#all the squires have a designated night where they go to the tavern and just talk about their knights

[fluffypotatey]

Yeah, the Knights of the Round Table are cool, but what about the Squires of the Round Table? I want to know about the pack of hapless adolescents that are supposed to be learning the finer points of knighthood from THEE most chaotic bastards to ever share a braincell.

(Merlin unknowingly becomes, like, the patron saint of squires bc if he can handle Arthur, they can handle their respective masters as well)

no ok i'm in love with this. the squires of the round table is the spin off i didn't know we needed, but by GOD am i glad you told me, anon.

(you are a GEM, anon, i'm in love with you)

the squires for knights are the round table's adopted children. oh, sorry, was that kid the son of such and such??? he's leon's boy now. they all have youngest sibling syndrome so sorry i don't make the rules and yes they do treat merlin like he's a mob wife.

anyway,

these squires would get up to so much shit omfg. if you're the squire to gwaine, have fun upsetting your noble father (because most squires come from the nobility and since arthur took down that rule when he became, then there became this influx of squires who were from the common people) and learning that doing illegal shit is the best thing and you've only tasted a sliver of what gwaine has been doing since he was 13 but you LOVE IT---

squires of sir leon are trained into how to become the mom friend. it's not much, but it's hard work. sometimes the little squires pity their knight because he is not paid enough for for the antics his other knights and king get into ("poetry??? seriously, is that what they told him???" "idk that's roland said" "maybe we should gift him some more moisturizer?"). yes they do treat sir leon with the respect they would give an older cousin.

sir elyan is very new to all this...squire business but he's not one to let his little men (little brothers tbh) be caught slacking. he has them run drills everyday and they complain about it all the time ,but then you'll find them in an empty room perfecting their forms, and making sure it's perfect because sir elyan deserves the best. and he called nathan's form "superb" but nathan's a bitch and you just think that if you get this form right---

elyan teaches his squires moves that were taught to him by tristan and isolde because they totally worked together while elyan was away and he respects them so much and misses them and wonders if they ever got the chance to settle down and breath like they had dreamed

sir percival is second on the list of knights who teaches his squires the more traditional way (first is leon obvi) but that does not mean he let's them fall behind with dirty tricks. listen, this man was friends with lancelot (honorable, noble, dreamed of being a knight since he was prob 15) so he knows the intricacies of knighthood; however, he is also besties with gwaine and elyan both of whom are a chaotic combination if put in the same room. the squires are granted the perfect balance of swishy swordplay and body slamming a bitch. sleeves??? don't know her. the squires beg percival for them to cover their arms and he is offended.

sir lancelot, the epitome of honor and loyalty, is a force to work with. the squires think that he'll be the one whose teaching will lead them far off adventures and gain cool ass scares. lancelot is actually the old coot who grants wisdom like an old man who's lived two lifetimes. his training is unusual but somehow it works. the chores he assigns aren't demeaning, nor are they used as punishment. you are lancelot's squire for a week and you immediately understand that this man is a man who has his heart on his sleeve and you watch as he gazes at the king, the queen, and the manservant. his eyes always fond and full of...something. you are too young to pick up on a deep and unconditional emotion like that. not yet.

[quantifiableme]

Controlled

Jealous!Gendry and Oblivious!Arya as promised, plus some #PodtheRod to appease the masses!

***

“Ohhhhh ho ho ho, look at that!” slurred a very drunk Bronn. “Pod the Rod got himself a Lady!”

“Please refrain from giving my squire vulgar titles,” coldly commanded Brienne of Tarth. Gendry hadn’t noticed her there when he had looked out the window- a bit to focused on another sword-wielding Lady. “Once more, a squire cannot have a Lady. Not that Arya Stark would ever put herself in a position like that.”

“For that one she might,” responded Bronn. “Kid’s got another sword bigger than The Mountain’s. If you know what-”

“I believe we all know what you mean, Bronn.” Scolded Tyrion.

***

Gendry hit the molten steel into some formidable shape, letting his anger be the momentum for his swing. 

He could hear Arya practicing just outside the forge, which he usually found comforting, but today just made him more frustrated. However, while he tried to convince himself that it was her that caused his current tantrum, he was really mad at himself. 

The night before, Arya had come to the forge while the rest of Winterfell slept. Gendry had been putting the finishing touches on the sword she had asked for -- a project he worked on tirelessly since she brought him the design and left him breathless with her new found confidence. 

She had changed since the blacksmith saw her last. Obviously, they both did, but Arya in ways Gendry hadn’t expected. Gone was the young boy-girl who let her emotions drive every decision she made, who it took a simple tease to burst into a fit of rage bigger than the girl herself was. While he was in King’s Landing, it was the thought of her little pout and infuriating stubbornness that kept him going -- kept him alive. 

Her passion that he fell in love with was still there, but buried. No, not buried, controlled. She still a force to be reckoned with with her sword, only now it was tactful. Strategic. Instead of blowing up at Gendry’s M’lady comments, she smiled and gave a pitiful retort. Gendry was ashamed to admit that her simple calculated spin that night in the forge was enough to leave him without feeling in his legs.

He was terrified of her.

