#stmstarter

[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?” 

[alexander-of-sandringham]

Skin-deep

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

Alexander had danced at least four dances already, and his name was on at least another four dance cards. And although he loved dancing and had enjoyed himself quite enough, he felt miserable. 

Looking around the room, looking like a lost little puppy, he kept half-turning around himself. “I’m never going to find her like this!” 

[soleil-timide]

Open !! Where: June 9th, evening Where: Masquerade Ball

Florence marveled at how much easier it was to maneuver now that she was not in a ballgown. It was far easier than a plain, every day dress too. It was perhaps too much to hope that Alastair and Valentin would permit her to wear men’s clothes at home (it was perfectly scandalous) but it would be nice every now and again. Especially if she was needed to lend a hand with something. The masquerade was also great fun..with no one knowing who anyone was, the immense pressure to be perfect was somewhat lifted. It was easier to converse with people, now that there was something that could be commented on with ease. “Oh, but your costume is so clever!” she exclaimed, genuinely delighted with how the other person had chosen to outfit themselves for the evening.

[cescapist]

Send it Soaring

DATE: 5th of May, 2pm PLACE: Grounds, St. Maur Castle STATUS: Closed @dinah-stmaur  with @trott-ing

Chaotic. That was the best word to describe the past few days. Benny had never been fond of the run up to any sort of trip (most of the time he wasn’t too keen on the trip, either, missing St. Maur the whole way through.), but there had been a certain frenzy to the packing this year which he hadn’t seen before. Mr. Norris had been bustling about, constantly caught between his usual excitement at seeing them all go for two months and his habitual grumpiness when something or other went wrong. The family valet had been packing up the men’s tails and top hats, and tutting with frustration over Benny’s shrunken waistline and the last-minute adjustments his suits required. His sisters’ and mother’s maid had dropped and smashed a porcelain-backed hand mirror in the panic of packing their toilette, and had spent the rest of yesterday pausing now and then whilst folding dresses and making towers of hat boxes to press her fingers to her eyes and weep. Mrs. Meddley had been an utter delight as usual, brewing up gallons of tea to soothe frayed nerves, especially for the poor maid. And in the middle of it had sat Benny, bent over his desk and trying his best to catch up on some of the work he had refused to do whilst bed-bound with heartbreak, all whilst sneakily perusing the book on business he had pilfered from his father’s library.

Yes, it had been very chaotic. Thankfully, there was only one afternoon left of it before they set off on the morrow. Benny’s books were shoved at the bottom of a trunk for absent-minded browsing whilst staying at their aunt’s house in London, and the rest of his day was clear for his own use. And he had used it wisely: to catch up on a much neglected friend, carrying out a much neglected task.

“And then just wrap the twine like this,” Benny said, demonstrating to Dinah the correct way to bind the two dowel rods together. They sat upon the very same blankets they had nigh-on two months prior, when they had eagerly planned to fly kites in the Spring winds, unaware of all the business and personal dramatics the storm and its aftermath would blow into their lives. Since then all attempts to come together to make kites as planned were puffed away the moment they had formed. All, of course, until that very Thursday, when despite the tempest around them Dinah and Benny managed to find an aligned moment of calm, right in the very centre of it all.

“And then tie it with the other end, nice and tight, like this,” Benny continued, snipping his thread with scissors and pulling the ends into a tight, secure knot. Approximately twenty feet behind him, footmen scurried back and forth carrying trunks full of gowns and jewellery for the many formal events the St. Maur sisters would be attending, lugging them into the horse-drawn cart heading for the train station.

[scandalous-heart]

Summer Holiday

Date: 30th of July, 1904 Place: St Maur Status: Open

Abbernath Weston had never enjoyed the country, yet he could admit there was a freedom to be found in zooming along the winding countryroads behind the wheel of his car. He’d admit it after he’d complained about all the bruising he’d have from being jostled to his core by the uneven surfaces, and after his heart had retreated from his mouth after meeting another vehicle coming in the opposite direction and nowhere to veer but a hedge or a ditch.

Still, freedom, perhaps that what he was seeking. Or just good company. The summer season had dried up in London, and all his new friends had disappeared back to whence they’d come. He had found himself suddenly and unexpectedly quite alone and missing them. All of them.

What good fortune then, that so many of them hailed from the same little town of St Maur.

He had not informed anyone of his visit. He’d simply packed his bag and hopped in the car as soon as the boredom and lonliness had become to much to bear. Now he was pulling up a driveway, a house looming before him.

