aset locke. 43. wife of lord locke. mother of seshat abbas. step-mother of kit, amos, adelaide, and youngest son locke. queen anne's gold tektite. an abundant oasis in the desert ; a garden full of white roses ; jewels and clothing connected to one's heritages ; kohled-drawn eyes and rosey oud-scented bakhoor clinging to her curls.
you do not know me but rest assured i know you, 𝙻𝙰𝙳𝚈 𝙰𝚂𝙴𝚃 𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴 𝚗𝚎́𝚎 𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙰𝚂. you are the 𝙻𝙰𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙴𝙽'𝚂 𝙻𝙰𝙳𝚈 𝙸𝙽 𝚆𝙰𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶. you maybe be known for your 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙻 but it is only a mask for the true nature of your 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂 ways. however, i am not here to spread slander on the queen’s jewels, though i suspect you are her 𝙶𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝚃𝙴𝙺𝚃𝙸𝚃𝙴. the ton says your name reminds them of 𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝙱𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙰𝚂𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚃, 𝙰 𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙴𝙽 𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻 𝙾𝙵 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙴𝚂, 𝙹𝙴𝚆𝙴𝙻𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙾𝙽𝙴'𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂, 𝙺𝙾𝙷𝙻𝙴𝙳-𝙳𝚁𝙰𝚆𝙽 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙴𝚈 𝙾𝚄𝙳-𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝙰𝙺𝙷𝙾𝙾𝚁 𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙻𝚂. how scandalous! you have been warned, dear reader, that i will prove if this is true and share every last detail.
Meet Lady Aset Locke...
Full Name: Lady Aset Locke.
Rank: Wife of Lord Locke ; Queen's Lady in Waiting.
Date of Birth and Age: 3rd of August, 1769 ; Three and Forty Years of Age.
Zodiac Sign: Leo Sun.
Place of Birth: Cairo, Egypt ; Raised in Cairo, Egypt; Jerusalem, Palestine; and Cambridge, England.
Gender and Pronouns: Cis-Woman ; She/Her/Hers.
Romantic and Sexual Orientation: Panromantic Pansexual.
Appearance: Blackish-brown, shoulder length curls ; Dark brown, almond eyes with long black eyelashes ; Tan, olive skintone ; Freckles in various parts over her features.
Courting: Married to Lord Locke.
Getting To Know You...
Trigger Warnings: Abandonment
For as long as Aset could remember, her homelands were her heart. With her father originally from a family that own a prosperous olive grove in Al-Quds/Jerusalem and her mother from a wealthy, noble family living in Cairo, believed to be that they were one of the last descendants of the final dynasty before the Ptolemies came to Egypt, it was always fated that her parents would find each other. That her father would come to Cairo with the intent of making trade of his family's olive and za'atar products while her mother's family was one of the potential investors. As soon as Neith and Mahmood met, it was love at first sight. They knew, from that very instant, that they needed to be together. That they were fated to be together.
Mahmood spent awhile proving himself to Neith's family, particularly her father, as to why he was the right man to marry her. For three years, he fought each and every single day until, finally, he convinced them. They were finally married and within the next year, they had their daughter Aset together.
Splitting their time between the two homelands, the move to England had been a rather unconventional idea. One that neither parent had been sure would be the best idea. And yet, they wanted to give their daughter the best education possible and to ensure that she was well-rounded. Initially, they wanted to move to Constantinople, Baghdad, or Tehran, but Cambridge wasn't an awful choice.
She had been ten when they made the move to England. While her governess had taught her English, ensuring that she knew that along with other languages, it had been quite an adjustment at first. Every day, she missed her homelands of Egypt and Palestine. She missed the pyramids that she could see from her bedroom window. She missed playing along the Nile riverbanks. She missed running through the olive groves when she visited family in Jerusalem. She missed roaming through the bazaars of the Old City. She missed it all.
And so, she rebelled. Aset would hardly speak English and she refused to dress, eat, drink, or behave like a "proper English girl". She was happy with her thobes, with her kohl-lined eyes, and her bakhoor-scented hair. Eventually, her parents sat her down and made an agreement: for six months of the year, she'll spend three in Egypt, and the other three in Palestine. But for the rest of the year, she had to live in Cambridge and make an effort. It wasn't ideal, but, she was diplomatic.
And so, she made that effort. While she was noticeably more happy back in the Middle East and North Africa, she eventually grew to like England—well, aside from the winter months. Then the cold was a rather nuisance to her.
