(1311-06-26) How to Perform a d'Angeline Handshake
Summary: A second encounter between André and Desarae ends in an invitation to sample Flatlander cuisine, and the teaching of the d'Angeline handshake.
RL Date: June 26th, 2019
Related: The Virtues of a Linen Bag, and Welcoming an Unexpected Guest
andre desarae 

Rooftop Gardens - Ducal Palace - Marsilikos

Some claim it was the l'Agnacite lord, husband to a Duchesse of Eisande some many generations ago, that inspired the idea of a rooftop garden. Even today, this place is favored among courtiers, as it combines the soothing tranquility of a true garden with the spectacular view over the city all the way down to the harbor. Potted plants, varying with the months of the season, create tiny paths amongst the greenery. In the summer months, a canopy set up between a trio of potted trees provides shade, offering shelter from the sun to those that sit upon the elaborately carved bench with the table to the side.

The balustrade is what remains from older times. Pairs of stone fish facing each other have been worked in between the balusters. Here and there, the structure thickens into a column that serves as pedestal for a statue, thus dividing the balustrade into three sections of equal length. The two manifestations of Eisheth have their gazes directed towards the city, one the healer, and the other the artist holding a lap harp in her hand.

Like some tourist on sightseeing tour, André steps out of the solar and onto the splendid rooftop gardens of the palace. He casts a few glances left and right to the greenery and statues on display, but more or less heads straight for the balustrade from which he can enjoy the view over the city. "Asjemenou", he mutters to no one in particular, perhaps to the nearest statue of Eisheth.

André isn't alone. He might not be immediately aware of it, tucked away as Desarae is within the seclusion of the small iron gazebo that's swathed in a the glossy leaves of creeping ivy. He will be aware of her presence a second or two after his muttered oath. There's the snap of a suddenly closed book. It's a sound that everyone is (or should be) familiar with. "What are you saying…" Her voice is a soft pitched drawl as it drifts through the leaves of gazebo's cladding and over his way.

André jumps a little at the sound of the book snapping close, though, perhaps to Desarae's disappointment not over the banistre. Instead he turns and follows the voice to the gazebo, smiling when he recognizes the person within. "Lady Desarae, may I offer my apologies, if I disturbed you?", he says politely and his smile even grows a bit. "I was merely admiring the incredible view over this lovely city and its port, remarking on the unsurpassed beauty of this particular location." Apparently Flatlandish is a very concise language.

Desarae's head tilts ever-so slightly to one side when André approaches the gazebo, and feet that had been curled up beside her on the upholstered iron bench, are dropped to the floor. To complement the warmer weather, she wears a lightweight chiffon gown of palest apricot, the skirts sprinkled with delicately embroidered flowers that are worked through the nets. It's a rather fetching ensemble, if a little out of character from what she normally wears, and she slides the book in her hands so it's tucked between her hip and the side of the bench. "You may sit with me, if you wish," she murmurs, a somewhat forced politeness to the tone of her voice to those that know her well.

"Oh, I did not mean to interrupt your solitude.", André says apologetically but takes a seat all the same, looking around the gazebo from this new perspective. "It really is the most lovely place to enjoy some peace and quiet. Do you come here often?", he asks curiously, "I'm still making exciting new discoveries in this city every day. Earlier today I bought a most delicious sausage in the market, it was filled with…" He tries to remember the new D'Angeline word he's learned, "…Venison?"

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Desarae=subterfuge Vs Andre=perception
< Desarae: Good Success (7 8 5 5 6 4 6 1 5 2 8) Andre: Good Success (8 7 2 3)
< Net Result: Desarae wins - Marginal Victory

"I rarely come here." Desarae lies without remorse, and further goes on to add, "I have a terrace attached to my suite that enjoys a westerly aspect, and it has the loveliest view of the bay. I go there when I wish for solitude." Her eyes remain steady upon André as she speaks, and no trace of her lies are to be found there either. The faintest of smiles ghosts her expression. "Do you mean you bought food from one of the shops in the market, or one of the stalls in the street? And if the latter, are you certain it was venison? I have heard tales of…" She breaks off, one slender hand drifting idly through the air to address words she doesn't say. A gold and diamond bangle sparkles at her wrist where it catches in the light, and she gives a small shake of her head. "Nevermind. It's best you don't know."

"Your own terrace, how lovely!", André agrees, having no reason to doubt that statement. He chuckles softly when she continues to talk about sausages. "Oh, don't worry, Mylady, we have the same kind of suspicious food in the markets of Brabant. Still, I have no reason to believe that the merchant was lying. A friendly local chap confirmed the popularity of venison here. You might be surprised at our sausages, too. Have you had boar sausage filled with cheese, for example?", he wonders innocently.

