(1311-11-10) Title of the Book
Summary: In which Alienor shares lemon tarts with Raimbaut and then offers to loan him a book.
RL Date: 2019-11-10
Related: Alienor's Tale
alienor raimbaut 

Solar: La 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.

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


"Raimbaut! I have a lemon pastry for you!" Alienor calls when the White Rose novice peeks his nose in.

Raimbaut peeks further around the doorjamb, brows raised, pointing toward his chest with one sleeve-covered hand, eyes all question marks.

"They were a gift from the Thorn Second, Raphael, because I explained some bad behavior on the part of a couple of his courtesans," Alienor explains, holding out a plate towards Raimbaut to lure him further in. "C'mon, they're sweet and tart."

Raimbaut slips the rest of the way into the solar, picking his way cautiously toward the plate, looking uncertain, especially given their provenance. Still, one wide sleeve moves to almost engulf the plate, moving away and revealing a place less one pastry. Then his chin dips into the neckline of his tunic, and maybe his armsleeves are drooping just a little more lifelessly than usual, his arms having drawn inside the body of the garment so he can squirrel at the pastry in private.

Alienor takes the other tart from the plate and flips her veil back so that she can eat it. "They're very good, aren't they?" she says to her companion with an easy smile, setting the plate aside to be handled.

Raimbaut's eyes cross briefly as a mark of the puckering going on lower down below his garment, finding the tart… so very tart. He shivers up through his shoulders and his eyes straighten out again, looking at Alienor in a dumb wonderment.

"What? I love lemons! They're so sour but so sweet, too. And I thought the pastry was delicious," Alienor informs Raimbaut with a little laugh, merry at his response to the tart things.

Raimbaut goes up on his toes, then flattens down to his heels again with a little thump, ducking his head entirely inside his tunic and instead lifting one hand from the neckhole, holding the remains of the pastry with one perfect little bite taken from an edge.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Raimbaut. If you don't want to eat the rest of the thing, I will finish it for you," Alienor declares, though she does not reach for the tart, just narrowing her eyes at her friend.

Raimbaut dips forward, placing one foot and one knee on the floor so as to better deliver the bitten pastry to Alienor, the morsel protruding where Raimbaut's own head should be— a surreal sort of offering, at that.

Alienor rolls her eyes at him and snatches the pastry back with a delicate hand. She shakes her head slightly as she peers at the perfect bite, and then, rather nonchalantly, eats it.

Pastry taken, a head of wold curls is once more birthed from the appropriate place in his white garment, and Raimbaut tumbles quietly to his side, then to his back, stretching out his arms and legs before he sits back up into a cross-legged pose, resting an elbow on his knee and a chin on his elbow.

Alienor rolls her eyes dramatically at Raimbaut again, now that he can see her, and she reaches out to tousle his curls. "Have you read any good books lately?" she wonders of him, moving to sit down beside him, settling first on her knees before sitting on her feet. "I've been reading this brilliant book of late. It's a treatise on the theory of dominance and submission."

Raimbaut dips his head when tousled, squeezing one eye shut and keeping the other trained on his friend and fellow-novice. To the first question, he contentedly noddles that head of his, curls bouncing all the while. Then, to her revelation, he reverses course and shakes his head, wide-eyed.

"It's just theory," Alienor replies with a little grin, keeping her voice fairly quiet so that they can conspire together. "I'll loan it to you when I'm done, if you like. It's a study of human nature at its most elemental. Really, very well-written."

Raimbaut gives Alienor his most dubious squint, though nudges closer to her to engage more fully in the conspiracy. His armsleeves hang limp at his sides; his arms must still be hiding in against his body, somewhere. Or else, here's one hand, or one finger, pointing at Alienor, then the rest of the fingers emerging to clutch himself by the throat, as if someone else were doing so, giving a put-upon choking expression as he shakes himself mildly.

"We may not be Reds or Thorns, but we're going to need to know this stuff for after our debut. And it's better to figure it out now so that we can internalize it and work it into our facade of innocence," Alienor points out to Raimbaut seriously, laying her hands on her knees as they sit close together.

Raimbaut draws his hands back down into his sleeves and gives a grudging slump of his posture, as though Alienor might even have a point. When his hands find his knees again, he brings them up and together to mime the opening of a book, lifting a brow curiously to Alienor.

Alienor nods seriously to Raimbaut. "It's called 'Les Règles du Jeu,' and it's a fairly slim volume, but oh-so fascinating," she explains. "There's even a forward by Emmanuelle Shahrizai, Dowayne of Mandrake House. I've read it cover-to-cover four times now. I've hidden it under my mattress. I'll fetch it for you tonight, to loan it to you so that you can read it."

Raimbaut shakes his head, chin nuzzling shyly down into his collar. He points to Alienor, then opens his hands again, book-style. Points, then opens them again, and, hesitating only slightly, pulls his palms toward himself.

"What? I don't understand," Alienor says with a little frown. "Do you want me to read it to you or something? It would help if you would talk sometimes, Raimbaut."

Raimbaut tips his head to her declaration of misunderstanding, especially since she takes his meaning well enough, or, at least, guesses it well enough. He slides his feet underneath him and rises, nodding shyly to her guess and beginning to patter on off back to the dorms. When she calls him upon his silence, he freezes, calling up a blush to his ear-tips where they show through his curls, and then covers his mouth with both sleeve-paws before shuffling the rest of the way out.

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