The Impatient Ambitious

♣ Zahir Qureshi ♣ 26 years old ♣ Second Footman, St. Maur Castle

[zahir-qureshi]

soleil-timide​:

Florence laughed, thinking that he was surely joking. Why would anyone want understanding to be uncommon? His comment had her tilting her head for a moment. “No..I think you are quite right, in that ,” Florence murmured, thinking on it. She hadn’t considered it that way, but perhaps that would make it easier to deal with in the future.

“Once again, you are quite right,” Florence added, admiration for his assessments glowing in her gaze. “I rather detest having to accept that I cannot do more for my family, but it would be best to focus on what I can do,” she admitted. “If nothing else, that could be a fruitful endeavor,” the youngest Talbot reasoned. “May I ask, if it’s not terribly rude, how you would advise one accept that they cannot stand to a challenge?” Florence was extremely interested in the gentleman’s response as she gazed up at him.

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir stood composed, but there were these subtle movements that betrayed his feelings. Like how pleased he was to hear her declare him to be in the right twice in a row. It was hard to stay modest, even more so because it was a talent he had never quite possessed.

At the same time, her words landed a little closer to his own worries and his own insecurities. He was the firstborn. It had been his dream all of his life to work in service and one day become a butler, yet it was his younger brother who had risen to the position of First Footman before him. So, in truth, Zahir understood the feeling of hating to accept that he could not be the teacher, the leader, the one to show his brother the right path. And now he was caught in a dilemma...

Only hypocrisy would get it him out of it.

“I hardly think that is rude,” he replied, shaking his head, his voice taking on a softer note as he was allowed this one sincere thought. “My advice is...”

He should lie and pretend he did not know the feeling she spoke of, that there had yet to be a challenge he could not undertake. “It’s...”

Zahir looked at her. She did not know who was hiding behind the mask. Sweet, intelligent, caring, he only knew these things about her from the few words they had spoken to one another.

“Ah, I fear.. I am not quite sure how to do that,” he admitted, defeated by realisation that not only he could not lie to her, but that he also did not have to. He knew not of her face and name, and she did not know of his. He could be terribly honest, and it would be fine. “I try to focus on what I can do. But most of the time I persist, too stubborn to give up.” Zahir looked at her and sighed. “Do you think that makes me a fool?” he asked, his voice growing even softer.

[zahir-qureshi]

scandalous-heart​:

Abby smiled triumphantly at the praise, though it was reluctant and hard-won, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He did not miss Zahir’s smile either, though he decided not to comment on it, lest it would fly away when observed.

“Oh yes,” he said knowingly. “I’ve been fed many a grape, and so I know that not all grape feeders are made equally. I feel very well looked after in your capable hands.” Zahir was very handsome, he’d love nothing more to sink into his arms, but he felt even the grapes and the belly rub was pushing his luck, he would not expect anymore. Especially not out here on the green for everyone to see. But he could at least let Zahir know how comfortable he felt, and just how competent he thought Zahir was. “I think perhaps you deserved first footman regardless of how you inherited it.” Which was not often true to titles handed down to natural successors.

Abby hummed in relaxed contradiction. “Not bored, very content.” Abby accepted the next grape, letting his eyes slip shut. Even in the shade it was nice to rest his eyes from the sun. He smirked a little. “The thing that would make me the happiest man on this earth, at this very instant…” He raised an eyebrow although he did not open his eyes “Would be to know what would make you happy.” Like a dog, with a bone, he would not let this go.

♣ ♣ ♣

The thing was that for all the armour and the distance he loved to put between himself and other people, Zahir sought their approval and their praise. It did not matter that Lord Weston was not the perfect gentleman who Zahir wished to one day serve, he was still a Lord and he was still a man who spoke with confidence. So, of course, Zahir believed his praise and had the content look of a cat that is well fed and we'll thread. Only the purr was lacking to complete the picture. "Of course, I did," he said, but there was no real bite to it. The compliment had mellowed him enough that he could even muster up is ever-present pride and sneer. Why, there was even a smile on his lips. A rare sight, for it was a genuine one albeit small and had no trace of mocking in it!

It was with that smile that he fed Abbernath another grape, humming in a way that let Abby know Zahir was not really convince that the Lord was merely content.

