A library at Darkenhold.

A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Tue Apr 24, 2012 3:03 pm

The girl riding up to Darkenhold wears blue gingham, a jaunty blue sun-hat and blue riding gloves. There's nothing incredibly well-made about the outfit; it's the current style, the slightly off-kilter lines of dresses currently popular in Ricathair, mixed with the unfortunate choices of most of Myrken's unfashionable lower class and homespun cloth. She rides a dumpy pony -- the kind of animal used for this and that around the farm -- and is trying so very, very hard to look respectable.

A hundred meters from the gate, the girl removes her hat. She has slightly curly black hair and dark eyes, a Northern cant to her chin and the tanned skin of a lady who spends much more time outside than inside. She leads the pony up to the gate, and if there is a guard or an attendant, presents herself as Miss Petronela Kaczmarek of Calomel's Farm, here to petition the lord of the manor to let her search the library for a "proper romance." A sweet smile accompanies that, and an explanation: see, she's just learning to read, and the grammaries and basic-books are boring and meant for boys. She's not a boy, she says, not a boy at all, and the market-scribes told her Darkenhold has the best private collection of all. May she come in?

And finally, she curtsies. It's the curtsy of a person who's just learned it, leaning slightly to the side and wavering there on one knee. But it's perfectly functional, and she's trying so very hard to impress.
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Wed Apr 25, 2012 12:48 am

Who do you trust, when a man is dead, a government is unreliable, and assassins haunt your roads?

Her first impulse is Burel Tassnehoff; her second is Magda Kaczmarek. Two individuals of upright character and sharply disparate perspectives. And two completely unacceptable choices - at this early juncture; perhaps at any point at all. Introducing Thessilane to this matter would spell disaster. Introducing fresh trouble into the Kaczmarek fold would be unforgivable, and until she knows the position of their young Agnieszka and the extent of her own trouble, she will not accept that risk. That's the crux of it right there: that she would remedy her ignorance, if she just wasn't quite so ignorant...

Quincy would've thought that was hilarious.

There are other options. D'rael, endlessly trustworthy - and devotedly impartial; it would be him, if she hadn't just deposited the Governor's man on his doorstep. His would be questions that she cannot yet explore. Treadwell, who'd served long enough alongside Gad Phuri to have learned a little of that man's steel and cunning - but Treadwell is government, and this classes him as a risk she will not yet dare. Lamai Carver is a temptation which nags - not unlike Lamai herself, which is the sort of ridiculous amusement indulged in by a woman effectively exiled to her own home and still bleeding from three different places. Lamai, who can be counted on for her honesty simply because she's no friend to anyone but Thessilane -

So that at this desk in this room sits a woman whose page is full of names and very few ideas at all, and whose truest wish is to dash the lot of it to the floor and take up a sword instead of a quill. She is made for this. Made for this. They fought through the burning streets of Zwill, she and Sefall - once negotiations had failed and statecraft faltered; they had solved Orvere's problems with brutality when words failed, she -

- has a lady at her gates? And is standing, immediately, all too glad for a moment's distraction from a matter better solved by sisters and architects.

This is how Petronela Kaczmarek is admitted to Darkenhold proper, or to its foyer at least: by a fellow well-armed, and to no further than past those first tall doors. And with heavy gates closed very firmly in her wake.
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Wed Apr 25, 2012 1:56 am

Petronela Kaczmarek has always been slightly girlier than her siblings. Agnieszka, of course, has been running around in trousers for as long as anyone else can remember, and Giertruda, now a mother of three, simply doesn't have the time to care about her appearance. So, with some glee, Magda has set upon her as-yet-unmarried middle daughter with the brand-new patterns from the genteel river cities of Amasynia (not that she needs it -- but, oh, to have enough money to be able to purchase a pattern!) and the dye techniques she's always been previously too busy to handle. The cloth is still the homespun they've been wearing for years upon years. Petronela, being what she is, does not mind at all. Prosperity looks good -- if a little ridiculous -- on a Kaczmarek.

She jumps a little as the door closes, and lifts her chin and eyes to examine the courtyard, some pretty gold-and-garnet hairpins catching the sunlight as she walks in. This whole experience -- the soaring walls, the well-kept foyer, the immense doors -- is completely new; Myrkentown is a mire of hovels and ill-built wooden trusses in comparison, and as of yet the Calomel manor house -- stumpy and rude compared to this place -- has since been her comparison for rich living.

