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Post by Annette Roussea on May 13, 2010 20:02:57 GMT
Annette inspected the picture before her. It was nothing new, she had hall of them also, but she marveled art. It was so beautiful, and she sometimes wished she had talent to be able to draw something like it, something so real. It was hard to believe one would start with a blank canvas and with some strokes and a lot of time, it comes out to look almost like the real thing. She never had the patience to try to make something so unique, and she never had a steady hand for such a smooth stroke, not to mention her blending colors to make merge from one color to the other was horrid. No, she would be keeping to doing the things she liked to.
She slowly moved to the next picture, her heels clicking on the ground quietly. Servants bustled about and people moved back and forth, minding their own business as she minded her. She would slowly continue to walk, both hands clasped humbly in front of her as she strolled forward, only stopping at something she liked or admired, or thought was pretty. She liked pretty things, things worth of value, and to her art was worth a lot, people didn't have to say something to show emotion, those these pictures were of history and most made up of people, she could imagine what they were like when they were living, harsh, or kind. Call her silly, but she liked to make up stories of her own, using her mind idly to pass time since she found nothing to do.
She stopped at one that caught her interested. It was a picture or a woman, nothing special, but she was beautiful, she didn't know if the woman looked so in real life or the artist for making her so, she had to admit that the painter made her look simply stunning. She titled her head to the side, curious as she inspected the painting, as if looking for a flaw when there is none, or even just admiring the simplicity of it even though there was nothing to see then what she had always been looking at.
Her pink lips curled into a small smile. She had woke up this morning wishing to be outside, but not wanting to be out in the cold just yet. She had decided to explore the place a bit more, since there was nothing else that she could do to entertain herself alone. She wasn't disappointed, though she would much rather be attending a party or talking to someone new, she didn't mind taking a piece of her day just to look at a beauty that was often overlooked. People would always just glance at the picture, declare that it was good and move on, but they never thought about how hard one had worked on it, and how look it must have taken for them to create a masterpiece. To her, they should get at least and acknowledgment, it was a talent that not many people have, her included of course.
To her, it was the best way to enjoy the morning, at least until someone came up and talked to her. |
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Post by Lyubochka Pasternak on May 24, 2010 1:06:03 GMT
Lyuba adjusted her headscarf slightly to catch the annoying, wispy hairs that escaped from under it. The thing that annoyed her was that no matter how useful the thing way, it never stayed in place, never kept her hairline clean. How irritating.
She picked up the wooden bucket next to her and tied it to the well rope, afterward moving to the right of the well, where the crank was, to lower it down. The thing she'd noticed these past few weeks is how much more cleaning was necessary, what with the drastic increase in the amount of people living at Peterhof. More little rascals tracking dirt in, more people touching things and leaving prints, more bedrooms to clean. Her arms were going to be come very muscular by the end of this whole ordeal.
After a while, she heard the wet clap of the bucket against the water, and after letting the bucket fill for a few minutes or so, she cranked it back up, afterward carrying it the long path back to the palace. She tried her best to curtsy to the guests that crossed her path, but gave up once she got cursed at by an Italian woman for nearly getting the water on her shoes.
Ah, nobility.
She was very near done with royalty for the day when she came to the picture hall, water sufficiently soapy and rag in hand. Most of the people, generally, had cleared out and those walking in the hall were just passing through. She supposed that once she began cleaning, people would clear out. That, or decide to be inconvenient and tell her to get out of the way.
Before she could start her work, though, she needed to move one solitary figure. She groaned internally, as all indicators pointed to her being high-strung and perhaps a little too regal for her rank. A lady - noblewoman, foreign, Lyuba guessed, as she hadn't seen her around the palace previously, and very pretty.
(She needed to to stop thinking that way).
"Devoushka," she said as nicely as she could muster at the moment, "Pardon me, devoushka, but I need to clean the frame of this picture."
- devoushka = "miss"
- also, sorry it's so short and suckish. :[ i'll do better with the others, promise!
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