Now the smile slipped a little and her came a groan of someone who recognise a stubborn dog. "What a simple creature you are, my Lord.." he said, stalling. In truth, he did not quite know how to answer the question. Of course, rise in his position would make him happy. Seeing Miss Forester might also make him happy. Having his brother once again rely on him rather than on Deepak, too, would make him happy. Having more money to send home so his mother wouldn't have to work as hard anymore—despite the fact that she simply still insisted on working regardless. "Winning the match. I think that would make me happy," he said, with a little shrug.

[zahir-qureshi]

soleil-timide​:

Florence nodded at his answer, finding it to be very kind, and she said so. “If only more could be so understanding. I think it is quite admirable, sir.” The youngest Talbot could relax a little. It was always easier to breathe when one knew that they were approved of. It was nice, too, hearing that he thought highly of helping one’s family. She couldn’t help but think of her brothers, and the many things they’d done to help their family. Interested sparkled in her blue eyes at his answer regarding challenges.

She nodded, understanding blossoming in her bright eyes. “It does,” Florence assured him. “And sometimes..there are challenges that one might wish to take for others, but circumstances won’t allow it.” Sometimes, she wished she could take some of the challenges her brothers faced . Even though she would not be able to do anything for anyone, not really. It seemed so unfair that everything be placed on their shoulders. “It is never easy to accept that one cannot stand to a challenge,” Florence observed quietly.

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir was always weak to praise, and so he softened instantly as his mysterious dancing partner declared him admirable. He smiled, and it was a pity his mask hid it for it was quite a sight to behold. Yet, maybe one could perceive it in his eyes, in the little smiling lines around them and in the way they held onto her gaze. “Thank you. Though, I wish it was not so, then it would simply be the most common way of thinking,” he said, his gratitude genuine, his wish a little less so, as he still preferred to be considered above others.

“It is not,” he agreed, with a nod, “but that, in and of itself, is also a challenge. Do you not think so?” He found himself curious to know her opinion on this. Right now, it was easy to speak thus despite the fact that he had failed this particular challenge time and time again, and he had refused to acknowledge it. “To be ready to accept such a hard truth might be the hardest of challenges, indeed.”

[zahir-qureshi]

dickiebird-weatherstaff​:

Weatherstaff had seen a lot of footmen come and go in his 30 years of service to the St Maurs. Though a few of them stood out in his memory, he could hardly remember all their names and faces now. Few had been as desperate and determined to advance as Mr Qureshi. With a royal visit in his first few weeks as first footman, he was indeed being trialled by fire. Weatherstaff wasn’t entirely sure how he’d fair, but he was also not terribly concerned.

“Not at all, not at all, I’m glad to share the warmth.” It wouldn’t do to waste a fire, there were few who wouldn’t be welcome to share it with him.

Qureshi’s description of the state inside the house made him very thankful he had little reason to spend much time in there. “Don’t have much use for gossiping out here. The birds and the trees don’t care much if the people who pass them by are princes or paupers. Don’t care much about their business either.” It wasn’t exactly true, he’d caught some of the gardeners and stablehands whispering in the telltale hush of gossip. He’d not engage himself, but as long as the jobs still got done his men could talk about what they liked. “You having any trouble? Keeping people in line?” When someone got promoted, people liked to take the opportunity to test the new boundaries.

He shrugged at the question. It was difficult to tell if things were harder because of the Prince’s upcoming visit or not. “Some of the lads are a little giddy, but the work remains largely the same.” You couldn’t grow a completely new garden with a few weeks notice. There was a little extra sprucing up here and there, but he kept the lands in good order all year round so there wasn’t much more they could do, even for a prince. “I wonder if they know, these princes, how much commotion they cause just by their moving about the country.” He’d noticed a lot more of the house staff escaping the house on their breaks to smoke a cigarette or two. He was once again thankful not to be forever under a roof that kept all the stress locked inside. Under the sky it was easier to let it drift away.

♣ ♣ ♣

“The staff should learn a thing or two from the birds and the trees,” Zahir said, with a sigh, yet he was no less interested in rumors and gossip, though of course he greatly preferred facts. Better yet if they were secrets, as a secret could buy him someone’s favour.

