germaincs

[germaincs]

frburbon‌:

   “You lack faith in your prince? A sense of outraged justice has caught fire within you; I cannot endure this brutality. ” For real injury Henri showed himself full of clemency; under provocation, patient as a saint. He was graciously compliant as soon as she denied him her confidence; a conscious and contrite offender. Gently railing against her as une femme forte in his heart - he dared not but seek out a woman who gave such an instance of denial to his whims. Did his mother find attraction in the same violently bright humor - or was she sweet, slinky and docile as a lapdog to be fit for the company of a Queen? Such an act of contortion would not deter Henri, but entreat him further; any creature who claimed to transcend the need to transform, carried too many masks for most to bear. 

  She declared herself immune to his influence or venom, charm was his only resource; and this charm he expressed in terms unmeasured and alien to even himself. “Do content me with your treason, my lady; your soul is frantic at this moment over my provocations, but I know no woman to be without her traitorous thoughts. For the mantle cannot stand unblemished; nature and I oppose your words, entirely. If you instruct me to count my blessings, may I count you as one of them?” 

The words lodged in her throat like pebbles, like the legends of old where eastern queens swallowed their pearls for a wager. He is a fiend, Germaine thought, a primal, first-hand response. Then she smoothed it over in her hands as if she were a blacksmith of convictions. She had the feeling she had been inextricably, bashfully toyed with. Well, all was not lost; besides, was this not the course of things, was he not schooled in these endeavors? Weaned on verbal cul de sacs like other infants on honey? He is educated in setting traps as I, in my turn, am conditioned by patronage and nature to avoid them. The young woman picked up fragmented composure and willed her mouth shut.

« I have foremost faith in my prince, Your Highness. And every branch fire could’ve caught on too had been uprooted long ago. That, too, is a blessing. »

[germaincs]

mariedesavcy‌:

    “ But of course, especially desires as delicious as these. ” An amused smile held firm as the older woman drifted further forward, placing the list she held in hand aside so that she might offer Germaine’s plight her full attention. In many aspects of her life, Marie found herself to be amongst those most fortunate though not for the most obvious of reasons. Whilst she was not as young as she once was, creases and darkening around her eyes made that much clear, but her heart still held a youthful spirit in spite of the trials she had faced. She stood firmly in line with Royal Dukes, welcomed foreign nobles and their dignitaries, kept the Queen’s household on their toes and still found the time to stop and gossip with the younger of the ladies. How Marie Therese found the hours in the day to create a balance between mother and friend even she did not know, it was a mystery and a blessing, but she would not question for fear she may one day stumble. The higher one rises, the further they may fall. “ You may pout, dear Minette, but I fear it for the best until there comes a man deserving of features such as yours. I would much prefer to find you here; for here you can enlighten me on which treats are worth indulging. ” With a quick hand, Marie dared to meet Germaine’s curiosity and sampled from one of the trays for herself. “ We shall pray for our gluttonous souls at mass. Though I must ask, why is it you wish to indulge yourself down here and not in more familiar surroundings?  ”

« It is hardly befitting, there’s no way of speaking against it », Germaine yielded, and a subdued note crept into her voice. From glinting and seizing, her eyes garnered an apologetic light, setting upon the older woman like a silent plea. She knew the princess of Savoy would never chastise her, not unless she actively put her reputation under peril. But a lady’s name at court was not a glass bowl. You did not drop it once and have it shattered in irreversible finality. Rather, it was an enamel trinket, one upon which every finger stain, scratch and ill-timed use could be seen. And they both knew as much. « The celebration is beautiful, but stifling, madame. And I do not know what makes it more so: the excess of guests, or the lack. It seems... too many and not enough of everything at once. » She had a vague ringing in her ears, sharp like silliness and dallying. But once the dam of words was lifted, she found she could no longer suppress them. She could not warn herself for caution in the presence of the only woman she trusted. « And there is no one to ask for my hand, not even for a quadrille. It’s wearisome, to be so slighted by men you would not deem appropriate to tie your shoelaces. »

[germaincs]

aacribus‌:

               ––   THE ADVANTAGE OF A REPUTATION  larger than life was that few could accurately place Danton’s likeness, presuming that, equivalent to the rumors that proceeded him, he was truly a beast of a man. And yet, apart from a weathered scar spanning his cheek (obtained in a truly unfortunate childhood mishap), Danton’s marble-polished, Grecian features seldom accumulated an appropriate response; few dared to believe that it was him, for there were no devils upon his hunched shoulders, and no poisonous scowls to affirm his identity. Caricatures published in the daily Gazette were truly odious. 