The older she grew, the more of an extraordinary young woman she became. It hadn't been a surprise that she garnered many suitors as soon as she entered her first season at twenty-one. However, it had become quite a surprise when she fell in love during her first season. The man became her everything and more, and it only intensified knowing that he was also from a similar culture to her and was originally from the Middle East as well. They married weeks into their courtship and soon enough, they had a daughter they named Seshat, after Aset's favourite Egyptian goddess.
For twenty years, everything was perfect. Or, so it seemed.
Not too long ago, Aset's husband left her. He had fallen in love with another. And while he claimed that he hadn't began an affair, he could no longer be with her while wanting to be with another. And so, he left. As did Aset and Seshat for Mayfair. She explained her newly single status as being a widow, too broken-hearted (and ashamed) to share the truth about the end of her marriage. Not too long after, she met Lord Locke and learned about his own heartbreak. The marriage was sudden and completely unplanned. And yet, here they are now.
If she was being honest with herself, she deeply regrets marrying the man. She isn't in love with him; she doesn't want to be married to him. She wished that she hadn't done so, but believes that it's too late now to go back. And now that she's living in the same household as his children with her own daughter now, she truly has no idea how to get out of this predicament.
Connections...
The Ex-Husband: Aset is still madly in love with him, but is (understandably) deeply hurt and upset about what he has done. I would love it if he has come back into her life! Whether he's still with the person he fell in love with or not, whether he's come back to try and win her affections or to try and be a father to Seshat again, this could be soooo angsty and I'm here for it.
Her daughter, Seshat: I imagine that Aset and Seshat are incredibly close, which only grew more after her husband left them two, almost three, years ago. An FC might be a little difficult, but I'm ready to try and find some that could work!
The Royal Family Connections: Please give me all the connections between those who are also connected with the royal family. I'm still trying to figure out everything regard her being the Queen's Lady in Waiting, but I'm excited nonetheless!
The Homeland Connections: Calling all Middle Eastern and North African/MENA/SWANASA characters! I feel like Aset is instantly drawn to those who are from similar and familiar backgrounds to her, so I'd love for her to have as many connections as possible with those that are also Egyptian, Palestinian, or those who are also Turkish, from the Middle East, North Africa, the Caucasus region, Central Asia, and South Asia.
General Connections: Friends, enemies, acquaintances (either positively or negatively), lovers who are to take her mind off of her ex and current husbands, crushes, those in the same scenes as her, anything and everything!
If you were to ask Emma, polite society placed an undue amount of stress on the backs of the very youngest. Reading, writing, sitting still, behaving perfectly well all the time. It was enough to make the most well-adjusted person feel the need to rid themselves of some energy.
It is for this reason (to rid him of some built-up energy), that she has taken Alexander to the gardens. Give him some space to roam free, appreciate the tranquility of nature. See the sights. Do something different for a change. What she has not taken into consideration, is this: he is but a child. And children, by and large, lack spatial awareness at the best of times.
Alexander is in the process of running across the path to show her something (a flower? a leaf? a bug?) when he practically barrels into the legs of someone. Emma is quick to cross the space, until she too is in front of the woman, face painted in apology.
While the crashing into her legs had been quite a surprise, the Lady Locke hadn't been too upset about it. Especially not when she saw it was a little boy all but seven years of age. "Oh! Hello there." Her eyebrows raised up, yet she smiled warmly down at him. It has been years since Seshat was that age. She almost forgotten just how much fun it had been.
Aset crouched so that she could be at a better height level with the boy. "How do you do, sir? My name is Aset; it's very lovely to meet you." Her head soon tilted. "Where are your parents, good sir? Are they around?"
She began to look, trying to see if perhaps they or his governess were to appear soon. She knew that he couldn't be here by himself. And soon enough, a young woman began to head their way. Sharing a resemblance with the boy. Aset stood up and smiled warmly, shaking her head at her words.
"Oh, no, please! You have no need to apology. I am perfectly well. He is quite adorable—and excited, it appears."
A regular, that's how Evie knew her. Such a kind face and eyes that would stunt anyone's heaviest step. Anytime a patron would engage with her, knowing full well that not only was she an employee, but a relative in the family of ownership, she took that very much to heart. It wasn't terribly uncommon for someone to look down the bridge of their nose at her and her family, a hardworking people of middle class or lower, so these sorts of conversations were more than welcome - they were answered prayers.