“No,” he said, straightening his back and holding his head a little higher, his chin pointed upwards and his gaze cast down. “Nothing that I can’t handle.” Though, it had not been easy being First Footman. Everyone had liked Ira, and many had loved him, and so they all had had no joy when Zahir was promoted. Their displeasure had shown in their work and so he had spent most of the first weeks in the new position making sure no one was slacking. At night, his throat felt sore from all the scolding he had to give, and his feet hurt from having to walking back and forth, up and down, checking everything and everyone multiple times because they couldn’t be trusted. “But they sure love to make everything ten times harder than it should be,” he said, letting out a little of his frustration.

He almost came to envy Mr Weatherstaff, if anything simply because his work did not seem as affected as Zahir’s by the Prince’s visit. “If they did know it is only as it should be,” he said, though he was starting to find his masters’ lack of acknowledgement of their staff’s work burdensome at times. But not enough to turn him into the revolutionary their previous First Footman was. “A prince visiting the country and the estate of a peer should turn the whole region upside down. If only to give something for people to talk to, apparently. You know they say he is coming to propose to Lady Dinah,” he said, leaning forward, losing his perfect posture, “and I have it on good authority that it is true. So, this might become a common occurrence for us, hosting a prince and a princess.” There was pride in his voice, after all he was proud of his position and to see the family he served to rise in society was great as it reflected on him. “I just hope she won’t be silly enough to refuse him,” he said, clicking his tongue in annoyance at the end, having forgotten himself and how a first footman should behave at all times.

[zahir-qureshi]

scandalous-heart​:

The hand on his belly was entirely unexpected, but made him hum in contentment. A familiar warmth of company and contact spread through him, more comforting than the heat from the summer sun. Even if it was temporary, even if it was to placate him.

“Mmmm yes, I’m very lucky,” he hummed, letting his eyes close, as he relaxed. “Alright alright, I’ll try extra hard and work my little butt off being the best cricketer on the pitch, is that better?” He was willing to pliant if it meant being petted.

He peaked an eye open as the next grape was fed to him. “You’re very good at this,” he mentioned, mouth half occupied by eating the grape and not choking on it. “Tell me what will make you happy then.” It was phrased as an order, but it was not one he would enforce. Zahir could keep the secrets to his happiness locked away if he willed it.

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir did not mean to smile. He was not going to. He had absolutely no intention of doing such a distasteful thing, and yet.. there was the corner of his lips moving, ever so slightly, upwards, and the lines around his eyes betrayed the pleased and smug smile he had been trying to suppress. “It’s the least,” he said, adding even a little ‘tsk’ sound at the end of it, but by then his smile was more than a subtle hint that could only be read by someone who was familiar with his judging face, it was real and a little too easily read. “But I guess it’s more than that from you,” he added, as his own way to say ‘good boy’.

“Would you even know if I was bad at it?” he asked, with a little snort. Sometimes Zahir could not believe Lord Weston was real: the man sounded like the stereotypical scoundrel, the kind of Lothario society loved so much to gossip about. Of course he would have a valet who would only feed him grape and another to move a giant feather to make a breeze. It was utterly ridiculous and impossible, but even as absurd as it sounded he could not completely put it past Abbernath to actually do such a thing.

“I can’t believe you are so bored that you want to know such a thing,” Zahir said, shaking his head. He was quick to offer the next grape to Abbernath’s lips so to silence him a little longer. “What about you, my Lord? What would make you happy?” he asked back, trying to getting out of it without giving a proper answer.

[dickiebird-weatherstaff]

Like a Moth to a Flame

Date: 15th July 1904 Place: The grounds of St Maur Castle Status: Open!

The last traces of daylight had disappeared beyond the horizon and Weatherstaff was picking the last bits of meat from the bones of the fish he’d just baked. Before him sat a crackling bonfire. Not too big, not too much for him to control, but big enough to produce a strong and steady heat. He imagined, from the right vantage point, the warm flickering light it cast would be seen for miles around. Which was what he assumed had drawn the approaching figure to his fire.