So, as Danton treaded into the kitchens, it was clear that the woman snooping through the morning’s delicacies had not immediately put a name to the face. He made a momentary nod to this revelation, before lowering his gaze to the mischievous knit of the brunette’s brows. “I see. You may not be a poison taster, but your lavish garbs reveal you –– you are a member of the court, yes? I do not believe I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance, madam.” 

Oh, but what had she expected? Who could’ve blundered their way hither, save for herself - an indomitable dolt, that much was known - or someone from the Queen’s household? Who other but one who knew little of Versailles? Mouth suddenly parched, with the sugar congealed on her tongue like birdlime, Germaine swallowed back wit. « I am Mademoiselle Necker, lady in waiting to Her Majesty. » Of the fifth or sixth degree, she almost rushed to add, as if that could vouchsafe her. Hardly a close one to her entourage. Why, I barely know where she keeps her pearls, even.

The intricacies of danger crept about her as she had reckoned desire must. Yet, having felt not much of the latter, and over-plenty of the first, she thought the analogy apt. She knew not this man — but was there any need to? He was a politician, plain and simple, and not the kind her house entertained over supper. What with his towering above the door frame, and jaws as big as a furnace would have it, the man seemed fit to raise hell itself instead of a toast. « It is not madam yet », she regained, though what possessed her to say such a thing was lost in the pastry folds. Out of pure distaste for silence, perhaps. Or a way to ensure guilt did not rattle soundly within her, much like a toddler’s bauble. Guilt for who she was, and who she had no clue how to be, for the rank she carried by pure virtue of her father’s way with an abacus. Somewhere in Geneva a man learns how to count, and here I find myself.

[germaincs]

reign-la-reine‌:

Even the faintest of expressions that etched across the queen’s painted ceramic face carried a presence that could be seen as a fair few emotions: smug, judgemental, insulted, annoyed, amused, flirtatious, impatient. Some could never quite pinpoint which of the deck of cards she’d truly felt. Lips twitched, head bobbed. Eyes scanned the room after hearing Germaine’s words and she couldn’t keep from smirking with a feline prowess.

“So few have taken this opportunity to come and converse with their gracious hosts… From these crowds who stick out like sore thumbs. Do you believe this has been successful? What would you do, should the very people who disapprove of you attend your event but refrain from mingling properly..?”

She fretted for the heartbeat of two seconds, a courtly fidget giving way to ambiguity. Tarrying, though an esteemed ability in the Bourbon’s entourage, was detrimental when dealing with the Queen. Words could not keep her waiting, as men themselves might not. Dry-mouthed, Germaine cooked up a reply, smouldering in that furnace of wit and imitation she’d long learned to keep alive. « If they have not come, Your Highness, is because perchance they do not think it allowed. It frightens them, how beneath us they are. » Or it should, yet they fear nothing; when they held me in their gaze, it’s scorn they dip my body into.

Imperceptibly, she tugged at her bodice; it seemed altogether too tight, ill-fitting next to her Majesty’s attire. Ill-fitting when faced with questions she could not face in earnest. The Queen herself was adorned in lavish, but brutal fashion, with raiments cut as if they came from Saxon age — or even far before that. It played upon her stark beauty like magnifying glass. « As it draws to a close, my lady and Queen, I think it a magnificent affair. I would have acted in no other way; but how could have I, when all we learned, we learned from you? »

[germaincs]

frburbon‌:

  His dreamy eulogies were abandoned by Germaine in all responses, as if his words were verbal atrocities against her person, built of solid reason and sanity. The dauphin could only accuse his father of sickening indulgence with good faith, if his penchant for stringing words of symphonic melodies to deliver simple sentiments were abandoned to the books of old where they belonged. “How vehemently you dance away from any words of displeasure that would strike a fellow blow against our majesty; do I not give you pretty license to share each sentiment that burdens your person?”

