(1310-11-21) White Rose Adepts
Summary: Two White Rose adepts chat in the solar of Rose Sauvage.
RL Date: Wed Nov 21, 2018
Related: None
aimeric amelie 

Solar — Rose Sauvage

Compared to the darker, heavy interior of downstairs, the solar feels like a pleasant contrast, where the use of light pastel tones and white provide a light air that is almost convincing. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city are guarded by curtains in light shades of pastel greens and blues. A few thick carpets cover the polished oak floor, where a few high backed armchairs are arranged about a kneeling cushion in the center. Beverages offered here will usually be white sparkling wines, to lighten the mood and keep up a certain innocent air. The tapestries on the white walls are kept to lighter hues as well, picturesque depictions of alyssum flower arrangements along with those of modest maidens in innocent situations, while the darker side to Alyssum canon reveals itself only to the attentive eye, in the details of the woodwork in dark mahogany side tables and the seats, depicting a pair of man and woman caught in obvious amorous entanglement, she faintly resisting and averting her gaze.


These fall mornings.

Outside a cold breeze tears at branches and twigs that have already lost most of their leaves, and inside of the solar on the upper floor of La Rose Sauvage there is a fire crackling in the hearth of white marble. The season requires heating of this kind, and as no patrons would be visiting at this hour, Aimeric can be found sitting in one of the chairs before the hearth, staring into the flames. The young lad is of the fine handsomeness of an adept, he wears a white shirt beneath a white vest, and white breeches to go with that. Dark hair falls across his face, partly shielding his gaze, and partly shielding the view of his face from the eyes of others. He is a male White Rose Adept, and so there is no veil that hides his face, but the shirt and vest keep his back covered, as it would be bad taste to show off an unfinished marque.

Aimeric has joined the salon a few months ago, in August. Other White Roses would remember how he was paraded around as an adept that had been aquired fresh from Elua, just recently debuted at the House of Alyssum. The White Rose Second had used this to bait people of high standing, to vy for Aimeric's first assignation. That first assignation had happened, and after that, there had been a few more. As is the case when you are an adept and in the state of earning your marque.

Amelie was also in the process of earning her marque as well, it had been a little over a year since her own and it was known how picky she was about her patrons, her marque taking a bit longer than others given some of her phobias. The viels are upon her as well as gloves upon her delicate hands as she hugs a book to her chest, as she sees Aimeric, she smiles and it echoes in her eyes as she moves towards him and inquires, "Aimeric, how have you been? I never did get to ask how your debut went, I was so busy with practicing my singing." Only with fellow white roses does she ever talk higher than a whisper, or for the very special patrons when she isn't singing. Should the book within her hands be glanced upon, it is of mixed poetry.

Aimeric looks up, his chin lifting as some of that dark hair shifts aside to reveal his hazel brown eyes and finely chiselled features. He smiles vaguely. "My debut, Amelie? Are you referring to my 'debut' in Marsilikos?", the White Rose adept inquires. His tone is less shy than when speaking with a patron, and yet… some mannerisms are hard to let go of. He lowers his gaze as he gives her a smile. "It went well. And I have reason to believe… that my generous patron of that 'first' assignation will wish to see me again at some point."

Amelie bounces softly as she looks away herself and says, "I was yes. And I am glad it went so well. One came by to speak with me the other evening but it was downstairs. I had gone to look at the night sky in the gardens and felt a little dizzy. So I had just sat down when he came in. I am unsure if he will ask for an assignation but, he is one I would accept it from." Her gloved fingertips trace along the edge of her book as she smiles while inquiring, "Did you already receive your gift from your patron?" The book of poetry was a gift from a previous patron of her own before he travelled back to his homelands.

That the other adept is still standing, is a fact Aimeric becomes slowly aware of. And so he rises, with the fluid movement of Night-Court-trained grace. He may be taller than Amelie, but he certainly looks young, a quality patrons of White Roses will certainly appreciate. "How old are you, Amelie?", he asks softly, regarding the veiled female before him. "And how far are you already?" He must refer to her marque. At what she mentions of downstairs makes him roll his eyes faintly. "Ah. Yes. Did you come across some Mandrakes?" At which it shows that he has been raised on Mont Nuit — using the terminology of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. "Ah… Forgive me. You call them Thorns here.", he realizes with a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "I can very well imagine that your acquaintance will return," he adds next. "As for the gift… well it was generous. And together with my earnings from before… it was enough to pay for a couple of visits to the marquist." The latter part, Aimeric adds with a grin that is somewhere between sheepish and sly.

Amelie looks up at Aimeric, her cheeks flushing and bashfully looks away as she gently responds, "I am 17. I will be 18 on January 26th. And a little over halfway. Two thirds of my marque have been completed." She pauses before she asks, "And yourself Aimeric?" She giggles softly and looks down as she murmurs, "I did, but did not speak to them. But watched. I… I find them fascinating at times. The Thorns… I am still getting use to the terms here in Marsilikos as well. Even if I have beem here for a little over a year now." Her blue eyes flit up to look at him once more as she offers, "I imagine so. I hope to visit the marquist once more soon. But all in time."

"Two thirds, soon?", Aimeric replies gently, smiling as he notes the way she evades his gaze. "I believe I shall have half of mine done, by the end of the month. Seventeen, hmm?" He steps around her, circling her as if he were a patron inspecting an innocent White Rose. "It seems I am only a month younger than you, Amelie." His hand lifts, brushing over the back of her gown. "But I admit that I was late to debut. Later than you most probably." He sighs softly, as he steps away from her, towards one of the windows. "The Thorns and the Red Roses. I sometimes watch them from the balustrade, spying on them from above.", the lad admits with a wry grin.

Amelie ohs softly as she looks back up to Aimeric as she gasps from his hand touching the back of her gown. He can't see it, but she is softly biting upon her bottom lip, "Perhaps so yes. But we all serve Naamah when we are ready. One can not rush art." She begins to move towards the windows with him as she says, "It is fine to watch them. I… I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be a Red Rose but… not sure if I would really be able to handle some of the pain inflicted."

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