[X] Ponderings & Pastries, Pouts & Ponces [Inactive]

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[Character of the Month]

Character of the Month
Prince Caspian

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Played by Cara

"Cara has managed to...create a character that is both mythical and life-like. Impulsive, moody, and yet kind and good-hearted, Caspian is just beginning to show the makings of a true leader."
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[Lilla Rosalba]

It had seemed a good idea to Miraz. But Lilla had often objected to Miraz's ideas. She had simply never dissented. Objections were internal reservations. Dissention cause for beheading in this new regime.

So when Miraz told her the young ladies of court should bring meals to the training soldiers to boost morale and raise spirits, Lilla showed her teeth in a grimace of a smile, lowered her eyes, and said "Of course, sire."

Because this was what women did. What women were not to do, however, was think. So thought the men of this government. But of course, Lilla decided that the error in this thought was because men -- who had both the luxury and duty of needing to both think and act -- did not have the time to think well. Unlike women, who had nothing but their thoughts, which must be kept silent.

Women, who thought deeply and thought much, knew that men and women were capable of great potential. Men, Lilla had come to realise, thought women were capable of great pastries.

And so, dressed in the fine dress her aunt had suggested, Lilla descended to the practise courts with a basket of sweet bread, a scarf tied over her head to conceal her hair, one of her most striking features, and a stony expression on her face.

No one had told her she was attractive when she set her jaw and pressed her lips tightly together into a pout, or she might have reconsidered her approach as the men, eager to take a break and visit with the young ladies of the court, lined up. Congregating around the brightly dressed women as dark, black ants about to swarm over a meal of fruit.

She hated when men looked at her like they were men and she was a woman. There were so many more agreeable looks. Like intimidation. Or reverence. Or loathing. Only let her not be looked upon as a woman by a man!

"Here, good sir," she said quietly to the first man who lined up before her, dropping a loaf into his hands. His hands briefly grasped hers a moment, and she felt the callouses. Her eyes narrowed and hardening. "You may join the others," she instructed icily. "Now. . . if you please," she added for emphasis.

[Shayla Deverell]

Shayla had not completely understood why the ladies of the court were needed to give the soldiers their food. There were servants to fill such jobs, after all. Though she did not mind work, Shayla did not enjoy the eyes of these soldiers. Everything about these men seemed crude and dark - Shayla wanted nothing to do with them. But Miraz had commanded it, and there was no way around the king's orders. Even if the young lady felt more secure about her situation, she would have never gathered the valor to speak back to anyone, let alone Miraz himself. She could not have even brought herself to speak back to Lilla Rosalba.

Her eyes had stayed as close to the ground as she could keep them while still handing out food, but Shayla pried them up for a moment to take a quick glance at Lilla herself. Lilla Rosalba was the envy of the court. Next to the queen, Lilla was what every young lady wished to be; for Lilla really was next to the queen in rank. But they all knew that the queen's presence lacked in comparison to her main lady in waiting. For being the niece of a queen, it almost seemed strange that Lilla was not the queen herself. She would have made a much better one, everyone knew it.

Shayla, however, did not wish to be Lilla Rosalba. Her eyes dropped back to her duties almost as soon as they had dared to look up. Such a position was the last thing in the world that Shayla desired. She often felt that she would prefer to be a peasant girl, with no more cares than her daily chores.

Her delicate hand reached up and pulled the scarf closer about her head. The laughter and voices of the men around her was making Shayla extremely uncomfortable. Not to mention they way they looked every time she glanced up, even for a moment, to hand them their food. Shayla wanted to shutter.

[Lilla Rosalba]

Lilla was grateful that their baskets were shallow and that the bread did indeed run out -- perhaps a bit sooner than anyone might have expected as Lilla was inclined to give two loaves to a young, too-thin recruit who couldn't have been beyond seventeen years. Lilla had liked him. He was still a boy, really, and posed no threat.

She smiled with some satisfaction when the bread ran out, leaving a few scraggly-haired men congregated, waiting. Waiting to be disappointed. The boy had deserved his bread; they had not. They expected too much of them all. Lilla had heard stories of long ago -- bread multiplying to feed the masses. She was glad, at times like this, that people could not possibly expect magic to truly exist.

However, as the men continued to wait, looking at her, she realised perhaps they had not expected magic. Or even bread.

"We're waiting, my lady," one called.