The night she came to receive her new weapon, she swaggered into the forge as if she owned it. Actually, reminded the asshole part of Gendry’s brain. _She did own it. _She had sat herself on his work table with the ease of a cat and held out her hand. Gendry laughed to disguise how loud his heart had been beating in that moment. When he handed in to her, she tugged it just slightly to make him stumble closer to her.

“Thank you,” she had said with a mischievously. 

His vision was drowning in her grey eyes, causing the rest of his surroundings to disappear until he lost all feeling in his body. In his inebriated state, Arya took the moment to lay her finishing blow on his poor soul. 

She gently placed her lips onto his, and suddenly Gendry only felt the warmth and sultry of her mouth, so different to the cold, dry air of the North. She moved in perfect rhythm against him, reminding him so much of the water-dances she practiced in the yard outside the forge everyday -- steady, circular movements that had no plan but to keep moving. It was strange for her to be so gentle, Gendry remembered. He never thought she could be gentle.

She moved to grab his shirt to close the distance from their bodies, but as soon as her fingertips grazed his chest, Gendry’s heart was shocked back to life. Immediately, he pushed away from the situation and stood staring at her.

“_A-arya!” _he had said, his voice higher than he intended. 

She giggled. It was open and happy, and it made him want to kiss her again. The only thing stopping him was the reality of the situation. 

_“You can’t do that.” _He forced his voice back down into its usual baritone. Firm. 

“_Well obviously I can, since I just did.” _She replied casually, the giggle still present in her tone. 

“_No, I mean you can’t do that,” _Even at the time, Gendry felt he was being too aggressive in the situation. “You’re a high-born, a lady-”

_“Gods, still on about that?”  _

“Yes! It’s important!”

“Why? Danerys will legitimize you after she wins the war anyway, and she said to treat you as such.”

_“It’s still different-” _

_“Why?” _

Gendry banged his hand against the worktable, having just then realized he had been moving closer toward her the whole time. It was this, he realized, that he missed most. His attraction to her was deeply rooted in their shared desire to endlessly frustrate the other. 

Arya hand’t even startled at the noise, despite it vibrating through the table she  had been sitting on. As he looked at her, he sighed to calm himself down. She was right that he would soon be Gendry Baratheon, and with Davvos’s help he would try to regain Storm’s End after the wars were over. But no title was ever going to make Gendry a high-born. He missed his chance at that life -- a life with tutors and trainers, of men who could teach him to fight and how to act. He was an orphaned bastard who had to step over rivers of shit every morning to make weapons for people who would drink themselves stupid in bars. 

And Arya deserved better. 

“_You gotta leave.” _He looked across the room, at anything but her. 

“You can’t be serious-”

_“Arya.” _His voice was stern. Stubborn and impassable. 

He felt her eyes on him, but he only concentrated on the spot of the floor in front of her. After a moment, she stepped off the high counter -- like a cat -- and left. 

Gendry had to work out his emotions on the singing steel until morning, and just when he thought he had control again, Arya showed up. The memory of last night was enough to reinginte the fire of Gendry’s anger, and he got back to work. 

Out of pure exhaustion, he finally had to take a break and walked to the window he usually used to stare at the girl as she practiced. In a quick glimpse, he was able to see that she was fighting the squire-kid that followed the tall woman around everywhere. Gendry sat on the floor just below the window and listened to the sounds of their steels hitting each other in their battle. 

At that moment, Ser Bronn and Lord Tyrion stumbled onto the floor on the opposite side old the wall. After reaching Winterfell, Brown had explained how Cersi sent him to kill the Lannister brothers. Ironically, his coming was evidence to the Northern Lords that Jamie was truly on their side, and once the Dragon Queen offered Bronn a good sum of money in exchange for not killing her Hand, he and Tyrion quickly made to reunite as soon as possible. Which for them, Gendry supposed, meant a lot of wine. 

“Ohhhhh ho ho ho, look at that!” slurred a very drunk Bronn. “Pod the Rod got himself a Lady!”

“Please refrain from giving my squire vulgar titles,” coldly commanded Brienne of Tarth. Gendry hadn’t noticed her there when he had looked out the window- a bit to focused on another sword-wielding Lady. “Once more, a squire cannot have a Lady. Not that Arya Stark would ever put herself in a position like that.”

“For that one she might,” responded Bronn. “Kid’s got another sword bigger than The Mountain’s. If you know what-”

“I believe we all know what you mean, Bronn.” Scolded Tyrion. The scorn lost it’s effect, however, when Tyrion burst into drinking giggles moments later. “Imagine how many cows would have to be killed to make the leather for that scabbard though!”

Both of the men laughed at their fairly terrible jokes.

“What are you talking about?” Brienne demanded. 

“Your ‘squire’ has a bit more to offer than you are giving him credit for!” said Bronn.

“Years ago, when Podrick was under my... education, I had gifted him with some prostitutes after he rescued me from some rather dangerous situations.” Explained Tyrion. 

“Best prostitutes in the land,” interrupted Bronn. “Not some tavern wenches or sloppy shit like that. Practiced. Professionals.”

“After the night, however, Podrick came to me the next day and gave me back the rather sizable amount of money I had given him for the services.”