She looks nervously over at the guard, and twists off her gloves with a swift movement, keeping one hand on the reins of the pony. Despite her halfway-there clothing, her accent is all country. "Thank you!" she gushes. "I was afraid I'd ride out here for nothin'. I would have sent a letter, but..." she shrugs meekly. "Uh. I'm not good at the scribin' yet."
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Wed Apr 25, 2012 4:04 am

An exchange occurs here: there is a guard who will return to his place by Darkenhold's gates, there is another who'll approach in his place - clearly unarmed, and bearing not a whisper of threat. How discerning is the eye of charming Petronela? This man's garb is simple, but its fabric whispers softly of wealth, and it is not without some here-or-there speck of colour. He means to usher her into Darkenhold proper: upon this pretty path around rich the grass grows so richly; beneath the shade of elegant trees still rediscovering their Springtime colours, and with the music of distant fountains for their backdrop. There is someone else approaching, a nameless someone whose hand will accept the reins from her own if Petronela permits it, and her guide will explain something of stables and excellent care; some subtle accent marks his words.

Twin doors are drawn wide to admit them, when they near the forward walls and - will she tarry here for just some very few moments? There are chairs in which she might seat herself, perhaps refreshment might be arranged; oh, someone's already reaching to relieve her of hat and gloves. She is afforded meantime a view of tall windows and the estate which spreads beyond these walls; tall windows, draped at each side with silk that doesn't quite conceal what can only be heavy shutters - at present quite unused. There is the mosaic upon which her boot-heels have gently clicked with every step; well-polished, a story told in dark and bright. There are vaulted ceilings and delicate little chairs, all intricate carvings and plush cushions and -

She will make herself at ease, yes? For her guide must step away for just a little, and she'll be met properly soon enough, and she is to be at rest here - Miss Kaczmarek.

His accent does terrible things to her name.
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Wed Apr 25, 2012 7:44 am

Her face is one of wonder, until that last bit with the name -- and then she scowls. It's a reflexive thing more than anything else, a tic that may one day adopt itself into wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, if she lets it. Ah, the local mangling of Northern names; it occurs to Petronela that it must be a long, long time since the castle's owner was here that the assistants don't know how to twist their vowels into the correct forms.

Wealth, then; oh, it's not only in the man's clothes. Who in these parts can afford a mosaic? Emory and her associates, then. All those precious hours spent lining up perfectly-cut shards of glass, all that beautiful grass even in the early springtime drought, a servant wearing cloth that even the fop-wives in town can't afford. She acts like a lady throughout, although her eyes trace to the closed doors behind her, the doors in which the man with her gloves disappears, the pretty windows that give way to walls that can only mean more and more castle beyond it. She doesn't sit, but examines the chairs, the lintels, the curtains, and finally the mosaic.

And then she's alone, and she stops in the room's dead center, listening to her own breath and the music of the silence and the sounds that may lie beyond -- before she takes a seat directly opposite from the interior door, crossing her legs and looking for all her worth like someone to be taken seriously.
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Wed Apr 25, 2012 8:10 am

Petronela Kaczmarek is someone to be taken seriously - by virtue of her parentage, if nothing else, for when hadn't her mother Magda held a special regard within Ariane Emory's heart? And perhaps this is the only reason that Petronela had been consigned to the foyer rather than the library: that a swordswoman intends particular courtesies; that she would greet the middle Kaczmarek personally, for sake of old fondnesses.

And perhaps in hopes of a little news.

But oh, who in these parts can afford a mosaic? In all her life Ariane has seen precisely one other - shattered years ago, and halfway recreated here in Darkenhold. It had struck her then as so strange, so fine, that she couldn't quite bear to set her boot-soles upon it - and her entrance into the foyer somewhat skirts those tiles even now. A matter of excessive cautions, perhaps; back then, she'd neither quite dared to sit on the chairs. But then the swordswoman was a mercenary and a brute, better suited to sweat and to dirt. Young Kaczmarek is a lady.

"Sera." As simply as that; as easily, and with a tilt of the head made small enough that it doesn't much disturb her dark hair. This is essential, for it's been given artful attention enough that it frames the features by halfway curtaining her cheeks - and really, who wouldn't be cautious of unraveling such work? Magda would understand. And in her own way, so might pretty Petronela with the bright, dainty hat. And who has just received some tiny edge of smile from a swordswoman with her hand extended.

"You are welcome. The library, then? I think you might find what you seek - if a little climbing doesn't frighten."