He turned around on the stump he was sitting on. He noted the features of the visitor’s face, now illuminated by the firelight, and tipped his cap in greeting. Then he got up and pulled another substantial stump from the pile of wood still left to burn and set it down as a seat for them.

He leant towards the fire and plucked out two large potatoes wrapped in foil which had been baking in the ashes. “Don’t have no plates, wasn’t expecting company.” Though no apology was actually given it was spoken as one. “But you can use this glove. It’ll cool down soon enough.” He had pulled off his thick leather gardening glove with the potato still nestled inside, then offered it to his guest like a plate.

He retook his seat on his stump.  

“Were you worried?” He asked. Fire often sparked an instant panic in people, for good reason too. Perhaps they had come to make sure all was safe. Yet Weatherstaff knew fire also kindled curiosity. He was sure Leone had many a tale of people being lured from the safe forest path by mysterious flickering lights off in the trees. Perhaps that was it. Or perhaps they were just cold.

[zahir-qureshi]

♣ ♣ ♣

“I wasn’t expecting any... potato either,” Zahir said, not wanting to make Mr Wearherstaff feel like he did not appreciate his hospitality, after all he had barged into the groundskeeper’ domain and not the other way around. Most importantly, he wasn’t really expecting anything to be truthful. “Thank you,” he added, after a moment, accepting the offer of the glove and sitting back on the stump of chopped wood. 

He had come out to pray the Maghrib, meaning to go back to the castle to check once again that the teaboys and the other footmen were not slacking off, or the maids, but his feet had brought him farther out until he could feel the warmth of Mr Weatherstaff’s bonfire.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just happened to walk this way. The fire was inviting. I hope you won’t mind my company, Mr Weatherstaff.” The groundskeeper was a man he respected because he was the hardworking sort that Zahir’s appreciated, and because he was hardly any threat to his dream to become butler one day. So, as much as possible, Zahir had always been polite, but more than that, he had always made sure to not infringe upon Mr Weatherstaff’s domain. “But it is nice out here, and inside, right now, everyone is busy either gossiping or working.. what with His Royal Highness arriving soon and all,” he explained, allowing himself a sigh. He was annoyed by the gossip but there was not much he could do, and he rather they got that out of their system now than risk letting anything out while the Prince and his valet were here. “I imagine things aren’t exactly any easier here..?”

[zahir-qureshi]

scandalous-heart​:

Abby accepted the grape, eyes wide with surprised glee. He chomped it joyfully, it tasted all the sweeter for the way it had been delivered.

“Mm well, you’ve got me there.” It was almost like his fear of hard work included not having to put effort into thinking or arguing about this either.  

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Abby wiggled like a toddler having a tantrum and almost swatted Zahir in frustration. His accusations were hitting a little too close to home. “Why can’t it just be fun! Why does it have to be work? It’s literally a game.” He implored his morally upright companion. “Why must it always be about next time? Why can’t it just be about now?” If he sounded whiney it was only because Zahir was sounding far to reasonable. “You could cheat next time too! That’s how the people on top stay there anyway. Just cheat everytime. Take the shortcuts, get there first.”

He flopped back down into the grass. “You’re too good for your own good.” He sighed, and looked up at the footman. “People will take advantage of that, so you should take advantage of them in return. Take advantage of me being a lazy fop, and I’ll take advantage of being a hardworking cricketer. Everyone ends up happy.” He opened his mouth and tapped his lips, awaiting another grape.

♣ ♣ ♣

There had been once a dog. A beautiful golden retriever, with fur of a paler gold than Abbernath’s lustrous and silk hair, yet it wriggled in much the same way as the lord was doing now. Belly up, flopping paws that pushed away any reaching hand, and yet, it still wanted nothing more than a belly rub. Zahir had always scowled at the dog, especially when it got in such a display, and yet, slowly, much like Miss Forester had done, the dog had wormed his way in past Zahir’s armour and had gotten what it wanted.

It was thus just a reflex that Zahir’s hand would reach for Abbernath’s belly, resting there as if to make sure he wouldn’t wiggle away and then rubbing that softness in a motion that was meant to be calming, that was meant to say ‘there, there, fine, you are a spoiled boy.’ “Said as someone who has always the luxury to cheat and only worry about the now,” he said, for if his touch was gentle, his words were not. “Even a game has rules, and there is no point in playing if you are going to disregard them. You might as well do anything else.”