   She would not yield to his tempestuous, heresy fulled mood, and he admired her for it all the better. His eyes, always expressive the the revelation of expressive feelings, luminously avowed his quest to press her further. “Long are the times of heaven, short is the reign of man; his majesty may be ordained by our maker, but it shall be the blade of his fellows that claim his neck, or place upon it the mantle of ruler. The norms and measures of my family have spurred the revolution. May I not then, count you against their number?” 

« License can be given and license can be taken away, Your Highness Le Dauphin. I confide no trust in it. » She smiled primly, as with a hidden knowledge, though she knew nothing, not a thing, and no clearer was it than in these last few days. As the convoluted sides gathered and splotched over the margins of Versailles, the world too had taken on a change. At times she felt like an infant on a ship’s prow, looking out into sinuous depths, still eager for that expected hand to pull her back to cover. Other times she felt a vagrant, a harbinger, chewing on prophecies like peddlers on their barren gums. Like nothing at all, save from an old slate ready to reflect what was to come. And now to hear the Crown Prince speak of these things as if they were bien connu... the girl suppressed a shiver, cradled it close to heart. It rowed inside her for a minute before she could regain:

« It is treason to speak of any harm that may befall his Majesty. As far as we all can see, the mantle still stains, unblemished. If you must count anything at all, do so your blessings. »

[germaincs]

mariedesavcy‌:

    Dullness was not something ever associated with the court of Versailles, so much so that surprises and intrigue often were less shock and more awe. Even stumbling across a young woman helping herself in the kitchens, as unusual as the sight was to behold, did not catch Marie off guard as she sought to finalise details for a supper - a task she always preferred to handle herself to eliminate any potential errors.

“ I see, I had almost begun to wonder if you were seeking a change in position. ” With her tone laced in amusement, a smile crept upon rosy lips whilst fingers traced along the edge of the list he carried in her gentle grasp, making her way further into the quiet of the kitchens. “ Are they to your liking? So desirable that you wish to hide whilst consuming them? ”

Germaine refrained from an imperious grin, but not from casting a remark of her own, thrown like a card in reverse to mirror de Savoy’s wit. « Why, one must covet their desires where one may. » In many circles, suffused with all those hierarchical bonds, it would’ve been unthinkable to speak so. Young must yield deference to old, those newly climbed must ease their grips on the ladder before those seasoned at court. But the princess de Savoy-Lamballe was France personified: a figure shrouded in contradictions, contraries piled about her like shriven wool. She was a mother-figure to them, in ways the queen could never purport to be — yet she was also a confidante, to each of them in part, as though her crown duty extended over these temporary jewels as well. They all complained to her about whatever ailed them. Granted, most were imaginary troubles, like fancying yourself in love with the grand marshal and fretting over his country-side wife. But some, such as Germaine had taken on in these last months, had the concrete evidence of a hangman’s boulder, of hailstone tumbling from the sky. Of these, she could say little to the superintendente. She usually wrote them off under the grief of being unmarried instead; and, sometimes, if the day was jolly, she jested about it instead.  « For what is a girl to do, my lady, with no one to dance but politicians, and one’s own father looming in the corner like His Highness’s great danes? »

[germaincs]

frburbon‌:

  Unable to fetch a response to savage the flagrant disavowing of his request, Henri’s eyes rolled so sharply towards to back of his skull, that the action stung seconds after its completion. “The sting of false flattery is a wonderful irritant to my emotions.” Henri dabbled in childish chiding when allowed refuge in the presence of those his own age; little stimulant to his desire to perform, rivaled the presence of a young lady. Despite all recourse taken to appear vexed, Henri was enamored with his current state.The night marched on, in its quest to prove itself superior to the day. A dark cloudy hand hung above the sky, guarding the moon from insipid clouds which sought to prevent her radiance from challenging the suns. 

   She mark for all eyes, a magnetic influence of gaze; cold, dark-haired, beauteous; his mother crafted her likeness in those who kept her company, though Germaine’s eyes remained entirely her own. Sweetness, sensuality and sympathy - warmed them with divine light. “I qualify any request with a prerequisite of honesty - though I stand firm in my desire to protect myself from your influence. Is my spectacle of insolence not the strongest stimulus to my own homage to Mother Dear? Though I cannot grant your statement as symbolic of the truth - the night only thrives where the hand of my father has not brewed excess. Do we not harbor the same sentiment?” 

