Lady Genevieve St. James
Dedicated
Enchantress & Entrepreneur
Roleplay posts: 489
Age: mid-30s.
Physical Description: Her hair is sunshine gold, her skin is peaches and creme, and her eyes are periwinkle, sometimes lilac, sometimes blue. She has a comely body that is not too curvy and not too slim, and a height that is not too tall and not too petite. A beauty mark marks her cheek just below her left eye.
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Clothes and Equipment: Genevieve is always clothed handsomely, although not ornately, and uses good fabrics for her well-fit and well-made clothes. She wears a long necklace, the thin golden chain easily visible but the pendant itself is usually tucked beneath her bodice, unseen. In the well-hidden pockets of the full skirts of her gowns, she usually has odds and ends hidden away.
Allegiances: Isra, Aozora, Gauldin
Registered: Nov 28, 2015 11:03:51 GMT -8
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Post by Lady Genevieve St. James on Jan 21, 2018 19:18:06 GMT -8
She had turned her head and rested it against his shoulder, the warm satin of her golden hair faintly whispering against his neck and jaw. He spoke, and the low timbre of his voice seemed to rumble from his chest, stronger than it had been before.
His hand, calloused, reached for her wrist and for a moment she wanted to yank back her hand when he touched the scars there, memorizing their jagged shape and their ugly edges in her peaches-and-creme skin. The thought was fleeting, however, and was gone as quickly as it came as she relaxed completely at his side.
She was content to simply be, to simply stay near him and offer what strength and reassurance she had to Ryden, but he quietly asked the questions that she didn't have answers to. Romance had never been something she'd been good at.
Conceiving Odette had been... well, it had not been romantic. And she'd married Florian out of duty, and later, from love. Raoul had been a brief passion that she never should have given in to, because her guilt had surmounted whatever pleasure she had felt. Ryden was the first person she'd met, the first man she'd met, that she wanted as much as she feared.
"We eat dinner," she said in Common, humor warming her tone as she lifted her head to look at him with that smile on her face, that warmth in her blue gaze as she looked at him. "You meet my niece and nephew, and you offer us a room for the evening..."
Her gaze lowered to where his fingers and his hand held her own wrist, her own pain and scars. Lashes like fans against her cheeks, she gently shifted her hand so her palm was against his, her own slender fingers parting between his own, holding his hand. "We take things simply, as we want them. As... slowly, as you want them."
Genevieve didn't want to go slow, not after everything, not after her moment of Euphoria in Gauldin and witnessing Arianne and Renaux together, witnessing the tears of the children that had been forcibly taken. But Ryden was aching and hurting, down to his very soul, and she couldn't push him to go faster and to handle more than he was already doing.
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Ryden Greyiron
Dedicated
Chancellor of Isra
Roleplay posts: 226
Age: 42
Physical Description: Taller than most at 6'4, with relatively short, steel-grey hair, and a well-groomed, dignified moustache and beard, Ryden Greyiron would have been considered handsome, once upon a time, and still might be by some, but stress and worry has gotten to him over the years, and more than anything, he looks weary. With well-defined, prominent cheekbones, a strong-set jaw, and a proud nose, he looks every part the stately nobleman he professes to be. His dark blue eyes are filled with a solemn and calculative consideration of everything around him. He has the lean and muscular body of a great swordsman not long out of their prime, and his movements show it - they are graceful, yet dignified, confident and determined.
Clothes and Equipment: Ryden is generally only seen in his engraved armor. His armour is an assembly of intricately engraved detail and runic symbols in equal measures. With his long and flowing grey cloak, he creates a distinctive impression of gravitas in all situations. His preferred weapon, a hand-and-a-half sword, is rather unusual. The hilt is worn and weathered with battle, and seems to be ancient, and yet the blade gleams and shimmers in the slightest of light as though it emerged from the flames of a forge only yesterday. The blade's edge is razor sharp, and appears to have never needed sharpening. His armour and sword both possess a degree of enchantment, but the extent of which is unknown, even to him.
Registered: Apr 30, 2016 16:46:48 GMT -8
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Post by Ryden Greyiron on Feb 1, 2018 6:38:32 GMT -8
His left arm stretched out around her shoulders, Ryden held Genevieve to his side, content feeling her spirit nestled close to his. He ran his hand along her upper arm, gently and comfortingly rubbing it as his right hand lifted hers to his face, where he gently pressed his lips against it.