He had never been accuse of such a thing. Too good for his own good. Could Abbernath be possibly right? Was it then why he had only reached his new position only when it had been given up by another? He hated the thought, but he was also not happy with Abbernath’s solution. But he could hardly say he would be far happier if Abbernath finally put some effort into something and joined his team, could he now? “You do not know what makes me happy,” he said, instead, a little sully, a little cold, and yet he still took another grape to feed him with.

[zahir-qureshi]

alexander-of-sandringham​:

“We shall,” Prince Alexander nodded, feeling utterly cured from his previous ailments, and strode ahead.

[zahir-qureshi]

thenewlyfreed​:

“I’m fine,” Deepak replied, stubbornly. Now that the pain had had time to spread the throb had changed, catching upon a nerve like a broken nail might a loose thread, tugging just enough to cut sharply through the centre of his palm. Nothing he couldn’t shake off. He hoped. “‘Just caught them, they’re fine.” No longer cradling his hand to his chest, he let the bandaged little finger, strapped to his ring finger, stand out stark and white.

He didn’t want Qureshi’s approval. He didn’t care for it. Like a youth who was rejected the offer of a dance, Deepak decided that Qureshi’s respect was beneath him. But- but…

He couldn’t deny the relief at seeing no scorn in his eye, hearing no insult from his tongue. Nor could he deny the uneasy surprise at Qureshi’s apparent, verbalised concern. “I’m good to play,” Deepak added after a beat of silence, and the pain changed again, softening into an ache that, whilst nasty, was not debilitating.

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir stood eyeing Deepak. Yes, there was no scorn, no contempt, but there was still this hard quality to his gaze. “This is not the moment for pride,” he said, with a firm tone, his hands now standing on his sides. “It is exactly because I need you to play the game that you should make sure to treat your hand so that it won’t bother you during play.” He spoke as if all of this should have been already obvious to Deepak, as if there should not be any reason to mistake his ‘concern’ for anything else but the selfish desire to have all his players in top form.

“At least get Billy to bring you a bucket of cold water,” he said, starting to look around for the teaboy. Billy was too young to play, but he had come along to help out with equipment and serving. “You will be our bowler,” he declared.

[zahir-qureshi]

soleil-timide​:

Florence smiled softly at his charming words. It was difficult to think that she’d grow accustomed to such kindness, especially after everything that had transpired, but the youngest Talbot would certainly enjoy it now. It had been a pleasant surprise from the start of her debut, that so many had a kind word for her. “ His question had her humming in thought. Instinctively, she wanted to say ‘no’, but as she thought about it, she had undertaken a number of challenges. Cooking, cleaning, laundry..she’d started helping with mending as well, as much as she could. They were hardly tasks that she ought to claim as a lady, but perhaps with this gentleman, she could. “I do, though I imagine what I find to be challenging would be considered very normal, day-to-day tasks for most people,” Florence admitted shyly. “My family has needed help, and I would do anything for them,” was all she offered by way of explanation, her moment of courage withering almost as soon as it appeared. Following his lead was easy, and Florence could easily appreciate that he was confident, but gentle. Some of the young lords she’d danced with were too rigid in the give and take on a ballroom floor. “May I ask the same of you? Do you appreciate a challenge, or is it merely something to be overcome?” 

♣ ♣ ♣

“What is and is it not a challenge changes for each of us,” Zahir offered, and it was true. After all, the challenges he faced as a working class man and a Muslin were not the same of a Lord and a Christian. “But hard work is hard work, effort is still effort, so the people should do better than judge someone else so easily.” Even if he himself had done so more than a few times, but Zahir often failed to see his own hypocrisy. A family in need of help. That he understood all too well. He smiled underneath his mask, and it came through in the way he looked at her, in his unobstructed gaze. “There is nothing more honourable than helping one family,” he said, with sincere admiration.