That might've been humour. It might even help one to overlook the slight limp, the lopsidedness of a shirt-shoulder bulged a little out of shape. Most certainly the eyes which watch, which have absorbed the sight of pretty gingham, but not without some warmth.
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Thu Apr 26, 2012 1:17 am

A mosaic she will not walk upon; a chair upon which she will not sit. Little comforts Ariane's own apparent riches can afford, but that she does not grant herself. Petronela, who has of late been training in the school of observation, notes this; she notes the smile, the way Ariane calls her 'Sera,' and doesn't that just bring the warmth from the dark places? Oh, she knows enough of the swordswoman's regard for her mother -- plus her own mythical ideas of Ariane, created over the years by the virtue of the woman's almost-presence in her family's life, and their shared heritage -- that she immediately scrambles out of that chair, obviously surprised to see her. "... Sera Emory," she says, the surprise obvious in her voice. Her own hand goes out to clasp the woman's almost immediately. "You're here. I mean, you're back. Agnie told me you left Myrken Wood!"
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Thu Apr 26, 2012 1:57 am

There are things here which a girl might learn, if a girl has the mind and the eyes for it; Petronela surely qualifies. Things which she might learn from a woman clad all in loose, fine cottons, some whimsical length of scarves wound loose at the throat; soft and almost colourless things, soft like the boots of some supple hide, and not at all like the hand which Petronela's clasped. Which has evidenced a moment's surprise before clasping the girl's fingers in kind, all well-worn skin and the faintest shadow of bruising inside its wrist.

The swordswoman's smile is very slight, quite restrained. It has to be. The mirror upstairs has shown her exactly what it looks like, otherwise.

"Agnieszka told you," she's echoing now - some warmth to the edge of it. And she'll disentangle her hand now, the better to lead Petronela towards a particular corridor, where tile gives 'way to polished wood and a narrow strip of carpeting. "And not wrongly; I've had business elsewhere. Years' worth." It's true enough, and here she'll turn some sidelong look towards the girl, all curious eyes and curtaining darkness. "The time's treated you well - yes? Your family, your mother."

Clearly it has. Pretty skirts and glittering hairnets and books, no less. It's a reflection of her birthplace; of House Nikolaev and its scions who, at the peak of their ascendance, had taken to wearing their wealth upon their collar - and more besides. Tiny gemstones stitched directly into the cloth; garnet and onyx and sapphire, a child's eyes so taken with their sparkle...

"Here," as they near tall doors; someone amongst Darkenhold's designers has a clear fondness for polished woods of unusual grain and rich colour. Heavy doors, too; it takes a shoulder to coax them open, lips slightly clenched because the motion costs. "I'll fetch you some light," and she's already striding through a room of broad dimensions and pervading shadow; a room equipped with broad desks and inviting couches, and on each side these shelves of improbable height. Perhaps aware of first impressions, the swordswoman's paused with a hand upon heavy drapes, to turn a tiny smile back towards Petronela -

"How's your head for heights?"
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Thu Apr 26, 2012 9:43 am

"Uh, good, I guess -- I never much was one for climbin' on roofs an' such," she responds, prancing nimbly after Ariane. This is a practiced gait; the last time Ariane saw Nela, she was just as much a tomboy as her older sister. But Nela had no similar interior fire, and the pretty windows of the merchant-shops, prospering in the peacetime economy, spoke visions of what she could have in her ear, and as the Kaczmareks found themselves inheritors of more and more as they worked harder and harder, pretty, round-faced Nela finally had the coins to pass over a counter for gloves, for hairpins, for a pretty straw hat, and was seduced by them.

"Well, she didn't tell me, but she went lookin' for you after she hadn't seen you 'round the Dagger, and there were rumors that you'd been kilt, and she was actually worried." It seems like babble is a genetic trait. "She'll be happy to hear you're not a corpse. And -- uh -- yeah, we've been doin' fine! We got a windfall from Dom's work on the Wall, an' now that Trudy an' her husband have that shop in town, an' Otto's a horse-groom now, can you believe it? Anyway, Agnie's been in Razasan, she got me these hairpins there --" Nela points -- "-- and she got Mama some jewelry, and we haven't even had to sell it for anythin'." Like that's something to be proud of. "Calomel's a good landlord. Fair share for fair work, an' it don't hurt that there's been no war or monsters."