"Thank you, Genevieve." His words were barely more than a whisper all at once defeaning in the silent room and defeated by the emotions that echoed like voices. "I was so afraid... esp-" "especially that I'd never see you again. That I'd be killed - or worse, that you would. Thank you for understanding."
Despite his storied years, there were few women Ryden would say he loved. While he was growing up, he had his first experiences with the fairer sex, and he had enjoyed life, but it was never serious - and that was all gone, anyway. Later yet, when he was living in the port, his ambition consumed him and left no time for love beyond dalliances with the tavern girls - that was not for the lack of trying, though. That ambition had cooled, though - replaced by a desire to experience the years of his life burned up by vengeance, despite his halcyon days having set far behind him.
And he loved her. Not the thought of her, nor the idea of loving someone, and he was not so desperate as to mistake an affectation for love. He loved her, and spending time with her, and talking with her, and it made him feel giddy inside, like he was a lovesick child taking a moonlit walk along the beach. She lingered in his thoughts while he was in Tawakoshi, whether negotiating with diplomats or being tortured by bandits - not drawing all his attention, but constantly there, a comforting presence.
He loved her, like he never had before.
But that love was tainted by a bitter and angry resentment, and it was nothing to do with her - he was weak. Insipid and weak and compromised and pathetic. He had failed to keep himself safe, and would've been helpless to help her, had she needed him. He would've failed her, like he failed himself.
Some rational sense in his brain insisted that it was wrong, but the sentiment was overwhelming and he turned his head away from her, an angry sob wracking his body and contorting his face despite his best intentions otherwise. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks - tears of sadness, and fear, and raw anger. His mood had gone from placidity to turmoil so very quickly.
"I'm sorry," he cried, the words laden with emotion, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
He let go of her hand to grab his own sleeve and dash away the tears. The emotional spell over, he turned back, slightly red, swollen eyes the only sign to see of his brief indiscretion.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," he said, but that was a lie. He knew what came over him perfectly clearly. "I suppose I didn't realise how afraid I really was." Afraid that I'm too weak for you. Too pathetic.
"Shall we go and catch up with Matheus and the children? A meal sounds like a pleasant idea."
He stood with a degree more confidence than he felt, though his voice still shook, and extended his hand for her to take.
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Charlemagne de Sauveterre
Established
Roleplay posts: 10
Age: 43
Physical Description: If he straightened his back, Charlemagne would tower above most people at a lofty 6'4". Usually, though, he was leant over, cleaning a counter, or sitting and talking with patrons, or engaging in some manner of physical activity that made him seem less imposing than he really was.
Of course, it was not just his height that set him out as imposing - he had broad shoulders and a well-defined body that defied expectations of a man likely past the halfway point in his life - something that undoubtedly came from time spent in the vineyards.
As one was to look upwards, though, they would see a face etched from toiling in the hot sun. Set in that face were sparkling diamonds, bright blue and filled with an energy that belied the aged weariness with which the vintner seemed to carry himself. Enclosing his face was a shock of auburn hair, which extended down to a short, neat, greying beard.
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Clothes and Equipment: While the wealth he had accumulated through his past business - that enabled him to purchase and renovate the dilapidated vineyard into a winery - was significant to finance a life of extravagance, Charlemagne was not intent on resting on his laurels. Rather, the reason he bought the vineyard was to work on it, and his choice of clothing usually reflected that.
As such, he was regularly clothed in nothing more than a light coat, a linen tunic, and some trousers, the earthy colours masking the dirt that usually coated him. He also kept a short dagger strapped to his waist, ostensibly for trimming back vines.
Registered: Nov 28, 2017 3:01:12 GMT -8
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Post by Charlemagne de Sauveterre on Feb 3, 2018 5:02:02 GMT -8
Matheus had taken the children to one of the smaller, classier dining rooms in an attached building to the main residence. Inside, the three of them were seated around a small table - big enough only to fit them, as well as Ryden Greyiron and Lady Genevieve St. James. Towards the side of the room, the fireplace was burning away gently, taking the edge off the crisp air of a late winter evening. The sun had just slipped below the horizon and as the workers came in to take their dinner meal, the musicians - who would perform for the patrons when the winery finally opened - played in the courtyard, serenading them, and strands of their sweet songs drifted up through the open windows to the group within. Matheus, unaware of the children's unique circumstances, attempted to make conversation with them, speaking the tongue of his - and their - homeland. Still, he would understand if they were reluctant to make small talk with him, seeing how reluctant they were to part with Genevieve. As such, he was content to wait in silence enjoying the music until the pair joined them.
