(1311-04-01) Doubts
Summary: Bastien finds reassurance from Emory.
RL Date: 04-01-2019
Related: None
bastien emory nathaniel 

Le Lis d'Or - Night Court

The salon of Lis d'Or emanates the very air of refinement. Be it through the elaborately done inlay work in the wooden floor, a depiction of the marque of the salon, the golden lily; be it through the heavy curtains of purple brocade with golden lilies embroidered upon them guarding the floor to ceiling windows that look out on a carefully kept garden, where nature pointedly has been subjected to human hands and taste. Be it through the fashionable chaise longues and chairs, carved from dark mahogany, with the purple upholstery and embroidered cushions enhancing the comfort of seating. The walls have been kept to a light mauve hue, adorned with masterfully done paintings of several notable former courtesans of this salon. It is all there, the grace, the poise, the perfection, and sometimes even the frailty that has blended into this salon's canon. A canon so adequately displayed by the courtesans and adepts that can be encountered here.

When looking out of the windows, you see: It is a spring evening. The weather is cool and drizzling.

It has been a few days since Bastien came to the Lis D'Or, since his conversation with Emory. Their talk left his mind a little chaotic, but it certainly has helped to keep his mind off of his other problems, though not completely. After having dealt with a couple of his cousins that left him in doubt of what to do, the young baronial heir finds himself walking the streets on this damp spring evening. Perhaps it is his subconscious; perhaps it is just muscle memory, but for whatever reason, Bastien finds himself once again in the comforting presence of the salon that he grew up in.

Emory is among those within the salon, making his way from cluster of people to cluster of people, conversing with those he knows, and making introductions with those that he does not. Tonight, his marque is on full display, the "shirt" that he wears, mostly sleeves with his back bared, and laced up loosely in the front, a dark royal blue. His breeches are a pale silver and his boots come up to his knees, in black. He has a glass of wine in hand, as ever, as he converses with those around him.

Now that he is without the rain-weighted cloak, Bastien is wearing a shirt of "Mereliot" blue, the collar of which is pinned shut with two golden fish. He is wearing a vest of gold embroidered with golden fish. His pants are black, tucked into a pair of very new looking black boots. His hair is somewhat spikey looking due to its dampness. As one of the novices walks by offering him a glass of wine, he takes it, drinking half of it in a single gulp. The young noble walks through the salon, talking with a few of those that he calls friends. Without evening meaning to, the former courtesan in training falls into that carousing mode of his training.

Emory notices Bastien as he circles the room, and watches him for a moment or two as he socializes with the others. A small smile curves his lips, and so he moves opposite his path, giving him time to spent time with his other friends and acquaintances, rather than monopolize his time as he had the other night. Still, his eyes follow the young Lord from time to time as he makes small talk with those around him.

Bastien would have made a fine courtesan by the way that he moves through the crowd had destiny not had other plans for him. He moves from a small gathering, laughing softly, as he heads towards the wall and one of the chaisse loungers. The young noble sits upon it, crossing his boots at the ankles as he sips on his wine, this time more gently.

Nathaniel arrives with a group of young noblemen who look to be related to him in some way. The young blonde lord is sheparded along as he scribbles eagerly in a leather bound book, his expression one of determination and inspiration. He doesn't even seem to notice as he cousins guide him over to a chair. He sits down gracefully still writing, even as his company wanders off and finds other company among the courtesans here. Only when a novice approches him does he look up and around. Blushing a bit he goes wide eyed. "Oh we are here already then? Um…I'll have some white wine…thank you."

Emory eventually ends up near Bastien's chaise once he's completed his circuit of the room, sipping his wine, and leaning against the wall nearby. "Evening," he says to Bastien. "It seems you've found your way home again." There's a small upturn of his lips. "Come to people watch?" He glances toward the entrance when a group of young noblemen enter, taking note of those who arrive and where they wander off to for a moment or two. His expression turns a bit amused when Nathaniel seems to suddenly realize where he is. But then his attention shifts back to Bastien.

Bastien looks up as Emory approaches. A wide smile dances across his lips, causing the slightest of dimples to frame to corners of his lips. "Good evening, Emory." He looks around, "Yes, this place will always be home for me." He cants his head slightly to the side, "I came here to forget earlier today. Actually it wasn't until I found myself outside, did I even realize that this is where I was heading. I just left the palace to clear my head and ended up here." His smokey grey eyes have taken on a more blue-ish hue tonight. He looks at the backless shirt that Emory is wearing this evening, showing off his marque. His eyes follow where Emory's goes to the small group of noblemen that had just entered, before likewise returning to Emory. "I see you are more than people watching tonight."

Nathaniel catches Emory's gaze and smiles shyly dipping his head politely before going back to writing in that book. The wine arrives but he is thoroughly distracted by that point. Finally he seems to finish what he was doing for now, he leans back in his seat with a smile reaching for the wine. He takes a slow sip and looks around. Most of his group has filtered out of the main parts of the salon by now and he smiles in faint amusement shaking his head lightly.