At that, she grins at Ariane. "... it's been positively *boring,* just the way Mama likes it."
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Thu Apr 26, 2012 10:24 am

Extravagant gestures don't suit her well, but this one is essential: it takes some work to tug these drapes open. A flourish of heavy fabric, a murderous ache through the shoulder - but oh, this sudden flood of sunshine! So that tall ceilings and rich carpets are illuminated in brilliant gold; tall shelves, as well, crowded with a motley collection of books old and new. There are gilded bindings here; there are papery bindings quite tattered at their edges; there are books bound in worn cloth and books the worse for a scorching, and far across the room a series of shorter shelves have been devoted exclusively to scrolls.

"Oh, I don't mean to send you at our roofs," adds a swordswoman moving briskly to the the next stretch of curtains. "But perhaps you'll deliver... some word to your sister? I hadn't thought to leave an explanation." Their last encounter, after all, had not been gentle. And this stops short of actual apology - but just barely so. "A mistake, perhaps." Possible. Possible, too, that 'Nela is firm in the grip of etiquette, excitement or some heady combination of the two. Oh, but here's a pause in her work: "Otto?" Because it startles, until she's counted back the years and realised that he's easily of an age for it. Some tiny shake of the head then; she's to the next series of windows, all fastened closed for sake of what breezes will do to a room like this. "The trade's good for him, I'd imagine; the name of your sister's shop....?"

And leaves a space there that 'Nela can fill, as she finishes with the last of these, securing rich fabric with a heavy sash. It's only then that she'll turn herself to face the girl properly, set her spine against a windowframe and find some posture that favours her shoulder. "It's been good for you here - these recent years." Her mouth can't manage warmth; her eyes must do that instead. Warmth and a sudden fierce, desperate gladness. "I'm grateful - and hold to Sera Magda's reckoning of this: boring is good. Boring is just fine."

She'd be laughing then, if she could; instead: "No roofs for you today, Sera. Just those," and with a nod of her chin towards the tallest shelves - against which rest wheeled ladders. "There are too many books, you see? M'Ser Duquesne once tasked young Burnie with assembling this library, and as you see, he was - diligent."

Pauses. Corrects:

"Governor Burnie."
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Mon Apr 30, 2012 11:28 am

So she's heard of Glenn's accession -- if she hadn't been in town, then she must have been close to Myrken for at least the last month. News travels fast, but not that fast in places where Myrken Wood is nothing more than a hilarious afterthought. Nela hadn't heard of any new swordswoman in town, especially one with Ariane's reputation or description, so she assumes the woman has come straight back to Darkenhold from wherever it was she'd gone. And that had intended to come back, as the place looks well-kept and not too dusty. But her thoughts -- torn from her from the quick widening of the fabric, snapping back behind Ariane's capable wrist -- turn for the moment to the books. The books! Hundreds and hundreds, a treasure trove beyond all treasures --

-- and, of course, being a Kaczmarek, one of the first things she does is think of how much this all must cost --

So forgive her then, Ariane, for her complete dumb silence for a moment. "...Uh," she says, "wow. Um, her shop is the butchery across from the market... Dale's, not Kentwood's... oh my God, are these all really yours?" Her voice ends in a squeak, her family for the moment forgotten. "Not boring... not boring at all --" And then her eyes look back to Ariane inquisitively. "You say that like things haven't been boring for you. I'd imagine travel's not all it's cracked up to be. ... did you go to Razasan? Everyone is going to Razasan, it seems. They say it's warmer in the south..."

And then her eyes look back to the books. "... do you have *romances?*"
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Mon Apr 30, 2012 12:46 pm

News travels fast - but not that fast. And not that far, for what had she learned in the lawless north that wasn't hearsay - gossip, translated from mouth to ear and back again until little but its essence remained intact - and often not even that much. So that a swordswoman had fled to Myrken Wood with no certainty that Jons Feul had really died, no real way of knowing that a student had truly ascended to Governance, except that it was such unlikely fodder for gossip - and so casually said. No small wonder that she hadn't even begun properly at her letters yet. It was something other than a damaged shoulder which hindered.