Lips pursed, latched so tightly she could almost see the auntliness in them, the telltale-spinster feel which terrified her, Germaine took on his words. She felt old, old and no wiser for it. She felt unskilled in all these spirals of words, forced to withstand a boy’s own feat to prove himself. « I am all manner of sentiments, Your Highness, you see. » The girl looked straight in front of her, through the curtain of night. Within that breezeful space, flower-scented and cool, you could see no more than a meter ahead. It was well enough to avoid his seeking eyes, as insolent as God ever avowed them. « Though there can be no excess as far as His Puissant Majesty is concerned. How could it, since he is the one who sets all norms and measures? »

[germaincs]

valcntinois‌:

Now this would surly be of small interest to her, something amusing for sure. “Take a seat, madame.” a smile grew on her face, blooming across her rosy cheeks, her fingers shuffled the cards slowly, major arcane from the minor then back together several times. “Now I wonder what the lady would like to hear !” she was performing for the crowd, one hand thrown wide, but her eyes were plastered on the young brunette who sat before her. “Is it wealth, beauty ? Oh no, you have both in abundance. Perhaps it’s something else love ? Or…” her voice dropped slightly so that only the woman could hear her speak.

“…Perhaps it’s revenge…” she let out a soft giggle, the crowd joined in, the deck of cards went to the left most part of the table. Spreading the deck in a fan formation slowly as she continued to speak. “… revenge on someone who broke your heart, a common tail at court. Before my husband even I was charmed, all these handsome gentlemen.” her eyes momentarily averted the others, a wink thrown at a man in the crowd. More laughter. Her inner most thoughts however were not inline with the crowd, such an interesting child. Her fate hung so delicately, it depended not on the king, but on the will of the french people.  “Pick three cards madame, let me tell you what’s to come, but remember. These things are not for the disbelievers, it will not work if there is not yearning within your heart.”

She watched the cards blotching the table as if wine or blood had spilled on snow, as if that white surface threatened to engulf them. Her hands could all but curl into themselves. The jeweled digits, constrained only by the daintiest silver circles, moved left and right as the woman spoke. Germaine did not interrupt her. Only at last, after her diatribe was over with, after the girl’s own worries withered in her throat, she raised three fingers. « Mademoiselle would be more correct, Duchess. I am unmarried, as far as I know. » The words rang witty, but it was a shrill sound. It is like that, then, Germaine thought. I am already old enough to be misaddressed Madame. Odd, how it did not pain her as she believed it might. But that was little comfort - she wanted a game, and had been served a reminder instead. Like a memento mori rich men hang in their offices. « I suppose these would work as well as any others », she yielded, and within the next seconds flitted her fingers over the first three cards.

[germaincs]

dukedetournay‌:

As far as Jacques could remember, he ad never quite seem a party like this. It appeared as if no expense had been spared, and all around was luxury beyond compare. If this was for the King’s brother, he wondered what would happen when the dauphin’s engagement was announced as it would have to be a ball that outshined even this one. And yet, that feeling of discomfort playing on the back of his mind was not going away. He had to assume that it was simply because of those who disliked the nobility were there, something he could not understand why. He understood the idea of keeping enemies close, but this event just seemed the wrong way to do it.

Clearing his mind, he went to get a drink. He would never consume enough to lose all of his senses, that was too much of a risk. But enough to relax him did little harm. Moving away from the thick of the crowds to the edge of the room, he stopped to observe it all, eventually realising someone was standing near him. “It is as if all the magic in the world has come to Versailles tonight, is it not?” he asked, his voice light, unlike his thoughts.

« Oh, I don’t think it’s ever left. » Lightness plied onto lightness, two matching hues not without farce and folly as their bolsters. Germaine shifted her goblet from hand to hand, finger-grips exchanged, and veered closer to him. It felt as if a great canopy of skirts twirled along with her - heavy, full of consequences, mocking the ease they tried to employ. « Magic is woven through stone here, I think. » She carried on, propelled through her question as if the very thought of Versailles chased her. As if the magnitude and cost raced themselves in a gallop. « Your Grace, but where is the beautiful Duchesse? She’s robbed us of her presence all too often these weeks. »

[germaincs]

reign-la-reine‌:

