” Florence agreed. Once she started attending events and going places to socialize, she would be able to see how other ladies styled themselves. Marian’s comment made her smile sheepishly. There were quite a lot of clothes in this room. More than she’d had in a while, and Florence was acutely aware that it was more than Marian herself had. “All the more reason to ensure everything is in good condition so that they will last through the next season,” Florence commented. It would be very unfashionable, but she couldn’t ask Valentin and Alastair for even more clothes. If that was the price of not marrying, she would not complain. The idea of making the dresses over was an interesting one.

“It is an excellent thought,” Florence assured the other. “I quite like it..I could change embellishments easily enough. And there would be plenty of time between this season and the next to refresh them,” she continued, turning the idea over in her mind as she inspected the fabric of another dress. Decorations would be easier to afford than entirely new gowns as well. Many young ladies would die of same before altering their own dresses, but only if they had the resources to simply buy new. “I think I shall quite like to try my hand at it. May I ask, what sorts of things would you change on a dress?”

It felt...oddly nice, hearing the way Florence spoke of her brother, the way her face softened and she smiled a little at the thought of him. Marian's own relationship with her siblings had always been more strained, and not exactly something she was able to take much comfort in, so she couldn't help but enjoy getting a glimpse of something different. And it was easy to imagine someone like Father Valentin being a great comfort to his siblings. She would hardly have expected anything less from him.

"I've never been through it myself," she continued, "so perhaps I'm only talking nonsense, but it seems to me that there will be a lot of things changing for you after your debut. And not all changing in a bad way, either. I'd be willing to say that the ways of fashion won't be the only thing that gets easier, afterwards." It wasn't the best advice, and she had little in the way of solid reasoning to back it up, but perhaps the debut itself wouldn't be quite so daunting a task if Florence was able to look past to the other side of it.

The question of how she would change a dress was a thought-provoking one, and she scanned the piles of clothes in the room with a critical eye, considering the options. "When we made dresses over for my sisters, the main concern was making something fit that hadn't been made to fit them," she said finally. "Taking up, letting down, whatever was needed. After that we focused on as many small things as we could, to hopefully make a much bigger change by the time we were through. New buttons, sometimes, or trim in a different color. Shorter sleeves, or longer ones. If I had time I'd embroider a bit of something, whatever they liked. My mother's the best at it, though. She could always make something look as though we'd never seen it before, no matter how many times we had."

She laughed, suddenly, at another flash of memory. "If there was nothing else to be done, we'd turn something inside out and sew it back the other way, just to put a fresh face on it. I don't think you need to go quite that far, but it just goes to show, you're never really out of options if you know what you're doing."