mathieu trinket. (flauto) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-08-04 11:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, esther glass, mathieu rozenkatz |
Who: Mathieu Rozenkatz & Esther Glass
What: Coming to terms with the future.
Where: Emillion
When: Backdated to Esther's birthday
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Arms linked together, the two heirs of their respective families headed out for one of their so-called adventures in town. The narrowed streets of the Bazaar were their playground, and they knew the best ways to sneak around, dressed down and concealed by the shadows of the late evening. All in all Esther considered her birthday a pleasant one so far, having spent the day in the company of her family and betrothed and then in the evening surrounded by friends in a small dinner party. However, this happening now was the highlight of the day. She felt the taste of liquor in the back of her tongue, giggling (not out of drunkenness, but sheer happiness) and she turned them into another street. They would never get lost here unless they were well and truly plastered, and even then Mathieu’s keen sense of something would lead them home. Esther wasn’t worried. Other unsavory things passed by in these streets, but the two nobles were just mischievous children in their nature, poking fun at others and dancing just out of trouble’s reach. “Shh,” Esther placed a finger on his lips, a conspiratorial expression as an intoxicated man passed them by and tripped on the strategically placed rock Esther had kicked across a few minutes ago. Some things would never change. Mathieu grinned and made a valiant attempt to stifle his own laughter, looking back over his shoulder for only a moment. Everything had gone swimmingly during the course of this particularly esteemed anniversary day, or so was his opinion. No unwanted surprises, no attacks on the city (Faram be praised for that much)--it had been a pleasant celebration all around. Mathieu lead his friend along by the arm, half-drunk on mirth and his spirit held high. Even so, as the councilor lead Esther along the evening streets, he couldn’t help his mind from drifting. It was more difficult to keep himself from thinking of it he realized, as fewer distractions were now provided, save for one, the wrong one, the woman who had been the subject of many important conversations of late. The bride, of course, to be--as the day also proved to mark how very close they now all were to the wedding. And she was not to be his own bride of course--but Mathieu was a well-groomed man of the higher circles, and he understood well the expectations placed on each of them, hardly resenting the machinations of society or so was his general thought and opinion, a tenuous wind keeping him aloft. But regardless of expectations, the full realization of what fate and future had in store had not dawned on him fully but recently. Preoccupied by career and public duties, it was Lord Wulfram who had politely and unknowingly thrown Mathieu’s world from its axis. The other man’s words rang ominous in his ears as he walked, and he made profound effort to ignore them, to cling to his cheerful outward mood and to keep the evening unspoiled. “How dastardly you are, Lady Glass,” he whispered teasingly, keeping gentle hold of Esther’s arm and leading her through the familiar streets. “Pity to anyone who might stumble in your path tonight!” “Pity to anyone who might stumble in our path, Lord Rozenkatz, for if I am dastardly then you are devious and together we shall cause enough trouble for our unsuspecting victims.” Esther rested her weight against him briefly, conveying her contentment in this moment. They were both still dancing around the heavy topic tonight, impossible to ignore at this point but still able to mention it as little as possible. The wedding had been such a distant daydream for so long, now that it had materialized Esther simply didn’t know what to do but plunge ahead towards it. That was her expected duty and one she had accepted the day Wulfram had slipped on her engagement ring and kissed her hand. Perhaps, had the decision to leave Emillion not been imposed, Esther would’ve waltzed by the whole affair (as she was fairly certain than no marriage duties would ever superceed her ‘duties’ to Mathieu - though, technically, they ought to). The half-darkened streets gave way to an open area, where broken pieces of buildings still littered the area - the remains of what had been a fountain in the centre. A dull reminder of the increasingly dark fate of the city and the reason her own wedding preparations were to be a very small solemn affair rather than a lavish party. Esther stopped abruptly, her hold on Mathieu tightening briefly, “It is a sad sight,” — “The city. I can see why Lord Wulfram wishes to leave it as