Oh, but look at this young girl's eyes; look at how a swordswoman watches this, quite silenced. This place is steeped in memories, re-enacted now by a stunned Petronela and by a swordswoman with her scarves and her scars and a body that can't quite conceal its limp. The moment quietly staggers, a vertigo from which she is reluctant to emerge -

"They're not really mine at all." When she has quite found her breath again, and with the beginnings of a smile that she immediately regrets; the skin burns. "Only a very few," and with a tilt of her chin towards some distant shelf, she's turning away from the windows; away from sunlight which will not favour her at all. Better to lean her hip against some desk's broad edge instead, find some posture which favours the leg, and: "The others are Darkenhold's; I only see that the shelves soundly hold them. So if it is romances that you want for - mm. Like stories of love -" as if she weren't quite sure of the word, and she's slightly turning then -

No. Pauses.

"Razasan suited your sister well. Yes?" And not unkindly; not without some small shake of the head, demuring. "It was not for me. Not the Capital; little of the south at all. It was oceans I'd wanted for; there is a place, they say, where a ship will topple from the world's own edge and fall always into night - ah." Something like a chuckle. "I did not see this thing. Travel should never be boring, I think; never the same, over and over. Boring ... should be the home we return to - "

And quiets over again. Because that is entirely too much, and instead of words she will fill the moment with motion. With a body rising, moving towards one particular set of shelves and then another, with eyes that scan not words but colour, an illiterate's bad habit -

"Stories of love," she's echoing herself now; with a glance back towards Petronela now. "Yes? You find these here. Fairy tales."
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Mon Apr 30, 2012 3:05 pm

(redacted -- will revise)
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby channe » Thu May 03, 2012 12:38 am

Ask Petronela who Jons Feul is, and she'll shrug and ask about where one could get those lovely boots made -- there are some parts of Agnieszka's life with which she has not seen fit to grace her sisters with, and despite how far Nela has come in the past few months, she still lacks certain pieces of information that might be useful. But she does know enough, this little Nela, grown so far from the dirt-stained peasant child she'd once been, even if the skirts -- while stylish -- are made of old, recycled homespun.

She walks, mouth agape, through the stacks -- one finger comes out to trace one book's gold binding, and she turns back to Ariane, quite impressed. "Well... I guess. I'm learning to read, but all of the books at the church are boring, and the others are for boys," she says, betraying her still-young age with that particular phrase. "Reading them is such a chore. But the scribe told me that maybe if I read something more... my style, it would feel better."

And as she follows Ariane towards the proffered books, she changes the subject. "Please say you'd not say this place is boring," she says. "It's the most fantastic place I have ever seen! And... oh, I suppose it suited her. She doesn't talk about it much. I guess something happened to her down there, but not even Mama can make her talk about it." And she pauses, looking away from the books for a bare second, her fingers pausing as she looks through the stacks, as if she's trying to drop a particularly delicate bomb. "You know she's technically on the Council, now?"
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Re: A library at Darkenhold.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Thu May 03, 2012 1:10 am

"That one's good." Words to answer a girl's simplest needs; words to arrest that hand's wanderings."The Maiden and the Swain." A twinge she's learned to disregard. Here's a chair into which she'll carefully sink meantime, because sometimes it's easier to speak with people who are sitting; sometimes it's easier to explore when you can forget that anyone else shares the room at all. In any case, the leg is a blaze. "Next to it - the red? That one. I recommend. A very pretty ending."

Here at this desk there are such things; paper of fine quality, coarser pages for scratchwork; quills of several design and inks of several colours, their tiny glass jars all a-glitter beneath the morning sunlight. She is surrounded by things which she would see put to good use; her hand need only reach to seize a quill, and does, but what is she to write? Where does one begin? And does one actually conclude with Petronela, might you kindly deliver.... Hah. No.

"Perhaps you like stories with pictures," offers the swordswoman now; the quill hovers short of its page, helpless. "We have several of these. Not," she clarifies on a moment's thought, "for children. For .... explorers, and the curious of mind. This place," after a moment, "is - oh," and she's almost smiling now. "I am glad that it pleases you. My sister would delight in this; its architect also. A thing which is useful and strong, it may also be pleasing to the eyes; it need not lack in that manner. That was their principle."

Give the swordswoman some small credit: moments later, when Petronela's fingers have fallen still and she chooses her words so delicately, the swordswoman does not drop the quill.

"Councilor Kaczmarek." It's called alliteration, and it is a quality prized by poets. Oh, the things a weapon learns when it's not practicing murder. The things on which a mind will dwell while it processes something so wholly surprising - and meantime the mouth shapes these words, if a little awkwardly; the wound interferes, as it has all this time. The mouth tries these words, tries the feel of them - ah, a glance turned back towards young 'Nela, now. "And does it suit her better than Razasan did?"
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