Deuxcoeurs Plantation - Deuxcoeurs Hall

Genevieve's eyes widened in surprise at Leonid's enthusiasm, but his pleasure at such an idea was infectious, and she smiled and laughed gently while she enjoyed her eclair. "I suppose it can... would you like your scarf to have a special purpose, Monsieur? Oh, it's been a long time... I will perhaps have to practice before I can get it right."

"To see?" she wondered. "You would like to watch as I do it? It is really no different than how any other person might weave a scarf."

"Not really. I'd simply like it to be comfortable and sturdy for my uses." he said when the aged lady asked him the specifics of how he wanted his scarf. "Oh it may look that way but one who pays attention can see that it is more than that. When you have to take in what little time you have you learn to see the finer details of nearly everything." Leonid stated. "Even if it is as unceremonious as you claim it to be, then that would be a wonder all in it's own; to see that something so marvellous is done in a manner seemingly plain." 

The man leaned back in his chair, breathing a little heavily from all of his excitement. He was a sickly person and straining himself. "Thank you." he wheezed. 

The willow trees eventually gave way to stronger, sturdier trees that were more of the Gauldish fashion as Genevieve St. James and her guest, Raoul Ferdinand made their way around the bend. It was then that the handsome house -- well, manor, more accurately -- could be seen, once more framed by two posts on either side and flowers decorating its front yard and around the back.

Seeing it made her heart clench in her chest, bringing back memories of a child that Genevieve still mourned. "Here we are," she said, but a bit of the sparkle of her laughter had faded from her voice as she gestured toward it.

She laughed gently, but it sounded a little forced. As if she made the sound because she was socially expected to. When she looked up Deuxcouers, she did not see the beautiful haven that she thought she could use an escape. When she looked upon the estate, she saw the futile efforts of an enchantress who was trying to run away from thoughts of her daughter, making everything too beautiful, too enchanting. Futile efforts.

She stepped up onto the wide shaded plantation porch and to the large double doors with their golden handles and painted black lacquer and stepped inside. A butler was immediately there and bowed. "My lady," the man said, and then bowed his head to Raoul Ferdinand as he entered behind her. "Sir. May I take your coat?" He held out his hands to take Genevieve's cloak and Raoul's cloak as directed.

"Thank you, LaRue. This is Mr. Raoul Ferdinand. I am going to be showing him around the house, but if you would have refreshments prepared in the mean time..." Genevieve said, at home in the grandeur of the white-and-black tiled foyer with the Rondi wood carved middle table topped with a beautiful, ornate orangement in a Dareian vase. A Gauldish, gold-gilded grandfather clock stood in the hall to one side, and a painting depicting the sloping hills outside of Travere was on the other side.

"Of course, milady," LaRue said, but he eyed Raoul curiously all the same. She had never brought home a man before, and this one looked like a rake if ever he'd seen one.

Another forced smile, especially as Raoul flirted lightly with her in front of LaRue. "Come," she said and gestured him past the grand staircase that separated midway to go to different landings. She opened a door to lead him into a grand library, sunlight streaming through the windows. Everything in the house was a touch feminine, but not overbearingly so. Still, anyone could get a sense that there was no "Man of the House" given the soft creams and quiet browns that were used in most of the rooms.

She showed him the library, speaking about the room and leading him through a door near the fireplace into a room that seemed the same as the library, but smaller, more intimate. The books there were magical tomes, she told him, that carried information on a number of different subjects as pertained to the supernatural realm.

She showed him a quiet study, and then a smoking lounge with a billiards table in the center. The way everything was so pristine hinted that she'd never once played and didn't actually know how. "I think I made this room, thinking of my husband," she said, and then a small, warm -- but sad -- smile did curve her lips then. "Not that he would have played. He was a moral man and didn't often give into games of chance and greed, but I like to think..." Her fingertips trailed over the waxed wooden edge of the table, touched the leather that lined the inside of a pocket. She laughed. "I'm not sure what I think."

She seemed a little surprise that he would ask. "Oh," she said and then suddenly struggled. It was as if she didn't know where to begin. "He was... my savior," Genevieve said, walking around the edge of the pool table slowly. "I met him when I was..." Pregnant "... in trouble. He says that he took one look at me and fell in love, but I think that is only what he said to calm me on our wedding day. It was very rushed. We married within days of meeting, and then I went with him to war."

She came to the edge of the table and stopped. "He was a good man, but I didn't love him like a wife should have loved her husband. It is one of my regrets in life." She lifted her lashes and gazed at Raoul Ferdinand. "Have you wronged any lovers?"

She looked at him for a beat after he finished speaking.

That one moment seemed to say it. It was too late; it would hurt if he left now.

But Genevieve just smiled, that smile that was softly tinted with sadness, and turned to walk back down the length of the table to the other set of doors. "Let me show you the rest of the home," she said to Raoul Ferdinand. "And then we can eat and figure out how we will get your horse through the door of my shop."

She turned and walked backwards for a moment as she tried to imagine how he'd get the horse through the door. "Oh, your poor horse," she laughed, lifting a hand to cover her smile with her hand, even though it still sparkled in her eyes.

"One more room, one more room -- and then we will eat and try to fetch her as carefully as possible," Genevieve insisted, and turned back around to open the double doors into the grand ballroom. There were large, wealthy mirrors all along one side and a massive chandelier at the center of the room, two smaller ones framed on either side. There was a wide balcony where speeches could be made, obviously lent to the upper floors, and a pavilion where an orchestra could play. A harp and a grand piano were already there. The floors were made of soft Rondi wood and Gauldish wood, all of the pieces making an elaborate pattern across the floor. Down the opposite wall was a wall of glass windows with heavy drapes to either side and handsome gauldish doors that led out into the back gardens.

It was a wonderful room, and yet... it appeared like it was rarely, if ever used. White sheets were over tables gathered in the corners, and the mirrors looked a bit dusty. There was a sheet over the harp as well, and the ceiling that was painted with some sort of Gauldish motif seemed a bit bland, as if it had lost some of its color.

"We can host a going-away party in this room for you," Genevieve said as she walked toward the middle of the room, her voice echoing given the excellent acoustics.

Genevieve stopped walking and turned to look back at him, some distance away. "I've never used it," she admitted to him, her voice slightly echoing. She avoided looking at herself in the mirrors that lined one wall, her gaze focused on him, or the floor, or the ceiling, or the silk-papered wall on the otherside that was decorated with an Arcadian scene of frolicking deer and birds and flowers, gold-leaf no doubt etched into the whimsical designs that was meant to represent a dance of spring.

"Not for balls or parties or the like, I mean to say," Genevieve further clarified. The only thing in the room that didn't seem to have a white sheet over it was the piano. "Those doors there lead into the Grand Dining Room," she told him. "We will rarely eat in there, unless, of course, you want to. I prefer to eat in the Gallery."