Spotlight On Me & I'm Ready To Play | OPEN

[Victoria Saxe-Coburg II]

• • • I WANT TO RECONCILE THE VIOLENCE IN YOUR HEART • • •
VICTORIA ELIZABETH SAXE-COBURG II

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• • • I WANT TO RECOGNISE YOUR BEAUTY'S NOT JUST A MASK • • • [/CENTER][/SIZE]

dress. | hairstyle. | mask.

The masquerade ball had been a cause for much excitement for the English Princess. She excelled at social functions, always the belle of the ball, and she was definitely looking forward to it. She had spent the entire day getting herself ready. She had had her lady-in-waiting draw her a bath, and she had spent many hours preening herself. Looks were very important to the young woman, and only the finest appearance would do for her.

She had picked her dress carefully from her vast collection.. it had to be just right. Not too bold, nor not fancy enough that it was overlooked. Nothing that made her seem as if she was trying to be more than she was, but nothing that made it seems as though she was trying to hide her status. She had chosen one of her Italian gowns, a gift from visiting dignitaries. It was beautiful, a cream and gold masterpiece with accents of crimson, and the rest of her outfit had been organised around the dress as the centrepiece. Her mask was gold, accented with cream, and the dainty shoes she wore beneath the dress were gold too, though they were hidden by the folds of fabric.

She had ordered her hair to be piled atop her head in a most elegant manner, and though it was outdated by today's standards, it suited her well. She adored to wear her hair as her ancestors would have done a century ago.. it was her little indulgence. Two thick ringlets dangled one either side, draped over her shoulders, and about her neck was a string of pearls which had accompanied the dress from Italy. Her make up was simple, by her standards atleast... she had paled her face a little, though not much given her already milky complexion. A pale red blush covered the apples of her cheeks, and her lips were painted a rich ruby red, making them look fuller and more pouty than they were.

Upon entering the ball, a light smile had graced her lips at it's opulence. She was used to splendour, and the Romanov's certainly did not disappoint. She was handed a flute of champagne, and she took a hearty yet ladylike sip, allowing the sharp taste to make her tongue tingle. It was a vintage champagne, she could tell by the flavour, and it was quite appetising. In that moment, she knew she was going to enjoy her visit to Russia. Taking only a few steps inside the doorway, she smirked as she watched the whirling fabrics of the dancing couples. Every colour could be seen, in every hue and shade, from the deepest blacks to the crispest whites; the most vivid reds to the coolest blues.

She knew it would not be long until someone asked her to dance. Even though the mask covered her face, held in place with a white velvet ribbon tied in a bow behind her head, her beauty was obvious. From the swan-like curve of her slender neck, the effeminate shape of her jawline, and her high-set cheekbones.. She screamed aristocracy and feminism. A sight to behold indeed, and she knew it.. it was obvious from the slight upturned nature of her chin, showing her own surety of her bloodline and breeding. Such an aristocratic nature, she was a gem among the haughty royals.

Another sip of the champagne was taken as she made her way further into the room, delighting in the soft tones from the string quartet. It was a Viennese waltz, and she noted the irony.. A piece of Vienna in Russia. Then again, was there not a piece of every corner of the world there in the Peterhof palace for the summer?

She was hoping to use the season to gain favour with the royalty and nobility from the entire globe, to make a name for herself as the eldest English princess. With her wit, charm and grace, it was a possible and indeed obtainable goal. She knew it wouldn't be long before she attracted all manner of attention, and she would thrive on it.. she always responded better to be fawned over. Being ignored was not an option for Victoria, and whether she was handed the limelight, or had to use her talents to be put under the spotlight, one thing was for sure.

She would be noticed.

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[Theodore Bonaparte]

WHAT DAY IS IT? AND IN WHAT MONTH? THIS CLOCK NEVER SEEMED SO ALIVE.
i can't keep up and i can't back down, i've been losing so much time.

