Dream a little D R E A M* of me---*(Open)

[Bill Koenig]

Bill leaned back in the chair, his slim pale fingers wrapped around the glass of champagne absently as he twirled it, the gold liquid swirling inside of the clear clean glass. He reached up with his free hand to run it along the smooth, decorative black mask that covered one third of his face, as if making sure it didn't fall off and was still there before he dropped the hand back on rough velvet of the armrest.

His slowly licked his lips, parting them slightly as his sharp, intense maple eyes watching the dancers, all on the dancer floor, wearing expensive dress and quality robes, spinning hand in hand with their partners, oblivious to the actual person behind the mask, only trying to enjoy the moment and forget their worries for the night as they laughed merrily and smiled. They chattered and moved about the spacious room, meeting new people and old friends as they pushed through the party respectfully; because even if they didn't enjoy the party, it was respectful to stay around. Unless one was heading upstairs to one of the bedrooms or bathrooms above. He was one of them, pretending to giggle and gossip, but behind the fake but believable smile, something else lurked behind it. Something no one cared enough to catch, nor notice.

He sighed slightly, lifting the glass delicately to his lips as he took a small sip, wishing he had something stronger. Something warm that would fill him up and make the night more bearable. Everyone could see him. He stood out the most; being pale as snow and wearing a black outfit, it was his signature style, and everyone could see it was him, even if they have not seen him before the rumors on how he looked was very accurate. He even wondered if someone would go up to him and ask him why he was not wearing a dress with another hateful sneer plastered across their lips as their friends stand behind him, pointing and laughing with a delighted and wicked look on their features. He honestly didn't know why he bothered to attend, but his brother insisted, and he promised that he would at the least, pretend to enjoy himself, hence the fake smile, but dull eyes.

He finished the glass before reaching over the table, plucking the bottle that stood forlornly in the middle as a centerpiece, and pouring himself another glass. One wouldn't be surprised to find him sitting in the corner, looking as perfect as he always did, but his eyes cast to the ground, as if he had other things in mind then to see two people get married. Honestly, he didn't care about the marriage, did it benefit him? No. Will it help him? Of course not. He was always the black sheep of the family, and the people of Germany would break out in a riot of he were to ascend the throne, so he was sure he wouldn't be getting married anytime soon.

His eyes trailed up to the stage, there a musicians were playing another song, this one more cheery and upbeat then the last, intended to be something for a quicker dancer to get people excited and happy. That, of course, only darkened his mood further. Even if he did like putting a plastered mask over his face, which he didn't, he still didn't like the people who attended the ball itself, there were too many people for his liking. Too crowded with fake figures donned in jeweleries and riches, while just beyond the gates, people were crying from hungry and children were dying from pains. This world was not for him, he didn't fit, not with the rich, not with the poor and not in this generation.

He snorted as he crossed his legs, lifting the drink until it was next to his lips, but he didn't drink from it, his mind wandering as it always did whenever he was deep in thought. Formal and traditional, he was tired of it. He wanted something new. Something that no one had ever seen, no one in this palace, he meant. He wanted something big- like love. That was it. He was tired to sleeping around with women because people think he was gay, which he wasn't. But they didn't understand it. No one ever did. They wouldn't try, even if they had the time. So was it possible to find it, when no one gave you a chance? His doubts were high, and his hope was low. That was what everyone needed. They were always set up for one thing, one human flaw- power. They all want to be powerful, and they were willing to kill and go to war over it. Was this world so wicked that they were willing to murder their kin just for some land and power?

He took a deep breath and finished the glass before pouring another, shaking his head absently. No, there are some good people, he just needed to find them. But one thing was certain. He looked at the crowd once more. They didn't live in this place. He was to suffer living in luxury and riches alone, looked down upon. Or was there? The diversity in one room was rather shocking, and he had to admit, there were some nice people here and some who were wicked. But it didn't make sense to him. Why should he give them a chance when they won't return the favor. They know he is smart, he is merciful, they are aware, but they didn't care about the inside, it was the looks, the outside.

He leaned to the side, where his free hand was. His hand lifted and pressed its manicured nails against his temple. He didn't know the answer. Only fate knew, he was being played by fate. That was the one thing he hated. He couldn't control his future, all was left to time and fate, most of the time, it never goes well. And he didn't want to be torn with the sands of time, and still at the mercy of fate.

His closed his eyes. He was a sight that had yet to be seen. Everyone who saw him tonight will be dreaming a little dream about him. That much, he was aware and sure of.

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

how can you jubilate sitting in cages,

[/i][/color][/font]
---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center]

The French Royal family had been in Russia less than a week, one of the last to arrive, given that they had almost the farthest to travel of all the monarchies, but already young Jeanne was finding the extravagance quite overwhelming. Yes, the Palaces at home in France were lavish, but this was something entirely different. Perhaps it was because every room was so unfamiliar, or perhaps it was the overuse of gold lacquer and gilt, or perhaps she was just feeling homesick. She didn't know what it was, but she couldn't help feeling lonely, even though the Great Hall was filled with people. She didn't know anyone apart from her family, and the masks didn't help. Still, she was doing her best to enjoy the night, and she had to commend the Russian Tsar and Tsarina -- they certainly threw the most wonderful balls. The festivities matched the decor stride for stride; stunning, breathtaking and opulent.

Jeanne had been to masquerade balls before, and though they were not her thing, she always found herself being sucked into the party atmosphere. It was hard not to enjoy yourself when you had the anonymity of the theme to hide behind if you did something wrong. Not that that was a worry Jeanne had. No, despite her being quite the tumultuous beast when she was behind closed doors, she knew exactly how to behave in front of a crowd, especially one made up of royalty and nobility. Her charm and wit flowed almost as freely as the champagne.

Speaking of which, her slender fingers were curled elegantly around the champagne flute, but although she had been handed the glass by a servant over an hour ago, it remained barely touched. Jeanne had never been one for drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Tongues became too loose, as well as morals, and as a French Princess, only daughter of the King and deceased Queen, she had a reputation to uphold. There was a lot of pressure place on the nineteen year old, but she seemed to carry it well. It did not burden her, enough for others to see at any rate.

