(1310-11-10) Apologies
Summary: Jehan-Pascal pays a visit to Jacques, the leader of the salon, to speak about the incident at the debut.
RL Date: 11/11/2018
Related: The Debut and what happened afterwards.
jehan-pascal jacques-npc 

Office of Jacques Verreuil — Salon de la Rose Sauvage


Jehan-Pascal would, quite naturally, have come earlier in the week — missives of apology were sent quite near to instantly, as well as assurances of his intent to come and render apologies in person, but the latter have been stalled — several times now — as Jehan-Pascal had been summoned out of town on unexpected business and just returned on Wednesday morning, early, after which his diary has been crammed past the point of having a moment until the week-end. His presence upstairs in the Solar of the White Roses has perhaps been missed, perhaps not. He holds a long-term contract with Marielle, and when he's in town he often enough spends an evening or two at her side and generally haunts the White Roses with his cordial and effeminate presence in the evenings and mornings surrounding his time with her. But he's so often out of town, and for weeks at a time, at that, that it may well be nobody has had a moment to miss his floating around in Marielle's silken robes being plied with tea and wine and shy little kisses.

At any rate, he is arrived, at last, and in as fine a feather as ever, in dark crimson tails and a sporty, dense woolen trouser with a riding cut flounced above the skin-tight, buttery leather of the boots coating his calves. He's even worn a hat, a frosty grey fur piece which stands slightly backward like the headpiece of a Menekhetian pharaoh before coming to a fashionably effortless slump. It's a fine thing for a man with such short hair to be wearing in the cold. Not to mention take off and hold in hand for a posture of proper contrition. One must think of these things ahead of time. He smiles cheerfully to those with whom he is familiar on his way in, and if he is made to stand and wait a while, he can only understand.

Jehan-Pascal is a familiar face at Rose Sauvage, and so it is no surprise that his arrival is noted. He would be made to wait for a moment in the salon downstairs, but not for long. No wine would have been offered though, even if his cloak would have been taken by a novice. It may be no coincidence that a Thorn adept leads the way to the office of Jacques Verreuil nó Rose Sauvage, but it is someone, Jehan-Pascal wouldn't be familiar with. Into the office they enter, and the Baphinol heir will find Jacques seated at his table. A handsome man of slightly menacing air as most Thorns, his dark eyes lift and he gestures for Jehan-Pascal to sit down, with a quick flick of his glance given the adept to leave them to their business.

"My lord," Jacques greets after the door has closed behind the leaving adept. "I am relieved to see you following my invitation so soon?" His voice emanates strength and some diffuse unpleasantness lingering beneath the surface of courtesy.

"Ah, thank you," Jehan-Pascal beams bright for the unknown thorn as he is given leave to follow into the Dowayne's office, upon entering which he does remove his hat and hold it in a posture of contrition only moderately belaid (belied?) by the warm effervescence of his countenance as he inclines his head, accepting the invitation to sit with a swishy flick of his stylish tails and settling in on one hip, crossing one leg easily over the other and resting his hat below his arm. "Of course, my Lord," he issues back, all earnest. "It would hardly befit me to leave bad blood between my house and yours, when you have taken such wonderful care of my Lord brother, and caused him to flower most magnificently into the service of Naamah," he offers up from the heart, eyes warm with a brother's care and the kindness and gentleness of a long friend of the house. "It was a rather cheeky act of pique and provocation on my part, nor was it at all appropriate at an event of such import as a debut, for which I am really rather embarrassed. If it were only me, it might be a different thing. But I am, more and more by the day, meant as the face and representation of my house, and I ought well to be better than such behavior." No Thorn can hold a whip more iron-tipped than the self-imposed standards of a conscientious heir.

Jacques Verreuil regards Jehan-Pascal, watches him intently as the Baphinol comes forth with his admissions. The Dowayne listens, and while he is doing so, his stare intensifies as if he were digging deeper beneath the surface of an apology that is almost offered up too readily.

"The offense was about ten ducats offered as a bid," Jacques states then, his tone almost a little bored, gaze flicking away from Jehan-Pascal as if to grant him that moment of pause. "And… to speak ill of the training of our novices while stil, in the salon. Forgive me, my lord," albeit his voice doesn't sound as if he were begging forgiveness. "But what made you make those insulting statements of the skill of our Piers nó Rose Sauvage?" And there the dark gaze of the Dowayne finds Jehan-Pascal again, and it tightens slightly, as if it were a whip coiled about Jehan-Pascal's neck.