“Mademoiselle Germaine, wise beyond that youthful glow, I am proud to have such a tasteful lady-in-waiting at my side.” The queen nodded, placing the treat down at the table beside them and delicately picking up her fan. Fans fluttered about like birds in a gilded cage, if you closed your eyes long enough you could imagine the court more of pigeons and doves cooing and clawing at each other, fluffing up their plumage. Each fan’s whip, movement, curl of the wrist,  was a way of unspoken communication. The queen’s fan fluttered just under her gaze, angling her face stoically as if to signal to Germaine she’d like to walk before beginning to meander amongst the crowd. “Le Roi is only tempted by the biggest challenge in a room on this particular evening. His Highness is likely salivate over something much less appetising. Worldly trinkets are no match for a monarch above this earth.” Her words were sticky sweet, harbouring the faintest tinge at the end of each swirl. Despite the subject matter, she always maintained a bit of an edged tone in her voice. “I’m far more interested in who you’re noticing within the room… Who stands out?”

She could only lower the tip of her head - a gesture she was not unaccustomed to, these days. It came as easily as a sweeping bow. The Queen’s words couldn’t prompt anything but meekness, wilful deafness, pretending no royal indiscretions had been hinted at. What man, what monarch, did not stray? It was poppycock to expect otherwise; at any age, under any skies. But for a woman like her Majesty, a pride like molten gold, all raw volition, obstinacy - well, things carried on in a different way. The Queen no more obeyed man’s nature than she did anything else. Germaine counted the coiling veins in the marble, sinuous lines at her feet. One, two; she counted until Amelie’s acid diluted and the question came.

« Who stands out? » she repeated, as she always had, to harness more time. A glance like a compass dashed through the room, seeking out its most significant places and those who took over them. The centerpieces, the soft spots under that grand architectural armour. « Not the reformists, that I rest assured. Printers, province solicitors and out of job actors. A motley gathering. » She knew how profusely the Queen - in fact, every woman with an annual stipend enough to buy a continent - disliked them.

[germaincs]

valcntinois‌:

A crowd had begun to gather at the table she had been sat at with her ladies, with the wine flowing so freely, and the merriment that filled the air she had thought a game wouldn’t be amiss in the festivities. A box was placed before her, the courtiers, interest piqued were waiting for a performance, and never one to disappoint Alexandrine would be sure to give them one. The box slowly opened, red silk lined the inside, and nestled within, cards, to be more specific tarot cards. 

“Once, when my husband was far from home, and there had been continuous rain for several days, a woman stopped by my home seeking shelter. She was surly beautiful, a face that even a goddess could be jealous of, and yet her eyes were so old.” she leaned in as she spoke, spinning her tale as pale hands removed the contents from the box. “She told me my fortune in exchange for shelter, and then she taught me in turn how to see the world as she does. When she was gone, this was all that was left. I will not tell you what she told me, for a fortune like that is to kept hidden away, but tonight I give you the chance to see what your future may hold.” She met the eyes of many in the crowd as she spoke. “Yet, is there anyone daring enough to see what truths may be told ? How about you ?”

Oh, she meant to say, but I know. My truth is our truth, that’s how they see it. On the streets. Behind printshops. We all shared these tales and now we will share their end. It bristled on her lips, a thistle or a briar, scratching with impertinence. They were words she had never said aloud, simply because there was no one to talk it over with; no one to deduce it, too. Germaine did not step forth, not even a single inch - satin-felted slippers did not break their stillness. The role of omen receiver had almost gone to someone else. But then silliness got the better of her, and the desire to be giddy as well; to hear of a tall stranger or an alcove carved in white. To hear that the world will not change its face the moment they all turned their back. « I would dare, yes, duchess. If you would have it. »

[germaincs]

∘⡊✰ ˚⊹ — JEWELS & INDIGNITIES .

The K I T C H E N S were an unlikely cloister for one who, merely a passing hour ago, was carrying the hem to the royal gown. Diamond-sewn, velvet and organdy burrowed in its depths, Germaine could still feel that magnitude weighing down her hands. To say they still ached would be an exaggeration; but a ghost-burden lingered there. No, it was not refuge from duty she was seeking in the cooking chambers — nor was it uncommon, for a woman who had seen traveler’s dust pile on the exhibited food, to retort to lower rooms for a bite.

