(1312-06-07) A Little Bit of Rain
Summary: A chance encounter in the gardens between André and the newest resident of La Rose Sauvage.
RL Date: Sat Jun 06, 1312
Related: None
perpetua andre 

Jardins d'Eisheth

Tranquility and beauty of nature is what those coming to the gardens of Eisheth usually seek. There is a playfulness in the arrangement of paths through the greenery, and the way four of them wind to the center, where there is a pond surrounded by a few elm trees, beside an area with wooden benches and tables beneath an arbor, where ivy winds about wooden posts, and a roof of colorfully glazed tiles offers shelter from the sun but also moderate rain.

Bushes are trimmed, and the green is kept short, so that people coming here can enjoy the dramatic view over the coast all the way to the sea, with the harbor and the citadel slightly to the north. Slightly towards the south and close by is the infirmary with the herb garden beside, where a variety of plants used for healing and treating certain illness are grown under the immaculate care of the healers. Towards the east, a path leads towards the temple district, where the dominant structure of the Temple of Eisheth looms, the white marble shimmering almost otherworldly on late afternoons, when it catches the warm, orange light of the setting sun.


It's late and the weather is awful but it's the only time apparently during which the foreign prince ventures out, accompanied by a servant and two guards, one walking in front, the other lingering behind. The quartet can be seen in the Gardens as the last light of day leaves the summer sky.

Weather, especially rain, can be difficult for some. It's why, in his wanderings, André will eventually happen upon a clay-tiled arbour in where a woman is sheltering. She's in the company of a guard dressed in Rose Sauvage livery, though unless André is familiar with that livery, he'll be simply a guard. Whilst the shower of rain isn't so heavy that it would drive the majority of people to seek harbour from it, the white silks the woman wears make it an absolute must. It must have happened quite suddenly, for her silks have turned near translucent over her shoulders, and cling perhaps a little more than they ought. But there she is, peering out from the safety of the arbour at the skies, gauging when it may or may not be safe to continue on with her walk.

André does notice pretty young ladies. He isn't blind. But since she's accompanied by a guard, he only pauses briefly to offer her a polite. "The skies should be clearing soon, Mylady!", he calls as if to cheer her up.

It'd be difficult to know for whether Perpetua had been aware of André's approach until he'd spoken. She'd been peering at the skies, and the lie of the veil across her face billows and flutters to obscure some of the line of her sight. Nevertheless, his voice sees her head twist, and fair of doe-like eyes meet briefly with his. "Oh…" That single word is spoken in response, and one hand flies upwards to capture the edge of her veil where it threatens to lift in the breeze. A curtsey is made. Mont-trained, Perpetua unfailingrecognises nobility when she sees it, and is rarely proven wrong. A quick breath is drawn before she asks, "My Lord wishes shelter 'til then?"

André hesitates for a moment, then nods and goes to join her in the arbour, the guards fanning out nearby to keep an eye on the approach on both sides while the servant remains just below the sheltering roof in front. "Were you caught by surprise?", the prince asks politely, "The rain did draw up rather suddenly."

"Yes, my lord. I lingered too long in Naamah's temple," Perpetua says, a blush visible as a darkening of her cheeks through the gauze of her veil. "It's very beautiful there, but the weather changed as I left." she quietly adds. A shiver due to the lateness of the hour and unfortunate dampening of her silks has her wrapping her arms closely about her waist, an action which does much to reveal the willowy figure beneath. She's apparently left her salon without a cloak or over-garments since the day had been warmer in its earlier hours. A lift of her eyes back to André's, and she briefly scans his features before they downflit to the ground at her feet once again. "My lord is not of Terre d'Ange." It's a statement, not a question.

"It's a rather nice temple. I'm fond of the baths.", André replies. Watching her shiver, he says something foreign to the servant, who (sighing a little) removes his own cloak to hand it to André, who drapes it around Perpetua's shoulders, should she be willing. "No, I am not.", he thereby also confirms her words, "Prince André van Westerlo, Ambassador of the Flatlands.", he introduces himself formally.

There's no objection from Perpetua when the guard places his cloak on her shoulders, though there is a further blush as his hands smooth it over her shoulders. Her arms unwind from her waist so she can trap the edges of it where it meets at the front with her pale, slender fingers. "His Excellency is most kind," she says, the gauze of her veil billowing lightly at her mouth with the breath of her words. Another shiver is given as the warmth of the wool permeates silk and skin and enfolds her in its embrace. "I have never seen the Flatlands." She's not seen anywhere. "Is it truly as flat as they say?"

The corners of André's mouth twitch at the question, surely not the first time he's heard it. "Most of it, yes.", he confirms, "There are hills in the south as well, though. The part that borders on Terre d'Ange. My own home lies where the hills meet the vast estuary of the rivers. It's good land, fertile and green, but the weather is kinder here.", he admits and smiles, "Even the rain is warmer."

Perpetua nods, and the silvered headpiece that holds her veiling in place, glitters softly where rain has collected in its intricate twists. With head still bowed, she still speaks to the ground. Perhaps it helps her find her voice. "Rivers and mountains. I had always wondered." She stands as still as any statue,apart from the stirring of her veils and a baby fine wisp of brown hair that's escaped at her temple to give a hint of the girl's colouration. "I am from Elua, myself, and I believe you are right," she eventually says, "the rain is warmer down here in the south, and gentler too. But are ambassadors not mostly in Elua?"

"It's a long story.", André replies, perhaps not in the mood to talk much in the quiet evening atmosphere, "But the short version is that the port of Marsilikos is very important for trade in the Middle Sea, which is why I am here. We can ship our goods overland to Elua, which is only a day's ride away, but we need to sail all around Aragonia to trade with the southern lands here."

<FS3> Perpetua rolls Perception: Good Success. (6 8 2 4 8 5 8 5 2 3 3)

Perpetua is highly perceptive, and having read between the lines and the precise and perfunctory way in which André delivered them, falls silent. The sound of the rain patters gently overhead, and she's a quiet companion of the moment to match the mood of the man at her side. Her attention returns to the skies and her lashes blink dark against her cheeks as if she wills the clouds to part so her escape might be made.

Yes, he'd be all for boring trade talks. Luckily the rain does seem to cease and he smiles. "It seems we shall be parting ways soon. Would you do me the honour of sharing your name with me, Mylady?", he asks without making a move to get up yet.

"I believe that we shall," Perpetua concurs, the turn of her head back to André causing her veil to mould to lips now caught in the smallest of smiles. Colour stains her cheeks again when her eyes meet with his. "Perpetua Rousse nó Rose Sauvage," she supplies. Her voice is soft and quiet in the deliverance of her name, and suits without question the facade she presents. Snugging deeper into the cloak that still drapes her shoulders, she enjoys the cocoon of warmth in its folds whilst still able.

"A pleasure to meet you.", André says warmly and gets to his feet. Since she's holding on to the cloak, he adds: "Perhaps I shall visit in the near future. In the meantime, you are welcome to keep this." The poor freezing servant gets no say. But he doesn't look too upset since his prince is apparently about to head home to their warm suite. "Good night, Mylady." André bows deeply and takes his leave.

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