She was seated at the long table, watching the myriad of colors of fabrics as those in attendance danced and socialised. Secretly, she longed to go and mingle, but as the young princess, it wasn't her place to. She had to be demure and sit, looking pretty. Such a bore, but she could not deny the wishes of her father. And so, she watched, brilliant blue eyes a stark contrast to the dark MASK that covered her face. It made them sparkle more, made them stand out, as well as her pale skin. No matter how much sun she took, it always remained the same porcelain shade. It matched the DRESS she wore. It was an off-the-shoulder garment, showing off her milky skin and swan-like neck to perfection. Her blonde curls cascaded down, reaching just below her bust. Mask or not, she was beautiful that night.

With the tiniest of sighs, she turned to survey who was still left sitting at the table. There was only a few bodies in their seats -- most were waltzing away to the beautiful music. One in particular caught her eye. Seated only three seats away from her was a man -- despite the black eyeliner that ringed his eyes beneath the mask, the smooth chiselled jawline gave his gender away. She couldn't help but notice the dull eyes that did not correspond with the smile plastered across his thin lips. She had no idea who he was, and she couldn't ask since it was forbidden for identities to be revealed until midnight -- still three hours away. Jeanne didn't mean to stare, but she couldn't help drinking in his features and pondering why he seemed to downtrodden at such an extravaganza. She found it incomprehensible that anyone be unhappy at Peterhof Palace. Yes, she was no longer as ecstatic as she had been when she had first arrived, the novelty wearing off, but it didn't mean she was sad.

She leant an elbow on the velvet armrest of her chair, leaning to rest her chin elegantly on her palm. Her body was turned towards him slightly as a beguiling smile swept over her lips, painted the softest shade of pink. She knew she should have remained quiet until she was spoken too, but she was curious as to not only why he was upset, but why he was making it so obvious. There were ways for him to hide it so much better than he was.

"Monsieur, you seem lonely. Perhaps you would like some company?" she asked, her voice soft and welcoming, but it hinted at her slightly wilder nature if any who heard it listened carefully enough. Her French accent was clear, the dialect dripping off her tongue like warm honey -- delicious if it was something you liked, but repulsive if it was something you did not. She knew it was perhaps a little rude, and it was definately forward, but she could always deny it was her, or hope he had had too much champagne to remember the event the next day.

[/color]

[Bill Koenig]

Bill heard the rustle of something close to silk saunter. A woman, young girl, no doubt. The rustles grew louder as she moved to sit down. He kept his eyes on ahead as his fingers continued to twirl the glass casually, trying to keep himself at the party, or look like it. He was honestly not a fan of masks, they may be be able to hide their faces, but in the end, they cannot hide their true desires. And Bill knew that no doubt some serious drama and gossip will be starting up as soon as the day was finished.

The waiter hurried over and took hold of the now empty champagne bottle, subtly switching it with a newly opened one for Bill. He nodded at the man as his form of thanks before he turned back to the colors of twirling fabric as they spun in a fancy and elegant way, moving from one spot to another so smoothly that Bill didn't even notice until a green dress was then replaced by an ivory one. Maybe it was the large amount of alcohol he had consumed, perhaps his mind was too distant to be able to properly watching the dancers. Either way, he would have been lying if he said that he would rather stay at the party then be at his own bedroom, writing poetry or something of the like. He was an artistic man, not one of such parties, where people were expected to be polite and the way one should treat another is based on the status of which they were born, rather then how they act as a person they are now. Why was it like that? It is not his fault he was born to be a Prince, and yet expect him to act like such and dress and look like such, even if he didn't wish for it to be so. He wanted freedom; to be able to look as he was, and people would see him as a person, not an outcast.

He stiffened slightly as he felt a pair of eyes lay on him. Either the move was from disgust or simply curiosity, he didn't know. The point was that someone was staring.

How rude.

Normally, he would turn around and have his own contest with the person who was doing the staring, or simply just turned around and given him a lesson on respect or polite, he may even give the person a lecture one being subtle. But this was a masked ball, and the man-or woman- who was watching him could simply just have interest in him as a dance partner, after all, they only see a man in a mask, not the Prince of Germany. He wasn't sure if he liked the concept. Would he rather face the looks and be who he is? Or would he like to have blended in like everyone else and have no one see him for his uniqueness? His boldness to stand out?

That was a good question, but he didn't have an answer. He didn't know.

His mind snapped back to where he was when a bold voice called out to him.

Monsieur, you seem lonely. Perhaps you would like some company?A beautiful French accent asked him. He would have taken time to admire the voice, the way the words slipped from her tongue like a fair lady's hair when she puts it down, but it was rude to be so bold. He could judge that she was younger then he was, and therefore had no right, especially a woman, for that matter. But thus- women can do anything they want to, it was only the fact that it was looked down upon did they not rise up to their full power and potential, but grant, this place would never had gotten as it was without a lady to help.

He finally turned his head, his eyes shifting into interest quickly. Yes, he didn't look so thrilled about being here, but he had to reputation to keep. Of course, he regretted the move. What was the point of being alone and reflecting when someone was talking to him? But he wasn't disappointed that what he saw. She seemed to be only a few years younger then he was, and certainly very pretty; from her small but set eyes under some thinly manicured eyebrows to her lips, teasingly full, but no so much it made her face look busy. He raised a brow, not turning his body to her, only his head as he spoke. 'Ah, nein darling, there must be someone you would want to dance with then be sitting down at a party as marvelous as this one,' he replied, like always his German accent with thick, but he spoke with grace and the words came out fluidly, much like everything else he does. He smiled slightly, the corners of his lips moving upwards. Yes, the smile was not big, but it showed kindness and it was genuine. She was pretty, why was she sitting down? Did she not like the party that Russian couple had oh so tediously created for their lovely friends?

Come to think of it, he wasn't a fan of Russia, not the family, but the land. It was so cold, and he often shuddered at the thought of going outside, trying to get some time to relax away from the castle, though the garden was nicely done, he couldn't bring himself to drag him out into the green to marvel it up close. In a way, he was lazy like that, which was why he requested a room close to it, as a form of inspiration.

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

how can you jubilate sitting in cages,

[/i][/color][/font]
---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center]

Jeanne couldn't tell whether her staring had offended him, but she guessed it had. After all, no one liked to be gawped at , though it was a fact those in high stations soon came to accept. If you were royalty or nobility, you were always on display, always watched. Whether those eyes were innocent or corrupt.. well that was something you had to learn to guage, and quickly.