"Then it's no surprise that you made your way back here without thinking about it. It seems that arriving here without awareness is the theme of the evening," Emory says as he lifts his glass and takes another small sip from it, nursing the wine and making it last. It is a dark, rich red in the clear crystal. There's a dip of his head at Nathaniel's shy smile but he doesn't interrupt the man's vigorous writing. To Bastien, he says, "A little more than that, perhaps, depending on how the evening goes. For now, mostly mingling and enjoying the company."

Bastien chuckles. His laughter is almost a soft musical trill. "Well, the Lis D'Or does have a way of calling to lost souls and welcomes it in its embrace." He looks at Emory with a slightly odd look, "If I were to move my feet would you join me or are you in the mood to socialize some more?" There is no jealousy in his tone, nothing but ernest curiosity.

"Does it? I would think that the lost souls would seek the healers and the dream speakers, but then, I suppose that any house might sooth the soul depending on what one was seeking," Emory says as he moves from where he leans against the wall, drawing closer to the chaise. "I would join you, if you wish." He doesn't seem particularly inclined to continue circling the room. He's already made most of his greetings for the evening, at least to those present.

Bastien lifts his legs and moves them, making room for Emory to join him. "I believe I made it abundantly clear that I enjoy your company, Emory." He returns to the comment about lost souls, "And it all depends… healers and dream speaker are not the only ones that provides comfort. I feel about as lost as anyone can be, and here is where my feet brought me."

Emory settles into the spot cleared by Bastien's legs, settling in next to him on the chaise. He reaches out a hand to lightly brush a bit of damp hair back from his forehead, an entirely affectionate gesture, not common from Emory in public, but he looks into those blue eyes and he smiles. "You are not lost. You are home, and among friends. Would you like to talk about what's troubling you?"

Bastien closes his eyes as Emory brushes the damp hair from his forehead, opening them once the fingers are gone. He smiles and nods. "Yeah, I am home." But then the dark haired teenager sighs, "I met with some of my cousins today. Cousins who feel that they are more deserving of my father's title." From his tone, he ahs questions as to whether or not they are correct.

"So far as I am aware, they can question whether they deserve it or not as much as they wish — the title is yours, and they've no right to it that you do not give them, as your father's son," Emory says with a slight shake of his head. "Do you believe that they are more worthy than you are? What have they done to be able to make that claim?" He studies Bastien's profile closely.

Bastien chews on his lower lip slightly, before he shrugs slightly. "They were born to the world of nobility and that they are not as likely to tarnish the family name because of some "ignorant blunder". They also fear that I will just blow through the family fortunes without knowing anything about economics or merchanting." He sighs softly, "They have some valid concerns. I don't know what I am doing."

"That is exactly why nobility also rely on advisors. Your father didn't likely know everything, either. He had trusted staff who assisted him in the day to day operations, those who could help teach him and give him the information that he needed in order to make decisions. If your cousins are concerned, then perhaps ask them to be your advisors, to help guide you to make decisions," Emory suggests. Then weigh them against your father's people, and your cousins, and make your own decisions as to what is right. Economics can be learned. Tutors can teach you that. Merchanting can be learned. And unless you go about spending ducats wildly and frivolously, I doubt you'll empty the family's coffers. You seem far too concerned to do that."

Bastien sighs, "Perhaps you are right. It is just that they made me feel like I had no place there. I think that they are prepared to challenge him claiming me as his son and thusly as his heir, since there were only a few people that can act as witness to it, even if I do have it in writing by his hand and seal." He takes a slightly deep sip of the wine, by the end of which he finds the glass empty.

"You will face many challenges, Bastien. This will only be the first of them. There are few among the nobility who don't have to fight to hold onto their positions while others might seek to claim it from them, whether rightfully or not. What you need to decide, is whether you're going to give up without a fight, or prove that you are worthy of your title," Emory says to him quietly, his voice dropping low to pass only between them as he rests a hand gently on Bastien's arm.

Bastien tenses slightly, as he tightens his jaw slightly. He nods slightly. "You're right." As Emory puts his hand on Bastien's arm, the tension melts away some. He looks at Emory and smiles. "Thank you, Emory." He reaches up and places his hand over Emory's squeezing slightly.

Emory inclines his head and says, "And I will be here for you, Bastien. I will offer you what advice that I can, and what support you may desire. You are not alone." He smiles gently at the younger man. "Even when you might feel that way." He sets his glass of wine aside, finished with it for the time being.

Bastien looks over at Emory and smiles. His cheeks redden just slightly as he does. "I don't feel alone, whenever you're near." He runs his canine over his lower lip slowly. He sighs softly, "I still don't understand exactly why, but I neither can I express how grateful I am for your friendship."

Emory smiles a little at the reddening of Bastien's cheeks and says, "It's as though I said something scandalous, rather than reaffirmed our friendship, of which you should already be certain by now." He gives Bastien just a little bit of a nudge with his shoulder. "You don't understand why, because you don't see the potential in yourself the way that I do. You don't have the same perspective. But you will, someday."

When Emory points out his blushing, Bastien blushes even more. "I can't help it." The natural innocence about the teenager would have made him an incredibly popular courtesan. "And I am certain of our friendship." He quiets for a moment, "Thank you for your belief in me. I hope that you're right."

"Don't worry," Emory says with confidence, "I will just beat you over the head with it until eventually you start to believe it, too." There's a promise in that statement, and a sparkle in his dark eyes.

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