He pondered for a second at the question even if his answer was ready. He had always been sure about challenges. “I appreciate them, of course. Though, I do not always have that luxury,” he explained, feeling he could be honest with her. With these mask they had on. The both of them could be anyone and themselves at the same time. “I do not like to shy away from them. My pride won’t allow it,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But at the same time.. I can’t always give into my pride. Some challenges are not for me to take. Does it make sense?” he asked, gently, knowing there was much he was leaving out.

[zahir-qureshi]

scandalous-heart​:

“Psh, I know everyone,” Abby said with complete conviction, even if it wasn’t strictly true, even if… well yes, Zahir stated it so elegantly. Even if they didn’t want to be associated with him. “You think so little of me, that you would forsake your beloved just for knowing me?” His playful grin was firm even if his feelings were somewhat hurt. Oh, he had provoked something in Zahir. He leaned up a little, concerned for the safety of his grapes as Zahir tossed them aside. He pouted a little. “You make the assumption that I care about your victory,” He sat up again seeing that Zahir would not be feeding him grapes any time soon. “And perhaps I do, but I almost definitely care more about their, our, loss.” He might have bopped Zahir on the nose if he wasn’t afraid the man might bite his finger off if he tried it. “Besides, what’s wrong with a little subterfuge?” Despite his talk, the idea of playing on the servant’s team did spark his sense of mischief. It would be a big statement though. Perhaps even political. It would take more convincing. “If you stop playing by the rules, you can try a lot less and still get the things you want. Who do you think made the rules in the first place? People who want to make it as hard as possible for you to win!” It sounded oh so wise, but Abby could spout as much nonsense as he liked to justify himself.

♣ ♣ ♣

Would Zahir really forsake Miss Forester only for knowing Abbernath Weston? Oh, part of him wished it would be so easy. It would help him get rid of this ridiculous infatuation he held for her. Shifting with a nervous, almost uncomfortable energy, he didn’t reply. Instead, he picked up one of the grape, cleaned against the sleeve of his shirt—that he was careful, even in the summer heat, to never roll up over half his forearm—and fed him to Abbernath.

“Right, my Lord, I should not think that you care,” he said, with a meanness in his tone that was just akin to a bite. His expression stayed harsh, judging, but it was not indifferent at least. His sharp gaze went to look at Abbernath, taking in the little pout on the man’s face and grimacing at it like a grumpy cat having to acknowledge they were wrong about something. Especially because he believed Abbernath when he said he wanted the Lords’ team to lose. “Not everyone is afraid of hard work as you are. It’s not always just about the end result, the goal.. it is also how you achieve it,” Zahir explained, sounding offended by Abbernath’s opinions so far. “We can win this game by using your cheap tricks, but what about the next one and the one after? What about our pride? Yes, we can win today thanks to you playing the bumbling fool.. but how is that not another example of a Lord making up different rules, only for once we benefit from them.. to your pleasure, for your pleasure. Because today, this is what you are in the mood for.. with no regard for the future. Seeking only cheap and quick thrills that will leave you just as bored as before,” he said, and immediately hating how he sounded like Ira. But he was annoyed with Abbernath’s... Abbernath.

[zahir-qureshi]

alexander-of-sandringham​:

“Fine,” Alexander sighed after a moment of consideration. “I shall not think of you as my enemy, but my brother in arms, helping me to sweeten our love.”

Alexander had grown up with a brother who had had an appreciation for the male form, just as he still had a loving sister who not rarely discussed her appreciation for the female form. All the same, when the Forest asked him to dance, he did not think it was an invitation. “Wonderful. I do enjoy dancing. We should find sisters to dance with in a Quad Dance, so we can assess each other’s gracefulness.” 

He let his gaze roam through the hall, then nodded when he found two women of the same frame and height standing by the walls. “How about them? I believe they might be princesses.” A look back to the Forest. “You do hope to find a princess too, I assume?” Who didn’t?

♣ ♣ ♣

If Zahir had been able to speak, he would attempted a thank you, but as he was if he had tried to speak it would probably come out like a nauseated sound. The man, Lysander, was too cheesy for Zahir’s taste, and so he simply bowed as his way of thanking him.

It was also easy to not say anything, as Lysander seemed well versed into filling the silence and even taking the lead. Soon, his companion had decided they should find two more dancers and do a Quad Dance. It was all the same to Zahir, as he hoped it would grant even less of a chance to have to hear him spout even more sweet, honeyed words.

