(1312-06-12) Gifts Coming And Going
Summary: Philomène makes the acquaintance of a new Chalasse lady in town; happily, though their meeting is unexpected, she has no lack of gifts with which to welcome her.
RL Date: 12/06/2020
Related: None.
marguerite philomene 

Chalasse Residence — Noble District

This is a temporary description.

There is a new woman who has taken up residence in the Chalasse Residence in Marsilikos ansd already she has begun to make her presence known. It would seems that the only daughter of the Duc is one who likes to have what she wants and how she wants it. Title be damned, she has decided that as long as she is there, certain things are going to be done her way, and in her mind are the way they should be done. Thus this morning, she is standing in the centrallt located salon of the residence barking orders to the mulling servants about. "How long has it been since we have entertained? Are the place setting in the dining room changed out regularly or are they just there for appearance. I would like them replaced and cleaned. And that study. When was the last time it was dusted? Hmmm?" Nonody has an answer for me?"

The servants scuttling about trying to keep up with her requests pause as she speaks, looking at one another before a one breaks off to see to the new demand. "This place must live up to the standards that my father expects whether he is here or not." Her hands fold before her and she offers a polite smile as her requests are being met before her very eyes.

With all the coming and going, who would even notice a pair of women adding themselves to the bustle. One, the younger and shorter of the two appears to be rather more hesitant than the older blonde, and while both are almost hidden beneath an unimaginable number of bouquets of yellow daisies, it's only the younger one who seems to be trying to stay out of the way of both servants and their new mistress alike. The taller, older woman, a glimpse of whose rather sharply sculpted features can only occasionally be seen through the copious blooms, stands her ground and instead expects the flow of work to simply avoid her, and perhaps through the power of belief and will alone, it does, and the flowers bob lopsidedly towards the side table.

And the pair does go unnoticed under the watchful eye of a micromanaging young woman who seems to be making sure that everything she has asked is being done to her liking. Her tone is not exactly demanding or aggresive, it is more of a matter-of-fact mixed with softly spoken words. The young woman does eventually turn and in doing so notices the newly arriving pair and the hard to not notice yellow daisies. Her long lashes blink a few times and with an elegant and proper step begins to make her eay towards the new arrivals, unsure of who they are exactly. "May I help you?" There is a sweet smile given, her blue eyes wide and welcoming. "If you come here to see the Duc, he is not here. Tho, I am authorized to speak in his stead. Is this a business matter or merely a social call?"

Bundles of flowers are set down haphazardly, and the younger woman does her best to try to arrange them in something beyond the 'flowers stuck in water' artistic style, but it's a lost cause. She's clearly no expert. The older woman, clad in a dark brown riding jacket with elaborate embroidery in a barely darker shade of chocolate around cuffs, seams and buttons, turns to look down at the greeting, storm grey eyes scrutinising Marguerite. This hard faced woman doesn't reply for some time, instead taking advantage of the moment to examine every part of this new arrival, from her fine clothes and elegant hairstyle to her neat little slippers. "I suspect if the Duc were coming here, we'd have known about it," she notes drily. "Unless you're here to herald his arrival and," she adds with a wry smile, "see to the housekeeping?"

More blinking of the eyes. It is not often that Marguerite has been spoken to in that way. The other woman's words were not exactly degrading, but certainly it was apparent that Marguerite was being put in her place, at least a peg below the place she thought she was deserved. "I…I…" There is a moment when Margeurite is actually speechless, the displeasement bubbling inside her and doing her best to keep the propiety and smile upon her face. Her posture straightens in an attempt to perhaps make herself look taller. "My father shall not be arriving, at least not in the immediate future. His duties in Clermont forbid him to do so at this time, but his interests in Marsilikos still remain."

Her eyes remain fixiated on the older woman before her, trying to place her, but not yet asking who she is. "There is a certain standard of appearance that the Chalasse Residence should exhibit and in my arrival found that standard…" SHe pauses, looking for the word. "Lacking." Her eyes flash over to the other woman trying to make the flowers look respecatable, then drifting back to Philomène. "Where are my manners? Please. Come sit. Unless your only reason to visit was to deliver those beautiful daises." She turns her head to a passing servant, clapping once lightly. "Wine."

"Please," Philomène adds, directed entirely towards the servant tasked with fetching wine, and not the noble who ordered it. She idly adjusts her cuffs, shifting her weight to rest solidly on her right foot, and arches one pale brow. "And Vincent has sent you here because he was concerned about the dust on the banisters. Thank goodness you're here to see to it. Should I send round rags and polish to help your cause? Caroline," she addresses her maid, still trying to arrange the flowers to little effect. "Caroline, I'm sure you can lend some to… it's Lady… Margot? Mariette? Marthe? You'll have to excuse me, there are so many of you."