He honked the horn as he pulled up, loud and obnoxious and far too many times to be considered polite. “Hello! I’m here! I’ve come to rescue you from the tedium of country living!” He called, and he lept from the driver’s seat.

[valentin-talbot]

T( r )ails

Time: 28th of January Place: Driveway at a great house [which one is up to player who picks up] Status: Open for all [either servant in question or family member who perhaps saw him hovering by the door, or something]

-

The tails Valentin wore tonight barely fitted him anymore.

It was strange. He had gotten them when he was nineteen for a cousin’s wedding – back when dinner’s had been long and plenty, when they were attended by Marquises and Dukes, and the Talbots had shone almost as brightly as only a promiseful future can. Nineteen. Six years ago. That wasn’t that long ago, was it? He couldn’t have grown that much since, could he?

He hadn’t brought the tails to Oxford with him, as they prefered loose linen suits and vests unbuttoned there. At Oxford there were sons of Marquises and Dukes as well, just like there were plenty and long dinners. And yet. No tails. As though they knew that freedom to some meant cufflinks undone. Afterwards, the last six months in St. Maur, Valentin had mostly worn the clerics the old Father Harlow had left behind. It was loose and had no buttons either. 

Tonight, the Talbots were invited for dinner. ‘A pity dinner,’ they’d told Valentin after informing him of the invitation yesterday morning. He’d thought it rather friendly of the family to invite the Talbots. After all, even smaller scandals were known for cutting connections. But he supposed that ‘friendly’ was, in their society, nothing but a synonym for ‘pity’, so he had not argued. 

Now he was pacing in front of the great entrance door, in his ill fitting tails.

They used to fit better. Six years ago.

Just like the Talbot name.

The question was, had the Talbot name changed? Or had Valentin perhaps grown out of it? Had he gotten too used to the freedom of Oxford, of his little Parish? Had he fallen? The Talbots, his siblings, children to a Baron, used to be of social and political power. Now they’d fallen into a life even a working class mother with seven children around her ankle wouldn’t envy. Yes. Yet he was the one with a job. An ‘Honorable’ would not usually take a job, except perhaps a symbolic one, like General in the army. But Valentin was working. Properly working, every day of the week, almost every hour of the day. Just like the working class. Just like that mother with her seven children. 

Had the Talbot name changed? Or had Valentin perhaps grown out of it? Both, perhaps. So how was he to wear those black tails proudly and march through this entrance door as though he was still nineteen? 

He kept pacing – until he realised where from and where to he was pacing: the great doors; the stairs leading down to the servants entrance; the great doors; the stairs leading down to the servants entrance...

What if…

No, this was insane. 

But perhaps..?

No.

Just in that moment, the servants’ door opened and someone came out of it, and yes, perhaps it was insanity that made Valentin leap towards them, but either way, without thinking he called out: “Sorry! Excuse me, hello. Gosh, this’ll sound ridiculous but, well, would you maybe, I mean, do you think I could possibly, perhaps, if you’re okay with it, well-...” All courage and words left him – or perhaps sanity returned – and he finished his little ramble with a clumsy finger pointing at the servants’ entrance.

[thenewlyfreed]

DATE: 21st of June PLACE: Hyde Park STATUS: Open

“Actually, I’m afraid I’ve never played it before.” Deepak looked at the bat presented to him with caution. He knew that Cricket was the sport to play between the British and his ancestral countrymen, but the streets of St. Pauls in Bristol hadn’t been rife with opportunities to play anything other than skittles, grandmother’s footsteps, and stick in the mud or tag. “Sorry to disappoint.”

[perfcct]

Good Taste

DATE: 19th May, Early Evening PLACE: Buckingham Palace Ballroom STATUS: Open to all attending the Ball

She’d been waiting for this moment. Augustine was often remarked upon as the picture of her mother, when she was her age. They had the same eyes, the same mouth, the same figure, even the same blonde hair. And, just like her, she had a love of public appearances.

Call it vanity. Call it narcissism. Augustine did not care. She worked hard to be the woman she was. To show it off in public, before Royalty, in the company of her peers and in front of what few gentry had managed to scrape in, made it all worthwhile. She stood at the edge of the newly remodelled ballroom in a dress of creamy satin and shimmering embroidery, neck long, chin up, each finger precisely posed. Her dance card was carefully held against her palm. Her lashes, darkened for the night, fanned over her cheek with each slow blink of her eyes. All she had to do now was wait, and like moths to flame, she knew the suitors would come.

In the meantime, there was conversation.

“The King’s taste is impeccable, is it not?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head which sent her diamond earrings sliding down the side of her throat. “One can hardly recognise the room compared to how it was last year.”