Below you will find the assigned pairs for the plot drop. We encourage all members to have at least one thread between you and your partner pertaining to the events. Pairs are to remain as stated below, unless a member decides not to participate whereupon they may be adjusted, and cannot leave the rooms they are in until the lock down is over. If there are any questions please do not hesitate to ask!
Marguerite of Valois & Henry Tudor
Ellie Tallboys & Juana of Spain
Francis of France & Charles V
Henry Carey & Eleanor Brandon
Caelan Maddox & Katherine Stanley
Anna of Cleves & Felix Etienne du Vallon
Juan Alvarez & Edward Seymour
Jane Seymour & Mark Smeaton
Antoine de Conde & Francis Weston
Elena Darrell & Serge-Louis Baro
Philip Habsburg & Isabelle of Lorraine
Catherine Parr & Thomas Wyatt
Alastrine Seymour & Anne Boleyn
Grace Sherrington & Soren Feldt
George Boleyn & Grace Cromwell
James Stewart & Mary de Guise
Joanna of York & Sebastian of Portugal
Li Shi & Octavia Lennox
Elizabeth Blount & Violette de Gruchy
Amalia of Cleves & Maria of Austria
Owen Mountbatten & Sarah Talbot
Harvey de Gruchy & Thomas Cromwell
Ciaran Darcy & Mary Tudor
Edmund Fiennes & Mary Fitzroy
Bridget of York & Nicholas Seymour
Barnat Fodor & Dorothea Stewart Ruthven
Henry Fitzroy & Phillip of Warwick
Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly & Clement Stafford
Eleanor of France & Mary Rose Tudor
Evanna Caomhanach & Elisif Almstedt
Anna’s anxiety was only heightened by the vicomte, whose boots paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth over the floor. Rhythmic, agitated steps as the princess placed her plump hands against the wrought-iron window frame, peering down below at any form of life or rescue in the nearing dusk.
Henry. Henry. She hoped Henry was okay, hoped he wasn’t storming about in a fit of temper, brewing within himself, or, worse, in a cloud of fog, darkened by a sense of his own mortality. Even so, she thought, that must have been better than death. It must have been.
Turning from the window, she walked briskly to a golden tray, laden with tea and cream and cups that had been abandoned in the plight. It was cold, “Dear Vicomte, please, sit, have something to drink with me. It will make you feel better, most assuredly.”
“God help us all.” She spewed religious chagrin to assuage the deepening hole of despair which grew in depth with each waking moment. Every soul she held close to her breast in the act of love was present at court; save for her littlest darlings, tucked away from the now savage festivities. Any plot to take the life of the royal Henry seemed bound to pass to her own boy, who was bound to inherit each misfortune that struck the Tudor family. Bessie was resigned to not weep, no matter how fiercely tears prickled against her eyes. She turned her marred gaze to the earthly angel beside her; the halo of spun gold seemed dulled by the weight of their situation. It was only natural for Bessie to admire such a fair creature with her whole heart. Her affections were not due solely to the sum of gifts she had been endowed with; oval cheeks, fresh and smooth, ornamented with rich tresses and soft lips - indeed, Violette would be easily loved only for the sum of her features. But Bessie was drawn to the endless love that poured from the pert lips in favor of her husband, which mirrored the affections within her own heart for a myriad of souls, past and present. They had enjoyed the quiet, gentle, company two women may offer one another. Prattling over the state of the courts and the inner-workings of their private lives, neither one had the least suspicion the day would collapse inwards on the trick of a hat. Bessie found herself breathless for several moments, trying to register the gravity of the situation with the capacity her heart possessed to deal with such an event. It took time for her to settle into a semblance of ease, to at least reach for her companion in motherly affection, inviting the darling to seek whatever comfort she desired, against her beating heart. “Ma puce, we shall weather this storm as one - I do not wish to offer false idols, but I believe with all my heart that everything shall be, for lack of a greater word, okay.”
