(1310-05-25) Veils in a Glass House
Summary: A Fhirze and an Alyssum meet.
RL Date: Fri May 25, 1310
Related: None
marielle tristan 

The Glass House

Imagine no barriers lay between a resident and nature but the imagination. The architecture of this modest building conjures up the masterful illusion of enjoying the outdoors to the fullest, all separations gone. Carefully groomed white pebbles meander right through a Serenissiman glass door inside La Serre, and the path forks into twinned lobes that dead end at a deep pine bench polished to a pale champagne lustre. Wildflowers in the fields outside flourish just as well within, growing haphazardly within drifting beds of low grasses transforming colours from green to bone over the seasons. Even a sluggish little creek bisects a corner of the building, slipping under a near invisible arch and continuing on its way through the opposite corner. The rustic furnishings, all sanded to perfect smoothness, reiterate a natural communion with the lovely views overlooking the nearby waterfall, the rolling fields and the Eisandine countryside in all its moods. A square table for either bench gives a place to dine or read. Two snug seats fill out a central hollow where the landscape was not flattened to accommodate the petite retreat.%r%rLight shines freely through the diamond-paned roof. A lattice of translucent rods support the panes overhead that throw faint shadows reminiscent of sunshine passing through speckled foliage. Varying shades of opacity spatter the ground throughout the day; at night, a few lanterns of rustic wood and copper designs are laid out. The most remarkable quality of La Serre are the trademark walls made of glass sheets featuring no detectable flaws, thus sheltering occupants from the unwelcome elements without placing barriers to their viewing enjoyment. Refreshments here are limited strictly to water, tea, and cold liquors, the snacks unsurprisingly fruits and vegetables alone.


Rain is rare as hen's teeth in the gentle month devoted to mothers and plenty of Eisandine things. Sun shines down and beats on poor souls unprotected by sturdy hats or rooftops. Even if the weather is balmy by the sea, inland reaches bake. That's no different for the Glass House — a place, admittedly unusual, that speaks to indolent wealth. Glass is expensive. Putting glass into the walls and setting that in a bucolic setting, outright foolish. Even better to find a rakehell in such a fine setting. He nibbles on whatever passes as a snack, chewing into the crisp peas and pulling a bit of a face. His lush cascade of dark hair sways, and his rakish hat threatens to fall entirely over his face. Dropping a pea into the bowl with one hand, he uses the other to rescue that glorious plumed addition before it even thinks of toppling to the floor. A stack of papers lie before him, most blank. A few crumpled balls sprout like mushrooms upon the surface, and he huffs a breath. Wine goblet, empty. Pen, full. Thoughts, scattered. All in all, the day has been about as productive as can be expected: it's not.

*

Perhaps befitting of the Glass House and its glittering beauty arrives the modest Alyssum. THe back of her gown has been designed to be sheer to display the completed marque of Rose Sauvage. Though, the rest of the gown completely covers the skin of Marielle. She, as expected, wears veils that only display her eyes. Her steps are soft, graceful. Her hands are clasped together behind her, adding to the innocence that comes with being an Alyssum. Around she idly looks, eyes falling briefly on Tristan in her wanders. She dips into a curtsy to him but unless he stops her she keeps wandering to give him his peace.

*

Whatever pleasures the day brings, good clothes make even the darkest moment somewhat better. Tristan sighs as he looks at his glass, and the nobleman raises his hand. The glass tips almost on its side, revealing the disdainful state of affairs. Someone can hasten along to fill it, while his hooded eyes slide away from the unrestricted view of the trees and flowers. "How deliriously thrilling this all is. And the best you have is a Sauvignon? To think Anael didn't wander around planting vines every ten footsteps." The sharp curve of his mouth hooks while the patient server trundles off to find something markedly less than white, a rose perhaps. The cellars are not deep. The possibility of dipping his pitcher into the creek and coming up with something more palatable notwithstanding, the young man languishes in his chair. No straight backed posture required here. Those infinitely brilliant night-sky eyes are startling when they finally measure up the newcomer, making of her many things, and potentially nothing disturbing at all. A blink, slow, and he just chuckles. "The day taunts me still."