“He didn’t do it?” asked Brienne.

“The girls wouldn’t take it!” said Tyrion. “Whores of King’s Landing, where a man would sell his son for a shilling, gave back the money I left them for Pod.”

“Boy’s got a magic cock,” giggled Bronn. 

Silence overlapped the conversation, the sound of the dueling partners amplified.

“Podrick?” questioned Brienne.

Mummering of agreements came from the drunken men followed by more S_ting_ and Swang of the swords. 

“Payne?” she clarified. 

“I didn’t believe it myself when he first came back,” replied Bronn. “But then all the girls in the whore-house kept asking me where he had gone all hours of the day, and I had to believe it was true.”

Gendry sat stunned on the other side of the conspiring trio. Fear settled into his gut, a fear far deeper than the one he had felt the night previous. He thought about the squire -- full-faced, dark hair. Gendry’s first though of him was that he was a wimpy high-born prick, but if it was true that he saved Lord Tyrion’s life and that he had... other qualities. And Arya was a woman grown now, and one that obviously was thinking about the other qualities her opposite gender had to offer, if last night had been any indication. And Gendry had just sent her to the man with a magic cock. 

He shot up at once. Screw being “good-enough” and high-born titles of crap. Gendry could live with Arya deserving better than him, because at the end of the day no one would ever truly deserve her. _Especially not this Pod-dick, _he thought to himself. What he could not live with, though, is her living with someone who didn't deserve her who wasn’t him. 

_“_M’lady!” he shouted across the yard. Walking toward the sparring couple, Gendry felt the stares of the drunken men and knight woman on his back, and he even heard a slurred “Oh, the plot thickens!”

Arya swept Podrick off his feet in a quick motion, and then stood to face Gendry. Her face was pure anger, and the sight made Gendry’s pulse quicken. 

“I told you not to call me- Gendry what are you doing?” The man in question had picked up the girl by the waist and turned to carry her away from the squire and his magic cock. Arya banged her small fists against his back and screamed at him to Put her down!. 

He carried her to the Godswood and placed her in front of the vibrantly colored tree. It had reminded him of her, in a sense. A spark of fire in this wintery hell-scape. The whole scene was gorgeous. 

She looked up at him, ready to speak something vulgar and hurtful, but before she got the chance, Gendry cradled her face in his hands and kissed her violently. He wished he could have been delicate like she was, but they were both in too high a state of anger to be anything but the emotional psychopaths they were. Arya kissed back with equal energy.

After a moment, the kissed slowed down to something softer. Still not delicate, but a controlled sort of chaos. When they finally broke apart, they each breathed heavily, but still close enough to not loose the intimacy. 

“What the hell is g-” 

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Gendry. She closed her mouth very quickly and stared at him. “I’m sorry for making you leave, and for being a fucking moron, just please don’t fuck the squire.”

“The squi- Podrick?!” Arya pulled away as she shouted, but kept her hands clasped around Gendry’s neck. 

“Please. Just promise me.” Gendry’s voice was drenched in desperation.

She looked about to protest, but then stopped herself and made the pouty expression he had dreamed of for last few years. 

“Fine, but on one condition,” she replied.

“What?”

“You have to kiss me like that again.”

[keystonewarrior]