"You have no idea how much those kind words mean to us," she acknowledged with a tone gentle enough to smooth over the feathers of a baby bird. "And your long-time business, of course, but... The words are of a value no amount of coin could possibly match."
Excitement popped into Evie's eyes - that's right, in the chaos, she'd scooped the woman the ice cream, a helping extra than what she'd ordered, because it had been Evie who ideated that particular flavor. Her father insisted the chocolate would make it too sweet, would overpower the lavender, but she'd insisted - balance, she thought, between the floral and the childlike. "Of course, ma'am, right away."
She got to work on fixing the lemonade when the most wonderful word caught her ear. Evie was neither particularly well-read nor well-educated, though she had the savvy of a seaworthy pirate. "Habibi," she repeated, the same way she would hold a hard candy on her tongue to get the flavor slowly, instead of gulping it down. "That sounds so lovely. Do you mind if I ask its meaning?"
"Why, of course! I've only lived in Mayfair for a few years by now, but the parlour has become one of my favourite places since then. You truly have a marvelous shoppe on your hands." As flowery as her words might be, they ranged with the truth. It was one of the locations in town where she could go to and forget about her problems for a time. Where she could simply be.
Instead of thinking about her ex-husband, she could think about the good she still had in her life. She could think about her daughter. She could think about the life she was building in Mayfair. She could think about the people she's met. She could think about the places she's been to. She could think about all her experiences she's had. And she could be grateful for it all.
Such as this moment and being able to talk with Evie. She was hopeful that she could be able to speak with the young blonde again. Whether here at the parlour while enjoying some ice cream again or away from it, talking about something else yet still enjoying one another's company.
"Thank you, truly." Aset sat up quickly and happily. Her smile growing. "Of course! It's a term of endearment that could mean a variety of terms: dear, darling, sweetheart, love. It often depends on the context and the relationship. I call my daughter "habibti"; she's around your age, if not a few years younger. We use it quite often in my cultures towards friends, family, loved ones, and acquaintances."
The gallery was one of the Duke's absolute favorite places to be - when he wasn't in the gardens tending to his precious plants and flowers. The gallery was a place where he had donated quite a bit of his time and money - the quiet was one of his favorite things to behold. He often came in the morning time, to sneak away from the sounds of his darling Maude waking up and his lovely little boy chasing her about. He could find solace here - surely he could find his own peace. Hearing the voice, Christopher turned around and gave her a small nod and smile. "They say the paintings here are of the highest order. This one - I believe it was done by a young painter in Paris and he was amongst vagrants when he did. Bloody fascinating, is it not?" He cleared his throat. "My Lady, are you quite all right? You look a bit ... unmoored."
Aset turned to look at the painting the Duke talked about. Her eyes lighting up the moment they saw it. "It's beautiful," she says, voice soft in awe. "The brushstrokes and line work is absolutely extraordinary. I truly wonder how long he's worked on his craft; he must be quite proud." Aside from calligraphy, she has never been the artistic type. Rather more so an observer and appreciator than a doer. Even so, that hadn't stopped her from wanting to learn more about art. Even though she held a soft spot for Near Eastern and North African art and artists, the Lady Locke was still able to appreciate all kinds of art work. "Oh—yes." His question surprised her, yet she smiled. "I am quite well, thank you. I recently returned from a trip abroad and I will admit quite frankly, I wasn't ready for it to end."
theodosia often found quiet amusement in wandering the gallery alone. it had been a favored pastime, one she had shared with her father on more than one occasion before his passing. now, each step through the long, echoing halls stirred a familiar ache within her chest. there was something tender, almost sacred, in imagining his voice beside her—his musings on brushwork, his mild critiques, his thoughtful pauses. she could nearly hear him still, questioning her interpretations with a gentle, teasing air.
but not this piece. she knew, even without his voice, that he would have approved.
her gaze drifted downward to the delicate scrolls laid before her, rich with pigments of crimson and jade. each stroke, each curve of the unfamiliar script, was a marvel. the artistry was unlike anything else in the room—vivid, alive, almost humming with mystery. she had always been curious about the words etched there, longing to understand what they meant. only knowing the simple fact they were prayers.
“extremely beautiful,” she murmured, eyes lingering on the intricate designs. after a moment, she turned slightly, acknowledging the other woman nearby. “do you know much about these?” her voice was gentle, laced with honest wonder. “they are said to ward away evil.”