Princesses. Luckily, he did not snort at the notion. Fine. He could also play at being awfully cheesy. “I believe our affection can crown any woman, no matter how low or high-born, princess of our hearts. Don’t you?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the two women Lysander had selected. “They look lovely. Shall we?” he added, ready to ask for the ladies to dance with them.

[zahir-qureshi]

alexander-of-sandringham​:

“Ah, the forest!” Alexander said in awe. “Does that mean you are the thing that dared to hide my princess from me?” A contraposition to the suggestion that he was the safe haven for the lovers to meet behind.

“Very well. Then what do you propose we do? Concretely?” A word Alexander had never enjoyed uttering, mostly because he was not a man for concrete matters.

♣ ♣ ♣

It was funny to think that maybe Lysander was not that far off, has Zahir had all the intention to keep him away from Hermia. Or at least, his Lady dressed as Hermia. “Hide? I offer you both adventure!” he rebutted, almost in a scolding tone. “The thrill of the chase. And a test of true love.” He did not even know himself what idiocy he was speaking, it just felt these were the right things to keep the man ‘happy’ and getting on his bed side for he surely was a Lord on not a kitchen boy.

What Zahir wanted to do was escape. Now more than ever he felt the desire for a cigarette. “Now, we...” two times a lady had approached him for a dance, he might as well start to turn the favour, “dance.” And with his hand he gently motioned to the dance floor.

[zahir-qureshi]

scandalous-heart​:

Abby’s eyes glinted with mischievous curiosity. “Really? Who is refined enough for your taste then?”

He chuckled at the sarcasm. See, no one on the other side of the field could muster up that kind of wit. Or no, there were some that were witty enough he supposed, but it was different. Nobody wanted to cause a stir, and if they poked fun at anyone it was someone below them. Zahir was punching up with his snide comments. It was risky, it was real. Though of course there wasn’t really any risk, Abby was true to his word, he wouldn’t use his status against Zahir for anything he did in this interaction.

“No, no fanning please, the breeze might mess up my hair.” He smoothed a hand over his hair with mock concern, and then let it fall away into a grin.

He was glad Zahir found the information useful. At least he had influenced the game in some way, and in a much more entertaining and effortless way than actually trying. He shrugged at Zahir’s question and flopped back down to lie on the grass, looking up at Zahir. He tossed the remaining grapes onto Zahir’s lap. “I’ll prance about when we’re fielding and make a good show of joining in. But no, I won’t really try.” He opened his mouth wide, a silent request for a grape, but then he thought of another thing. “I could be your man on the inside if you like. If you can think of anything I could do to help.” He resumed his open-mouthed position and waited.

♣ ♣ ♣

Miss Forester. The name came readily into his mind, even the more intimate version of it which Zahir forbade himself to linger on, but he did not dare to speak of it out loud. “No one you would know,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure it would be true of Miss Forester to have never met Lord Weston. Of course, he hoped it to be true. “Actually, if they know you.. it makes them automatically not refined enough.” That was bold of footman to say to a lord, but Zahir had forgotten his manners the moment Abbernath had brought his beloved back to his mind.

“Too late for that,” he said, quickly, without missing a beat, without even thinking. He had simply cast a glance to Abbernath’s hair and declared it in an instant a mess already.

Zahir was an ambitious man. He had goals, and had all the desire and drive to achieve them. He had been happy and proud of his new station—first footman of the St Maur household—but it still soured his achievement that he had gotten the position simply because Ira had relinquished and not because he had proven himself more capable of him. Of course, it would have not been easy to oust Ira, but it would have not been impossible. So, when Abbernath shrugged off his question and said he wouldn’t even try, it flared some anger in him again. It felt like... like he himself was not even worth the effort. “You could actually try,” he said, now the grapes definitely felt like a trap of some kind. As if they were to lure him into the same state of laziness. He gathered them up from his lap and put them down on the grass. “It’s one thing to give away your teammates weakness, it is another to actively sabotage them. At that point it stops to be our victory and it’s just..” he didn’t even know how to describe it. It would feel an empty, meaningless victory. “You have your place, my Lord, and I have mine. You should remember that. If you want to be my man, then you should officially play for my team. No subterfuge.”