She is doing her best to keep that charming and welcoming smile, tho it is bring feigned a bit more now. Who does this woman think she is? She slowly turns and makes her eay over to one of the chairs of the salon, placing a hand upon the top of it and pivoting once more to look at her guest. "Marguerite. My name is Marguerite." She seems to dismiss momentarily the comment about sending rags around to help her clean, tho it is quite clear that the statement bothered her. There is a noticable shift of her weight onto the side in which her hand is placed upon the chair. "That will not be necessary. I assure you I have it quite under control." A servant returns with a tray with two glasses of wine upon it, one offered to Marguerite first. "Thank you Ari." The servant then continues to offer one to Philomène.

Marguerite raises the glass to her lips, drawing on a small sip before lowering it before her, looking upon her guest once more. "If we are to exchange pleasantries I believe it is custom for both parties to make the other aware of whom they are. You now know who I am…Marguerite Adele de Chalasse, the Duc's only daughter. Yet I cannot help but still wonder who it is I am speaking with. This vexes me. I am terribly vexed."

Philomène murmurs a polite thanks for the wine, making her way with that odd limp, toe scraping the floor as it swings out, towards the chairs. Perhaps unexpectedly, she doesn't spill a drop from her glass, but pauses to sip from it when she reaches her intended seat, hand resting on the back and gaze fixed on Marguerite over the rim of the glass. It is perhaps therefore unnecessary, that limp being as much an introduction as any, that she gives her name, but there are limits to even this old battleaxe's rudeness. "Philomène Aiglemort de Chalasse," she responds, with just a little pause before the 'de Chalasse'. "Louis-Claude's widow. I don't recall seeing you at the funeral, but no doubt you were busy making sure the various Chalasse residences throughout the country have clean floors and crisp linen."

The unique walk of the older woman is certainly noticed, but not commented upon. Now is neither the time or place to bring such a topic up, especially since Marguerite has already been made to feel a bit uneasy as it were. Walking around the chair with a graceful step, the young woman settles herself down in it, smiling once more across to her companion. "Ah. So we are family. I do recall hearing your name spoken a few times, yet I will admit I could never put a face it or ever learned that much about you." Another sip of the one is taken and she checks her posture. "Forgive me for not attending your husband's funeral. I believe at the time I had fallen ill and the physician had determined it unwise for me to travel. I do hope my Father or brother Octavien offered my condolences. However, allow me to offer them in person. I am quite sorry for your loss." A small breath is taken and she regards the woman across from her with a narrowed eye of analytical thought. "Do you reside here whilst in the city?"

Philomène goes to answer, then stops herself, clears her throat, and changes her mind. "On occasion," she allows, "although I have a small property closer to the port which suits me better. Closer to the heart of the trade, not the heart of the fancy ballrooms and idle gossip." She pulls her hand back, resting it casually on the rather plain and brutal looking hilt of a sword at her belt - a sword that has no place at all in fashionable circles - and moves to the front of the chair. There's a moment where her face seems to freeze in place, not a muscle moving, as she carefully lowers herself to sit down, only resuming any sort of animation once she's fully seated. "Why are you here?" she asks bluntly.

Again, that polite smile is maintained on her face, this young woman has clearly been trained to always put on the heir of propriety and elegance. "Ah. I see. Yet the idle gossip can be extremely beneficial if you simply know what to listen for. I am sure you are well aware of the things that can slip from someone's lips when the wine is flowing." Another sip taken, this one longer. She too seems to be trying to determine what to reveal and what to say next, once again checking her posture. "Why am I here? Well, I assure you it is much more than to see to the banisters and linens as you have suggested. Do not get me wrong, those things will certainly be seen to, yet my reasons are slightly more important than polished candlesticks. My father thought it best at this time to have someone representing his interests in the city in his absence. And with Octavien already implemented elsewhere at my father's request, he thought it proper that I should fulfill the role." There is a slight incline of her head and that smile remains. "I consider it a trial for what could lead to bigger things. I do not intend to fail him." The glass finds her lips once more. "I do hope you will find the time to frequent the Residence more often. Afterall, we are family."

Philomène settles back in her seat, gripping the fabric of her breeches between thumb and forefinger so she can haul one leg up to rest casually across the other. "There's a good market here for Chalasse wheat," she admits. "Fruit, too, if you can get the transport reliable enough to get it here quickly. Aurore and I are working on the Rousses for a permanent contract for Gueret bacon and Ferrand saucisson to the navy, so you'll find me here often enough to discuss business with her or to offer instruction to young Thierry. You'll want to arrange for more wine, though, if you're staying. Aurore drinks uisghe and I drink schnapps for preference, so the cellar isn't stocked particularly. I've no idea what the rest of the idle bastards drink."