It hadn't been her intention to upset or anger him, she'd just been curious enough to survey him. He was obviously young, so why was he perched at the table like an old man who was too weak or frail, or just disinterested in the goings-on around him to take part. Then again, he could have very well thought the same as her as he turned to survey her.

His accent was thick and obvious.. she knew it to be German having met many German nobles who had travelled the France to meet with her father, the King. She wondered if she would recognise him without the mask, or whether he was just another nameless man with supposedly blue blood. Aristocracy was not like it used to be, not in Jeanne's mind anyway. Her own line was refined over generations, and she always seemed to show a surity in her importance and heritage whenever she was in public. The slightly arrogant tilt of the chin, muted by the kindness in her eyes -- it all suited her so well.

A light smile fluttered over her lips, a little bigger than the one which had been there mere moments before. His statement was perhaps true enough. She could have reeled off a half truth about her not liking dancing.. but she loved it. She was well-taught, and she indeed often even tried to lead, despite it being the man's role. She was passionate about dancing, and whenever she stepped out to waltz she would command attention with a skill far surpassing her age. No, she loved to dance, but she preferred to know who her partner was. Masks never thrilled her when it came to such an intimate thing.. since after all, even the most innocent, platonic dance was intimate in it's passionate movements and graceful steps.

"I've attended enough balls.. I'm sure I can give dancing a miss just once," she said, hinting at her place in society. It was only those higher up in the social food chain that attended socialite balls such as this. "Besides, they seem to be doing well enough without me stepping out there to show them how it's done, non?" There was an arrogance in her tone, but it was not a cold arrogance. It was almost endearing.. impossible to describe but easy to distinguish. It was one of her many charming qualities.

She was curious as to who this Prussian was, but she did not wish to appear too interested. No, she prefered nonchalance - a facade she pulled off well - and so she turned her face back to the dancing crowd. Her body was left facing him just slightly, just to show him that her conversation with him was not entirely finished yet. As usual, she was unwittingly commanding the situation. The champage flute was bought to her lips and she took a tiny sip, barely enough to wet her lips but enough for her to taste the soft sharpness on her tongue.

[/color]

[Bill Koenig]

Bill turned away from her as soon as he had finished speaking and her words started to once more, flow from her lips. He titled his head up slightly, as he watched the band perform. The music drifted to him, filling up the room with the usual classics that they play at least five times in the last hour. There was no variety here, and it was tasteless, nothing really kept him hooked. But then again, he made his own parties, and often they ranged from different music to different activity; while here, one was stuck in one room, dancing with the same hundred people or so, unable to tell the latter their name, only being able to guess by their voices and occasionally their habits. To him, he wanted to know who he was talking about, and at events just like these, he often spent his time alone and guessing who was who. Unfortunately there was just too many people that he have yet to meet to be able to give a name to. It can only be done through memorizing their voices and personality and hoping that he didn't consume too much champagne to forget who he had already met.

And so, his game had begun. Knowing that only royals attended and servants were never to be so bold as to speak to him so, he guess she was either a Queen or Princess, perhaps even a lady-in-waiting, since she didn't know who he was. He was sure she was French, and no Queen that he was aware of would seem so direct or bold. Her words, polite, and at the same time, the way she commented on there was enough people dancing, told him that she wouldn't be anyways, Queens often participated to meet others in other countries. Or so he believed. That was, after all, what his elder brother was doing, scampering about and being committed into small talk that meant nothing. A scam used to get them to like him. He couldn't stand his brother, really.

However he arched a brow as soon as the words slipped in. She was very haughty, and arrogant, he couldn't put his fingers on exactly what she meant by it, however he waited for a moment, lifting the glass to his lips, the liquid trickling down his throat as he considered her words. Was she looking for some company because she was bored as he was? Or was it because she was interested in him? Perhaps she was mingling like his brother was? If she was, Bill had to admit that it was useless, he tried not to mess with the King's affairs, since they were so touchy, and everyone believed that Bill couldn't do anything to fix the problem anyone, being only one person against all the others. One day, they will learn that their country is going to be falling, and realized that they should have taken all the help they could have gotten, not that Bill would be willing.

He tilted his chin up slightly, then cocked his head to the side. 'Indeed, they seem to be enjoying themselves well without our presence. Perhaps they wouldn't miss us as much if we were to take a small walk to the garden for a little while to get some air?' he inquired. He didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, but if she insisted to be around, he didn't want to have to raise his voice over the tuneless music that was being repeated.

She, of course, had the option of coming with him, or leaving. Either way, he returned his half empty glass to one of the trays that belonged to the servants scattered about and stood up to his full height. He was tall, taller then most people, being five feet eleven. In fact it almost towered over everyone, and people turned his eyes to inspect him as he put on hand casually in his pocket, the other hanging by his side as he walked over to her, his strides long and graceful, something that only the German Prince could pull of, the fluid, almost sweeping movements of the way he carried himself usually either put people at ease knowing that he wasn't the type to really cause trouble; or put them on edge, because the way he moved suggested that he was important, he had class.

When he was only a little bit away from her, he leaned forward, bowing his head as he held out his slim, pale hand to her, it was more of an invitation, she could decline and go about her business, and he wouldn't have taken it personally, but at the same time, he wasn't going to stay. He needed some air, as he was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic with so many people standing about, however big the room was. Another small, almost invisible smiled touched his lips, ghosting over his face before it was gone.

Being the perfect boy he had always been, his dull eyes lightened, his face softening out, bring him back a few years until he looked almost nothing more then a young adult rather then a man. However, under the fragile and very breakable surface, something was being hidden, hidden well and it never showed on his face. Time slowed as he waited for an answer, it wasn't that she was talking so long, nor was it that she was being deliberately rude, but he wanted to flee into a different world, where the music wasn't so dull and the people weren't so cold. But since that particular place didn't exist, he wanted to be alone, and he certainly didn't mind some company, seeing that he never had many.

