Partial Dog Mauling//open

[Deniel de Vallée Bleue]

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, filling the courtyard with crisp, bright light across the carefully manicured lawns and expansive greenery. Several people were taking their morning strolls through the gardens, leisurely they circled the brilliant flower beds and articulately trimmed hedges. Alone in the center of the garden was a tall boy with dark red hair, the expression on his face was a neutral, even pleasant expression that he had forced there on account of appearances, though he had no inclination to actually feel this way.

Deniel ran his fingers over the carved stone of a fountain as he stared out across the expansive gardens of the palace. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to imagine the gardens of Tusaine’s capital, or at least how they were the last time he had laid eyes on them. If things had played out as they were supposed to, he would be standing in those gardens now, waiting for the time for tea to arrive. He would probably be expecting to visit a beautiful young lady, intent on asking for her hand in marriage in the near future. His clothing would be befitting of his station, thick velvets, delicate silks, and decadent trimmings would adorn his body as he stepped from his father’s carriage.

He opened his eyes, the gardens were still beautiful, but they left a strange taste in his mouth. Deniel tried in vain to cling to the last passing moments of his fancy, but this new, darker reality was too powerful to allow him to dream any longer. He was not milling around the garden waiting for a young, eligible lady to have him for tea. He was actually milling around the gardens waiting for tea time with an old crone, one who was sympathetic to the Tusaine refugees because she had spent a good deal of time in Tusaine and liked to show off her command of the Tusaine language.

She had invited Deniel once before, he had agreed merely because he was desperate for contacts in Corus, no matter how old or decrepit they happened to be. In the last visit she had rambled on and on about her grandchildren who were nothing but babies and it took someone of a strong constitution to be vaguely amused by her endless tales about Timmy’s first teeth. Just thinking about spending another hour in her company made Deniel grind his teeth, but he knew that he didn’t have many options in terms of the company he kept at this point.

Even worse was the fact that he was dressed in fashions from two seasons ago, he hoped that the lady wouldn’t notice, but he could practically feel the stares of the other people that were residing at the palace. It seemed that even the servants noticed that he was out of date, every time they whispered to one another or glanced his direction he could feel another knot form in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t care to guess how he would feel if these people knew how he had gotten from his apartment in the residential part of the city to the palace, it was the most undignified method, that of walking. He had left extremely early so none of the neighbors or anyone of any importance at the palace would see him, which meant that he had time to kill before he had his engagement for tea.

He circled the fountain once, then after finding it so agreeable, circled it again. He was about to circle it once more, but for the furious barking of a dog in close proximity to his person. Glancing, up he saw a set of three dogs bounding towards him at a very intimidating speed and as they neared they didn’t seem to slow down, but rather they were speeding up. He jumped backwards a few steps, then was overtaken by the fury mass of dogs. They jumped up on him, pushing him back into a bush.

He fell backwards with a grunt as one dog bit his sleeve and another licked his face. The branches slowed his fall, but eventually he made all the way to the ground, being pricked and prodded by branches all the way down.

“Oh, dear, I do apologize!” a man said, running after the dogs. He looked down at the boy, currently sitting in a bush while being bombarded by the beasts. “Dogs, heel!” he shouted. The dogs didn’t seem to mind. “I must apologize! They aren’t trained well at all, you see, I lack that certain hard hand if you know what I mean-“

Deniel had to literally bite his tongue to keep himself from cursing at the man and the dogs. The pain of the bite on his tongue brought water to his eyes as he shook the dog that still had a grip on his sleeve.

“-they are country dogs, not used at all to the palace,” the man was rambling as he tried to pull one off, “I daresay that I will have to send them back-“

“Or send them to the butcher’s shop,” Deniel growled, the words slipping out before he could censor himself. Fortunately, the man didn’t seem to hear. He was still pulling a dog, but then suddenly, the dogs seemed to loose interest. They backed off of Deniel and started to bound away, tongues waving and slobbering excessively, apparently distracted by a new target. The man raced after them, calling a simple “please forgive me!” over his shoulder as he went, leaving Deniel covered in dog salvia and sitting in a bush. He looked around wildly to see if anyone had happened to see him in this embarrassing situation.

((I really hope that there is a character hanging around the palace that will reply...... ))

[Duke Gideon of Genlith]

((You're in luck! But Tem isn't...to but caught so ruffled and undignified by one of the highest and most influencial lords in Tortall...tsk, tsk.))

