red-gold & rosy

tread carefully; this stage has seen more worlds than you can fathom. pía "clementina" rosales

[rcsypia]

evangelincs:

evangeline’s eyes widened at the young girl’s demonstration. there was something in it that reminded her of her younger sister. the passionate demeanor, the carefree livelihood – all of it reminded her too much of abigail. ( and thus, her younger self ). she couldn’t help but let a smile slip from her characteristic stone-cold facade. even a delicate porcelain hand went towards her mouth to stifle the slightest giggle at the girl’s performance. “in that case,” evangeline began, regaining her composure, “i must confess that it resembles a goblin more than it does an imp. i am no costumer, but perhaps you could change the color? the brown just looks so … miserable. pray tell, what is the costume for?”

          mollified and folding the costume away, pía was glad to have made someone smile— she couldn't see the lady’s mouth, but she saw the crinkle of her eyes, the list to her cheeks. pía prided herself on being able to read people (whether she was actually good at it or not) and was happy to see that she could perform both on and off stage.              “well,” she said rather mildly, “i am cast as puck, you see, in a midsummer night’s dream. green or blue would suit me much better.” it was a breeches role, pía knew, and not everyone approved, but she would rather play puck than one of the twitterpated human lovers. “we perform in a week, my lady— perhaps you would enjoy our performance?” granted, she wasn’t quite authorized to invite someone, but she was the (step) daughter of the master of the revels. she could take certain liberties.

[rcsypia]

dcmediciss:

@rcsypia liked for a starter

            “Carlota! Pare com isso!”  Giuliana snapped, hurriedly rushing after her daughter. The four year old Princess had evidently slipped from the watchful gaze of her nursemaid and was now pulling on the dress of an unsuspecting redhead. “You know not to do that, apologize.” she scolded pulling her daughter away before flashing an apologetic look towards the woman.

         pía, braced against a column, studying a script and trying to decipher her mother’s notes (not that she couldn’t; it was just that her mother’s hand was cramped and continually switched between castillan and english) was tugged out of her squinting focus— quite literally. a small child tugged at her simple skirt and pía smiled, giving the little girl a cheeky little wave with a twirl of her fingers. she was then pulled away by an angry mother— she assumed it was the mother— and what pía blinked at in surprise was not english, but portuguese. quick to reply, pía’s face spit into a grin. perhaps the spanish and the portuguese were not the greatest of friends, but it was nice, truly nice, to hear a familiar tongue; pía’s (maternal) grandmother had been from portugal.                  “não é nada, senhora!” pía chirped.

[rcsypia]

lairdmcclellan:

“nay, lass,” he answered, caught a bit off guard by how quickly she changed the subject, especially given the fervor she had confronted him with only moments ago. “cannae say i’m from france at all, though i did spend some time there in me youth,” evander revealed.

“i’m a bit puzzled why ye think me french. no one has ever thought me french.” it was an amusing assumption, to say the least. she herself was very much not from the english isle herself, which she exposed by dropping her decidedly convincing imitation.

“ye think ye’ve seen me before, ey?”

          all her momentum brought to a halt, pía blinked owlishly and attempted to explain herself.               “ah— you see, sir, i have only ever met frenchmen of the south of their country, and you do sound like them, just a bit— hence the north, sir,” pía cringed at how she kept interrupting herself, telling herself to pace herself, slow down, she probably wasn’t making any sense. “as it is, i am from iberia, sir; of castille,” she trilled, proud of her mother country. she cleared her throat, hoping to become less awkward, and bobbed a small curtsy— she certainly wasn’t noble, wasn’t owed any courtesies, but she wouldn’t be curtsying to anyone who didn’t deserve it. the middle ground was a small bow. “i am clementina, sir.”

[rcsypia]

rickfitzalan:

“I quite agree,” Rick said cheerfully, watching the seamstress make her bustling, angry way down the corridor with curious appreciation. “At least, no one seems to appreciate my genius, and it’s very upsetting. Not, it has to be said, in the putting on of clothes.” His attention brought back to the redheaded whirlwind that had so accosted him, he leant back against the wall of the corridor, so they were not quite so obstructive, and grinned at her. “So you are to play a…fairy, was it?”

          pía astutely ignored the remark about dressing— it was something she had heard before, and would undoubtly hear again. such was life, she supposed, as an actress. she mimicked her posture, bracing a shoulder against the wall, crossing one ankle across the other. pía took the oppourtunity to launch into a small, dubiously artful tirade.                 “i, sir, am to portray an imp, a small mischievous fey, handmaiden to the queen of fairies, to perform for her majesty the queen. i’d make like the wind in my role, quite untethered and rather undisciplined. mostly harmless,” she confided with a wink, “and most definitely not to wear anything the colour of mud.”

