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Post by Claude Bonaparte on May 13, 2010 3:22:56 GMT
--- Claude Bonaparte.* [/color][/font][/right] Silence. Normally he would have never been so glad it surrounded him. Any other time he would rather be swarmed by people asking him questions and commenting on him, asking him about what he was going to do to be a king. What he was like. Who were his friends. It grew rather bothersome after a while. Had they not heard his answers from others who had already asked? He felt like he was repeating himself over and over again for idiotic reasons, and it was rather tiresome. He hadn't been sleeping very well lately in any case, he didn't need people on him all the time. He had even begun to have dark lines shadowing under his hazel eyes.
Not only was that his problem, but meeting new people was as stressful as anything else. He was trying to impress other royals with his intelligence, to prove that one day he would be a great king, and it was rather tedious. Everyday he smiled the same smile, spoke the same words, greeted the same way. The only thing that made it different was the people he met; ranging from the queen of Germany to the king of England. He had never been very much of a sociable person, anyone near him would have known that, so it was rather annoying to meet so many people in such a short amount of time. The only friends he had was that of his family and his betrothed, and that wasn't very much. He had plenty of allies, but none of them he considered his 'friend'.
He wandered rather aimlessly down toward the garden, his hands reaching up to his face to rub his sore and tired eyes. He could imagine his mother, scolding him for making his eyes even more sore, but she wasn't there anymore. When she had died, it had been a fatal accident, and even though it had nothing to do with Claude, he couldn't help but blame himself. He loved his mother, more than anything in the world, and when she had died he had grieved night after night. He had kept himself together, but every now and again he thought about her, and he felt that small burn in his chest, the same one he had felt on the day of her death. It reminded him that she was always there, and she wouldn't ever be erased from his memory - if he wanted her there or not.
His hand clenched to fists down by his sides, whether it be from frustration or something else, he wasn't so sure. Hazel eyes flickered across the various parts of the lower gardens, searching for somewhere to go and rest for a little. His vision caught a spot near one of the fountains; a grassy area with a couple of trees and a bench underneath one. He started his way toward it, his loose shirt and pants flapping in the wind around him. He happened to be wearing a loose white shirt, and loose black pants. He hadn't wanted to wear a suit again, so he had gone much more casual. He ran a hand through his brown hair, and then fell down into the bench seat. He closed his eyes, and spread himself out onto the bench. But soon enough, he could hear the giggling girls who whispered too close. It had been much too long.
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Post by Jeanne Bonaparte on May 16, 2010 16:04:56 GMT
   how can you jubilate sitting in cages,[/i][/color][/font] ---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center] It was a somewhat pleasant day, by which it meant it was colder than Jeanne would have liked, but warmer than she had expected Russia to be, and the French princess was wandering the gardens. She found them soothing, and they reminded her of home, of her beloved France. How she missed it! Still, Russia was proving to be quite the interesting holiday. So far, she had already won the affections of a certain Greek prince, though whether she wanted them or not was a different matter.. one she herself had not yet worked out.
The sun was out, but there was a light breeze that added a slight chill to the air, masking the heat of the sun a little. Jeanne was dressed to keep herself warm, for more accustomed to the warmer weather in her homeland. Her dress was a dark blue with a matching corset cover, so that her entire outfit was one navy shade, with a soft pattern of muted black, almost like a brocade. The crinolines beneath her voluminous skirts were already annoying her.. she hated the way it made the skirts wide, like a cathedral bell. She would much rather have a fitted dress that did not make walking so awkward, but she had worn dresses such as the one she was clad in now for many years. She had become used to them, but she was no fan. Fashion perplexed her, though she knew what to wear that both suited her, and suited the eyes that befell her. Her long hair was, for once, pulled back into an elaborate up-do, the golden tresses arranged prettily on her scalp. Only two thin curls were loose, one infront of either ear, framing her beautiful face. She looked so much like her mother, she noticed it more and more as she finally grew into her adult features.