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ALL OF THE THINGS THAT I WANT TO SAY JUST AREN'T COMING OUT RIGHT. I'M TRIPPING ON WORDS.
you've got my head spinning.
i don't know where to go from here.[/b][/SIZE][/color]
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[/i][/b][/color], Theo reflected, picturing a smiling version of his mother, dancing about the ballroom—one guest to the next, laughing, singing, brown hair thrown about in wild curls as she tossed her head back and forth—being alive once more. A small part of him felt sick, thinking of his mother now—she was six feet under the ground in a stone-cut tomb, lying upon a gem-encrusted slab of concrete. None of it fit her, and yet, death was her dress. The edges of Theo’s lips twitched at the thought of it. A servant walked by and he snatched a glass of champagne.

The young Prince Bonaparte had not put any thought into what he was wearing, not given a single opinion as to his outfit choice—but then again, he never did. The cotton dress shirt all under the woolen three-piece suit and tie was no doubt one of the maid’s works. Hence the uncomfortable feeling he had about himself at the moment. The black, floccus cloth of his over-coat was far too snug for this event: it was in a heated room with at least a hundred people! Furthermore, his mask—a leather replication of the face of the Egyptian goddess Bast—was so far off from something he would’ve preferred, he had been avoiding the mirrors lining the wall the whole night. Who on Earth had decided Theo should wear a female cat mask to this masquerade ball was obviously a sick individual who did not understand the symbols and significance of certain things in other cultures. For some reason, Theo got a stinking feeling that his father had been the selector of this particular mask. He doubted his father had any idea the creature was female, and he doubted even further he actually knew what the creature was. Claude had told him, before he left to the ball, exactly what his mask was. It was a representation of Egyptian beauty, fertility, and music. Had it not been a feminine mask, Theo may have accepted it. Perhaps.

Taking a swift sip of his champagne, Theo gazed about the party with wary eye. He recognized some people: monarchs from all about the world, lords and ladies from every kingdom and realm. Like himself, almost everyone seemed over-dressed and done far too up, but, unlike himself, they were perfectly pleased. Women wore masks coated in feathers and sparkles; men wore things much less gaudy, but still tasteful and expensive looking. As far as Theo was concerned, everyone here was just as stupid as he was, but far too vain to admit to it. Partly, Theo was disgusted, but partly, he was amused. Never before had he felt above people before. He could tell, just by looking, that these people thought merely with their eye, but not with their mind or heart. Now, while he couldn’t say he used his brain very well or often, he could, however, say that his heart was being used. Had guilt and humility not been part of the platform of morals upon which his mother raised him, Theo may have been pleased with himself. But, to most respects, he wasn’t. He was still, as he was initially, lonely. Alone in a crowded room, he mused despondently.

Theo took gulped another few ounces of champagne, this time letting the liquid settle onto his taste buds and trickle at a leisurely place down his throat. The champagne was, with no significant doubt, of Moet et Chandon, the most popular champagne producer in all of France. The flavoring was unique, something Theo had not tasted yet, but most certainly Moet. He analyzed the taste for a few moments, picking up hints of licorice, mint, and pears. It was most certainly vintage, but he had not a clue what the name was. The Russian’s were obviously full of wealth—he was sure he had never tasted such a thing. It was probably set at least ten or fifteen years: he wouldn’t deny, it was delightful. However, the alcohol content, surely, was not very strong.

From the inside of his jacket, Theo removed a small, metal flask. Pulling the cap off, he slipped a bit of the liquid into his champagne bottle, rapidly closed the bottle and put it back into his inside breast pocket. Theo proceeded to take another sip of his now tainted champagne, and a serene smile fell upon his face. Hungarian moonshine, his only true friend. It was of the finest quality, and the airy and loose feeling it gave Theo was invaluable. Suddenly, he saw the party with a whole new set of eyes. Oh true apothecary, thy drugs are quick!