[rp-meme-glaceon]

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

[rcsypia]

princess-abigail-stuart:

Abigail’s eyes rested on the other woman’s face as she studied Abi’s art. There were most definitely times when Abi wanted an honest opinion but was only given flattery, and she had learned to examine the faces of the flatterers to see how honest they may or may not have been. This face looked honest, which pleased her. The nod made the princess smile brightly and let out a little breath that she hadn’t realized she had even been holding. “I’m very pleased to hear that! You have my sincerest thanks.” Looking at the other woman’s face once more, Abigail bowed her head slightly. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my manners and have failed to introduce myself. My name is Abigail.” Of course there were grander, much more elaborate and appropriate ways to introduce herself, but she forwent those for now.

          now settling herself more comfortably into the grass, pía realized there wasn’t much real estate to go around, and found her knee pressed against the other’s. pía ran her fingers through the rich green grass, a sun-drenched shade she wished she could wear. alas, her art was in performing, not in millinery. pía looked back up to meet the lady’s— abigail’s eye and let a corner of her mouth quirk up. she felt more...peaceful, more calm, not having to be as bright or as captivating as she was on her feet. she shrugged casually.                 “ah, not to worry, my lady. a little mystery is not a bad thing. they call me—” a brief pause, as she deliberated whether to give her birth name or stage name, settling on the latter— “clementina, my lady...abigail.” the name rang familiar, somehow.

[rcsypia]

offaringdon:

Charlotte was startled by the hideous costume shoved underneath her nose. There was a distinct odor reeking from the tattered design, having no doubts it came from the depths of hell. “A dead goblin, I dare say.” She placed her hand softly on the other’s arm, gently trying to make the vehement woman lower the dreadful costume away from her nose. “May I ask what this is for?” Eyebrows furrowed, immensely puzzled with her query.

          mollified at being agreed with, pía tossed the disgusting thing over one shoulder (the right one, to curse it) and smiled brightly. bless this bright lady, who could distinguish between the two creatures. “it was supposed to be my costume for a performance— i would disclose more, really, but it’s supposed to be all very discreet— but i refused to have my role discredited in such robes.” pía, mind catching up with instinct, immediately flushed, recognizing her horrendous introduction. “begging your pardon, my lady, i did not intent to be introduced so crudely”

[rcsypia]

princess-abigail-stuart:

When Abi looked up a smile burst forth from her lips. “Oh, thank you very much! It’s just doodles at the moment, but I think it would look splendid as a watercolor painting. What do you think?” Abigail was slightly less formal than the rest of her family, though she still did her best to show respect to others. Still smiling, she turned the sketchpad so that the other woman could look at it more closely. 

          pía, for once, was being asked for her honest opinion. well, it wasn’t quite a humble opinion— pía was rarely, if ever, humble.           never blunt, either, pía knelt and squinted closer at the page, the faint lines crisscrossing it to make sprays of flowers, what looked like irises here and pale roses there, wide-open paths of grass and stone meandering throughout. pía compared the living scene beyond to the charcoal-and-paper scene before her and nodded, once, sharply. “it will be a fine portrait of mother earth, my lady.”

[rcsypia]

lairdmcclellan:

his presence in the english court was a rare opportunity — one evander had no interest in undertaking. his uncle, chief of his clan, however, had other plans. and that plan included his nephew taking up residence in the royal english court. he felt, for lack of better words, large. out of place. wild in contrast to the prim and proper of courtly life. he could hardly blame it on the english, though it would not have pained him to do so; even the scottish royal court seemed to breed delicate, small people.

it was deep in these foolish, shallow thoughts that evander was accosted by a stranger, fabric shoved against him and his opinion demanded. for a silent, dumbfounded moment, all he could do muster was a stare. his gaze fell down to the fabric in question and he shrugged. “difficult to say, miss,” he began, taking a polite step back so as to avoid having the garment suffocate him, “i would have to see it worn — as of now, it only appears to be a myriad of cloth.”

          the first thing pía noticed was the man’s sheer size— then again, compared to pía’s small, slim frame, it could be said that everyone else was large. but this man was quite large, and pía should have been taken aback. but pía, who had seen larger men and stranger things, simply blinked and made a note to be more aware of her surroundings, particularly of the the people.           the second thing— an accent. not an english one. pía was accustomed to hearing all sorts of london accents, accents from other cities and from the countryside too. but this one was definitely not english, much like herself. the way he rolled his r’s reminded her of something.               costume forgotten, she asked, “pardon me, good sir, but are you from the north of france?” for emphasis, pía let her own accent thicken her words as she squinted up at him.