Apologies are easy, if one doesn't have too much ego getting in the way. Jehan-Pascal has never had an overabundance of ego, and so such things that might gall another, more prideful man are… easy for him, to be quite honest. "Yes, that, too, I should have waited until in suitable privacy to voice my complaints. Which— I can't recall precisely how they were phrased, but I have no complaints about the skill of your new Adept. His behavior displeased me, it's true, but I ought well to have chalked it up to his being excited for his debut and not taken it as ill as I did. Heaven knows if I were in his shoes," he adds with a warm, indulgent smile and a shake of his head, gazing back into Jacques' eyes, neither really shrinking from his intensity nor challenging it, only enduring it pleasantly enough.

"At any rate," Jehan-Pascal takes a breath, "If you wish to know the source of my displeasure, it's only that, should a whip be wielded in my direction or deployed at close range to me, I generally require at the very least enough warning to be able to compose myself properly for it, and, for preference, I would ask that consent be asked and obtained before such acts are performed— skillfully executed as they may be, you'll no doubt agree that consent is important in any act with whips or other implements involved. And, then, again, the trick was performed in the way of a punishment, and yet, for what, precisely, I was never made very clear. Fair enough— but when I misbehaved in earnest, by placing a cheeky bid, I did not earn punishment for it, not even by the snuffing of another candle, which I should have borne all the more willingly by having very fully earned it. It may well and entirely be true that I am missing some nuance, not being a purveyor or even a frequent participant in the ways of thorns and roses red, but to be punished when well-behaved and not punished when ill-behaved… it seems… strange to me, even now."

Jacques Verreuil's brows furrow at the counter, that when it comes seems to be very different from the apology he had been expecting to hear. "You were at a Thorn debut, my lord," the Dowayne states with mild surprise in his tone. "How could you not expect to be confronted with the hiss of whips? Piers did not touch you, his whip snuffed out a candle, as was his intention. But… might I ask what made you attend in the first place, if you are of such…", his features pull into the faintest of smirks, "delicate disposition? In the invitations, it had been made clear that it would be ladies' bidding alone. But perhaps, this escaped your notice, and you were there because of a misunderstanding?" And Jacques shifts in his seat, leaning forward to get a better look at the Baphinol heir. "Consent is a thing that can be rightfully assumed in someone attending a debut and intending to bid, my lord. You were obviously at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Oh, I never expected to come away with the debut. Possibly help a friend or a relative in doing so, but I was under no illusions of winning," Jehan-Pascal assures the Lord of the Wild Roses with an easy wave of his hand. "I only went of interest, debut are always such fun. I've been to my share in the House of the Wild Roses, and have never yet been confronted with a whip crack at such close range to me. Certainly at a distance, in a display. Never so close at hand. Yes, it did take me by surprise, and I bore it poorly, despite it having been called recently to my attention that I may actually be submissive in nature," he leans forward as though to tell the man in confidence, then leans back again, "Can you imagine such a thing? I certainly never could. And yet, there's something terribly enticing about such a surrender, after all," he smiles. "I will keep it in mind in future that consent is taken as granted when attending a debut," he pledges, "And we will have no further trouble between us, I do hope."

Jacques Verreuil nó Rose Sauvage seems to ponder the words of the delicate Baphinol heir for a moment. "Consent will be taken for granted at a Thorn debut," he elects to clarify dryly, "and you and I will agree that you should abstain from those, in the future. Submissiveness may come in many flavors, and you require probably a more… hmmm… subtle handling." His lips purse as if he were pondering this very thought with wry amusement. "I would think, the discord between you and the salon has been settled, my lord. But rest assured… should you at one time choose to cause another offence… That I will be less forgiving, than I am today."

"It's quite probably so. Not that I doubt that your Thorns are capable of the requisite subtlety," Jehan-Pascal takes pains to not sound accusatory, lifting a placating palm even as he agrees with the Dowayne, to whom, when he declares their disagreement at an end, he beams with a beatific smile. "Excellent. And I will also be sending a gift to the boy, once I find something appropriate. I've never been good at finding gifts. My cousin just came of age and I only gave her a line of credit at Courtly Couture. Gosh, what do teenagers even admire?" he laughs brightly. "Ah!" he sticks a moment longer, clapping his hands. "I hope, too, that I can count upon the discretion of your adepts and courtesans in future. I'm not ashamed of my proclivities, you understand," by which he probably means his well-known (inside the house, at least) habit of dressing in ladies' night-clothes while inhabiting the halls of the White Roses, "But neither do I require it to be the topic of public discourse."

"Of course," Jacques assures Jehan-Pascal with a grave look. "You know that Rose Sauvage takes great interest in being discreet about the habits and little secrets of our patrons." At which the conversation seems to be over, and the young lord will be guided out into the foyer of the salon — but not out of the door.

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