D&D Idea  The Mystery of Gers

D&D Idea The Mystery of Gers In the region of Gers lies Castle Nebar.  Time are pleasant, peaceful, and prosperous.  It was only a few years ago the aged Lord Cavin Nebar was slain by his mistress, Jyrydryn The Kite (rumored to be a Mar Onnen Assassin) who then abducted Lady Vera Nebar to parts unknown.   Castle Nebar and the town, farms, and villages around it were left under the supervision of Carlin Usaf, the renowned knight from Ringing Rock, until the child Lord Rabert Nebar would come of age.  But Sir Carlin, sound of mind and temperament and stout of voice, was older than even Lord Cavin, and while he would still wear his armor in public and bear his family sword, he was really simply a political boy scout present to keep the child under the protection of the crown.  In fact, the armor isn't armor at all, but simply enchanted clothing that looks and sounds like a suit of mail and the family sword is in the hands of his eldest daughter Sir Kattlynn Usaf and the replica he carries is wooden, but enchanted to look and sound - and parry and cut - like a real sword.  Young Lord Rabert was also a very capable and intelligent ruler and in little need of Sir Carlin's supervision.  It's all just a show, a show that has been going strong, unchallenged, for seven years. But soon Lord Rabert will be nineteen and expected to take his father's sword and marry according to custom.  Rumor has it he has already selected a bride, but nobody knows who it is. That is the mystery. From the first, Lord Rabert hired on many wise counselors.  Ostensibly, they were there to let him learn the many languages of the books in the family library to teach him skill at arms and courtly manners, and literacy and numeracy, but they also brought their excellence in arts, magic, and engineering to the castle and the town. The City Wash.  One of the most profound changes, the envy of every local lady and lord who have tried to copy it, was the construction of the city bath house and wash.  Led by Counselor Mayta Gee, they designed it and led the construction and trained the regular staff.  People, and their clothing, are washed regularly.  Families take turns staffing the facility to assist the full-time laborers who mostly act as trainers and supervisors.  This required a new well and also a new fountain in town.  The people are clean, healthy, and happy, bringing increased politeness to neighbors and visitors and a decrease in illness and disease. The Ratters. In addition to the new water supply, the sewers have seen wide upgrades.  An officially recognized group led by one of Rabert's new counselors keeps them clear of debris and vermin.  Led by Counselor Victor Sprengwerk, the sewers also serve as a means of getting the castle guard to the main gate of the town in just a few minutes by means of a boat in the main line.  This was a lesson drawn from Sir Carlin's defense of the City of Loor, where a surprise attack on the city gate filled the streets with panicked citizens and the main guard got caught in the streets between Loor Keep and the gates.  Carlin, still a squire then, was able to raise additional forces and take them through the back alleys to capture and close the gates, then painfully eliminate the foreign threat from within Loor itself. The Raffaufs.  Rubbish is collected twice daily.  Anything that might be eaten by a pig is picked up by the morning crew on their rounds, sorted, then fed to the pigs.  The Raffaufs also turn the compost for the town gardens.  They are also the drunk watch, picking up derelicts and vagrants and dumping them in the drunk tank.  This effort is led by Counselor Syrrha Coe.  There are not a significant amount of orphans in the area, but those that are there are also raised by the Raffaufs.  The evening rounds are mostly led by older orphans who pick up broken junk and non-food.  Anything that can be recovered and rebuilt into something useful is made new again by the orphans in their workshop and sold.  They also take care of the drunks, checking them for medical emergencies like ketoacidosis or frostbite, before turning them out after they have dried up and paid their fine. Drunks unable to pay have to work a day in the garden or the pig farm.  The orphans also sell the compost for private use and work the city garden and take care of the pigs. Kids who show a talent are given training for trades, and all are taught basic literacy and numeracy.  Conselor Coe says this free education will pay off with huge dividends later when Lord Rabert's heirs rule the land. The Biergarten.  The brainchild of Counselor Zach Zheff, a public meal is held every evening at dusk.  This is not a big bash, and only watered wine  or clean water is offered for drink.  The fare is simple, typically soup and bread or stews.  Exotic foods from Zach's homeland are offered on occasion - ravioli, pasta, or pizza.  Much of what is served comes from the city garden and the pig farm (much of that is sold for profit). It includes a new grove of fruit-bearing trees, still young, and a fine hall built for inclement weather.  The hall and the grove are the largest single place in the town for public gatherings - even more space than market street and market square.  Nobody is turned away, and there is always plenty of food.  A donation is expected, but not required.  Most who choose to eat there mostly donate their time, taking turns serving and cleaning.  Commercial inns and taverns at first detested the idea, saying it would be bad for business, but they have all thrived.  The Raffauf orphans also typically work the event for payment. Daisy Quinn works for the Nebar family.  She is in her forties and replaced Daisy Sitka who returned to their order.  Her specialty is communication, medicine, and history.  She is able to commune with her order to access knowledge not found in her memory or in the castle library. Commercial improvements followed along with each of the civic improvements Lord Rabert initiated.  The community is wealthier than anybody's memory can recall. The young lord has hosted private events at Castle Nebar for other aristocratic families.  He has hosted events for the rising artisan class and visiting dignitaries.  He has even hosted events for the citizenry there, served by the Raffauf orphans.  In the early years, he would don common clothing and hide among the children and serve the public, getting an ear for what people really thought.  He is too well known, and too tall, for that now. During harvest this year, he intends to reveal who he will ask to marry in a great public ceremony.  Realistically, most of the public will be at the Biergarten or one of the other public venues, while the upper class will enjoy the festivities at the castle.  Lord Rabert has not let any hint as to who he intends.  Aristocrats are shocked to think their daughter might not be asked, other wealthy families and the rising artisan class are excited even to have a shot.  Lately, rumors have burst that perhaps even a peasant girl could be named, since the Crown Princess in the Capital announced at High Summer Fest that such a policy does exist in the Queen's Law and the Light Blue Regiment, the Queen's Own, are even escorting Chief Justice Rhenn Kist so there won't be any challenges by aristocrats who get their feathers ruffled. Only one person other than Lord Rabert might know, and she does seem to have a twinkle in her eye whenever someone brings up the subject.  Lord Rabert's most trusted adviser is also his highest ranking military commander (this does not hurt Lord Calvin's feelings, since he can still beat both of them at chess).  Counselor General Noor Majeyan has a rapier wit and a rapier.  She commands the castle guard (and the city guard through her lieutenant Zye Magov).  She is the most skilled weapon master in the land, and she is also a singer and performer.  She often takes center stage at public events, acting as emcee and bodyguard for Rabert.  Her dark hair and accent mark her as a foreigner, but almost nobody minds or would say so out loud.  Her lieutenant Zye Magov is a half-ogre warrior who carries a shield the size of a stout oak door and wields a six-foot sword. Who will Rabert ask to marry him? He plans to reveal his intended at midnight on the night of Harvestfest.