[rcsypia]

rickfitzalan:

rick blinked, halting in his tracks as what appeared to be a whirlwind with bright red hair thrust herself into his path. he barely glanced at the design, instead focusing on the young girl’s prettiness, and immediately falling into his most charming grin. “I can’t imagine how anyone could possibly describe you as a goblin,” he said. He attempted to examine at the design, but, frankly, clothes were not his forte, unless he was taking them off. “Is it a bit too…brown?”

          not expecting the flattery but also not unused to it, pía blinked, then granted a coy smile in return. never mind that he couldn’t distinguish the two, it felt that few could without proper introduction. pía had hardly given a proper introduction and blushed, but it wasn’t as if she could hand the man a phamplet explaining the difference. she settled for returning his attitude.              “you are absolutely correct, my good lord,” said pía rather snobbishly, holding the offending design away from her. she squeaked in surprise when the seamstress yanked the thing out of her feeble grip and stormed off, nearly snarling. pía frowned after her and said absently, “quite hard to find creative genius when it comes to cloth these days.”

[rcsypia]

evangelincs:

          evangeline, nose buried in a book, wandered down the streets, concealed by a cotton veil. this wasn’t exactly rebellion – many knew of the princess’ tendency to leave the palace ground unattended by a lady-in-waiting or an attendant or a guard. by now, it was mere clockwork. besides, as long as she kept herself out of trouble, no one would question where she was. today her adventure brought her to a bookstore. despite the palace’s lavish library, it seriously lacked stories. the one that she picked up, its navy blue cover worn and torn, was one that she had read before.           a high-pitched voice interrupted her reading. the princess was not used to being addressed in such an informal way. ( then again, she was dressed in an informal way. ) but she looked at the bundle of fabric held out in front of her. “i’m afraid i cannot distinguish between a goblin or an imp, i must confess,” she said.

          pía, rather disappointed, did her best to improvise. she was, after all, an actress, and what she did best.            “ah, my lady!” she bemoaned. “and therein lies the tragedy! if one cannot distinguish the mischievous imp from a miserable goblin, than allow me to educate your esteemed self.” granted, she had no idea what station this woman was, so of course pía went over the top when addressing her. “my lady, an imp is full of grace— a slight being full of clever little tricks and good fun!” at this, pia motioned, curled her fingers, flicked her wrists, sloped her shoulders, just so, her best impression of an imp. “and this, my lady—” here she slouched, grimaced, stomped and pursed her mouth and curled her hands into brutish claws— “is a wretched, foul goblin, with none of the sweet mirth of my beloved imps!” pía hoped she had made an impression on the lady as she straightened, blinking expectantly.

[rcsypia]

          pía had, of course, been squabbling for the majority of the morning with yet another seamstress about her next costume. she was of the opinion that this costume, ghastly in a drowsy brown colour, was meant for a goblin, not the imp she would portray in a week’s time. at wit’s end, she snatched up the design with a frustrated snarl and marched over to the nearest person in sight.                thrusting the hideous design under the unsuspecting passerby’s nose, she demanded rather furiously, “pardon me—” heaven forbid she forget her manners— “but does this look more goblin or more imp to you?”

[rcsypia]

amilliionthreads:

she almost missed the ring of the bell signaling someone had entered her shop, but she managed to peek out around the piles of silk that towered over her head. “hello darling! so sorry, i’ll be right with you! feel free to take a look around. we have some beautiful new fabrics by the door.”

          pía, never one to miss out on dramatics, sighed and draped herself over the front counter, red hair spilling over it like another fine bolt of fabric. she wrinkled her nose, taking in all the bolts stuffed to the ceiling. she amused herself by flipping through a booklet of swatches, the fabric neither too fine nor too drab. that lasted for a grand half-minute before she felt like whining from impatience.                 “didn’t we have a fitting today, mistress ciar?” it did almost come out like a whine, had pía not turned it into something more snobbish.

[rcsypia]

princess-abigail-stuart:

One of Abigail’s favorite spots was one of her family’s gardens. Specifically, a spot under a willow tree that had bright wildflowers growing beneath it. She couldn’t help but love that such a well-manicured garden had a so called ‘blemish’ like unplanned flowers. She had no idea why the wild flower patch was allowed to stay, but she didn’t question it. Instead she sat beneath her favorite tree with a sketch pad, drawing a page full of flowers peeking from the grass. She was a little oblivious to the world around her as she worked, but she had no fear.

          “quite the design, my lady!” pía chirped, pausing from her stroll. she’d been shooed away from her stepfather’s office today, told to make herself scarce by both stagemaster and seamstress alike. she hadn’t a clue why, though it could have been something to do with the bout of what her mother had called tactlessness. pía had sniffed and marched herself out to the gardens, meandering upon a familiar face, though she couldn’t quite place it.                “is it simply a sketch, or a plan for a future painting?”

[rcsypia]

& tag dump.