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

how can you jubilate sitting in cages,

[/i][/color][/font]
---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center]

A wry smile fluttered over Jeanne's lips, painted a pale pink -- almost natural, but too matte to be so. This man had manners. Yes, Royalty and nobility was supposed to act prim and proper, but it did not mean that it was always the case. Some possessed arrogance too great to outweigh their politeness. He, it seemed, did not, and immediately Jeanne liked him. She knew she, on occasion, was guilty of such a trait, but it was a rarity. Call it one of her pet peeves, but she hated a royal who acted as if they were above others. Of course they were, above the commoners, but amongst other blue-bloods they were all the same. It annoyed her when some forgot such a simple fact.

His offer of a walk was recieved with a gentle tilt of her chin. The surity of her own importance was etched upon her features, and enphasised by her body language. She saw no reason to decline such an offer.. the ball was fast becoming boring. It was a good idea to hold a ball, but when those invited know only a few, if any, of the other guests, the masks seemed to hinder bonds forming.. in her opinion anyway. More to the point, even in her short life, she had been to so many. At first, as a young princess, she had adored them, enamoured by the opulence. The spinning colors of the fabrics of the womens dresses, the handsome men in their finery, the sweet music.. it had all been so amazing. Now, they were simply a part of life. Not that she could show her disinterest in them publicly. Of course she enjoyed them a little, since she always managed to be the center of attention, but sometimes the limelight was cold and lonely.

"I'd like that, oui, Monsieur," she smiled, turning back to look at him as he approached. His outstretched hand was met with her own as she laid her palm atop his in a ladylike manner. Her other hand placed the still almost-full champagne glass on the table and she rose from her seat. The deep teal tafetta of her dress shimmered through varying hues as she stood and she inclined her head politely. She was short, only five foot two, and so her all-but towered over her, but she did not feel threatened.. she was used to it by now, and had long gotten over any inferiority her small stature might have made her feel when she was younger.

She was like her mother.. short, pretty and blonde, but where as her mother's eyes had been green as emeralds, her's were an icy blue, so cold and clear that under the right light they almost seemed colorless. They were a feature to recognise her by, for sure -- so memorable and so wise beyond her years. She knew most would label her as older than she was, but at nineteen she was still just a girl, left as the only female royal by her mother's passing, and so she had stepped gracefully into the role. It weighed heavy on her shoulders, but none around her would have guessed it.

"These balls can be such a drag, don't you think?" she asked as she waited for him to lead her to where ever they were going. She knew she wouldn't be missed, and although she had the personality to charge off and drag him along, she kept her demure facade. There were two sides to Jeanne.. the Princess, and the girl behind the royalty. Whether he would see the latter as they walked would depend upon how formal he made their meeting.

[/color]

[Bill Koenig]

Bill nodded as her hands rested on his, his slim fingers curling over her small ones as he nodded his head to her, turning around crisply and putting on hand on his back, his posture straight, just as he grew up. He turned his maple eyes to the door that stood only a few meters off from where they were standing. Despite his utter difference to Russia (he always preferred his home in Germany because there was no place like it), he happened to love the garden. He had one where he lived also, but it was a place where no one could find him, it was the time where he could have some peace to himself, even if it only lasted several minutes, it was better then any other place he had been to, where people bustled and moved about, his family yelling orders at the servants, the cleaners getting in his way, he liked being alone, much to the confusion of his parents and brother. He was the black sheep of the family.

He headed out into the hallway, having already memorized the way to the garden and backyard already. His mind was like its own map, the things he wants to remember would be seared in his head, and the things he didn't have interest in would simply either be lost or goes out one ear or the other. He didn't have time to store every fact in his head, he had better things to do, though he did keep some things in head that he knew he should, some things just weren't meant to be forgotten, healed, or be erased.

He turned the corner and led her down the stairs, their footsteps echoing into the close to empty halls. At this time, everyone was around the Kings and Queens, protecting them as they sauntered around in the room. Only a few guards stood at the corner, alone, keeping tense as if at any moment the commoners would storm the place and attack everyone within. Not that Bill thought it wouldn't happen, it could, but he pitied them. He was 'free' to do as he wished, and they were forced to stand there all night and keep the place free of any rebellions. His eyes slid over to the walls, the decorative designs covering any place that was free furniture and paintings. Each room he passed was more ordinate and decorative then the last, and each one had its own theme and uniqueness. He had to admit, he was impressed, it was a place to style and class, where a real royal lives, where they breath and sleep in heaven. It was the life everyone dreamed of, and it showed as fading paints of the family's ancestors lined the wall in one of the corridor he was in.

He finally reached down the stairs and the exit that led to the garden. He titled his chin up and to the side, as if thinking about his move. No one would miss him, he was sure, but it was still wise that they shouldn't spend all night talking and admiring the beauty. He pursed his full lips, parting them absently, as he stopped near a stone bench, though it didn't look too comfortable, it matched the style of the garden, it was traditional, and he could see that as he eyed the curves and corners carved into the stone, creating a beautiful lion that sat on its haunches and guarded the person sitting on the bench itself.

He bowed once more as he led her to that particular seat before he turned and put one hand in his pocket once more, the other hanging by his side. He seemed to have relaxed slightly once he was outside. It wasn't visible, and it was so subtle if no one was watching carefully, they wouldn't notice the slight slump in his stiff shoulders, his eyes brightening into its usual intense and sharp color. The small life of the corners of his lips, more genuine then the smiles he had given everyone in the last three hours. But however real it was, it was small, and he usually kept his face empty of any emotions whenever he talked to someone. And it included her.

He tilted his head to look at the sky, the moon shining its silvery rays down on him, his took a small breath, almost bathing in the light that was so bright compared to the night sky. The dark canvas seemed to stretch endlessly, and once more, he admired the beauty of the night, and he had to admit that he wished he could find a way to keep the night going, to let it stay in the sky indefinitely, or at least just a while longer. A beauty like that shouldn't pass by unnoticed, like many things in life, the perfect things in life are small, and they always come back. People just don't appreciate it, or take the time to.

He finally took the time to answer her question. He wasn't going to flat out say what he wanted to when someone could be lurking around, listening in to what they had to say. It wasn't that he was paranoid, but if he was walking down the hall and he heard someone talking about something interesting in the least, he was sure he would have told someone else about it. And that was how rumors started, on a real fact, but a dramatic twist that never happened. 'It is not that it is a drag, it is just something I do not attend to,' he murmured in his smooth voice, choosing his words with care. He wouldn't dare say something that could be used against him, and she would be better off by following his move. He licked his lips and took another breath, turning his head to look at her, a small twinkle in his eyes.