Those icy-blue eyes that could both threaten and adore in a single glance fell upon a figure she knew well as she stepped idly around the fountains, listening to the soft 'tinkle' of the water as it sprinkled down from the ornate statues. Her brother, Claude. He was the older and wiser of her two brothers, and the one she both loved and hated the most. He was so strong, so independant that it seemed at times he forgot his family, or simply thought he didn't need them. When Jeanne was younger, before their mother had died, Claude would always be the one to pick her up and cuddle her if she had scraped her knee. Now, he would probably just turn his face away and mentally curse her for being so clumsy. She watched him seat himself on a bench, and judging by his body language, he was not in an especially jovial mood.
No matter. She had barely seen him since they had arrived at the Peterhof Palace. He was usually surrounded by girls, or his servants, or some other people. Admittedly, she'd made no effort to see him, but now he was alone, she would have the chance to do so. She made her way towards him from behind, and perched herself on the bench beside him before he would have a chance to protest.
"Bonjour, mon frère," she said softly, offering him a polite smile. If his mood was foul, she was in no mood for an argument.. not in public anyway.. But she missed the way they used to be, a close brother and sister. Now they may as well have been strangers. "I barely see you now. One might think you are avoiding me..."
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Post by Claude Bonaparte on May 16, 2010 20:57:27 GMT
--- Claude Bonaparte.* [/color][/font][/right] Thoughts ran through his head repetitively, haunting every awake thought he had possessed. He thought of many different people, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do anything about his own problems. Ever since his mother had died, he had tried to become more... distant, from his family without hurting them. But it hadn't been possible. He had realized that a long time ago, but his new demeanor had stuck with him throughout it all. In some ways it protected him from being hurt, but he knew that it was only cutting the wound deeper, and for that he was guilty.
That was when Claude a familiar voice. Anywhere he would have been, he would have been able to recognize this voice straight away... He had grown up with it. Tired hazel eyes appeared from behind his closed eyelids, and he repositioned himself as she sat beside him. "Bonjour, mon frère". He nodded his head slightly. "Bon après-midi, soeur," He replied, his voice soft and rather bland. When she offered him a polite, but reserved smile, he only did the same. He used the same smile that he used when he was introduced to other people. Polite and kind, but still quite reserved. He folded his hands neatly in his lap, and his hazel eyes drifted slowly away from her pretty face. Though he would not admit it, he did miss her, more than she knew, but his pride was too much for him to suffer with.
"I barely see you now. One might think you are avoiding me..." She spoke again, and although her tone was guarded and slightly formal, he could hear the twinge of sadness lurking behind the meaning. It almost made him cringe, had he not been so aware of himself. "Not avoiding, sister." He said quietly, offering another polite smile to enforce the meaning behind his words. He truly had not been avoiding her, but neither had he gone out of his way to find her either. He was completely drained, what with everything political going on, he had no time for family. "Arranging a marriage, meeting kings and queens, trying to impress; it is a hard job. Very... time consuming." He spoke quietly again, his voice still soft and reserved, his hazel eyes still peering ahead and away from her face.
A slight breeze ruffled his chin length brown hair. It played with his loose white shirt, ruffling it and making it expand in some places. In his mind, he was persuading himself not to look at her, to keep his eyes straightforward, because his hazel colored eyes would reveal everything that he was thinking and feeling. He could remember Jeanne when she had been a small child, barely the age of three. Her and their younger brother had been playing outside, him chasing her. Claude could even remember what she had been wearing that very day. A long pink skirt and a white blouse, her blonde curls falling down her back and dancing on the wind as she ran. Every couple of steps she would turn around, see her brother, squeal and laugh. That was, until she had fallen over. She had cut her knee, and Claude had comforted her, picked her up and brought her into the house... but no longer were they anything like that.
