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Wine Cellar
Stairs lead down to the heavy oak door, above which the sign of the place, the likeness of a Hellene amphora spilling over with wine painted upon wood, swings lazily in the occasional breeze. Beyond that door the entrance hall comes into view, where various kegs and casks of differing sizes are arranged in oenological allure before the roughly hewn walls of ancient stone. There is a chill down here on hot summer days, that will be efficiently battled in the colder months through the heating of a giant hearth to the back. The place has a decidedly cavernous character, alcoves to the left and right offering seating at small tables for two or three. Lamps are dangling by chains from the ceiling, shades of milky glass work from La Serenissima offering sufficient lighting. There are no visible windows, which means lamps will be in use even during the day.%r%rFurther to the back there is a small hallway branching off from the main area, leading to a medium sized chamber where the bigger barrels are stored. Here, a larger group of up to eight people can sit about a round table of heavy oak, while they are being served the rarer vintages or even the heavier spirits that are stored in a wooden cabinet to the back. Staff is mostly male, clad in black breeches and white shirts with dark red vests, knowledgable sommeliers of superior training that will be glad to wait on guests in person and offer insight into the variety of wines, red and white, from Terre d'Ange and a variety of specialties from abroad, that are available here.%r%rThere are [ansi(hg,places)] here, see [ansi(hg,+help places)] for more information.
La Serenissiman wine may not hold a candle to Kusheline or Eisandine varietals, but someone at least tried to make an event tonight to cater to D'Angeline tastes. The trader will suffer, of course. The snobbish clientele prefer the terroir of their own home country, for the most part, and the high prices commanded by the choice green bottles laid out on a stone bar keep all but the most curious or intransigent away. Good for them, naturally, to brave the unfamiliar. It certainly does not help that the young woman presently descending the steps has a oenological streak a mile wide and, more importantly, some of the oldest vines in the province under her sway. Territorially, anyway; doubtful that Carenza, in her tender years, is much of a vintner. Now drinking wine, that's another matter entirely. Her footsteps ring light and true, the swish of her elegant coat like doves taking flight. Camraderie in drinking should call for acquaintances, but no, the young vicomtesse is here on her own recognizance. With that inestimably Mereliot complexion, stamped by gold, she looks almost roguish and her house immediately identifiable, were the signet of the double fishes on one finger insufficient.
*
Augustin has stepped in to the cellar with no expectation that there would be an event this evening; at least that is what the suddenly surprised look on his face broadcasts when he sees the other people. He chuckles a little bit at the sight, but makes his way in to the displays of wine with a game look on his face. "Where are we trying from?" Augustin asks, and then leets out a little bit of a chortle at the answer. "It would be La Serenissima, wouldn't it. Let me see if I can find one that won't give me flashbacks. Ah…" he hmms a little bit, considering. "Ah, Torcolato, let's go with that one, nobody tried to stab me while I was drinking Torcolato." He flashes a roguish grin to the man behind the stone bar as he is given a glass of it, and fishes out the coins to pay for it.
*
The event constitutes a small one, by Marsilikos standards. Any of the finer salons boast a much higher attendance rate, though for the coin turned over, the cellar may be doing reasonably well. Whatever the proprietor hopes to encourage on a muggy, unsettled evening, he isn't going to complain about the unique aspect of a few red vintages that have something of a thicker, almost primeval quality probably due to the saltwater presence of the ocean so close to the vineyards.
A sweet wine served up here, the heavy resonance of classic Corvinas and Rondinellas is far more on the menu. That Carenza dismisses out of hand, shaking her head. "Amarone," she asks lightly enough, something about to be poured in the smallest glass possible. Not for nothing, given what that particular drink entails. "Flashbacks of a bad wine? Did you have a turn that dropped you in a canal, or something that ended with blades and a woman's spoiled honour?" Innocent questions, mischief fueling the fire.
*
Augustin looks over to the woman that comes up to him with a raised eyebrow, and then chuckles. "None of the wines were anything but wonderful, my lady Mereliot," he guesses from those famous eyes, "At least the ones I was drinking and the ambassador was paying for. Even the ones they tried to poison us with. No, it was the company that left me somewhat wanting; knives in the alleys, and a duel in the Little Court ended a summer there that was…quite more than enough for me." He reaches out to take his glass, holding it up to her in salute before taking a sip. "Augustin Trevalion, my lady," he introduces himself, with a name to conjure by as well—a man widely considered to be the best swordsman in the Kingdom.