*

When she hears Tristan's voice Marielle shifts her focus to him briefly, her head canting a little. The veil hides the slightest of amused smiles but if Tristan were to catch the eye of Marielle he would see it in them. Away she looks once more to continue her walking, bending to lightly touch a flower before straightening. Before she takes even two steps she senses the eyes upon her, measuring her up. THe alyssum, of course, gifts a shy shift of her body that is both offering her up for his staring while seeming like she is trying to hide away. A skill surely belonging to Alyssum. Or, at least, this particular one. Her steps still and over her shoulder she gives a questioning glance to Tristan, likely Marielle is trying to assess if he is going to bid her to his side or not.

*

The veil certainly acts as a barrier, and makes abundantly clear who and what Marielle is. At least to a cultured eye, and Tristan presumably has a basis in the intricacies of the Night Court. A white veil is nearly synonymous, after all. "Would you humour me?" Titles skip and bend as the server returns to discreetly pour him wine, indeed bringing a rose so pale a blush it hardly gets within an inch of a red grape before running off. "I've often had a running question. How, exactly, does an adept like you drink with that thing on? Isn't it a nuisance, or do you learn some special skill to avoid staining the fabric?" The endless inquiries of the male mind, or really anyone outside House Alyssum. No doubt they all face it one time or another in their life, or in a year. He remains anchored at a lazy angle in his chair.

*

One fluid motion has Marielle shifting her steps to draw her to Tristan's side and to him she dips into a curtsy. "Potentionally, my lord." she says softly, sweetly, in response to his question. The flash of humor once again shines through her gaze. "It takes training, my lord." murmurs Marielle. "It is not difficult to assure that the cloth is out of the way without displaying skin. She doesn't move to settle down beside him yet, waiting to see if he intends to keep speaking to her of if that was the only question he has for her. "Like anything a person does one learns to adapt to what is going on for them."

*

Such precious calm and charm to be examined and considered, no? Sweetness is a thing not for devouring all at once, but in restraint, sampled then savoured. "Naturally it must. You need a light hand and patience to manage that. Or is it only milk, white tea, and water to keep your garments quite safe?" He picks up his own glass and tastes it, but the bouquet in the wine rolls over the palate and apparently musters enough flavour to be worth the keeping. "I assume, quite boldly, you're on your own recognizance? It's safe if you want to sit." He gestures, long fingers sketching a loose curl. "I doubt anyone thinks my colours bleed upon you, as much a blessing as anything. Tristan." He covers his mouth with his hand. "Fhirze. One of those shocking souls not named for the moon."

*

"Marielle no Rose Sauvage." introduces MArielle as she settles down beside Tristan, skillfully placing herself near him without invading his space anymore than he desired her too while making it seem as if it was pure chance she chose the spot. "THe stains of paler hued drink can stain just as bad, if not worse, than that of colorful hue." She sounds like she knows from experience. She smiles slightly, her eyes betraying it as much as the subtle movement of the veil, "Are you a shocking person, my lord? So far you seem like quite pleasant company." She flashes over a look that could be called flustered for such a bold comment made by her.

*

"Enchanted." The typical seating in the place mimics being au natural, the better to join with the splendour of the countryside. Not to be blamed for elegance and earth converging, the Glass House sparkles in the sunshine. So does he, embroidery and rings powerful enough. "Am I shocking? No more than any other Namarrese." The curve of that smile cuts up, sharp as a blade, and completely without impact. "I much prefer personable. Amiable. Life is infinitely more enjoyable to know and be known by everyone. Never a dull moment that way, is there?" The slide of his voice contours to a muted laugh, one not quite reaching the ears. It's not like he lacks a reputation; he certainly has one.

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