Surprisingly, Gideon's day had stared off rather well. He had woken when the pale light of the dawning sun had risen just slightly above his wife's shoulder and bombarded his eyes with it's rays. Figuring that to be as a good a sign as any to stand and start the day, Gideon carefully slipped out of the bed, doing his best not to disturb Malin. He walked to the bureau and poured watcher from a pitcher into the washbasin. After rinsing his hands and face, trying to be as quiet as he could, he removed his sharpened knife from the top drawer and shaved off the small stubble that had grown since the day before.

Once he had dumped the dirty water into the chamber pot, Gideon dressed swiftly in the crisp and sharp-looking clothes his manservant, Gerald, had laid out for him some time earlier that morning. He had then left the bedroom and found Gerald laying out a small breakfast for him - just enough to sustain him until the brunch Gideon was attending with the visiting Baron of Tasride in a few short hours.

While he ate, he looked over the few various letters, notices, and reports that mysteriously appeared next to his plate every morning. Two were letters requesting a short meeting with him to discuss the possible extension of the few paved roads that Tortall possesed, while others were updates on several other projects the Crown was funding. He quite dishearted by the list of the lords and ladies who had and hadn't paid their taxes by their required dates, each of which varied according to the circumstances of the noble in question. It was an unecessary allowance, in Gideon's opinion, but one that the lords of Tortall were not willing to peacefully let go. Of the remaining twenty-six full lords of Tortall, only seventeen had sent their required tax in by the required date. The other nine had sent in only part of their owed funds, sent it late, sent part of it late, or just not paid at all. This did not exactly present a promising future.

After he had completed his small breakfast, Gideon returned to his bedroom to find Malin sitting beside the basket where Edmund laid sleeping. She had turned to face him, a genuine smile on her face, and brought a finger up to her lips - a sign to be silent. But then she waved her hand, gesturing for him to come a sit beside her. And there they had sat for a short time, Gideon's arm around her, and Malin's head on his shoulder. Then, abruptly, the peaceful moment was broken by plaintive wails from the basket. Edmund was hungry and wanted his breakfast now.

The rest of Gideon's morning was spent checking up on people and projects, writing missives to in answer to letters and requests, and studying various income records he had had delivered to him to see how the Crown stood in its funds and if it could afford to lengthen or increase the number of their paved roads. The lunch with the Baron of Tasride went markedly well, and his insights on various things gave Gideon a look into how the noblity of Tortall were viewing Amedessa's rule.

After the brunch, the duke of Genlith stopped by his rooms and checked on Malin and Edmund. His wife was cradling him in her arms and walking slowly around the room, rocking him back and forth, swaying this way and that, all the while singing softly to him. It was such a quiet, peaceful thing that he felt he could not disturb them, and so left quietly.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully and without anything of note. Lunch soon came, and Gideon dined with a respectable contractor and they discussed the probabliity of building new roads, if it was feasible idea, how far could they actually extend the roads and how much time such and such a length would take to construct, how much would the project cost, etc.

The short space of time between lunch and tea time was one Gideon usually left open to himself - his little bit of freetime, so to speak. Today he took a slow meandering walk throughout the palace gardens and courtyards, his path zigzagging and completely devoid of any real direction. Gideon chose his paths arbitrarily, taking whatever route or exit that struck his fancy. A scant twenty or so minutes before tea time, he entered one of the larger courtyards in time to watch a young man get thoroughly trampled by a pack of untrained country dogs. The caretaker - supposedly, anyway, for the way he was handling the dogs left much to be desired - managed to call them off, but was unable to keep them from running off. Gideon frowned after him, and considered sending someone to the kennels to inquire after the inept dog-hand.

The very rumpled young man stood up and looked around, probably hoping no one had been there to witness the obviously humiliating spectacle. As Gideon walked forward, the young man's eyes fell on him, and the duke felt a trace of pity amidst him amusement - both feelings he kept off his face. "A pity," intoned the duke when he had reached the man, "that country dogs are not suitable for life at the Palace. Great hunters and watchers they are, but after living in open fields, wide places, and great freedom, I imagine it would be quite dificult to adjust to life in a stall. Wouldn't you agree?" He eyed the young man thoughtfully, trying to place where he was from.