She had nestled in one of the exterior appendages to the main kitchen, where the trays meant to be carried upstairs stood neatly in columns. It was these she’d been nit-picking at, sampling a morsel or two with a fox-swiftness, a gluttonous vulnerability to it, when a gust of wind swept inside. Germaine’s head arched towards the open door, appetite submersed.  « With due excuse, I’m really no poison taster. Despite convincing evidence. »

[germaincs]

Ask my character "How do you feel about ______?" Can be an idea, person(s), place, or thing, and they'll have to answer honestly.

[germaincs]

frburbon‌:

The hall was in a stir; most rose from plush seats and remained standing, huddled in clumps as to appear well connected; while some preferred to walk about, slipping into conversation and laughter. At once, Henri derided, and marveled, over the fuss his parents had corralled into a single affair. The long cloud of gentlemen, breaking into fragments, mixing with the rainbow line of ladies; regal men approached the King, conversing with him. The Queen abandoned her seat, gliding along the ranks of ladies, each of whom offered her some token of kindness, and shameless praise towards the nights efforts. 

   To avoid being accosted by anyone deemed worthy of conversation by his father, Henri had either the balcony, or the gardens, as refuge. Affording himself a greater distance from the ball’s thriving heart, the gardens were chosen. The keen night air was welcome against his skin, which had grown sickly hot from the atmosphere of densely packed bodies .Dark curls were turned to the star-sown sky spread above; as Henri would always embrace peace from its virtue. For five minutes he stood in ample silence, only slight diversions of his gaze made to take stock of the figure near to him. A shadow flush with greenery, concerned even less then he with the niceties of society. A cynic yes, but a hermit no, Henri took pride in breaching conversation first. “If I appear pensive, I assure you it is not on your account; it is far too crucial to my nature, to be grieved during a light affair. Do you make the night as a success, or a continuation of our dribble? Speak truthfully, for I will easily know you as a liar if you do not.” 

« You speak beautifully, Your Grace. » Half-turned, she tarried in lieu of a genuine response, something she could utter without wanting to carve it from the roof of her mouth The Dauphin did not converse - he demonstrated, every hyphen a monument of display, as large and indomitable as his father’s built churches. It left her at a loss, which was not only deprecating, but unforgivable. To be deemed a mutton by the future king — by what the world, may God excuse its fickleness, its toppling upside down, will hopefully allow to become king — is not something to recover from.

« But I can only hear an accusation in it. Perhaps such is the way I am designed; in this eventuality, I should not hoard the seconds of those more adept. » Germaine clasped her hands together in her lap, eclipsed by a dress fold, tinted with the moon. She awaited to be given leave, but then sensed the necessity to assure, perhaps even soothe. « The festivities, harnessed in the marvel of your Queen Mother, could not have been anything short of a success. »

[germaincs]

HER MAJESTY:

Amelie hadn’t slept. Yet the queen arrived to the ball fresh, dew-faced blotted with crushed blush on her taut cheeks and a deeper shade of pink puckered onto ever pursed lips. In flashes of throughout her life, the woman who reminded her lungs to fill and release air each day and the crown perched and pinned high atop her head, embellished with teased curls, silk flowers, mock birds, ostrich feathers to outshine even the best hairdressers, battled for time and attention. The days leading up to the Charity Ball brought forth a smooth yet unpredictably haughty creature who commanded the masses like the weather holds the attention of the sea. There was no room for error on this night. No element would go without extensive review, from the food, to the entertainment, to the seating… Guards lined the rooms, all of which crammed to the brim, pastel adornments of the guests threatening to burst as fireworks with energy. A hum hovered in the air, off-pitch… surely a few wolves lurked, she could feel their eyes burning into her, peppered throughout the room and bouncing off the gilded mirrors. Somewhere. 

The jewels dripped down her swan neck intent to blind. She’d taken her time to greet those who kneeled before her, blessed them with light laughter, edged comments, a tinge of mischief. Brocaded floral satin shoes clicked against the sleek marble, hips rolled underneath the cage adorned around her cinched waist. Tipsy from the mingling and the fizz she sipped in her dressing room prior, Amelie couldn’t keep a small smirk from bouncing across her face, glittering in her gaze as she stepped shoulder to shoulder with a fellow reveller. “Of the many rumours circling about this court on this very day… I have been told there are trinkets hidden in these treats.” She pointed at the pile of delicately iced morsels, gingerly picking one up and idly picking at the raspberry garnish. “You see, I am far too fond of luck, and bets. What do you wager rests in between the puff pastry?”

