The Ducal Palace in Perdan City 5 Aila makes no attempt to struggle free, knowing there is no use “Sir Nemean” She is used to speaking over crowds, filling the room with the sound of his own name is no challenge for her. “I addressed you as a prince out of respect for what once was. With your actions and your words here you disrespect the stations we both hold; I am the Duchess of Perdan and your better, you will address me as such and you will remove yourself from my person at once. . . or be removed.” ~Aila Storme
The booming voice burst from the petite woman like a sudden thunderclap on a clear, spring day. The tension he had allowed his hand to exert to keep the papers upon the desk released. The buffeting words hardened his face like a sailor, braving the ocean's spray. The expressions giving life to his lips died. A line remained. He stepped away. In the doing, a small space formed between them.
''My actions and words.'' Softly but with an edge. A breath was taken but not fully released. Making taut the fabric of his jacket. ''You.'' Disdain. ''Frivolous and hopeful with your teary eyes. What decorum did you even attempt in this meeting? Liquor?'' The last word all but spat. His head started to turn to the side but he didn't permit himself to look away yet, much as he desired to. Instead he raised his chin. ''Apparently that is all you managed to grasp of Smiddich's wisdom. And you dare invoke her name.'' A hand gave rise to a fist. Silent as it hung at his side. ''You reek of desperation. Invoke your title all your want but it was given. You were born to nothing.'' He took a breath, stimming harsher words. ''You do exactly as I expected. You lack the comprehension of those born to the station you fumble at, Duchess.''
The room felt small. It stank of inadequacy. He gave it a harsh look over. ''Continue to wallow Aila, maybe that is why he took to ship.'' With that Nemean left the room. His brisk pace fueled by anger and in no small part its companion, frustration.
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Roleplay from the player of Aila Storme The Ducal Palace in Perdan CityA mischievous and supercilious smile emerged from the Duchess’ lips the moment he let her free, and she turned to face him with it painted on proudly as he berated her. He calls her names, demands decorum, how dare she, desperate, born to nothing- the way he lashes out is as impressive as it is entertaining. Is this what men born to something behave like? She wondered idly while Nemean did his blustering and posturing, filling the room with his presence to attempt at making her feel small before he tried his best at piercing her breast with his words.
What he couldn’t know is that she always felt small, and was quite comfortable in the sliver of air his ego left her to breathe in. He knew nothing about what he spoke of, the things that had gone on in that room in his absence, the list of assumptions he had thrown at her, all incorrect, the love that she had known. How could a man who did not know the first thing about her hurt her?
She lets him leave without rebuke, the moment he is out of sight her smug look fades and Aila is left standing at her desk, fanning herself with the papers in her hand. A short moment later her retainer Gideon enters the room cautiously asking “Your Grace?”
“I am alright, if that is what you came for”
“Yes...That man seemed- Upset.” He posits carefully. “Did he threaten you?”
Aila shakes her head, approaching the man dressed in Storme colours with the papers “No, no. Just a hard time adjusting to change…” She walks right past him to the raging fire in the hearth and looks between the pages, and the fire. “I’m going to destroy them”
Gideon peers over her shoulder, it is a collection of papers he has seen her working with many times “You’ve been building that case for months your Grace, why?”
The Duchess does not move, she simply stares down at the pages of letters saved over the months, waiting for the right person to show them to. Eventually the silence stretches so long Gideon is about to turn and leave her be at just the moment Aila flicks her wrist to throw the bulk of the documents into the fire “I cannot do it by myself and I cannot trust anyone with them either.”
Together they watch the small stack of documents burn bright and crumble to ash in seconds, her retainer does not agree with throwing away so much work, but it is too late now. “You meant to give them to that man? Who is he?”
Gideons words ring in her ears, she would not make the same mistake as the blustery Sir Nemean “A Prince I do not know.”
“Well I’m bloody glad you kept them then. Shall I walk you to your chamber?”
“No. I will do some stitching. I am hoping to meet another Prince here later.”
Cautiously the man asks her “Do you know this one?”
“No, actually.”
Gideon looks uncomfortable with that answer, knowing she was not kidding "Try not to upset that one too."