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

how can you jubilate sitting in cages,

[/i][/color][/font]
---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center]

They walked in silence, and it was certainly a bit disconcerting for the young Princess. The empty palace seemed quite eerie, and yet the splendour they passed negated any scary thoughts. Moonlight filtered through the windows of the slightly darker corridors, casting everything in it's calming silvery glow, and Jeanne noted how Peterhof looked almost ethereal when illuminated by lunar light. She almost felt that their echoing footsteps were disturbing something, though she didn't know what. Perhaps they were disturbing the grandeur itself?

Once they were out in the gardens, Jeanne noted again how beautiful everything looked when the moon shone on it. She had a great love for natural light, and could not prevent the smile that crept onto her lips. The noise from the fountains was soft and relaxing, the waters shimmering like melted silver in the moonlight. Her guide led her to a bench, and she took the seat. Her hand left his and she bunched her skirts up enough that she could sit down comfortably. Despite it being warm in the day, the night seemed cooler, sharper, and she found herself wishing she had brought a shawl down to the masquerade with her. It was not cold enough to make her shiver, simply to cause light goosebumps to rise on the tops of her uncovered arms.

Finally, he answered her question, and Jeanne could not help but grin, eyes rolling ever-so-slightly. She was not being condescending in her actions, but it was obvious that he was not speaking plainly. Rarely did anyone ever speak plainly with Jeanne, either through fear of being overheard, or through fear of losing her favour and therefore her father, the King's. She, however, made it a point to speak plainly and honestly. It got her into trouble occasionally, though she was not silly enough to do it in front of a big audience. Still, she could not help herself from making it obvious that she had picked up on his carefully chosen words, whether it displeased him or not.

"Your words are guarded, monsieur. There is no one around, and yet I think you will not agree that being stuck in a room, however splendid, with the same music playing over and over, is enough to drive any one insane," she said, a wry smirk floating over her features. It was true that there was none to overhear -- in the gardens, even the sounds of the string quartet was lost to distance, and in the silence it would be easy to hear anyone approaching. But there was nothing, just a gentle stillness and a soothing quiet that Jeanne doubted very much she would find again during her stay in Russia.

She crossed one leg over the other elegantly beneath her skirts, and the tafetta gave a light rustle. Her tiny palms came to smooth down the fabric, though of course there was no creases there -- it was a force of habit brought about by her mother. You must always look proper, her mother had said, and Jeanne had remembered it. Above everything else, even above being a woman, she was a Princess. It was quite displeasing at times, though Jeanne would never change her social position for the world. She had seen the way the poorer classes lived, and oh, how she pitied them.

"At any rate, how are you finding Russia, since I am guessing you are not a Romanov?" In truth she was angling for his identity, though she knew none were supposed to reveal it until midnight. Still, what would it hurt out here? Jeanne had come to Russia hoping for an adventure in the strange new country, but she had quickly realised she would have to make her own, since the Peterhof Palace reminded her so very much of her own familiar Versailles.

[/color]

[Bill Koenig]

Bill's eyes cast down to the ground for a moment, away from the sky before he flickered them forward to the trees. Her words created a small flicker of a smile to pass by his face before it was gone, as if never present. He reached up with one hand to fix his hair before replying in the same, smooth voice he always used. 'It is not that I am being guarded, perhaps it may be true to you, playing the same music over and over again could drive one insane, but to others it didn't matter about the music, it would give one to dance with another, to meet someone knew to make a friend for the night. I didn't say that I do not like it because of that, it is simply not for me. I am being neutral,' he replied. She would come to learn, if she remembered him the next day or however long until they leave, that he will never answer a question directly, yes partial fear of ears picking things up that should be left to deaf ears, but also because it was who he was. He kept himself distinct, away from others, some might say it is a mysterious gesture, others believe that he doesn't know the answer and so he makes it up. But whatever his intentions for being so was, he wasn't going to say, giving the circumstances. He never would give away who he was as a person, because that was all he has, if it is gone, he would be nothing.

He placed the heel of one boot in front of the tip of the other, leaning back on his back leg absently, as he turned to look at her with a empty smile. 'No, I am not Romanv. As you said, no one is around to hear us, perhaps you tell me who you are and I'll give you likewise? I won't tell if you don't,' he said, his fingers reaching up to wrap itself around his mask, hinting her to take it off if she really wanted to know who he was. He dropped his hand after a moment and placed it back in his pocket. Of course, she could say no and continue idly guessing, but there were many people they invited, not just kings, queens, princes and princesses, there were duke, duchess, and barons of many different countries. And if she was able to place that he was German, it only narrowed it down a little more then halfway. Perhaps, if she was really attentive, she could pick up on his acts, he was a prince, and was expected to act so, the way he was with her was no act, it was him, the same attitude to everyone else, including his family.

He pursed his lips at her first question, the one he had ignored and moved on to answer the second one. How did he like it? He had mixed feelings, however nice it was, he liked home better. But was it home the reason why he didn't like it here, or was it because of the crowd that he couldn't stand? Everyone knew that he didn't like too many people. He sometimes wondered if he was born in the right generation, he wasn't made to be a prince, and he knew that. Even if he was the elder brother his parents wouldn't have wanted him to be king, his brother no doubt would fit the title more then he ever would.

He finally shrugged lightly. 'It is nice, but one would always prefer to be home then about, nein?' he answered, funny, he never really put much thoughts in his words, and yet people always hated the way he answered things, with indifference, uncaring on the topic. He never liked to show much interest in things, he didn't know why, but royals were too materialistic, always wanting the next best things, and he had no desire for them. 'And you? Surely being someone so noble enjoy the travels?' he asked, returning the questions back to her, he didn't like to be the one over analyzed, it made him feel pressured, and he didn't work well, or so he told himself; inside he was shifting uncomfortably, finding the right answers, but outside, as always, he was cool, collected, and seemed that he knew what he was doing.