*
There may only be a single Mereliot in the great gaggle of them who inherited the L'Envers violet gaze; her siblings very plausibly haven't. All said and done, she has a presence as bright as the sun coming into the subterranean cavern, blessedly cool and stony. Carenza leans in a little to claim the dark wine, fingers pinching the narrow stem of the glass, and she raises it in toast as much as appreciation of the colour. "That's a wise response, my lord. You should not disparage wine for the bad behaviour of men and women, at least in my book. The bottle holds no part to play for the excesses or the foibles of we who so love it." She slides over a few coins, the assortment of silver and copper ecus catching the candlelight. "Duels can be tolerated, but knives on the water, no. Poison is a wretched pastime, I fear." She accepts that salute in kind, the bright flash of her smile a devastating brightness behind the rest. "My lord. Carenza Mereliot. But here, where all things are even, just Carenza, 'you,' or whatever else takes your fancy. Lady Mereliot unfortunately nets you half the population turning their head in these parts. May I inquire what brings an Azzallese man south 'ere to our lovely shores, other than the preferential weather at this time of year? Though your apple blossoms are remarkably beautiful."
*
"Mmm, if I were to criticize the wine for my problems it might not be there when I needed it," Augustin points out in amusement. "And then where would I be? Sober, and still dealing with other people's mistakes. Although maybe only wine would blame me, and I could be left my brandy still. That would not be so bad." He snorts, and takes a sip of the sweet wine, shaking his head. "Duels should be no more than tolerated; far too many young men encourage themselves toward them." He grins at the smile in return, and nods. "Then in return please, just Augustin. The rest is frippery. I've been asked to look after our interests here, since I wanted a career change and my uncle needed someone to stay here. I've always liked it, when we would come visit family."
*
"Too often wine is treated as the cause rather than a symptom." Carenza is slow to imbibe her own drink, due in no small part to the complex blend saturating her palate. A mere inhale transports her half a nation away to the sun-beaten hills awash in small villages and meandering, slow awterways. "Sobriety should not be declaimed as a terrible thing, surely. I know some attest their skills improve with the more they drink, though certain ones suffer commensurately. Arts that require a certain vigorous precision and ruthless efficiency, for example." He warrants a muffled laugh out of her, chiming off the glass, and her gaze flickers upwards. "You know the very custom of dueling is outlawed nigh everywhere but Terre d'Ange and the Caerdicci states? A handful refuse it, Lucca foremost among them thanks to some terrible loss of a leading statesman's son. But on the whole, the idea of settling quarrels violently is viewed as a rather backwards practice. Needless bloodletting can be resolved by the proper methods. Proper defined as fines in some areas, penury in others, service elsewhere, or punching one another recklessly and then making up and going off on a drunken binge in best of spirits. Such is life, myriad and particular." Her fingertips scale higher along the glass, elbow resting on the plinth provided. "And so I fear I may have run that analogue into the ground. Forgive me, misty days render me overly loquacious, it would seem. Your interests, and a career change? I sense a story. Your next drink is upon me if you would be willing to part with it."
*
Augustin mmms. "Perhaps not in general, but the specifics are damning. After this long drinking, I'm afraid the results of sudden sobriety might be terrible; a near twenty year delayed hangover might just kill me." He seems like he is teasing, for the most part, as he takes another sip. "Oh, I'm well aware. Khebel-in-Akkad allows them for the settling of debts of honor as well, which is how one gets away with killing a pirate who happens to be their equivalent to a Duc and taking their ship." He chuckles. "Lawsuits always seemed a fairly civilized way to deal with issues." He quirks an eyebrow and smiles. "I have a feeling it is not just misty days, Carenza, but I think it's charming. There is not much to tell, honestly. The better part of two decades as a Marine in the Navy, going to battles and with ambassadors to difficult situations, and resolving most of them with the application of violence. I got tired of being the sword of the Kingdom, especially after La Serenissima. My father wanted me to marry someone politically expedient and I objected too vociferously, which resulted in a final duel with her brother. The Duc my Uncle offered me an open Vicomte, your Duchess my cousin was happy to have me train her guards in swordsmanship, and here I am." He takes another sip from his wine, eyes distant for a moment before he shakes his head. "The songs say I had 9 perfect duels, and if I avoid number ten for some years I would be quite happy."
*
"The Akkadians are a festive bunch. Their sense of propriety is profound and the number of loopholes maintained from very old traditions purely fascinating." Carenza nods, a loose strand of her curling hair flowing against her cheek, only to be viciously banished behind her ear. "Taking one's ship is altogether thrilling and quarrelsome, I am sure. Especially when docking in a third country, in which the laws create no amount of confusion about who and what and where things manner. I do think that you very surely have a myriad of tales to tell. Beware an Orchis, they may make a fortune by knowing much of your work." Laughter again threatens to overspill whereas the rest of her is entirely contained, at least in the sense of properly fitted attire and mannerisms polished by at least some taste of court. "I respect this. My duchess your cousin, my duchess my cousin. We are related. I can see the trees now converging, proof none of the great houses are purely without separation. Mama must be laughing relentlessly. We are not a widely traveled house, Mereliot, myself excluded along with a few others who didn't know better. It sounds remarkably good, however, for you to take a break and be rooted if that is where your heart lies. D'Angelines suffer away from our country, more than most, though it's the human condition to feel adrift when severed from the land we claim as our own."