The smile on her lips grew. "A little bit, yes," she answers, nodding as she looked at the younger woman. "They do, yes. They are believed to contain prayers, supplications, Psalms, Gospel passages, hymns, and incantations. My Armenian is a little rusty, but it does look like this specific scroll-" With an uncovered hand, she points to one of the scrolls-"hold sharagans, hymns. Specifically to protect from war. It's quite fascinating, is it not?"
She couldn't tear her eyes away from the scroll nor rid herself of the beam on her features. While she herself was not Armenian, there was great pride within her region and towards all the cultures that have cultivated from it. That certainly include her Armenian brethren. She remembers some of her friends from the Armenian Quarter in Jerusalem, how much she enjoyed learning about their culture and their take on Christianity whenever she was back in her other homeland. It was truly one of the greatest joys in life: connecting with others and learning more about their heritage.
Though, she sometimes got ahead of herself.
Looking back at Theodosia, her features turned sheepish. "I'm terribly sorry," she says, laughing gently. "I'm Egyptian and Palestinian, and I grew up greatly immersed in all the cultures of the Middle East and North Africa. I'm entirely passionate about it all and love sharing more information about my homes and everyone from there whenever I get the chance."
sunbeams spilled through the windows of cytherea gallery like liquid gold, dripping warmth across the artwork displayed upon the walls. kit couldn’t deny that it was a beautiful day and that the hush of the gallery was soothing. but, to be here with the new lady locke brought up a flurry of emotions. his father had asked him to accompany his stepmother due to his own busy schedule, but kit couldn’t help but assume it was a ploy for kit and aset to get to know one another better. aset was lovely and kind, but his heart was still wounded and barely beating from his mother’s passing and it was painful for him to accept that the locke family had changed.
even so, kit knew it had to be difficult for aset to navigate her way into the family and he hoped to make it easier.
his gaze found the hymalil, smiling after he saw the one on her lips. aset seemed to be in her element and that made kit happy. “it’s gorgeous,” he nodded in agreement, stepping closer to examine it up close. “can you read what it says?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at her.
It was quite challenging to call the man her stepson. After all, she was only a little over ten years older than him. She could much rather be his sister than his stepmother. Another factor that she hadn't considered when she hastily accepted his father's abrupt hand in marriage. Another reason why she has grown to regret marrying the man in the first place. Now, the younger Locke wasn't horrible or cruel. Despite such an awkward situation they've found themselves in, Kit has been quite kind to her and her daughter. Even though she knew that it must be incredibly challenging for him to endure such another change so soon to his mother's death.
Still, she was grateful that he was trying to welcome her with open arms. Even if she wished that she had never married his father in the first place.
"I understand a little, yes," she muses with a nod. Giving the man a soft smile before carefully assessing the hmayil. While her Armenian was not as good as it use to be, it was still understandable. "It looks like these are mainly prayers for protection from wars or against illness and evil spirits. There's even a few hymns here, called sharagans. I use to have a childhood friend whose Armenian grandfather created hmayils. They were most beautiful."
An onlooking patron's jeering made her laugh. She recognized the woman, somehow, some way - distantly familiar, though she couldn't place her. Certainly not in the same circles in which Evie was accustomed, and a completely different standard of beauty and care. Suddenly Evie became very aware of her dirty work apron and stray ends of her hair fluttering around the edges of her face.
"I do hope so," she grinned, almost as rascally as the children's. "Goodness knows it can't hurt to have more business - and those papers seem to spread like wildfire."
She'd never given a terrible amount of thought to the gossiper, though the more engrained they became in the local scene, the more she considered she ought to be...deliberately discreet. The anonymity of the whole thing was enough to shutter her otherwise confident air. No need to be stupid and risk exposure.
"How is everything today? To your liking? Perhaps I can fetch you a refreshment."
The rascally grin reminded Aset so much Seshat that she could not help but to smile back. It was no surprise that the children enjoyed Evangeline so much; she held the same chaotic, childlike wonder as them that was admirable. The children could relate to the blonde and not feel as though she is another stuffy adult ready to rain on their parade and end their fun. Instead, she would be more than ready to join in on their adventures. She found herself quite enjoying that.
"Here's to hoping," she raised her rise cream in the hair in mock-cheers. "Oh, indeed. I've been coming here for quite some time now and I quite enjoy this establishment. All the more better for you to receive more business."
Perhaps, just perhaps, Lady Whistledown could use her powers of gossip for good. It was hard to imagine such a scenario, but one could only hope. Especially if it could actually help people instead of hurt them. Then again, Lady Whistledown might reveal her identity before doing such a thing. Which is quite unfortunate.