As Philomène starts to explain all of the current economic happenings that have been in the works prior to her arrival, it is quite clear that she is doing her best to keep up. A small hand is raises and a gesture made with it as if she is scribbling in the air. One of the passing servants apparently gets her gesture and makes her way into the study, returning with a piece of fine parchment, an inkwell and pen; the whole time Marguerite keeps her focus on the speaking woman. When the items are delivered she picks up the pen and starts to take down what she has just heard a nod and a muttered /thank you/ given to the departing servant.

It may be quite clear that her handwriting even in a hurried state is quite flowery almost bordering on calligraphic. "Wheat…fruit…bacon…the navy. More wine. Uisghe. Schnapps." Notes taken she finally looks back up to the older woman, that ever present smile. "I most certainly will see to such things. Anything that can be done to benefit the Duchy I can at least make sure the people responsible are compensated with what they desire to drink." The pen goes back to the parchment and she writes a few more things down in the same fancy script, then setting the implements down on the table beside her. "It is my intention to stay as long as I am asked to do so. I am quite sure that we will have the oppurutnity to see one another on numerous occassions and I look forward to doing so." There is a small pause before she continues to speak once more in that same soft tone. "Is there anything else you would require?" The question is fairly open ended, but perhaps was meant to be so.

"I require nothing," comes Philomène's forthright reply, before she knocks back a good half of her wine. "You, however, will want to present yourself to the Lady of Marsilikos. Try this afternoon. She's sound, and sharp as a tack, so don't try to pull anything over on her and she'll see you right."

There is a respectful head nod given to the woman across from her, tho a slight raising of the brow as she pounds back half the glass. It is quite obvious that Marguerite is not usually privy to something she considers to be bordering on debauchery. "I thank you for the advice Lady Philomène. I shall do my best to make a good first impression and not sabotage myself for the remainder of my appointment. How would you suggest this meeting be arranged? A courier with written intention?" She peers at the wine glass and idly asks. "More?"

"Mm, send a letter then attend her when she holds court," Philomène agrees, considering her wine for a moment before hesitantly shaking her head. "I won't stay. I've a pair of horses who need tending, and I only dropped in to leave the flowers. Help yourself to as many as you want, I can't move for the damn things at home."

Marguerite rises from her chair with that same ever present grace. It would appear to any onlooke that every moves she makes is made with the constant thought of elegance in mind. Her wine is set down on the table beside her and she folds her hands in front of her dress. "Thank you Lady Philomène. I appreciate you stopping in and for the gift. They will do much to brighten up the appearance of the residence. I will see to addressing her this afternoon and hopefulyl seen can make a proper introduction." Her head turns to Ari, passing by once more. "Ari, would you please see to a spot for some of those daisies where everyone can enjoy them?" Apparently, Marguerite can use an assemblance of manners. "When I am settled in I perhaps I shall have a small dinner gathering of which you will mmost certianly be cordially invited. Have a splenedid afternoon Lady Philomène. I look forward to speaking again."

"Save yourself the trouble," Philomène insists, a flicker of pain crossing her face before she steels it once again into that blank mask and hauls herself upright. Once on her feet, she takes another gulp from the wine before continuing. "I'm a poor dinner guest. I shan't be offended if I don't receive the invitation, provided you're not offended when I decline."

"Well there should be no offense on either of our parts then. No sense in wasting the parchment if the decision has already been made." As soon as the wine is finished one of the servants swoops in and takes the glass, exiting off with it upon the tray. "I am sure we will cross paths soon enough. It pleases me to see your dedication to the Duchy and its economic prosperity." Her steps take her to the door, actually opening it herself and standing beside it with that flashing smile.

Philomène dips her head, finishing her wine and offering the empty glass to Marguerite, simply expecting her to take it. "It is our duty, is it not?" she notes with a half smile, adjusting her collar and straightening to her full height as she moves to leave, the odd gait distinctive but not enough to slow her down.

Did that woman just hand her the used wine glass? The first reaction is to pull her hand back, but when she realized that Philomène was serious, the hand slowly reaches out and takes the glass. Her smile slowly starts to dissipate, becoming more of a fake grin bordering on masked scorn. "It is our duty. Yes. Our duty indeed." Her eyes flash down to the the glass in her hand as the woman departs. As soon as she has left, the glass is held on to the side without a word spoken, suspended in the air until a servant rushes over to relieve her of her parting gift.

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