"I suppose that you have been entertaining the fancies of young princes, have you not?" Claude said sarcastically, a small smile rising to his lips. If anything, he knew that his sister was more a formal lady, and less to be flaunting herself over many men. She was of respectable stature, one that didn't give in so easily to the likes of the male race. Claude turned his bent head, hazel eyes peering at her own blue ones. Her hair was rather elegantly twisted onto her head, two small curls falling out at the front. He could smell her sweet perfume, even from here, and he recognized it easily. "Vous ressemblez à votre mère." His hazel eyes saddening slightly. She had always looked like their mother, but he would have never spoken the words.
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Post by Jeanne Bonaparte on May 18, 2010 3:32:54 GMT
how can you jubilate sitting in cages, [/i][/color][/font] ---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center] It was obvious that her brother was not overjoyed at Jeanne's presence, and though he spoke to her and did not simply stand and walk away, rejection still burnt within her. Yes, she was a woman now, all grown up both physically, mentally and politically, but inside was still the same peu oiseau* she had always been. That had been his nickname for her when she was a child, perhaps because she had found her wings so easily in everything she did. It had been years since he had ceased to call her such, three to be precise. She had missed it, of course she had, just as she had missed everything else. She had always been closest to him, but when her mother had finally succumbed to her condition and slipped from this life, he had changed, his personality seemed to have shifted. In reality, it had probably been slowly evolving, but their mother's passing was the accelerant it needed.
"Not avoiding sister. Arranging a marriage, meeting kings and queens, trying to impress; it is a hard job. Very.. time consuming." It was not a snide nor nasty remark, but it cut her deeply. His excuse was he was busy, but they both knew as royalty they had a fair amount of free time on their hands. What was an hour spent sitting with his sister infront of the open fire as they had once done, or taking a walk arm in arm around the grounds chatting about decidedly unimportant things? It was hard to find true friends when you were nobility, and not simply ones who wished to gain some form of power or status from the friendship. It was why Jeanne tried to rely so heavily on her family, but to no avail, especially where Claude was concerned.
"I suppose that you have been entertaining the fancies of young princes, have you not?" His sarcastic tone was noted, and it vexed her slightly. He should know better than to think his sister would do such, but as he finally turned to look at her and his hazel eyes captured her own, she noted, or atleast hoped, he was teasing her softly. Like he had done once upon a time when they were both younger.
"Ah, oui, you would not believe the number of princes and dukes I have allowed to lift my petticoats since we have been here. I am quite exhausted!" she replied, a soft smirk tugging at her rose-hued lips. It was a returned tease, though whether he would see the funny side of it was another matter. Yes it was crude and a most unladylike thing to say, but beneath the princess was a young girl with the same thoughts as any other. If she was forced to hide them even from him, she would be forced to bury them entirely, and that would make her nothing more than fake.. like those who surrounded her.
"Vous ressemblez à votre mère." His words were mumbled, but she heard them, and the smirk disappeared from her lips as she turned her face away. Even now any mention of her mother caused her to adopt a slight melancholy, her grief still present, though not as raw as it had been. The ache that something was missing had dulled, but with those lexicals it returned to it's previous fervor when her mother's death had been fresh. Was this the reason he now seemed to want to spend as little time as possible in the same building with her, let alone the same room? For something she had no control over?
"My mother? Elle a été notre mère*, Claude.. But perhaps this is why you now seem to loathe me so.." she said, her own voice soft, scarcely above a whisper. Her eyes remained downcast as her fingers gripped onto the fabric of her skirts gently in an awkward gesture. "I did not ask to look like her, brother, nor do I wish I did not.. You think I do not miss her as you miss her? You think I don't long to hear her voice again every single day? See her smile?"
As she spoke, she seemed to get angrier. She couldn't help it, and it was perhaps a good job they were outside in the grounds and not surrounded by people. It would reflect badly if any saw her behaviour now as she stood from the bench once more, drawing herself to her full, albeit short, height. Her entire body language screamed offence, hurt, a growing resentment. How could he feel so victimised, as if he was the only one who still craved to see the deceased Queen, to feel her and smell her and hear her?