DM notes: Rabert is just a kid but intelligent, well educated, and well advised.  He will announce an engagement, but he is only announcing that he will ask a peasant girl from the Raffauf orphanage, a girl he has known for years.  But he is also announcing that she will have four years before she must answer.  She doesn't know.  Rabert always wears a blue cape that protects him from any piercing damage and carries two gloves in his belt.  The gloves are magical and must first be put on to work - one creates a clear light blue magical shield and the other a long-sword.  These are emergency use only, since General Noor is never more than a few paces away and her instincts are keen. Mayta Gee is a mid-level mage who specializes in water-based spells, She is about forty but dresses and acts like a teenager, She is also a patient practical joker and almost nobody can lie to her. Victor Sprengwerk is mid-40s and is a retired* thief.  He dresses in clean comfortable clothing suitable for the work he does.  The garb is highly durable and enchanted to turn black in a fraction of a second.  He has uncovered every secret passage in the town and the castle and added a few more.  The boat in the main sewer line is an enchanted barge, between himself, Sir Carlin. Mayta Gee, and other engineers and skilled craftsmen, the barge can carry one hundred soldiers from the barracks and arms room at the castle to the city gate in under two minutes (their best alert drill time in 79 seconds). Syrrha Coe is a mid-level mage almost 50 years old. She grew up an orphan on a farm until a mage found her, sensed her talent, and took her on as an apprentice.  Turned out he was a bastard too.  She jealously protects her orphans and loves to farm and work in the garden.  Most of her spells are defensive and utility. Zach Zheff is a fighter with a troubled past.  He always seemed to be in some kind of trouble with somebody.  He is about forty and was long acquainted with Mayta Gee, who actually got him this gig.  He loves food, he has a passion for food almost as strong as his desire to see how far he can push things before he gets in trouble.  Since he eats so much, almost incessantly, he also works out all the time.  The most dangerous weapon he carries anymore is a kitchen knife. Daisy Quinn is a Daisy.  Like all the others she is a plain appearing female human in her forties who usually stands or sits relatively still, hardly noticed.  She has no combat ability.  She rarely speaks with anybody except Rabert, but is polite enough if you ask her something that has a real answer. General Noor Majeyan trained with the Ta N'Jair on Karell Ruh but is now forbidden to wear red.  She is a very high level fighter (far beyond anything your party has). She is only 36 years old.  In combat, if she wins initiative, she can make double attacks every round, fighting first and last.  If she does not have initiative, then she moves up one spot in the sequence each round until the fighting is over or she has initiative, and then she gets double attacks.  She is immune to sleep and charm type spells and any kind of mental attack. She fights with a sabre and throwing knives (she carries thirty of them) and then with a second sabre.  A thrown knife that hits on a natural 20 costs the affected target all attacks that round, moves them into the last position in the initiative sequence, costs them additional damage if they try to attack and any successful attack they make also causes them the same amount of damage.  When fighting with two sabres she will typically use half her attacks as parries (defending herself or a nearby ally) and the other attacks offensively. Zye Magov is a huge, hulking eight foot eight inch tall five-hundred pound half ogre of indeterminate age.  He is as effective a fighter as he is ugly.  His shield is six feet tall and he wields a two-handed sword one-handed without penalty.  He pretty much wears his full plate armor, and helm, all the time.  He polishes his armor to a bright shine and wears a bright white tabard with a small bird (a kestrel) embroidered on it.  He has a very pleasant, deep voice (he sings nicely, but Noor sings better) and he will remove his helm to play a bamboo flute to accompany her singing - he plays very well.  Neither he nor Noor will reveal where he trained in his youth, but where he comes from they don't mint stupid troopers.  One time, he almost beat Sir Carlin in chess.

[elmwrites]

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

There are stories which come from the past towards the present. To the present to the past and meanwhile, all these things in between cycles repeat in unexpected ways. The story mentioned next is going to be told like one of those old legends of the past. A tale, or a myth, of the sort of ones which in our days are in mouth to mouth of everybody who is gossiping between the corners and hiding in the shadows to see if the winter is really coming, or it was just a fantasy of some gifted people with the talent of to hold the feather properly and to use the words wisely.

There were years ago, in a land which was rare by its own, a little girl who was seeing like odd. While it seemed everybody wished to be like knights who killed for pleasure and to make all sort of atrocities in the name of someone else for their own profit. She spent her time running away of all of that, chasing cats for to pet them, dogs and other animals too but never for to hurt them. When everybody disliked ending the classwork fast, she made it for to get the reward of to can climb to the small attic where the school had their modest library. For the rest, that was a waste of time, to enter into any library or temple for to enjoy the pleasure of to read what others imagined or wrote. But even more, they were scared of to climb to that place; they said between the books there were hidden monsters of all sort. This could never be understood by some girls. How was it possible kids said there were monsters in libraries and not in the taverns or in the shady places where the creatures of the night live? In which moment the reason and common sense become blind for to let pass to the creation of alternative fake myths?