"Yes. It is very lovely," Desarae confirms. "But I've never been particularly fond of foreign food. It's so terribly… foreign." Her lips flatten in a line, and her eyes drop from André's to her hands where now clasped in her lap. A deep breath. "But I'm glad to hear that you're finding things to amuse yourself with, and hope very much that you're finding your accommodation to your liking?" He best tread carefully. "I've had no need to inspect it myself, but since the rooms are kept for visiting dignitaries, I can hardly think that they're not." Her chin lifts, and those bright green eyes of hers, search his again. A change of tack. "Has there been any news of your crew? Has anyone further been found?"

"Oh, I love foreign food!", André assures her excitedly, "So many discoveries to be made and sensations to be had." Some probably involving a long time on the latrine afterwards, though he won't mention that. "Yes, the accommodation is splendid.", he assures her, "It's the best I've had since I left home… oh, nine months ago now. And no, sadly, no news yet of other survivors, but I hope that the Duchesse's people will return soon bearing news." He pauses for a moment, then tilts his head slightly at her. "Could I perhaps interest you in trying a few delicacies from the Flatlands?"

"As I said, I don't indulge that much in foreign foods," Desarae repeats, the tip of her nose wrinkling as if in distaste. "Well, perhaps that's not entirely true," she relents a moment later. "I do so love the Ephesian delicacies which are sometimes served at the Opera House salon. Dates stuffed with almond paste and cheeses, flaked pastries glazed with apricots…" A slight lift of her shoulders is given, a half-shrug that might convey that such things are passable. but perhaps only just. "But I can't say that I've ever tried foods from your homeland, however. Or, if I have, I've not known it. As for you indulging me in some of it… how? There's a merchant for these in the city?"

"There are Flatlandish merchants here, yes.", André confirms, "They were kind enough to supply me with some coin for the time being and while they prefer to trade directly, they have samples of merchandise from home here, to show local traders. They were kind enough to let me have a few things, realizing I had been far from home for a long time and quite missed our delicacies." He pauses for a moment to look at her directly. "It would be sad though, to consume them on my own. I would rather share them and introduce you to my country that way. No dates or apricots, I'm afraid, but we have delightful apples."

Desarae frowns. "Apples? But we have apples here too. l'Agnace is particularly well known for it's orchards." Her eyes flash with amusement. "You're not trying to claim apples as a particular specialty of your country, are you?" Teeth catch her lower lip, perhaps to stem the smile that threatens, and her eyes break from his and glance towards the stairwell that leads to the solar below. "But alas, duty requires that I should leave you now. Perhaps you'll be able to enjoy the beauty of the city as seen from here a little better without me."


"We turn apples into the most delightful pastry though. Give it a chance?", he asks, rising to his feet when she announces her intention to leave. "Grant me the honour of some time together, Mylady? A picnic outside the city perhaps? You can show me the beauty of the countryside and I shall introduce you to Flatlandish specialities.", he offers her a deal, unfailingly polite, but with hopeful puppy eyes all the same.

Desarae turns to face André, her immediate departure stayed by his request. Sharp green eyes meet with blue. "Fine…" There is a mote of resignation to be found in her tone, and she claims her book with her hand as she speaks. "No doubt it will please my aunt were I to show you a little of the City. That is, whilst you're awaiting your rescue." She pins a smile to her lips, and lifts the hand not wrapped about her book and holds it up between them, knuckles up and fingers curled. Eyes narrow, and she watches him closely, as if a test were now being set to see whether he'll pass it. Or not.

André avoids making the obvious joke. Instead he smiles warmly. "Thank you, Mylady, I promise you won't regret it.", he assures her, then eyes the strangely extended …hand? Fist? Paw? Unsure what to do. Finally he chalks it up to 'weird things foreigners do' and imitates her, curling his own hand to fist-bump her lightly. "Is that what passes for a handshake in Eisande?", he asks curiously.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Desarae=subterfuge Vs Andre=perception
< Desarae: Great Success (2 3 8 7 2 1 3 2 8 2 8) Andre: Failure (2 2 5 5)
< Net Result: Desarae wins - Crushing Victory

Desarae smiles brightly. So very, very brightly. "It is. Yes." She touches him lightly upon his arm, a reassuring squeeze of her fingers given before she rises to her feet and straightens her skirt. "You're quite intelligent, aren't you. I'm very impressed. Remember it the next time you're meeting a lady." She offers him a half-dipped curtsey, the chiffon nets of her skirts billowing like apricot smoke about her youthful figure. "Good day, my lord, and may it be a pleasant one indeed." Her hand goes to her mouth as she turns, a laugh barely concealed as she hurries towards the stairwell. Should he listen carefully, he might just hear the peal of it released as she disappears from sight.

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