[zahir-qureshi]

soleil-timide​:

Florence smiled softly at his explanation. “Quite a common occurrence during the season, I am sure. I do hope the lady’s fretting doesn’t weigh heavily on you,” she offered as a means of consolation.  No one could escape a lady’s worry during the season, it would seem. It was nuce reassurance that she wasn’t the only one to fret over something as silly as dresses. His complement warmed her heart. “Thank you, it is very kind of you to say so,” Florence murmured shyly. “It was quite an undertaking, but very satisfying to complete,” she confessed. Truly, the youngest Talbot was pleased with her handiwork on the suit, and it was rather disappointing that she wouldn’t be able to wear it again. Florence took the offered hand with a brilliant smile. “Please, my lord, I would be honored,” she assured the other, figuring that copying him was the safest bet. It would be her luck that she’d speak informally with a duke or some other titled person. Best to err on the side of caution, especially when the gentleman in question was being so kind. 

♣ ♣ ♣

The particular lady he was mentioning had never given him much trouble before, but in truth Zahir was thinking about Lady Dinah less and less. “Nothing could weigh on me at the moment,” he said, cringing inside a little bit. Maybe he had spent too much time with that cheesy man before. “Your words made even the heaviest of weights feel light.” Still, he smoothly let the words out, accompanied them with a little bow. They were not even a lie. He had little reason in this moment on being overly polite, so he did not try to be.

“Not kind, simply true,” Zahir said, shaking his head as to shoo away the notion he had meant a kindness with his words. A kindness that he did not want to be thought as pity, or empty flattery. “Do you often put yourself to challenges?” he asked, as now that her hand was safely in his. It was a lovely hand, and he held it with confidence but also gently, guiding her to the dance floor.

Facing each other, his other hand went to the small of her back and in one, two, three, he started to lead her to the rhythm of the music and this particular dance.

[zahir-qureshi]

thenewlyfreed​:

The ball sailed, Deepak watched it, lunged, and-

It hit against his strapped fingers just before it bounced against the heels of his palms. The flare of pain was brutal, so red-hot it was purple and violet, shuddering all the way up his arm, through his core and out his feet. Deepak was only aware he’d cried out when the sound echoed through the park, slicing through the polite mumble of conversation at the field’s edges.

He didn’t let go, though.

Sucking in air through his grit teeth, he held up the ball with his left, uninjured hand, tucking the other close to his chest as the pain throbbed, throbbed, throbbed, each time less painful until it was almost a comfort. If there was anything Deepak could do, it was withstand pain. He jutted his chin out stubbornly. I dare you, it said. Say I’m not fit, say I’m not good enough, I dare you, I dare you, I dare you.

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir’s gaze never left Deepak’s figure, and his expression never gave way to worry. Not even when there was a cry coming from Deepak as the ball had probably landed wrong. Still, to the valet’s credit, he had hold on to the ball and not let it go. It was only then that his expression changed. One corner of his lips rose into a lopsided smile, a little smirk that was reflected in his gaze.

He walked back to Deepak, without rushing until the distance between them was close enough that they wouldn’t have to shout to talk to one another. “Are you injured?” he asked, with no fret. Again, he did not looked concerned the way someone who cared would, the way Ira, for example, would, but it was not disinterested either. “It shouldn’t be too serious, but let’s get it checked out.” Again, he spoke with an authoritative tone that came to him all too easily.

[zahir-qureshi]

soleil-timide​:

Zahir was very correct and proper, as always, but to Florence, he seemed genuine in his words. The youngest Talbot very much appreciated that he didn’t mind the time spent on her and the broke parasol. A parasol she now very much wished to keep, if only for the memory of him teaching her to do something useful. Even if it were to be left plain, she would be unreasonably proud of it. “I will,” Florence promised with a nod. She’d also think on how requesting his assistance with the embroidery would be an excuse to see him again, to hopefully receive his thoughtful kindness once more.

“Yes, of course. Please don’t let me keep you, I fear I must have taken too much of your time already,” Florence assured him. “Thank you again, Mister Qureshi,” she added brightly, beaming up at the footman.

END