♕ 3rd - video - waxing poetic

[skjalf]

[ elizabeth sits in the grass, with white roses in her hair and her skirts pooled about her. she looks thoughtful and placid to most, and only those who know her passably well may note an undercurrent of sadness in her features. it is there, but not readily apparent unless one has seen and interacted with her often.

her mother's absence and the hell that awaits her family in the future have not been forgotten. they hang like a great weight about her neck, and in the way her shoulders bow a little despite being straight and stiff otherwise. she keeps her eyes averted from the camera for now, as she speaks up quietly: ]

It all began upon a lovely day in spring
A maiden fair stumbled upon a King
Beneath the boughs of a mighty oak
Whilst two boys clutch'd at her cloak

And lo he came upon them there
Stricken at once by the maiden so fair
He gaze'd at her and she at him
Love-struck and helpless to its whim

[ she releases a long breath of air, and finally looks up at her comm device. her face still appears peaceful, as though the words and the act of writing them have had a calming effect. and perhaps they have. she effects a small smile, though, for good measure. ]

I think it a good beginning. What say you, Tranquility? Putting such a tale to words has been a daunting task, indeed.

I shall continue, and add more to it. But I must ask, are there such tales whence you hail from?

[ and if poetry is not your jam, elizabeth has another query. she holds up a plastic container (a stick of deodorant) and a glass bottle (perfume) and various other sundry items she has found. all sweet-smelling, all utterly confusing to a girl from the late middle ages. ]

And I must beg another query of you, if you please: what are these? What purpose have they?

[ anyone who knows her will see that this is only an attempt on her part to distract herself. sitting idle and stewing over the heaps of negativity life loves to send her fmaily's way has never been her thing. ]

Comments

[skjalf]

You are published? [ that is just unheard of and her admiration is plain in her tone. ]

I would like to read it then, at your leisure.

[ lizzie removes the cap from the stick and twists it as per the directions—and gets a nose full of some sort of sweet scent. she sneezes, and then tilts her head. ]

For when we sweat there, you mean? This is wondrous! [ her cheeks colour. ]

I did not bathe as often at home as I do here. I have grown to like it, despite it apparently being ungodly.

[ the perfume ends up sprayed against the palm of her hand and she smiles a little. ]

I like it.

[trouvaille]

If it's all right for the Pope these days, I'm sure it's fine for you. ...bathing, that is, not my poetry. I can't imagine he'd think much of my poetry, but-- yes, published. A few in journals and collections and things, but I put out my first solo collection the end of last year. The collection's called 'Barely Legal' and it's, um, not for the faint of heart.

( and she is rather proud of it, yes. )

Under a pseudonym, but.

Deodorant is fantastic, anyway, as is regular showering. I encourage both.

[skjalf]

I daresay it must be, then. I have heard tell of bathwater being shared by the servants at home, and it crawls with lice and fleas and all manner of foul things. They share it, as I understand.

It is such a pleasant wonder to see a woman published, Ilde. No matter the nature of the material.

[ her smile tightens a little. ] I cannot afford to be faint of heart any longer.

Yes, I shall do so. Far better that than to smell foul and stale with sweat and dirt.

[trouvaille]

Yeah, that's-- showering's a lot better, if you want to be clean. Baths are more for luxuriating. Glass of wine, music, book, muscular attendants.

( young lady.

then a laugh-- ) I wish Daddy felt the same way.

( but it's light, so. )

[skjalf]

Luxuriating is well and good, perhaps in between days when one showers. I had not thought of adding any muscular attendants to it, however.

[ she tilts her head. ]

About cleanliness, or the fact that you are published?

[trouvaille]

You're missing out. ( dry. )

Oh, I caught him throwing darts at a picture of my stepfather when he found out I'd used Sauvageon for a pseudonym - Ilde G. Sauvageon is what I publish under.

( a shrug-- ) Poetry is a nice enough hobby, but I'm supposed to be Daddy's little songbird. Which I don't mind as long as he doesn't want me up on a stage anywhere.

[skjalf]

I can only imagine. [ classic case of virgin-itis. ]

Whatever is wrong with the name you are published under? That you are published at all is like a miracle.

[ and she sings, too. they have so much more in common than elizabeth could have ever dreamed. but of course, the most integral part is something she dares not breathe to anyone. ]

I believe that if you truly do hail from a time where women have freedom to make choices, that you should do as you please.

[trouvaille]

You should definitely read my poetry.

( sit down, ilde. )

It's a bit less miraculous, these days, and I'll be the first to admit I had-- some help, but... ( a shrug. ) It's my stepfather's surname. They don't like each other very much.

[skjalf]

Are you presently occupied? I am not, presently.

[ other than discovering toiletries which she can do anytime, lbr. ]

But it is still an accomplishment to be proud of, Ilde. Do not belittle it, for it is a wonderful thing.

[ oh, well. she knows a thing or two about difficult familial relations. ]

To the point where your achievements are a subject of contention?

[trouvaille]

Not really - did you want company? I was thinking about...well, the gardens have water, right?

( pools are all very well and good, but while she loves to swim, she's never liked chlorine and rectangles. )

And, yeah, I think it's just a difference of opinion on what's an accomplishment and what's a hobby.

[skjalf]

I would enjoy it if the company were yours, yes. I am already located in the gardens.

There is a stream not five feet from me.

[ she prefers it, being near to water. the rivers side of her is strong, demanding that she be near some sort of water source. ]

Do they take pride in it, regardless of whether it may be to you?

[trouvaille]

I'll come and find you, then.