soon as possible.” And there it was, the raw nerve between them that threatened to bleed. Mathieu stopped after she had spoken--to take a moment to survey the gloomy ruins of the current landscape, perhaps, his eyes fixing eventually on the fountain. But it was the words in truth that tugged him to a halt, a rope around the neck, a truth that demanded recognition now. His expression turned nostalgic as he tried to imagine, with creative flourish, what the area once looked like, before it had been cast into ruin and disrepair. The bare bones of reconstruction could be seen, where the carpenters had begun to set about their work--the landscape of the city and the lives of all its people, everyone knew, could never go back to as it once had been. “He has spoken of it to me, in his usual serious way,” Mathieu admitted, and it was at this point where the man chose to (carefully and gently) disentangle himself from Esther’s fond hold of his arm. “One must always praise him for his great sense of practicality!” There, a smile over his shoulder as he moved closer to the fountain. There was a vacuum where Mathieu had stood, cold and unwanted that threatened to seep into her bones and break them. “He is a very serious man.” His smile was met with one of her own but Esther didn’t approach or follow his steps(as she so often did until they were once again in the same sphere). Pacing around she moved to the other side of the debris, stepping on the puddle of water on the side(she scrunched her nose in distaste). “This decision he has taken, it is my duty to follow him as his wife.” Not her will and not her wish. “It has crossed my mind though,” Her eyes fixed on the floor, “whether it is possible that I could change his mind in regards to this.” It always started small, looking for a way to solve the issues without having to resort to other options(which Esther had never considered). Denial served her well still. Mathieu, shadow of the boy he once was, kicked a jagged pebble and sent it off in some stray direction, skipping over broken cobblestones and out of sight. “And if anyone possess the power, it would no doubt prove to be yourself,” he said, his usual, easy cheerfulness giving way to a strange hesitance, the words falling from his lips in a way that was not entirely as intended. He smiled valiantly on, however, and took a seat on the edge of the fountain. It was, perhaps, a gentle manner of encouragement—a hint of a sentiment to show his feelings on the matter. Not that he needed to say such things aloud. She steps around, finding her way back to him(always, always back to Mathieu, following the revolutions which so often fitted her own always allowing them to stay close). His smile made an ache blossom in her chest, tinged with warmth and melancholy, undecided in where to settle as she leaned down to press their foreheads together. "And what is it that you want, dear heart? Would you leave Emillion to its ruin or charge onwards?" Esther wants to coil closer, crawling under his skin and seeping into his bones; she is content with the path her life has, orbiting around Mathieu, she does not want change. Her selfishness knows no bounds and she will find a way to get what she wants, whatever that is(she's got a hint but is not sure). “My devotion, as it has always been,” Mathieu said carefully, and at this proximity their breaths commingled, “is not to Emillion.” He was no noble and virtuous knight, of course, and could never claim any righteousness—not as a councilman of the Bards Guild, a hidden den of thieves. His devotion was given only to those things which he loved most. And to lose such a thing, the possibility now placed before him, his own selfish desires could do not but sting at the prospect. That is perhaps why they are so well suited, egoistic wants always trumping in the end. Esther smiles, eyes fluttering close and it is there for a brief moment, warmth against his mouth before she speaks again(promising with a dark ring of corruption at the core). "Then it is only right you see proof of my own." For she is willing to trample on her fiancé and any others; she has never had to but has always been capable of it. Mathieu urged her to sit beside him on the edge of the fountain, and if the words had done aught, they had served to inflame his own image of the reality that is (for now) set in front of them. A small hope dangling from a fragile string, he still had urge to reach for it, to do--something (hope makes men do desperate things). “And mayhap you shall, my dear Lady Glass,” he said, voice distant but not without affection. Mathieu placed a kiss atop her hair, as he had so many times before. “But for now, shall we not enjoy the rest of our evening?” As their slip together once more, their evening reassumed it's intended course: harmless mischief and fun. For the time being. |