Aset nodded happily. "Everything has been perfect, thank you. I've been enjoying the lavender-vanilla ice cream with white chocolate chips for quite some time now. Though I suppose some lemonde would be quite nice. Thank you, habibi."
The gallery was perhaps both her favourite and least favourite place to frequent. She loved being able to see all the artwork. She loved taking her time to muse over them all, contemplate on their messages, and to feel what she believed the artist was feeling. And yet, there were some artwork that reminded her of her former husband. Those that reminded her of their life together before everything was ruined. Before their lives were destroyed by his own doing.
Before she lost the love of her life to a fate worse than death.
Inhaling a shuddering breath, she moved into the next room. Looking at an Hmayil, an Armenian prayer scroll. She smiled softly to herself as she admired the art work before hearing someone close by. "Beautiful, is it not?"
there was always something tinkering in the back of her mind. anna was always thinking, sometimes of new inventions, sometimes of different plant species, and more recently- of her late family members. anna had mastered the skill of looking interested, while silently being miles away in her head.
it was for that reason, that she let out a tiny yelp as she lurched forward, stumbling a moment. the small heel of her left shoe getting stuck in the mud. brows furrowed as she attempted to yank herself out to no avail. anna could feel the embarrassment beginning to creep in. a blush forming at her neck where fabric met skin. anna was too mortified to ask for assistance, yet she knew she'd probably end up standing there like, well, like a sitting duck. "p-pardon me," he murmured. she cleared her throat and tried again, confident this time. "pardon me, i could use some assistance. i would be greatly appreciative if I could hold your arm or shoulder for balance. only for a moment, of course."
Returning back from the Middle East and North Africa was always challenging. She has a wonderful trip with her daughter, the two of them enjoying seeing their families. Though, lying to them was still quite difficult. She wished that she could tell them the truth about her ex-husband. But how could she? How could she face that humiliation and shame of admitting he left her? That he left them? Having Seshat stay with her had been the greatest blessing during the past two years. She had no idea what she would do if she had join him.
Roaming through the streets of London, she knew that she had to fulfill her wifely duties for her new husband now that she was back in Mayfair. Duties that she wished she could've done with her first love. The one she thought would be her forever love. Aset had been in her thoughts when she finally heard the voice. "Ana asefa?" Her brows furrowed before she looked at the young woman. Finally understanding what she was asking for. "Oh, yes! I would be happy to help." Smiling warmly, the Lady Locke held her arm out to help Anna. "Apologies for before. I suppose I was quite lost in my thoughts. Is there another way I can help you? My carriage is close by; I can call for them and give you a ride back home. Or the nearest cobbler shoppe, if you wish?"
OPEN STARTER | OPEN TO ALL
LOCATION | MAYFAIR PARLOR
"There's good stock on Huntington bones."
Lies are lies even if they're poetic. But it's what she told herself every time the syrup strayed from the jar, or the warmest pastry disappeared off the tray before inventory, or the newest flavor of ice cream had a suspicious finger-shaped divot right before going into the display case. If she was to spend all the waking hours in the world on her feet, she was at least going to properly account for the energy spent.
It was good fun, too, when the children, whose eyes were devilishly leveled with her sneaky hands, caught her in the act.
"There's simply no accounting for good taste," she smirked, and handed each of them a teaspoon of ice creams. Nothing made her happier than to see their rosy faces gobble up the confections as eagerly as she did.
"Right, you lot," she declared, "now I expect rave reviews from you in the papers - none of this 'talk of the town' nonsense, I mean creatures living in the deepest parts of the seas and highest clouds in the heavens will know the Mayfair Parlor is best in the world. Is that clear?"
Has it truly been so long since Seshat was that age? The woman couldn't help herself as she watched the interaction. Memories of her own over how her daughter use to sneak treats and be up to tricky ways. Aset use to lovingly exclaim that she was like a djinn: full of trickery and charms. How could she not love her? And now that she was grown, she found herself reminiscing even more so. Enjoying how close they are, yet times missing when she was little.
It was a rather conflicting set of emotions. Waves of nostalgia along with waves of current happiness. Both full of so much incredible love for her daughter.
Chuckling, she took a bite of her own ice cream. Queen Anne's lady in waiting smiling a little as she chew before swallowing. "You think Lady Whistledown will take their reviews and add them to her society papers? It seems like that might be how you'll be able to get the whole world to hear how excellent your parlor is."