One of her favourite childish games was to lie outside in the nights. Maybe to do not close the window in winter, and to observe the stars. To imagine shapes, to think if it was the truth that some of those celestial beings represented old and new Gods like stories said. Why did some of those stars pass by like beautiful sparks in the sky? No idea if the stories about to ask for wishes to the stars were truth or not. The adults did not agree in to arrive at a conclusion between all these terms between old and new religions after all.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

In times when it looks fancy to have house crests or to belong to any of them is something vital. Until reached the point some humans wish to adopt the ones which are from fictional texts instead of to look for their own past. Or to know more about the fathers and traditions they always rejected and hated only for to be told by someone older than them. People gave for granted that like they did not know about themselves and they stole the symbols of others, not everybody knew about their past. Just silence does not make the individual stupid like they think if not cautious for to keep in advance.

While they were fighting to see which was better: a lion or a snake which did not belong to them. Maybe a wolf, a dragon or a lion if those people preferred the lands of Winterfeld. It was certain that a girl already named Star, had 5 house crests of lineage. Including a golden deer, two golden snakes, two golden lions, wolves, two towers and hawks. Something which she did not grant any importance but having in mind how obsessed certain humans were for to adopt animals and to hesitate about it like bad drunk unhired squires saying they belonged to houses or families where they had never lineage. It was not a surprise what the new world turn so mad.

It was the ignorance which made the world enter into conflict. Please, do not underestimate the power of the lack of knowledge mixed with jealousy of all sort because it makes to the ones who wished to become someone dangerous if they reach the power. That is why in other times and Games of Thrones people simply cut their throats.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

No, it was not a matter of money or wealth like so many insisted on believing. It was, in fact, a matter of knowledge and to gather information or to hide it from the common eyes. It was in those old techniques which certain civilised people preserved since the early democracies and empires; where the numbers were written in letters and not in their modern style. When it was granted this privilege and when it was checked some busybodies were not worthy of to know so much. Not for to limit the information. If not because they could not hold their tongue in present or past. Those same people were the same ones which always wished to acquire power and wealth thanks to the work of others. Maybe, blackmailing the source in the hope to obtain. All their different acts made the ones affected more cautious. In some cases, wild, restrictive and dangerous because, how were they going to trust in people who put the vice first instead of honour? That would not have been a wise move. Neither to trust in the first one who would knock their door saying they wished to be saved when they were disguised with the mask of a new preach which was not yet approved or well seen. Not for the old, even less for the new. It was necessary to find out a way to know why corrupted beings were acting in the way they acted faking they were worthy of a bloodline marked by incest, kings Geoffrey and so much lust…

Where it starts the myth and it starts the fiction? Is any word real and it could swear by? Or maybe it happens like in our days where the daily information of the events is transformed in myths and there are not so many objective places in which to trust the popular hubbub which characterised any society for their need of to know about other who they did not even meet. Even less, if that person is not going to command them, rule them, slay them or talk to them? Is it acceptable to think on certain times it was presumably no one would know about the Lord of a province? Maybe not even to know about no one from the seven kingdoms? It would be terrible ignorant and all a prove of unworthy that people in our days would like to compare those times of evil queens and childish annoying kings with ours. We have evolved. Now we do not use Ravens if not something faster which could be intercepted equally for all sort of spies from different lands. Some, even, extremely far…

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

But why would be someone interested in to know what someone who is not a Lord is making? Maybe because the times have modernised and now the son of the butcher should not have to be butcher anymore. Certainly, now he is having more opportunities than before. Now he can look to the stars, to dream, to go to school until he is a teen. And, if he uses well his time, he will discover he could be other things that he did not have the opportunity to be in the past. To live a different life of the one pre-assigned by conventionalism. To decide that he should not have to marry a woman if he does not wish it. To establish a relationship with a man if he prefers. Black people are not slaves. Neither red heads bring bad luck. Women have the right to wear short skirts and to show their ankles without more taboos. Red lipstick is not a political metaphor if not a statement for to reclaim our female rights. Like it is in beauty, fashion, style, revolution and do not constrict to the norms other imposed to the females where the spirit Chanel resides. The lion, the diamond, the star. And with that fashion will never die.

However, what all these myths, symbols, jewellery, wheat and wealth have to do with the present and the past? That girl who chased cats and who dreamt with the stars was not in the right place. Somehow she finished lost in some lands where vipers of all sort believe information must be manipulated, that design, fashion, music, stories… Are not what they were meant to be. They believe that information is created and not transmuted with objectivity and fairness if not who holds the power has the right to manipulate that reality and to make everybody think what they wish. Following those norms, they give for granted in the rest of the kingdom lands people makes the same they do. It is impossible to convince them of any other thing because they do not want to listen or to believe chance is possible, miracles exist.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

A land, where the older ones believed they had to work as much as they could while the others who followed gave for granted life is only for to get a paid job of any sort. To live with that wage the rest of your life and having the right to constantly ask for all sort of permissions on their public position which some took like gap years with all sort of illness like different motives or excuses. Some children had so many teachers whom they only saw one month in the whole year. They said they were depressed and they did not come back except for to correct tests which they did not even prepare or taught. That was how it worked those lands where it was normal to be wealthy but believing they were not and living in their own disgrace. Instead of to make a change in their lives and to follow what the stars, their dreams or heart said they preferred to play safe. They finished ending sick of themselves and making believe the younger ones everybody else was sick like them. “That art is not art. That person only creates because they need to say something to someone else. Something they do not dare to say with works and they make it with visual work, painting, filmmaking, storytelling… Instead.” That believe was spread like the wide walkers in winter. It is the reason people does not follow the stars, the Gods or dreams. They think fashion is not a way of expression if not to impose others what to wear, to look and to think.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