As soon as the horns were rung - a single arm sweep of a signal which could lower an entire castle into mayhem waters - as soon as the attendees were ushered into separate rooms (according to what plan? whose will? no answers could be governed), one thought thrummed in his mind. And as he set eyes on his ci-devant table companion, which he himself had approached with rather muddled intentions, it only resonated more profoundly: serves me right for playing the philander. Of course, as custom dictated it, Henry had moved on several occasions to entreat the princess as a guest. And she had eluded the instances with a slippery seclusion which was one breadth short of offensive. Not towards him, granted - he’d counted golden-tinted blessings at not having to mingle with another would-be wife, another bud on the twin-branch of royalty that were the Valois. As far as his sensibilities went, they couldn’t be more grateful for Marguerite’s vagrant, undemonstrative presence at court. Others were irate; let them be. He vowed he would not force the woman into some wracking hunting trip, some greenhouse meeting, with half-frozen flowers overseeing their pleasantries. So what possessed him to do it once more? Serves me right, he decreed again, but outwardly he spoke:
“I am not certain whether I should be preparing an apology at such a vexing turn, which my court’s security could easily be blamed for, or assure you that I am as uninformed as your person on this matter.” He declaimed with a certain smoothness, a uniformity of voice and bearing, like a demagogue or an infidel brought before the gavel. In the folds of his tone, no emotion broke out - they were dammed so tightly it nearly cracked at the seams. Everything was pushed away, everything: his apprehensions and terrors, culprit names, his scintillating pulse, his vision of the man’s fate, blood bubbling or pooling or mixed with sallow humors, everything but this monological thought, rehearsed as in a courtship comedy: serves me right.
We understand that muse is a difficult thing to muster up now and again. To accompany the plot drop, we’ve written up an entirely optional writing task to flesh out your characters. Members may choose to do this either during or after the plot drop, but we do encourage that they publish their results and tag their posts with tudors.task! The assorted writing task(s) can be found below the cut.
OPTION ONE: TIMELINE.
Write a timeline of your characters’ history, including dates, births, marriages, or any significant events you wish to include in their lifetime. This can be accompanied with your characters personal feelings on certain occasions in their life, or can take the shape of something of a biography. Length is UTP; it can be as short or as verbose as you like!
small / large / average / grey / brown / blue / green / gold / hazel / doe - eyed / almond / close - set / wide - set / squinty / monolid / heavy eyelids / upturned / downturned
HAIR.
thin / thick / fine / normal / greasy / dry / soft / shiny / curly / frizzy / wild / unruly / straight / smooth / wavy / floppy / cropped / pixie - cut / shoulder length / back length / waist length / buzz cut / bald / jaw length / mohawk / white / platinum blonde / golden blonde / dirty blonde / blonde / ombre / light brown / mouse brown / chestnut brown / golden brown / chocolate brown / dark brown / jet black / ginger / auburn / dyed red / dyed an unnatural color / thin eyebrows / average eyebrows / thick eyebrows
TATTOOS / PIERCINGS
no tattoos / one tattoo / a few here and there / multiple / full sleeve / thigh tattoo / neck tattoo / chest tattoo / no piercings / ear piercings / nose piercing / lip piercing / tongue piercing / eyebrow piercing / navel piercing / cheek piercing / nipple piercing / genital piercing
From the sounds of it, there was some sort of banquet being held...again. He vaguely recalled an invitation to attend but had declined as he had seemed to be spending more time attending events then doing what he was here to do. Thus he was in his chambers, conveniently located off a long hall near all the loud revelers that were louder than a herd of sows giving birth. And then it all got even louder. He was bent over his work when the door swung open and a woman entered. Or as seemed more accurate, was ushered in with some low words before the door was shut and locked. He hadn’t even been previously aware his room could be locked from the outside. Inquisitive eyes turned towards the woman. “Hej med jer,” his greeting was more a question.