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

how can you jubilate sitting in cages,

[/i][/color][/font]
---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center]

He offered her a deal of sorts, if she gave him her identity, he would give her his. She couldn't see that it would matter out here. Although identities were supposed to be kept secret until the clocks chimed midnight, they had technically left the ball. The soft music could not even be heard, floating from the ballroom, and they were completely alone in the grounds for now. Everyone was too busy soaking up the opulence of the masked ball. She watched his fingers trailing to touch his mask and she noted how he himself did not remove it, as though he wished her to remove it.

As he asked how she was finding Russia, she rose slowly, gently, as if she was approaching a skittish kitten. Her tafetta dress gave a soft rustle as she moved. She was careful not to stand too close.. it would be quite imappropriate, and also damn near impossible with the size of the crinoline beneath her skirts and petticoats. Fashion.. How she loathed it at times.. Her hand came up slowly to where his own had been moments before, her fingers brushing against his cheek lightly as she took hold of his mask. She didn't tug nor pull it yet.

"I like to see the World, of course I do.. And the people in it.. But I always miss home," she spoke quietly, before gently, slowly pulling the mask up and over his head, to pull it free of his face. His features were fully exposed to her, and a gentle smile tugged at her lips. He was handsome, his features slightly effeminate, accentuated by the black eyeliner he wore. She had to admire his individuality, and there was no scorn nor mocking in those eyes as they locked with his for a moment. Silently, she placed his mask back in his own hand, and brought her own hand to her mask, indicating for him to remove it. It seemed.. sensual in a platonic way.. A tiny piece of pleasures of the flesh without losing their reputation. Yes, tongues would wag if they were stumbled upon but.. what was the harm in living dangerously just for a few moments?

"Your turn.." she whispered softly, her own hand falling from her mask, the same gentle smile still on her lips.

[/color]

[Bill Koenig]

Bill closed his eyes the skin that was once hidden by the mask was now in the open, the rushing wind reaching out to stroke the spot it missed a few seconds prior.His slowly opened his chocolate orbs to watch her, their gazes quickly locking, as if the latter refused to be the first one to look away. He absently put out his hand as she gave his mask back to him, his eyes trained with hers with intensity, as if merely waiting for a scorning sneer or a comment of which words of hurt, which would, in the end fall flat. There was nothing he hadn't heard yet, and he wouldn't listen to them, but still, the type of reactions he got was rather fascinating.

But, it surprised him when she did none of the sort, only smiling at him, her eyes sparkling, not a trace of hatred nor disgust apparent. It wasn't a different reaction, he usually some just like her, admiring for his boldness to stick out, and at times the will to not bend nor break, even with the heavy knowledge that his family's reputation was at stake. But he kept to himself in his own private rooms, not speaking much to anyone but his family, the secret, however public it was, was known that Wilhelm won't be on the throne. Probably that thought comforted most. The few friends that looked at him with those eyes, however blank he was at times, told him that they were real, because in this age, they wouldn't even look at him because of what they saw.

He took a step forward, moving a little closer then she had, if only her dress wasn't so..big, it wouldn't have bothered him, not that it made much of a difference. His fingers reached up to her face, tracing her features with the mask on, running them down her cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch remained gentle, as if free from any desires to do no more the take the mask off, however slow the process was. Finally, one hand, still holding his black one moved to the back of her head, the other taking a light and firm grasp of the mask before slowly pulling it off, not wanting to mess her hair in anyway, it could have taken her who knows how long to make it look so, and he wasn't going to be the one to ruin it.

He peeled off the mask, his eyes taking in her features. Almost quickly he knew who she was. A princess of the Bonaparte family. His lips quirked into what seemed like a small smile, giving her mask back to her before reaching up again, freely running the back of his fingers down her skin, free of anything that certainly didn't belong there. It was another reason why he wasn't fond of masquerades, hiding faces that should never be hidden, beauty should always be present, and yet modest, perfect at all times, but not in a gloating manner. 'I must say Princess, you look more lovely up close then the fleeting glances I get of you when you arrived,' he murmured, he arrived only a few seconds after she did, and he saw her before she disappeared inside.

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

how can you jubilate sitting in cages,

[/i][/color][/font]
---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center]

Closer he stepped now, invading her personal space as much as her bulbous dress would allow. Crinoline, layered with only God knew how many petticoats, along with a bustle and the skirts of her dress. It weighed a lot, though now she barely noticed it, so used to being buried under tonnes of fabric for years, but it did not mean that at times she did not resent it. Being prodded and poked for long moments while the outfit was built up slowly like a jigsaw puzzle.. all for the sake of fashion. Still, such was the life of a princess, and she could hardly complain. She knew how lucky she was, but it didn't mean she felt any less caged in swathes of material.

His touches, so gentle and tender and yet innocent, set her skin ablaze, and she would never admit it, but a small spark of passion was ignited deep in the pit of her flat stomach. She could blame it on the cold night air, but the real reason behind the slight gooseflesh that appeared on her exposed shoulders was his skin on hers.. Such soft fingertips, and yet his lack of desire behind it was almost maddening for a short moment. It was so obvious that he meant nothing by his actions, and yet a part of her wished for just a moment that there was more behind it than pleasantries and politeness. Why? She had no idea. Perhaps it was simply that he was a new face, a new person.. a change from the familiar people she was surrounded with. Russia was full of them, the palace teeming with new friends to make, new lovers to scorn, new enemies to make -- the ones she would still have to smile politely at and converse snippily with, of course -- and he was just the first of many.

He removed her mask, exposing her face to him for the first time that evening, and as he did so, she closed her eyes. Her lips were parted only slightly, the bottom one jutting ever-so-slightly in a natural pout she did not control nor even notice. and her breath hitched softly in her throat. Not quite a gasp, and not for a prolonged amount of time, only a few moments, and as she exhaled, those sky-blue eyes fluttered open to capture his once again. Perhaps they twinkled a little differently now, perhaps they seemed a little more flirtaceous, their usual beguiling glare masked for the present moment, or perhaps it was simply her imagination that they did.. She didn't know, but she didn't worry herself over it.