( ilde has an unerring ability to find fresh water when she wants to, intentionally or otherwise; she's not really conscious of how deep that affinity runs, but the worst of her depressive episodes coincide neatly with the longest periods she spent the farthest away from rivers or lakes.

anyway, she's checking around her room in case there's anything she wants to bring, and - anything she might say about fathers and pride is not something she's conveying over the network. )

[skjalf]

Very well, then. I shall be here.

[ and she is by the stream, true to her word. her skirts are spread about her at knee-level, because she is currently dipping her feet in the water, with her head tipped back in total relaxation and comfort.

eventually she closes her eyes, and allows the coolness of the water to lull her as she waits. ]

∞ action

[trouvaille]

( it doesn't take long for ilde to come and find her, comfortably louche in her burgundy blouse and silk-lace pajama shorts; one of these days she'll tell elizabeth the story behind the ribbon tattooed around her thigh, knotted not bowed. it's a fairly short one, at least.

but for the time being, she sits down by the stream, setting aside her comm device and the towel she'd grabbed on the way out. )

Hello, you.

[skjalf]

[ a single blue eye slides open when she hears ilde approach, and she smiles faintly. ]

Good day.

[ gradually, she stretches her arms over her head and opens her other eye to gaze upon her friend properly. noting ilde's pajamas, she tilts her head curiously. ]

Those appear most comfortable. Are they?

[trouvaille]

These? ( she plucks the lace-- ) They should be, they're pajamas.

( a beat. )

Night-clothes.

( it's amazing the references she does and does not think to clarify; labyrinth jokes, no, words that english acquired only during the british raj, yes. )

Well, the shorts are, anyway.

( the blouse, not so much. mix and match. )

[skjalf]

I am used to shifts for wearing to bed, but this is much finer.

[ she admires the fabric with a small smile before once more meeting her eyes. ]

Shorts. [ well they are aptly named, at least. ]

These are common in your time? They are lovely.

[trouvaille]

I've got those, too - well, at home - but I don't think they'd look much like what you'd be thinking of.

( substantially less fabric; probably rather a lot finer, too. )

These are just from the set that came with me when I arrived. There's a top and a robe, as well.

( the robe which is now a copy of itself made for her by severus-- the original version transfigured into another item of clothing. )

[skjalf]

No? How are they different?

[ mostly likely. but a girl does what she can. ]

I arrived with a few gowns and a shift or two. The gown my Uncle had commissioned for me being the finest among them.

[ again, she kicks her feet in the water. ]

It is identical to one of his Queen's gowns.

[trouvaille]

That's awkward, ( not critically so much as observationally. that's just awkward, elizabeth, your uncle making you a dress just like his wife's.

with her toes in the water-- )

My night-gowns come to about here, ( her hand flat at the edge of her tattoo, high on the thigh ) and they're made out of...god, what are they made of. I think most of mine are silk. Aunt Pris wears satin because she says it keeps Uncle Dess on his toes if he might slide off.

I said, doesn't that rather keep him off his toes? And he gave me the saddest look.

[skjalf]

More than passingly so. [ she does not appear to be comfortable with it, at least. in fact, she appears as awkward as the situation sounds.

she glances down at where ilde is pointing to, and flushes scarlet. ]

So high! Are they comfortable, like that? [ yes, she is scandalized. predictably. ] Oh.. oh.

[ elizabeth feels the flush deepen in her cheeks. ]

I see.

[trouvaille]

I've got a Herve Leger that's shorter.

( ...ilde she doesn't know what Herve Leger is. though elizabeth can probably guess from the way she talks that ilde is rather at home with the fashion-forward, knows of what she speaks and has a great passion for it. she has no sense of modesty - nor particular shamelessness, although she can be, just a lack of interest in the idea of being concerned how much of her someone can see - which makes clothing-as-vice her preference, and something in which she luxuriates. outside of the shuttle-bay, she's not going to wear anything not up to her somewhat irresponsibly high standards. )

--a dress, I mean. You should see what I wear in the summer, you'd have some kind of fit. ( teasing, not taunting. )

They are, though. Comfortable, I mean. To be honest, though, I don't actually wear anything to bed, I just like negligee for lounging around in.

[skjalf]

[ she is about to ask what a herve leger is when ilde almost seems to read her mind and tells her. oh. a gown that reaches her mid-thigh or even higher. to a girl from the 15th century, this is understandably way out there. more so, oddly enough than aliens and science and time travel. because wearing pants is one thing; your legs are covered.

but a dress that barely covers anything is almost beyond elizabeth. her cheeks flare with heat, but she laughs. because ilde has accurately pegged her response so very well. ]

Truly, my jaw would drag upon the ground to see such clothing. [ that remark could be taken as quite flirty, but it is not meant that way at all. ]

Well, so long as they are comfortable. I.. [ oh, well. tmi, but it doesn't make her blush, at least! ] Neither do I, when it is hot and I am alone. Otherwise I wear a long night shift.

[trouvaille]

These aren't really supposed to be worn out, but-- ( a shrug. ) I've got lace shorts rather similar that are, so I don't see it matters so very much, really.

( people who get up in arms about seeing their underwear and then walk out in a bikini-- ilde is mystified as to what the difference is. )

[skjalf]

But if they are the same, why does it matter which are worn out and which are not?

[ it's not a glaring difference like say a silk gown and a see-through chambray night shift. if they're the same, it really doesn't matter.

though personally, it is still jarring to see the sorts of things women from the future feel comfortable wearing. perhaps one day she might become brave enough to try the new fashions for herself. but for now, she enjoys her (non blood-spattered) gowns thanks. ]