*
"I enjoyed my time in Khebel-im-Akkad quite a lot, despsite the restrictions of their culture. We spent most of it at sea hunting pirates—hence how we came to fight the Duc," Arias explains. "Fortunately taking someone's ship when they're also a pirate is well established under international law, and turning it over to the d'Angeline Navy got me a promotion." He snorts and shakes his head. "Oh no, there are plenty of stories and songs about me already, I don't need any other ones. I'll avoid the Orchis." He nods. "Oh, none of our houses are truly separate. I'm named for my uncle Auguste, who married the previous Duchesse de Eisande at the same time my father married her sister." He considers her words, tapping his wine glass with a finger thoughtfully. "Perhaps we do. I have not necessarily thought of Azzalle or Evreux as much of a home for a long while, so perhaps I did better than others. Perhaps Marsilikos will begin to feel that way in time, and I would do worse to go abroad again."
*
"You are a man." Trust the miniature sociologist disguised as a noblewoman to understand this element. "Akkadian women lack the freedoms enjoyed by their masculine counterparts, and another reason I am grateful for the liberties bestowed by the Companions and Elua in their time that we retain to this day. The harem and other features of Akkadian society leave a certain weakened lustre when someone finds their customary freedoms absent." The waning weight of her smile settles in, something nearly cooled by a good ten degrees and such. However, that can be banished by a proper sip of wine and setting the glass aside for a moment, albeit well within sight and reach. No chance of anyone sweeping it away, assuming she no longer wants the drinks. Other things get under her skin so much better, anyhow. Give her a little and the charmed existence catches back up to cause her delight. "Stories and songs. Do hope no researcher gets their hands on them, or else we've a legend in the making here. Though you are very well connected, surely enough to be able to find whatever the ocean delivers you as a satisfying outcome. Marsilikos is a great city, full of many splendid things."
*
"So I've been told," Augustin agrees wryly, before he nods. "Oh…trust me. I enjoyed it primarily because we were, as I said, out at sea for most of it trying to find people to fight. Even were I not a man with sisters and a mother to be reckoned with, I did not view the customs of that country as ones I would wish to replicate here. Silks and harems are fine for Jasmine house to play at, but I daresay the Lady of Marsilikos would not be happy to have me in her city were I to start wishing to see them duplicated in earnest," he shakes his head. "Oh, they're circulating well enough, I have no doubt someone well meaning will want to play one at some point for me. They were singing them in the capital before I left, I have no doubt they will wander down to the coast until someone else does something to chase them away. Fame is fleeting, they tell me; hopefully so."
*
Carenza dips her chin in a nod, guarded only in oblique ways, the angularity of the conversation contoured by a deeper current. Augustin hasn't roused wrath out of her, at any rate. "Some perceive value in them. The idea of purity and dividing society into specific roles, for example. I am not content to harbour that sort of thought, the tide turns and society moves upwards and onwards with every passing generation. So we witness in our own times what may be considered quaint by our children and unthinkable by our forebears. Listen to me, waxing terribly philosophical again. Serenissiman wines are terrible for that. Poison on a blade, piracy, and a girl who should know when to cease talking." Her fingers slant crosswise over her mouth, as though to button down the words prospectively bubbling up there. "Fame is what it is. History is eternal. Mark one, you needn't have the other. What do you desire, were the Companions to offer you a glimpse of your future?"
*
Augustin offers a wry smile at her words. "I never would have imagined, my lady, that you might consider challenging anything," he offers. If there is a tease in his words it is a friendly tease. "I admire a woman who stands on her own two feet, and lives in her own way, regardless of what anyone else might say. Too few in the world are willing to do what they think is right, if it is uncomfortable." He smiles consideringly. "I don't know, honestly. My father wanted me to be a Royal Admiral, as a family dynasty; I ran to join the Army, and became a Marine as a compromise. I've traveled in ways many would be jealous of, and earned fame and apparently a title. None of it has been what I expected or would have wanted. I suppose I would say peace, with myself. Maybe with my father." He laughs a little, and shakes his head. "What would you ask for?"
*
"Travel. That much I share with you. A horizon calls, and I answer, dancing to the furthest reaches. I would be an unhappy ambassador, I think, given those directions." Carenza's copper-bright hair stirs when she inclines her head, giving proper thought to the question turned back upon her. "You have seen much and now perhaps is a time of reflection, indulgence even. Those vast wanderings give a sense of perspective importance to place in a greater context, no? It's one thing to admire a palm or the icy snows, and another to apply lessons learned. Technology or the advance of ideas, or merely a chance to share in likeminded company the spoils of a pirate ship. Never a dull winter's night with you, I would imagine." Her smile slips upwards, ranked easily upon a bon vivant's mobile countenance. She is far from mercurial, decidedly a fixed star for the moment. "Peace is worth something. I think my request is very simple. How do I leave Terre d'Ange and the greater world better than I came into it? Make a lasting impact? I am not chasing fame, though that might be nice, so much as an explanation. We can't all be the Companions, but we can find our own way that does something positive."