His compliment was recieved with a gentle smile, and she turned her head to the side a little, eyes averting downwards. It was not a gesture of shyness, nor arrogance, simply a coy move that she tended to do whenever she gained a compliment from a strange dignitary. Jeanne was quite awkward where compliments were concerned.. She knew most of them to be true. She knew she was a beautiful young woman, her features etched with years of aristocratic breeding for beauty as well as power, and yes she possessed more than a little arrogance, her surety of her own looks and importance clear in most every graceful movement she excecuted. No, what she was unsure of was the sincerity. She knew well enough that manners were everything, and flattery quickly won favor at social gatherings, but she also knew how false the words that tumbled from noble lips could be.

He used her title when he addressed her, and so she knew from that that he was aware of who she was, but his face was not one she could easily place. She had seen so many faces already in her first couple of days in Russia, been introduced to so many people, and though she tried her hardest to remember names and faces it was often impossible to do so. There was only so much information her mind could hold, but far more information she needed to retain. The imbalance was incredible, the way she managed to bluff her way through even more incredible still. But his face.. His style.. She was sure she would have remembered it if they had been formally introduced. How could she forget the chiselled-yet-soft jawline, the honest, earnest eyes ringed with charcoal black, the ebony hair? No, she was certain she had not been introduced to him yet.

"Well, now I feel quite terrible, mon seigneur*. You seem to know who I am, and yet now, even with masks removed, I am still clueless as to your identity," she said after a short moments silence. Her head was turned to face him again, eyes once more capturing his gaze and attempting to hold it. Not in a demanding way, though.. in a soft, lady-like way. She did not command his gaze, but nor did she beg for it. She simply wanted to hold it, to be able to focus her sapphire eyes on his own intense oculars. "Forgive me?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. In the silence of the grounds, it needed to be no louder, and again those words were warm and soft, honey-like and sweet. Her accent was neither strong nor soft, simply present in her songbird-like voice.

She offered him another of her smiles, and that was when her beauty truly shone through. As soon as the corners of those lips tugged upwards, her entire face was illuminated. It was not a face to launch a thousand ships, no, but it was a face that many men would come to dream of, to fantasize of.. and many already did. There was no denying her face was perfectly sculpted, especially when she smiled.

"I am certain if we had met that I would remember you.. And even more certain that now I shall not forget you.." she spoke again, the same whispered tones, and the platonic situation was taking a slightly more tense air, if only on her part. He was certainly handsome, but she had no desire to take a lover.. Unless it was for political reasons.. Or so she told herself, so she had been led to believe. But the truth was, she was a young woman, highly aware of herself and her sexuality, and highly aware of how the present situation could progress.. But they were such girlish thoughts, so silly, that she banished them from her mind as quickly as they raced through it.

* my lord.

[Bill Koenig]

Bill watched her, her plush lips parted, her eyes sparkling with intensity. His fingers reached up to trace her lower lip, dragging it down slightly as his hand moved to her chin, tilting it up so their gazes should meet. There was something sensual about the way they handled things, the way they kept quiet, and yet the movements, the reaction weren't as subtle as their voices. They didn't speak, , her reaction told him what he needed to know, all that there was too it was the answer, should he respond to it? Should he give her what she knew she wanted, perhaps even refused to admit? There was no need for words, people often underestimate the strong answer to simple and basic body language. Those usually are done unconsciously, unthinkingly, and sometimes they are, it is easy to tell, from the simple surprise look on their faces or the twinkle of a practiced eye. At this moment, most of her moves were unplanned, she moved through them without even looking back and realizing what she had done. What would be the answer to the question?

Maybe; for a few reasons. One was that he knew of his status, he knew who she was, and he knew where he was, and at the point they stand, it was looking bleak and slightly even boring. It was the cost of living the high life. He was a prince, and he should act so. His desire for such an event wasn't as overwhelming, nor was it very dominate, but he couldn't deny the fact that they were alone, and the only thing that really could stop him (besides her dress) was her. There was another thing, close to a pet peeve, or something that just miffs him, he wasn't interesting in a lover like his brother was with his mistresses, they didn't amuse him. Women were supposed to stand tall and strong, they can do what they will themselves to do, they shouldn't be at the mercy of a man, against her will or not. Of course, one night of a drunken escapade wouldn't change much, could it?

His lips curled, tilting his head to the side lightly, his lips parted slightly as his smoldering eyes matched hers, the blue ones that sparkled. 'So formal, we live in a world where who we are born from determines who we are and how important, and unfortunately not how we act to life,' he murmured softly. It was true, he was born a noble, it was the only reason why people didn't dare mess with him and others smiled in front of his face, but in the end, they don't know who he was, they don't know how he acted to other, if he was nice or not, if he was rude and arrogant or merciful and sympathetic. If he had been born a commoner and acted like he did now, then he wouldn't live much longer with the hatred that swirled the air. And even alone with a friend or someone he had never met before, it was the same concept. 'However, if it is my identity that you clearly wish to seek, then I will tell you. I am the Prince of Germany,' he murmured quietly, his fingers stopping just as he reached her jawline, where he moved it forward until his nails met her lips once more. It was maddening, who he dress caused such an annoyance at the moment, if it wasn't in the way, it wouldn't be so formal, but he hoped they didn't get too comfortable, after all there was a ball, and surely eventually, someone was going to come and look for her; the Princess. He dipped his head slightly in respect before his gaze turned back to her, his tongue running along his lower lip as he took a small breath and spoke once more. 'Prince Koenig, Wilhelm Koenig, at your service,' he murmured, his voice becoming more smooth and silky as he spoke.

'Perhaps, for this night, we continue the rules, I don't know you, Miss Bonaparte, and you not I. And we'll pretend that we are identity-less, no formality and no rules. Just you and I, until we part ways and head back to the party,' he suggested lightly, his voice almost flippant as he threw the idea in the air. For once he wanted to be Bill, not Wilhelm, and not the Prince. A freedom to do he wished and not have to worry about his status. She was, as always, welcome to decline it, but it would be interesting to see her rise to the occasion and be herself truly. But he wouldn't be much different. He only had on personality.

The moonlight illuminated her face in a perfect way, showing off every features of her angular face, smoothing her skin out and giving it a light glow. He wouldn't say he was impressed, but at the same time, he wouldn't say she was nothing if not above average, but living his life, he had seen beautiful, and in the end, it ceased to mean anything to him anymore. He remembering being a child and watching the people who entered and depart his home, each one was different, but all were perfectly sculpted, beautiful, not a mark that showed anything less then perfect. But seeing the same thing over and over, it ceased to be pretty to him anymore, he only acknowledged it, but that was it.