Rescuing it from the past it is the symbol of wheat. It meant prosperity in the same lands which not so long ago were ruled by Romans and who were the ones who attributed to it the meaning of wealth. Here, like an old legend which comes from those golden fields and which is the basis of so many cultures for to be fed. It came to the inspiration of a jewellery line full of diamonds and all sort of precious stones. Because it is in the pure creativity, myths, beliefs and inner expression where the art, stories, design, music… borns. Not for to say something the artists does not dare to express and they do it this way thanks to their subconscious for to let others psychoanalyse the message that they cannot understand. Certainly, you cannot understand because you are not looking it right. Instead of to believe fiction medieval myths, Roman ones of if stories about girls are or not real. Stop your watch. Stop the time. Keep with your own and the piece you want to read, to watch and to explore. Then you will feel what it says instead of to deem it like something which must be dissected like a frog. You will learn there is not need to kill a thing and to rip it torn to make a children’s science class. Not in our days, that was a story of the past. And with that and a bit of hope, you will let others keep moving this world forward.

Fashion is made for to express, oneself. Art is made for to express, oneself. Design is made for to express, oneself. Music is made for to express, oneself. Storytelling is made for to express, oneself… The list is so huge that it is like a spigot of wheat. Full of wealth. But not of others, if not the one we acquire by ourselves. Instead to wish to see the stars fall for to make the world in darkness, follow them. You can never imagine to the places a little girl arrived for to do it that way.

It is said, that when fashion meets style and art meet oneself, Strawberry Fields and other lands are full of Le Blé and some of those grains will turn in pure diamonds arrived the time when they will reap the good seedtime they made.

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A Story Of A Throne. Pictures courtesy @CHANEL There are stories which come from the past towards the present. To the present to the past and meanwhile, all these things in between cycles repeat in unexpected ways.

[londontheatre]

Charlotte Peters in Caste rehearsal – Photo by Greg Goodale

In a new production commissioned by the Finborough Theatre to mark the 150th anniversary of T. W. Robertson’s 1867 comedy – and the first UK production in over 20 years – Directed by Charlotte Peters, Caste plays at the Finborough Theatre for nine Sunday and Monday evenings and Tuesday matinees from Sunday, 2nd April 2017. 

Director Charlotte Peters recently took time out to chat about the production.

Q: An anniversary is a fair reason for a new production – but why this one and why now? Charlotte: Very few Victorian dramas and comedies survived the test of time. Despite Robertson being one of the founders of naturalism in theatre and one of the first ‘directors’ in terms of how we perceive the role today, his plays seemed to get lost over the years. Being such a fan of the play, it’s rather surprising to me that this is the first London production of Caste for decades. The 150th anniversary seemed a great reason for reviving this forgotten classic, but more than that, this seems the perfect time to bring to life a piece that at its essence is about reminding its audience that we’re all the same. The play may use class as its subject, but it feels rather apt that such a message should be celebrated just at the moment. Besides, with everything that’s been happening in the world of late, we could probably all do with a giggle and Robertson certainly knows his comedy!

Q: As the Director, what challenges do you face to make this production feel fresh? Charlotte: The brilliant thing about comedy is that it’s timeless so we’re fortunate that most of Robertson’s wonderful observations about people still exist today. That said, if one was reading the play they may find the language dated so we’ve been keen to introduce the style early on and slightly contemporise its meaning in places, and also to use the language to add to the comedy of the production. Whilst we have stayed very true to Robertson’s stage directions (he was certainly specific!), we’ve given the production a fresh edge by setting it within a Victorian photographer’s studio. In the mid to late 19th century, photography was starting to grow in popularity, and in an age where how you are perceived was vital, it felt interesting and rather fun to explore what would happen if every vulnerable moment was caught on camera.

Q: How do you ensure that the piece is seen to be authentic? Charlotte: Caste was first performed in 1867, but it is set in 1856, a year before the Indian Rebellion as two of our characters go off to defend the Empire. Despite many of the themes within Caste being timeless, it is set within an age that focused on morality, where the class system was starting to change to make room for the middle classes rising up from the Industrial Revolution, and where romanticism was spreading throughout Europe. We’ve wanted to keep hold of that setting as it’s crucial for the stakes of the play and so all costumes and props sit very much within the period. The language too, assists in the authenticity of the piece, paying homage to Old England, whilst remaining clear for a contemporary audience.

Q: What can you tell us about rehearsals and working with the cast? Charlotte: I feel like the last few weeks have mainly been spent laughing although I’m sure we got some work done too! It has been an absolute joy to share ideas and direct such a wonderful bunch of actors whilst re-discovering a brilliant comedy. I feel incredibly lucky to be working with such a brilliant cast who between them have worked for some of the most prolific theatre companies in the UK and brilliant television and film. It means Caste’s creation has truly been a collaboration of minds, greatly helped too by a fantastic creative, stage management and production team.