"Grieve by all means, Claude, but do not assume you are the only one who longs for her every moment of every day!" she shot. Sharply, coldly, perhaps wrongfully so.. But how was she supposed to act, when now she realised that her once best-friend and closest sibling had abandoned her through a grief that he was not alone in? They could have helped each other through the loss, and indeed she had reached out for him in her own ways, but he had been too consumed in his own pain to notice.. And now he still remained there, trapped in a world of resentment, still seemingly unwilling to let Jeanne in. Her tiny hands clenched into light fists at her sides as she stood, arctic-blue eyes fixed on him, though she wasn't entirely sure if she was waiting for an argument, an apology or a defence from the French prince.
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Post by Claude Bonaparte on May 18, 2010 4:19:14 GMT
--- Claude Bonaparte.* [/color][/font][/right] The prince sat, quite defeated and alone next to his sister. Though she could not see it, for he hid it rather well, every inch of his body was aching, whether it be physically or mentally, he couldn't tell. He felt.. extremely tired. More so than he ever had before. He had honestly not had enough time to socialize with those he knew, and even when he had he was relaxing and trying to comfort himself like he once had when he had been younger. But it seemed, whenever he wanted to be alone and relax, someone had to take up his time again. He did not resent his sister, but he felt rather... annoyed. But, not enough to show.
"Ah, oui, you would not believe the number of princes and dukes I have allowed to lift my petticoats since we have been here. I am quite exhausted!" Her words were teasing, and much unlike the lady-like personality she seemed to possess more so these days. It made him think back to when they had been younger, and he couldn't help but return her smile with his own, not half hearted and polite anymore. He did enjoy spending time with his sister, but only when she was like this. Sometimes, dealing with reality was much to hard for Claude to put up with. "I would not be surprised, what, with your joli petit visage." He smirked softly, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement.
When he had been little, he had been told that their family had been prouded for their beautiful eyes. Their mother had the prettiest blue eyes, delicate like ice. Their father, had deep brown and green eye color. Claude himself had the strangest eyes, a mix of green brown and blue, an almost hazel color. The prettiest of them all had been Jeanne's, because hers had much more expression than the rest. Many had fallen in love with her because she had been the prettiest thing that had ever come out of France. Claude had fallen in love with his younger sister, in a family way, and had promised himself that he would never hurt her.
He'd broken that promise.
"My mother? Elle a été notre mère, Claude.. But perhaps this is why you now seem to loathe me so.." He snapped out of his thoughts as quickly as he had floated into them. Although her voice had barely been above a whisper, he still heard her. He briskly shook his head, shifting his body back so that he was bent over his knees. He placed his elbows on his thighs, and looped his finger together over his legs. He stared down at the ground, still shaking his head. "Non, non, non peu oiseau," He whispered in reply softly, slowly shutting his lids over his eyes. He was almost trembling with anticipation, predicting what she was going to say before the words had even left her lips. "I did not ask to look like her, brother, nor do I wish I did not.. You think I do not miss her as you miss her? You think I don't long to hear her voice again every single day? See her smile?"
Her voice only rose as she spoke, becoming more and more angered with every word that left her pink lips. He slipped his face into his upraised palms, but still he remained silent. He thought it better to listen to her shout at him, maybe to let something actually sink into his brain for once. He did know what she was talking about, that he wasn't the only one grieving her loss. He felt her rise next to him, and he twisted his head to the right to peak at her. He could tell by the set of her shoulders, the curve of her lips, the sudden cold of her eyes, that she wasn't going to let it go easily. "Grieve by all means, Claude, but do not assume you are the only one who longs for her every moment of every day!" The words burnt him. Somewhere deep inside, he could feel his heart burning with guilt and longing.