His fingers reached forward once more brushing past her collarbone before he took a step back with a formal bow, his eyes lower to the ground. Once he pulled away from her personal space, his eyes smoldered with a challenging look as he turned and headed a little further into the garden where the fountain was.

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

how can you jubilate sitting in cages,

[/i][/color][/font]
---------------- never taking wing? -------------------------------------- [/color][/font][/center]

His hand remained in contact with her skin, causing the gooseflesh to grow and remain raised. His fingertips roamed her jawline, her neck, her lips, her cheek.. Such sensual touches, so soft and tender.. and with each inch his digits travelled over her porcelain flesh they seemed to become less innocent.. though whether it was truly their intention or if she was imagining it was a different matter entirely. Was it simply because she longed for it to be so? Jeanne didn't want to tumble into bed with the German prince, but skin contact, perhaps even a kiss.. No, her thoughts were becoming too bold. Far too bold. A soft blush rose to her cheeks that would be evident even in the soft silvery moonlight.

He introduced himself, and the name was familiar to her. She knew it from conversations, but she had yet to meet the German royal family at length. But if they were all as charming and intruiging as the Prince before her.. Jeanne would look forward to being formally introduced..

His suggestion was interesting to say the least. Simply be Jeanne, not Princess Jeanne Bonaparte. To leave her formalily and her strict ways of behaving just for a while.. It sounded idyllic, and she had to give him kudos for his idea. She would never have suggested it, nor thought of it herself, but she decidedly liked it. To be herself and leave the rules of their class in society behind. For a few moments, she could be a normal teenage girl. She would not have to overthink her every word to ensure it sounded witty and intelligent enough. Wouldn't have to falsify a smile even if she wanted to frown or simply walk away.. though she doubted such a situation would arise with Wilhelm.

His hand left her skin and she found herself sighing gently. Where the warmth of his touch had been now seemed cold, even though the night-time air was more favourable then cool. He began to walk away and she frowned softly for a moment, watching him move away from her and further into the gardens. If they were going to drop formalities.. she might as well do it all in one fell swoop. A devilish grin spread across her features as she slipped her feet from her boots. She left them where they were beside the bench -- she would find them later before they ventured back to the ball. Her tiny hands bunched her skirts up to hold them off the floor as she ran after him. Not a hurried run, but a playful, almost skipping, gait. Her feet padded softly across the lawn, and despite her speed, she still possessed all her elegance and grace as she ran, first catching up with him, then overtaking him.

"Come, monsieur.. I'll race you!" she giggled, and in her natural, normal state, the smile that spread across her lips as she called to him over her shoulder was breathtaking.. As if her guardedness caused her to dull her expressions and their true beauty only shone through in stolen moments such as this. She didn't know where she would race him too, nor if he would even play along .. if he would find it too childish .. but it was worth a try. It couldn't hurt to let her hair down. Speaking of which, as she ran the pins which elegantly held it in it's style worked themselves loose, and within a few strides it had tumbled down over her shoulders. The yellow curls floated down her back now, such a start contrast to the dark fabric of her dress.

The grass was slightly dewy and it soaked her stockings as she ran, making her feet wet, but there was a girlish excitement that had overtaken her. She didn't know why she trusted him enough to expose her inner child, her inner personality so easily, but she was not about to fight it or question it. Rarely did she get to feel free, and as the light breeze whipped at her hair and the grass beneath her feet stained her white stockings a bright green, she simply enjoyed the moment, hoping he would join in too. In that moment, they weren't a prince and a princess.. They were people, plain and simple..

[Bill Koenig]

Bill looked at the sky for a moment, taking in the stars once more, when it came to the night, there was something about it that he couldn't look away from, the beauty that seemed to jut settle over the land, it can be seen from anywhere, all people just had to do was stand outside and tilt they heads back. It was something that couldn't be seen anymore. Almost sacred, but not rare, not unusual, but just overlooked, like a book on the shelf. It may hold many things of value, but its contents were hidden wrapped in worn parges and dusty bindings. Tonight was no different.

He stopped at the fountain, his fingers reaching down to run it over the smooth surface. His mind started to become a little more clear, as the silence started to drag, behind him the sounds of the dress ceased, almost as if she disappeared. It didn't matter what she choice, did it? Only one night. He snapped his brown orbs up when the rustle of a moving body suddenly appeared, moving much faster then one should be. He turned his head just in time to see the Princess running past him, her lips moving to speak to him. At first, the words escaped him, the sounds weren't forming since his distraction of the sight before him. After a few moments he turned his brown eyes to look at the waters.

Come, monsieur.. I'll race you!

He had challenged her to let go for one night, and she had done it so easily, his wind worked quickly, processing one thought but not finishing it as he thought about it. It seemed the more he pondered it, the more of his noble side showed. He watched her before he shook his head. He couldn't think about it if he was going to go through with it. He laughed slightly before pulling away from the fountain and following her, with quick strides of his long legs, his legs propelled him forward, not fast enough that it was a run, but enough that the thought of who he was abandoned from his mind, it was hard. It was his way of life, he might as well said to become someone different, reckless, but somehow, he liked it.

With that dress, she couldn't beat him, but he also didn't have to move very fast to keep pace with her, only a light jog, since his height towered over most, he didn't have to worry much besides the hanging canopy of the trees on occasional spots that seemed to show up here and there.He laughed, running his hands through his hair as they traveled deeper into the garden, filled with twist and turns. It felt so free, there was no restriction on what they could do, just two people. He had always wondered what it felt like, knowing that at the moment, how childish they were behaving, it was the thought that they could do so and still get away was what mattered. It was only a fraction of freedom, because by the end of the hour or night, they are back in the real world, him being trapped into the laws and etiquette of Germany suffering from being too stressed and under the burden of his title.

But that was later, even if it was not long before they head back, now was that counted. He felt like he had been unchained, and his will to do what he wanted and endless. 'We cannot race without knowing where the finish line is, can we?' he inquired, unable to keep his logical side away, it was obvious really, they could get lost, or simply just keep running, then again even if there was a spot where they could meet to win, it was hard to know exactly where it was, with the maze of a garden that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of them both. It was like a path not taken, and it had yet to be fully explored.