"I have no more bread for you," Lilla responded in a clear, resounding voice that allowed room for no argument. "You must disperse. Perhaps your comrades will share their bread with you."

"A token then. . ." the soldier said, slinking forward. "Some small sign of your favour, lady." He was now nearly towards the front of the line, his hand outstretched and needy. None of the other soldiers moved; they all watched and listened, wondering how such a request might be taken.

"The Crown and all Telmar smiles favourably upon you and prays your victory against the adversary," she replied stiffly.

"Ah, but that hardly keeps a soldier warm at night," the man retorted with a sly grin. Several soldiers chuckled.

"Your zeal for king and country* does that, I am sure," was the prim response. When the soldiers still waited, she turned to the first in line. "Your sword." When he hesitated, she pressed further. "Hand me your sword."

Looking at the impertinent heckler, Lilla with sharp, precise movements, removed the scarf from her hair, twisted her hair back behind her, and cut the scarf once, twice . . . finally ten times. "It is all I have for that; there," he said, shoving the sword and the pieces to the first in line, "take that to your comrade and see if one of these pieces will keep him warm."

Turning abruptly from the group, Lilla walked to the closest young woman of court, allowing her anger to show more openly now, for it was not at her. In fact, they were fellow-sufferers in this and Lilla felt angry enough for both of them.

"Well," she said, swallowing to clear her voice, "let me stay with you until you are finished. I've no doubt these men will try to take all they can from us if we do not stick together."

*phrase taken from Lord Nelson.

[Sir Darrin Basilar [Inactive]]

((Ooc: I hope you don’t mind me still jumping in. >.>))

Darrin watched from a distance, not interested in bread. He had more than enough of that at home – he wasn’t like the pitiful folk here, he was son of a Lord, not a scraggly peasant hoping to get noticed for joining the militia. After all, Miraz had said, every citizen ought to fight to defend their great nation. Darrin was here for several reasons – none of which were particularly noble. He was plotting, he was planning, he was investing in the future of his potential children. He was quite content in the army, but not so very content that they were fighting an unknown enemy. At the moment, he wasn’t here to harass poor women who were sent against their wishes, and in accordance with Miraz’s, to bestow attention upon silly soldiers. Most of these men couldn’t hold a candle to what the women here expected.

Smirking as the one, a certain Lilla Rosalba, took a man’s sword and cut her headscarf into several pieces, dispersing them among the men, Darrin leaned against the fence around one of the training areas. What a sight; he could tell most of the ladies here who’d been forced to deliver their breads were quite uncomfortable, and Darrin couldn’t blame them. Most of the men here (including himself, at times) were not to be trusted. What man, especially one who’s been living in a tent for weeks on end, eating nothing but the bare minimum, and living a life void of female attention can honestly say they don’t crave a little fun? A little time away from the barbaric atmosphere that is a war camp? And women just so happened to be an excellent distraction. Unfortunately for the women here, most of the men would prefer the distraction to happen a little later in the evening, in the privacy of a tightly tied shut tent. And while each of the men here knew there was very, very little chance of any such activities, they’d happily hope.

But the women of Miraz’s court were not quite so loose as that or, at least in Darrin’s opinion, not with the soldiers. Lucky enough for him, he wasn’t just a humble soldier, but the son of a Lord. One day he’d be a Lord himself. And he wasn’t just any old foot soldier either. He held some rank here, or at the very least, some influence.

Once some of the men started to filter off, Darrin approached Lilla and the young woman she’d moved to stand with. Darrin didn’t actually know either of them, though he’d seen them around and he’d heard about Lilla at the very least. He wasn’t completely sure who it was she was standing with, however, and he gave them both a gallant smile and a elegant little bow.

“Ladies,” he said warmly, “I must apologize for the bawdy disgrace that my men are.” He rose his hands in mock surrender, “I mean no harm, nor offense, in my approach, but only to see that neither of you were too much distressed by their words or implications.” He didn’t really think them so delicate as that – he’d observed the women of Miraz’s court and, for the most part, they showed a strength that rivalled that of even some of the higher soldiers. They were strong, composed and gracious, because they had to be. The men... well, they were strong, but neither composed or gracious because no one expected them to be. But of course this was an unwelcome observation – few of the men (or perhaps more than Darrin thought, one could not truly know) liked to admit, even to themselves, that their women were in some way better than themselves.