Q: Do you have a favourite character? (and/or a favourite line) Charlotte: My favourite character seems to change every rehearsal as they’re all so full of heart! I have started using “Confound it!” in daily life wherever possible as it’s such a brilliant exclamation – I hope to bring it back to 21st-Century vocabulary so spread the word!

Q: What is at the heart of the production? Charlotte: There’s a brilliant line in Caste: “Nobody’s a mistake. He don’t exist. Nobody’s nobody. Everybody’s somebody.” and I think that just about sums up the play. Hidden within this comedy of class prejudices is the idea that actually, we’re all the same. Caste celebrates that we may think there are fundamental differences between us and those who grew up in a completely different way to us, but fundamentally, we all want to love and to be loved. It may be a Victorian comedy, but it seems to me that never has such a simple idea seemed more important to remind ourselves of, than right now.

Paul Bradley and Susan Penhaligon in Caste – Photo by Greg Goodale

Q: What emotions do you go through on Opening Nights? Charlotte: I think I probably go through every emotion! Opening Night is about relinquishing control of something you’ve held very dear and looked after for weeks or months and so whilst it’s a very freeing experience, it can be nerve wracking too! Mostly it’s a chance to see the cast bring to life the ideas thrown about in a rehearsal room and that can be exhilarating and rather magical.

Q: Why should everyone get along to see Caste? Charlotte: If you feel that you’ve not had much to celebrate of late in terms the ever more depressing daily news that we wake up to, Caste promises to provide 90 minutes of comedic light relief whilst being full of truth. It’s an opportunity to see a wonderful collection of actors revive a brilliant piece that certainly deserves to be enjoyed by audiences for many generations to come.

*****

Director Charlotte Peters is currently Resident Director on An Inspector Calls in the West End, and will shortly be Resident Director on the National Tour of War Horse (National Theatre). Direction includes By My Strength, Jog On (Frederick’s Place Theatre), Constellations (Bread and Roses Theatre), Dram (Old Red Lion Theatre), Bark (53two), How To Make Money From Art (Phoenix Artist Club), Fame (Tallink Silja, Scandinavia), Interval (Camden People’s Theatre), And The Little One Said… (Cock Tavern) and Art and What The Butler Saw (Edinburgh Festival). Charlotte has worked as Assistant Director with Steve Marmion on Only The Brave (Soho Theatre Press Information and Wales Millennium Centre) and I’m Not Here Right Now (Soho Theatre and Edinburgh Festival), and for Steven Blakeley on Aladdin and Jack and the Beanstalk (Theatre Royal Windsor). As Associate Director, she has worked with Alastair Whatley on Birdsong and The Private Ear / The Public Eye (National Tour) and Iqbal Khan on The Importance of Being Earnest – The Musical (Theatre Royal Windsor).

“My dear fellow, nobody’s a mistake. He don’t exist. Nobody’s nobody. Everybody’s somebody.”

1867. George D’Alroy is a soldier and the son of French nobility. Esther Eccles is a beautiful ballet dancer from a poor family. When the two fall in love, two very different families are brought together.

After George leaves to serve in India, Esther must deal with a drunken father, a sister with a fierce temper and a terrifying mother in law. Not knowing whether she will ever see her love again, Esther must confront the class prejudices of Victorian England, whilst coping with the chaos created by her increasingly exasperating family members…

Widely considered both as T. W. Robertson’s masterpiece and a ground-breaking milestone in British theatre, Caste was described by George Bernard Shaw as “epoch-making”, whilst W. S. Gilbert said it “pointed the way for a whole new movement”, and when William Archer and Harley Granville Barker planned the programme for their proposed National Theatre, they were agreed that the mid-Victorian period should be “inevitably represented by its one masterpiece, Caste.”

Playwright T.W. Robertson (1829-1871) was a theatrical revolutionary. His works include Society (1865), Ours (1866) which was revived at the Finborough Theatre in 2007 for the first time in over a century, Play (1868), Progress (1869), School (1869), Birth (1870), M.P. (1870) and War (1871). Robertson was the first playwright to treat contemporary British subjects in realistic settings, and also directed his own work. Many of his most successful works were produced for the management team of Squire Bancroft and his wife Marie – buried just minutes from the Finborough Theatre in Brompton Cemetery – who were instrumental in creating the West End theatre that we know today with their innovations in the fields of stage design, theatre decoration, ensemble acting and long runs of single plays, with matinee performances.

Robertson was a huge influence on later theatre makers including Arthur Pinero, who based the character of Tom Wrench in Trelawny of the ‘Wells’ on Robertson; and W.S. Gilbert, who said that “I look upon stage management [i.e. theatre direction], as now understood, as having been absolutely invented by him.”

Celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Victorian classic CASTE by T. W. Robertson Directed by Charlotte Peters. Designed by Georgia de Grey. Lighting by Robbie Butler. Original music and sound design by Theo Holloway. Presented by Project One Theatre Company in association with Neil McPherson for the Finborough Theatre. Cast: Paul Bradley. Neil Chinneck. Rebecca Collingwood. Isabella Marshall. Duncan Moore. Susan Penhaligon. Ben Starr.

Finborough Theatre, 118 Finborough Road, London SW10 9ED http://ift.tt/NsSQwL

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