"Jeanne..." He let her name drift off his lips, as if he meant to say something else but could not find the words to complete the thought. He lowered his hands from his face, his hazel eyes shining up to her. "But vous êtes si chanceux*, sister." He spoke, pain filling every inch of his voice. He did not want his little sister to see him hurting, but he knew that somewhere she knew what he was feeling, she wasn't oblivious to that fact either. "You get to choose the man you want to marry, you get all the luxuries of being royal without the political mayhem involved, you don't have you future set in stone, soeur. And for that, I'd give up everything I have." He said sadly, his hands finally raising away from his face. He straightened his back, peering up at his younger sister with a sad smile. "But tell me now, soeur. Tell me about the princes you have met, tell me about Russia, and how you like it." He stepped up off of the bench then, towering inches over her easily. He held out his arm, for hers to link her own through his, his hazel eyes almost pleading.
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Post by Jeanne Bonaparte on May 18, 2010 14:46:48 GMT
how can you jubilate sitting in cages, [/i][/color][/font] ---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center] With angry eyes, Jeanne watched his movements, noting the way his body language spoke to her, telling her he was uncomfortable, and perhaps a little shocked at the way she had spoken to him. It was a side of herself she had developed over the last year or two as her hormones finished slotting themselves into place. She had grown from the gawkish girl he had known into a woman, but he had been too wrapped up in his own life to notice it. Now she stood before him like a stranger, her childhood demeanour all but disappeared.. and she knew she had perhaps overstepped the mark.
As a young girl, Jeanne had been inquisitive, sweet and endearing. Bright-eyed, with the most adorable smile on her face, she had been able to warm the hearts of any she met. Now, instead of warming hearts, she commanded them, demanding attention with her airs and graces, her elegance and knowledge. Deep down she was still the same girl she had always been, but parts of her had changed, evolved.. a fierce temper when provoked, though never shown in public.. a calculating mind with the drive and determination to bring any scheme to fruition.. a tempting beauty that would make even the most faithful of king's give her a second glance. Yes, Jeanne was a woman now, and rife with attributes that had been equally as evident in her mother when she was around the same age.
"Jeanne.. But vous êtes si chanceux, sister." His words did nothing to stem the anger which, though it no longer grew, remained with her, burning softly like flickering candle flames within those blue oculars. Lucky? Hardly. She was the last born child of the King and late Queen of France.. Though her marriage would not be of the utmost importance until her older brothers were paired, she knew well enough that her own marriage would be for political reasons too. Just as Claude was not free to love any other than his betrothed, her freedom would be shortlived as soon as her Father settled upon a suitable match for her.. and Jeanne knew he'd been considering it of late. Part of her suspected her accompanying her father to Russia was interlinked with a possible future wedding. What better place to find a suitor than where royalty and nobility from the World over is conglomerated? "You get to choose the man you want to marry, you get all the luxuries of being royal without the political mayhem involved, you don't have a future set in stone, soeur. And for that I'd give up everything I have."
It took a considerable amount of strength for Jeanne not to snap at him in response, and her gaze was dropped, chin tilted downwards as she surveyed the green blades of grass beneath their feet. She tried to find something soothing in the numerous hues of emerald, but what could a lawn do to calm her? She was a French woman, and they were well-known for their hot-headedness.. she could control it to a degree, but her family had always managed to snap the padlocks of the mental cages of her emotions. Wasn't it always the way, though?
"But tell me now, soeur. Tell me about the princes you have met, tell me about Russia, and how you like it." He stood now, and he towered over her petite frame. She felt no threat from such a vast height difference though.. she could never feel frightened of her brother, even when she saw anger reflected in his eyes. His arm was held out for her to link her own though, and she lifted her gaze as she slipped her arm into it's proffered place. Her hand rested gently on his forearm, though for now the touch was not as tender as it perhaps could have been.