[Lilla Rosalba]

Lilla pressed her lips together as the man approached. What he said -- a half-hearted, even humourous apology -- was of little importance, but the motion was appreciated and, as with most things in this court, suspect. No doubt his advances upon the women was for the same end as the infantrymen, though with a more refined and practised air. And this man, she noted from his rakish looks, appeared about as practised as any of the courtiers she had met.

"Your men?" Lilla said with an arched brow as she shifted her basket upon her arm so she might fold them across her chest. "So it is you who wishes to take accountability for them? And who are you?"

Lilla would go no further until she knew who she was speaking to.

[Sir Darrin Basilar [Inactive]]

“I shall take accountability for them, though I lack any great position or title.” Smiling wryly, Darrin glanced about and then turned his attention once more, with interest, towards Lilla and her companion. “I’m neither captain, nor general, though I hold enough influence within the army to take some responsibility for the men and once more I feel I must apologize for their lack of honour.” Not that he knew much about honour, granted, however he knew the ways of the game better than the grimy men in the army. One could never win the affection or interest of a woman with innuendos and disrespect. At least, no woman worth winning, anyway. At the moment, however, Darrin wasn’t thinking about winning anyone or anything – he was attempting to keep from making enemies at court. Lady Lilla Rosalba was a high player in the kingdom, he would like her on his side and so he would do what he could to make certain that she was. It was all a power game, especially to Darrin, and with Miraz having little chance of losing, he would be best to firmly situate himself in Miraz’s volatile kingdom.

With yet another humble little bow, Darrin waved his arm with a flourish and smiled brightly up at the pair as he resumed a casual stance. “I, madam, am Sir Darrin Basilar, the only child of Lord Darrin Basilar the third, and Lady Liln Basilar. It is a pleasure, of course, to meet you.” He pondered his next words carefully, not wishing to speak out of line – because that could ruin such a perfectly set up meeting. Something he could have hardly set up on his own, or any better. “I hope this foolish missive of Miraz’s,” he lowered his voice, “to send such lovely young ladies unescorted to the practice fields to deliver bread, does not have poor consequences. I am afraid our good king knows not how poorly his men can behave; but why should he be expected to?” Darrin thought perhaps this might be safe enough conversation and that it might win him some points from the ladies before him. There were, without a doubt, few with whom one could discuss dislike with Miraz’s decisions. But considering the scene he had beheld, Darrin doubted that the woman would be quick to jump to defence of their king.

[Lilla Rosalba]

"I shall take accountability for them, though I lack any great position or title. I’m neither captain, nor general, though I hold enough influence within the army to take some responsibility for the men and once more I feel I must apologize for their lack of honour.”

Lilla compressed her lips into a straight line. She did not like this man much more than the others, but like as not he was a member of the court. He spoke with the silver tongue of court. They were his men when it was beneficial. And they were not when it seemed fitting, nay, even charitable to take them under his wing. As a dutiful member of court. Humbling himself only for the pretense. Well, if he was to descend, making bows and obeisances to her in an attempt to win her, she would keep him there: below her. She would not be played.

"You may use your influence with the army to teach the men," she allowed. That he was handsome could not, however Lilla protested, have some effect on softening her and she smiled slightly in return, inclining her head. "Well met, Sir Basilar. I have met your mother," she nodded. A very elegant and well-behaved woman of court. Lilla thought very highly of her and wondered if the man before her was any bit like the mother. She knew nothing of the father.

“I hope this foolish missive of Miraz’s,” he lowered his voice, “to send such lovely young ladies unescorted to the practice fields to deliver bread, does not have poor consequences. I am afraid our good king knows not how poorly his men can behave; but why should he be expected to?”

Lilla gave a grim smile at this. "Because, as their leader, he is obliged to know the conduct of his own men. So as the better to command them. There are no poor consequences here," she said proudly. "It is more likely that King Miraz," she said, emphasising his title as the correct one -- it was vulgar to call a man simply "Miraz." He'd never call the man before her "Basilar" -- "does not know the nature of the women at his court, as he now lives among his soldiers." Mar and Tash knew that the man did not make a bother to see the women of court or speak to them; hardly his own wife since his new crusade against his nephew.

It was intriguing, Lilla decided, that a man such as he would be so bold with his words -- as he prepared, within the walls of the castle, to go to war. Such men might not return. But Lilla had returned his candour with that of her own.