The lights about the party grew brighter and whiter the stiller he stood. Calm laughs turned to outcries of joy, and flirtatious grins turned to overzealous smiles. Everything grew louder, shinier. The room was suddenly very cold as it burst with a silver light. Theo blinked, first, once, then twice. A brilliant glow came from the direction of the entrance to the ballroom. He attempted to focus, failed, then attempted to again. And could finally. A magnificent beauty punctured his retina. A woman, hair golden, piled atop her head—a mountain of soft, wheat curls. The creamy skin of her neck and face sparkled particularly, and, even behind her mask, you could tell that the girl was simply gorgeous. The dress, a warm white with red accents and rose embellishments, hugged her small frame in just the right way. Her mask was of pure gold, and it only accented her rosy cheeks. She wore little to no makeup, and yet, so much beauty. As she smiled, the room burst into flames and it began too feel too warm again. Another few sips of champagne, but there was no use. As she made her way across the floor, a magnificent specter of both grace and poise, Theo took a step closer to her, and then a step away. He had no nerve, yet. He did however, catch a whiff of her scent: roses mingled with something else that he was unsure of.

As she continued on, a bomb of ecstasy detonated in the heart of Prince Bonaparte. Cynicism was wiped from his persona and in him formed a second being: one created solely by the rapture that us humans call, far too simply, love. The nine million words and phrases Theo had read of love now seemed irrelevant: none could describe the feeling he had now. Except for, perhaps, to love is to receive a glimpse of heaven—that, he surely knew to be true now, watching the ethereal beauty that moved elegantly across the dance floor, several meters from his body. A large part of Theo—the part clinging to all quotations and concept of love—told him that seeing her, as she was, in true perfection, in that moment, would be good enough to sustain him for the rest of his life. However, the smaller part, the part of Theo that was truly Theo, unaffected by years and years of reading and listening to other people’s opinions on all and every matter, cried out that no, in fact, it would not be good enough just to see love in one moment and be done with it. In fact, Theo knew, beyond all necessary doubt, that in order for him to be truly happy, to truly be sure he was in the throws of love, Theo would have to touch her, to hold her for at least a minute. And have her name. Oh, he surely had to have a name. He knew, what’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet., but it did not help in this scenario, as he was sure he must know her, to love her. If that is not so, then why would be named at all?

Pausing, Theo listened to the song. Some rendition of the Viennese Waltz had begun. On usual occasion, Theo probably would’ve been able to do this easily. However, he was stone cold drunk at the moment, on more than just moonshine. Nerves came to Theo easily. He took the last bit of his champagne and handed it off to a very confused noblewoman. “Just take it, please madam. I need…I need…” His mind grew fuzzy as he watched the blonde from his position against the wall. Her, he would’ve moaned to the distraught noblewoman. But, he knew he must know her name, and there was not a moment to lose.

Slowly (as he was severely inebriated, mind you), Theo’s bulky form made it’s way across the ballroom. As he got closer and closer to the angel he seeked, his heartbeat quickened. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! 
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. In a moment of pure joy he reached her, put out his hand to touch her (as her back was to him), but retreated. Even Theo, with no true care for proper manners, knew how wrong it would be to touch a lady without her consent. If there was any rule he followed, it was that. As calmly as possible, Theo cleared his throat, and meekly intoned, ”M’excuser mademoiselle, but I…” he paused, losing his words as the woman’s head began to turn. ”…Pouvoir j’ai cette danse? May I have this dance?”

Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace!
For truly, tonight is that of Theo's reckoning.
If we never meet again, fair-well, sweet Paris!

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THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT YOU I CAN'T QUITE FIGURE OUT. AND I DON'T KNOW WHY
i can't keep my eyes off of you.[/i][/b][/color]
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[/SIZE][/b] Victoria (:
wearing;
suit
mask
hair
music; you and me - lifehouse
word count; 1624
credit; La-La-Lia from caution
notes;I'm sorry it's so long... . But at least the subplot finally begins [/color]
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