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Lady Genevieve St. James
Dedicated
Enchantress & Entrepreneur
Roleplay posts: 489
Age: mid-30s.
Physical Description: Her hair is sunshine gold, her skin is peaches and creme, and her eyes are periwinkle, sometimes lilac, sometimes blue. She has a comely body that is not too curvy and not too slim, and a height that is not too tall and not too petite. A beauty mark marks her cheek just below her left eye.
· · · · · ·
Clothes and Equipment: Genevieve is always clothed handsomely, although not ornately, and uses good fabrics for her well-fit and well-made clothes. She wears a long necklace, the thin golden chain easily visible but the pendant itself is usually tucked beneath her bodice, unseen. In the well-hidden pockets of the full skirts of her gowns, she usually has odds and ends hidden away.
Allegiances: Isra, Aozora, Gauldin
Registered: Nov 28, 2015 11:03:51 GMT -8
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Post by Lady Genevieve St. James on Mar 22, 2018 8:13:35 GMT -8
"Ryden--" Genevieve said, sitting up when he turned away from her. It was almost as if she could see the cracks in his skin, in his being, where whoever it was in a land far away had done their best to shatter him.
But they hadn't shattered him. He was still here, and now he was here with her, but Genevieve could see that he would need daily reminding, daily comfort -- that he was whole, that he was strong, and most importantly--
-- that he was worthy.
Those beautiful blue eyes of hers watched him as he gathered himself. Perhaps to anyone else they'd see the distinguished, high-brow chancellor he showed the world, dressed in his fine clothes, his broad shoulders held with aristocratic aloofness. Genevieve, however, could see where he was vulnerable, and decided not to speak to it. Not right now.
She had Etienne and Marie Therese -- Voltaire and Gabrielle -- to think about as well. She blinked once, thick lashes lowering for a moment as a thought traced over the lilac blue of her gaze, and then she put her hand in his and gracefully rose, a lady to meet the diplomat.
"It won't be as you suspect," Genevieve warned him as her warm hand slid into his, and held his own in a feminine but firm grasp. "They were only children for a very short while before the war came and gave them a wisdom far beyond their years," she spoke to him, her Gauldish accent making her Common almost dance from her lips.
"Going to Gauldin... I could never be fond of that country where I was born, where I was educated. I do not have many good memories there, but the people... they need some place to go." Should she tell him that she was the figurehead beyond the border, helping the refugees, potentially arranging supplies to go back to Gauldin? Perhaps not.
Not yet.
By the time they arrived for dinner, they would come upon a somber scene, even with the music playing outside. The children were not willing to speak to Matheus, for they did not trust him, perhaps especially because he could speak their language and fluently. They had been trained, after all, not to trust anyone, lest they give away secrets. They didn't even speak to each other, for they knew that Matheus could understand the words said.
When Genevieve came into the room, they immediately brightened -- but almost with a sense of desperation. Marie Theresa left her chair to run over to Genevieve, her red curls bouncing as she did so. Genevieve bent and picked the girl up, settling her on her hip with laughter.
She spoke in Gauldish since they could all understand it.
"What is this? Sad faces when we have a hot meal and good company and wonderful music?"
"Etienne said--" Marie Theresa began,
"Sh, Marie!" Etienne scowled from where he sat behind his untouched plate, looking adorably forlorn for his tender years. Genevieve laughed, and the sound seemed to sparkle like sunlight, having an immediate effect on those that were near her -- or at the very least, on Marie Therese.
"Matheus and Ryden are our friends," Genevieve said as she moved to put Marie Therese back in her chair. "They are very good friends, and very honorable." Genvieve moved to stand between the children's chairs.
Marie Therese, the youngest of the two, seemed willing to believe, but Etienne regarded them with stubborn distrust. "Are they knights, Tante?" Marie Therese asked.
Genevieve chuckled again and shared a glance with Ryden, then brushed her fingertip over Marie's nose. "Well as."
"Perhaps they are spies," Etienne said, open distrust in his gaze for Ryden.
"No, we are safe here," Genevieve was quick to say,brushing a hand over Etienne's head and leaning down to kiss the top of it. "And we should eat! It smells wonderful." She could be strong. For her niece. For her nephew. For her sister. For her brother-in-law. And for the man she loved.[/i][/i]
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