‘’I would not dream to wager my guess when I have scarcely a piece to my name, Your Highness. It is so unbecoming to carry money - and at such an age as mine!‘’ Germaine breathed through a smile, mouth wrinkling at the corners in the way of accomplices. Queen Amelie knew too well the two of them could’ve juggled fortunes on these trifles, but it was not bon ton to admit it. All exorbitance was to be hidden, all prodigality dissimulated; it reminded her, altogether too often, of the way one stepped around bedchamber matters. How often we lay flat, and how much gold we grind, are the two unmentionables. And it was ground gold that did seem to surround the table: sprinkled on glass edges and confiserie, cutlery and gowns, it seized the eye in a myriad twinkles. The very air seemed somehow cropped, severed in tiny fractions, through which another atmosphere broke through. But they were intermittent respites, and could not survive against the crowded hurdle. ‘’Where is Monsieur Le Roi? Can we not tempt his Magnificence with one ruby-hiding bun or two?‘’

[germaincs]

∘⡊✰ ˚⊹ — INTRO.

Germaine (or Minette) is the only child of the prominent Genevan banker and statesman Jacques Necker, who acted as the Director-General of Finance for Louis-Philippe. Her mother was Suzanne Curchod, who hosted in Rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin one of the most popular salons of Paris.

Suzanne had intended to educate her daughter according to the principles of Jean-Jacques Rousseau — carefully written pages which aimed to convey one’s proper place in the world. She meant to endow her with a Calvinist sense of discipline, as she herself had been taught. And to the last one, all these things were rendered ashes & hopeful dust when her husband became Minister.

At a time where the country numbered itself among the most indebted states, a financier could do nothing but uproot the King & Queen themselves. Thrown between hell and high-water, he could not borrow more money for fear of risking the people’s wrath - a force every banker knows can prove fatal. At the same time, he could not suggest tightening the royal purse’s strings, not without falling in Louis’s disfavor. Any propositions for reform were bound to meet with ingratitude at best. At worst, it meant exile, loss of titledom, or even the executioner’s block.

Bordering on two years now, Germaine has grown to know these things too well. She’s heard them hushed and howled, whispered and debated, denied and turned into hyperbolas. She’s seen them at the dinner table and the boudoir; in her own bathchamber, gliding across the water. Always, they converge to hover like Damocles’s sword over the girl’s clavicles, over her jewelry, her unpowdered hair. And she understands she needs the haven of a new family name — preferably one as close to the pulse of change as can be attained.

She is not merely seeking marriage: the word in itself is a proposal, a contract, a promise for resurgence. She is seeking the certainty that come what may, her lifestyle ( as trivial & volatile as it might be ) will remain immutable. So Calvinist propensities are thrown out the window; any principles she might have formed, out the door.

A bourgeois through and through, she attained the status of lady-in-waiting due to her father’s ascent. It taught her nothing, except that this court is a lavish pool of moonlight, and one whose days, like her father’s, are poignantly numbered. She is, as has always been, fond of milk in the morning, of dipping butter langues du chat in foreign teas. She is enamored with her few friends, back from before she served at court, which is barren in both wit and soul. She is sworn to thin-paged novels — the sort Rousseau would coin as petty — to veiled erotic poems, soft house slippers, candied fruit. The revolution will no more steal these things from her as it will budge the stars of heaven. And she would tie hands with the brute Danton himself if that ensured survival. 

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

her mother & father, obviously - I would not be impartial to a younger sister or brother, either !

real-life Germaine Necker evolved from a prodigious, though unambitious young girl, to a woman of wit and letters. though that is not the course I see her taking at the moment, perhaps it would benefit greatly if she met a true intellectual ( not bourgeoisie scum lmao ) to steer her on the right course? either an older man or a woman.

of course, jacobins. all the jacobins.

a friend or two from the well-to-do societé that is now on opposite sides to the monarchy & its courtiers? many bankers, architects, merchants sensed the tides of revolution turning and sided with the jacobin sans cullotes rather than risk their heads.