"I would speak of such things with my dear brother, if he were here.. But I fear the man I once respected and adored has changed," she said, and there was a small hint of sorrow in her voice. Where were the days when they would lose hours upon hours in each other's company.. why were they replaced with minutes that felt like privileges, and words exchanged felt like such miracles? "Russia.. is like a home away from home, and yet quite the strangest place I have ever visited. It is the same devilry, debauchery and beauty as we have in France, simply with different faces fitting their individual roles." She conversed with him regardless of her previous statement, and her biggest charm shone through -- her ability to hold an intelligent, insightful conversation. Jeanne was more often quietly observant, even when she was in the limelight and attracting all manner of attention. She noted the small details, the similarities and differences in everything she did, saw and heard. "The princes are gallant and sweet, polite.. but false, their pleasantries as forced as our own. Though I fear their motives are a little darker than any I have encountered in France." She spoke, of course, of Niklaus Constantinides, the Greek prince who had taken quite the shine to her.. and whom she had taken more of an interest than was perhaps safe, considering his reputation, but she would not mention his name. Such idle talk would make her a gossip-monger, and that was something Jeanne was not. Often the subject of it, never the speaker..
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Post by Claude Bonaparte on May 19, 2010 0:18:18 GMT
--- Claude Bonaparte.* [/color][/font][/right] Claude had never been arrogant. Never thought so highly of himself that others were swayed by his own opinions, for he had never thought even somewhat remotely highly of himself, but neither had he thought so low of himself. Claude had always deserved the respect he received, ever since he had been a small child. He had never been outspoken, loud, obnoxious, but instead quiet, thoughtful, and extremely observant. He could be with a group of people, and he would notice the finer details, but never speak them aloud. He kept reserved normally, but not enough to be homed in on himself.
But it seemed that he was turning into exactly that.
His tired, and now sad, hazel eyes peered straight ahead into the cool day, his eyes seeking nothing in particular. He felt Jeanne slip her arm into his, like they had when they were young, her force not quite as gentle as he remembered, but she had reason to dislike him at the moment, so he would let her temper run for as much as she wanted it too. "I would speak of such things with my dear brother, if he were here.. But I fear the man I once respected and adored has changed." Her words shook his head, and burnt his chest, the feeling of guilt and sorrow seeming to grow even heavier on his strong shoulders. "Indeed, he has. Whether he likes it or not," He said softly in response, not allowing his hazel eyes to drift over and peer at the girl on his arm for a mere second. Instead, he kept his eyes straight, a deadly quiet circling the area between the two until she decided to speak once again.
"Russia.. is like a home away from home, and yet quite the strangest place I have ever visited. It is the same devilry, debauchery and beauty as we have in France, simply with different faces fitting their individual roles." Jeanne's words made a small, still sorrowful, smile rise to his thin pale lips. Unlike many of the other princess' that had made their way here, Jeanne was possibly the only princess who could actually hold an intelligent conversation and know what she would be talking about, not just following along and hoping she was saying the right things. "Of course. And the beauty of the palace is breathtaking, if I might say." Claude replied softly, his hazel eyes flickering over the grounds before them with haste.
"The princes are gallant and sweet, polite.. but false, their pleasantries as forced as our own. Though I fear their motives are a little darker than any I have encountered in France." Claude nodded his head slightly, still keeping up his paced walk, hazel eyes flickering from object to object, his brown hair flickering in the vision of the corner of his eyes. "I have heard the rumors about some specific princes, unlike my brother and I, who hold more thing higher than their countries and people." He said softly, his hazel eyes narrowing. At this moment he turned his head to look down at Jeanne, his face always kind but with the same severity of his father. He moved his head back so he was peering forward again, his lips pursed in thought. "I have heard, that their are princes who are known for their... coureur de jupons," He continued, his face becoming more angered with anger, yet his voice remaining controlled and quiet. "Despicable, really."
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