(1311-04-04) Introductions
Summary: Bastien runs in to Ortolette in the gardens
RL Date: 04-04-2019
Related: None
bastien ortolette 

**Rooftop Garden - Ducal Palace **

The elegant, sculpted gardens of the Ducal Palace are immaculate and precisely kept.

One of the first truly fair days of the spring— one holding fair, at least, and not offering a glimpse of loveliness only to snatch it away in place of a cold drizzle— and Ortolette's chair has been established amid the rooftop gardens, where she may enjoy some sun on her arms and oversee the tending of the plots while idly working on a piece of her sewing, which is sitting upon her lap. Occasionally she will think of a suggestion for those working, and relay it to them quietly, through Girard, who transmits her muted whispers to them in a less frail tone of voice.

Bastien is wandering more than anything else. He has so much on his mind that is weighing on his shoulders. The young lord steps out of the solar to the gardens. Even with his mind in a million places thinking about a billion things, he notices the young lady, and not to mention the looming Girard. He offers the man a slight nod, before approaching his "cousin". "Good day, Lady Ortolette. Beautiful day, is it not?" In some ways he hopes that she does not remember him from their brief meeting and his less than stellar performance.

An Ortolette never forgets. What an Ortolette does do, however, is let remembrances of past misfortunes lie at peace until there is need of their invocation, rather than lift them up to swat a person down on the first sound of a halloo. Instead, all she does is set down her sewing, bending the fabric with what seems to be a bit of effort and then sliding the threaded needle she'd been using through it for safe keeping. Then, her hands, she folds them upon her stomach, as a pregnant woman might, though such could hardly be the case. She relaxes her shoulder into the cushion of her invalid's chair and meets his eyes upon his approach. "I would say that it is very beautiful indeed, my Lord," she agrees with a soft-voiced mildness. "I thank Eisheth for the warm weather at long last."

Bastien chews on his lower lip, just slightly. "I owe you an apology for the other night. I knew your name, by reputation, but I failed to offer you mine. I am Bastien…" He pauses, then sighs slightly, "Bastien Aubrey… um Mereliot." That would be the newly acknowledged son of the former Baron Auzonnet. "How are you doing today, Lady Ortolette?"

"You believe your renown in the halls of the Dome of the Lady less than mine, in the last month?" Ortolette points out with a wan but somewhat impish smile— it would be full of mischief if mischief took less energy to achieve— "It isn't every day an untitled novice is brought to the palace a newfound Baronial heir," she points out, voice just a little rough and dry. "Girard, please, my water," she asks him, and he obliges her with a tall porcelain cup in a hexagonal shape which she uses to wet her tongue and throat. "Are you accustomed, yet, to hearing Lord Bastien?" she wonders, sidestepping the question of her health.

Bastien reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. "I do not think that I will ever get accustomed to being called 'Lord Bastien'." He chuckles softly, "And if I do, it will be well after the point that I am being called Baron Bastien." Oh, he notices the sidestepping of his question. He was trained to know when someone avoids a question instead of simply not answering it, so he does not press the subject.

Ortolette has had to sit up— not far, at all, just enough to hold her water better upright, and also just enough for it to tire her after a few sips, and for her to hand her cup back to Girard and lie back once more, continuing on the conversation, meanwhile, with a soft sigh of relief. "Baron d'Auzonnet," she corrects, as a matter of course, nor with any ill-will for his error. "You will be Lord Bastien, Baron d'Auzonnet." Only a little court etiquette for the person so hardly trained for it. She sets her hands upon her sewing, but doesn't take it up again. "I can imagine it must be a great shock to you. But you have stewards, no doubt, left behind by your father, who can catch you up on the needfuls. And, if you like, I can help you to go over it all and see that none of them are taking advantage of their position."

Bastien blushes slightly at the mistake, "Thank you, M'lady." He sighs slightly, "It is quite overwhelming, to be honest." The young lord nods slightly, "I do have a few who are helping to bring me up to speed." He watches the expression of strain on the young lady's form from sitting up. He does not say anything about it, as that would just be uncouth. "That is very kind of you to offer. If you are certain, I think I shall take you up on your offer. I am use to serving and not being served. It is definitely different to have servants."

"Yes," Ortolette more or less simply marks his feeling of being overwhelmed with— an acknowledgement of same, despite her gaze lingering on the blush that dallies on his cheek. Then, asked whether she is in earnest, she answers "Of course, Lord Bastien, I'll help as I can. But it's more comfortable for me to work from my chamber, when I am troubled. Will it suit you to bring your documents and meet with me there? Girard will know not to bar your way," she adds, since the fellow is right there as witness to the invitation. "And you needn't worry. I think you will find that the art of governance takes as much of the former as the latter."

Nodding to the young lady, Bastien says softly, "Once again, thank you, Lady Ortolette. Whatever suits you best, M'lady." He cocks his head, "At your convenience, of course." The young lord closes his eyes for a second. "Your kindness is truly appreciated and will not be forgotten." There is much that he does not understand, but he does understand that there are many potential motivations for the offer, but regardless, it was offered without condition or promise of anything in return."

No, it's not without benefits to Ortolette, herself. Even just to get her hands on such essential Baronial documents as as generally quietly kept in the records of the Barons themselves, that sort of information could have a wealth of purposes— assuming that Ortolette has such purposes in mind. But what sort of nonsense could l'Invalide Mereliot get up to, from the confines of her chamber and her chair? Hardly anything, certainly. "It's quite well, Lord Bastien. Send me a notice before the day you intend to come, along with a summary of the documents you have to hand. I will let you know wheher there is anything else you ought to try to attain before we meet."

Feeling a little more confident and comfortable, he moves a little forward to have a more familiar stance with the lady. He nods, "Of course, M'lady." He smiles with a soft chuckle, "Who knows, perhaps I can redeem myself and sing for you. I probably should have told you that my training did not cover a lot of opera. My specialty was more chamber music than opera."

A wash of pain comes over Ortolette's features, whether a pang from her troubles or a side effect of the remembrance of Bastien's first performance for her. "Oh, it's hardly necessary, Lord Bastien," she tries to deter him from trying again, then, the expression in her eyes oftening, "Of course— it must be something of a comfort to you, mustn't it? To perform toward the aim of your training?"

Bastien's eyebrows scrunches slightly as Ortolette grimaces. "Are you alright, Lady Ortolette? Do you need to retire for a bit?" His smokey grey eyes glances towards Ortolette's guardian. He cants his head, "Well, after that terrible performance, it is kind of a matter of pride to redeem myself, but yes, after spending so many years training to perform, it is a great source of comfort to sing, especially since I never got to my debut." There is a slight look of sadness and regret in his eyes as he thinks about how close he was to becoming an adept.

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