[Deniel de Vallée Bleue]

Deniel could feel his face turning a most unbecoming shade of red as he pulled himself out of the bush. He could feel the sharp branches pulling at the fabric of his clothes while he carefully untangled himself from the bush; he hoped that nothing was ripped because that would only add injury to insult. He brushed his sleeves off, looking down to avoid the gaze of the other man. Deniel knew that he didn’t know the man because his knowledge of the Tortallan aristocracy was somewhat limited due to the limited amount of time that he had been here, this made this meeting somewhat dangerous because he didn’t know this man’s rank, though undoubtedly it had to be notable if he was wandering around the palace at whim and he was clearly no common serving man.

“Of course the adjustment must be difficult,” Deniel replied to him, “but that certainly does not excuse the behavior of the animals. We all must make rather serious adjustments in our lives, but we can’t all run amuck like that.”

Deniel wanted to put some sort of formal address onto his statement, but not knowing this man’s rank made that impossible. He wondered if the man would notice the omission. He strained mentally to recall what his etiquette book said about such an event, but all he could recall was tips on how to determine another’s rank based on the behavior of others towards that person. His mind flipped frantically through his mental copy of the book, while he tried to hold his composure in his manner and facial features.

Never being one to show much emotion in the first place, he was able to keep a rather neutral expression on his face though he had that horrible sinking sensation in his stomach that he would get when he was taking a test that he knew that he was largely unprepared for.

Deniel had finished checking his jacket for rips, thankfully there were none but there was a large gob of dog spit clinging to one sleeve. He shook his arm casually, hoping to dislodge it without calling attention to it. His cheeks were still red, which was almost as bad as saliva on his sleeve and he simply wished more than anything that he could disappear from this situation entirely. This would have never happened in Tusaine! he thought bitterly.

[Duke Gideon of Genlith]

"Ah, but can't we? We have the freedom to more or less do so, but the things that holds us back from running rampant are simply self discipline and social pressure - and, of course, the threat of repercussions. Those dogs have no notion of any of those things for they have never been required of them. No idea have they also of the punishment that awaits them when they are finally caught and brought to heel. But we humans entrap ourselves and restrict our freedom and frolicking with our so-called higher thinking and logic." Realizing that he was beginning to ramble on about things the young man probably had no desire to discuss or think about, Gideon let that particular thread of conversation die there.

He then began to eye the man thoughtfully, attempting to figure out who he was. He was obviously a noble, but though his clothes were of decent make and quality, they were worn and aged, and the fashions long out-dated. An interesting puzzle - the sign of a tight-fisted father or steward? An estate low on funds? A second or third son? A very tradtional family? Or, the thought struck him, one of the few refugees that had recently come to the Palace? The man had also not attatched a title to the end of his comment, causing Gideon to think that it was likely this was the young man's first visit to Corus as his was a widely known face to the residents of the Palace.

After selecting a few people whose age and current situation might match the young man before him, Gideon decided a formal introduction would be best - no point in looking a fool or offending the man by addressing him wrong. While extending his hand, Gideon said lightly, but formally, "I believe greetings are in order. Duke Gideon of Genlith." He gave a slight nod of the head - a rather general movement, simply stating that he was of higher rank and station.

Somewhat bemused at the young man's predicament - that being covered lightly in dirt and dog saliva and unable to overtly wipe it all off because of GIdeon's presense - the duke waited to hear who he was.

[Deniel de Vallée Bleue]

Deniel nodded slowly at the man’s comments about the dogs, he would have loved to launch into a discussion, but that was hardly proper. Also, it would have been an especially bad idea for him to try to converse about the dogs while there was still fresh saliva dripping from his sleeve and he felt nothing but extreme dislike for the animals at this time and nothing anyone could say would make him feel better. “You are right about the beasts, of course,” Deniel said diplomatically, even though he really felt like there was no suitable excuse for them. However, it was far better to play the polite card at this point.

He could feel the man’s gaze on him and he immediately felt self conscious and not just because of the dog spit on his sleeve. He straightened the collar of his jacket as if that would make it look better, with the other hand he brushed at his pant leg as discretely as possible to dislodge any leaves and dirt that were lodged there. This didn’t really do much to help the general appearance of his outfit, the clothes were still as old and out of date as ever.

Knowing that his appearance was a losing battle, he decided that it was best to ignore it and attempt to pretend like he was not a complete mess. He bowed deeply at the man’s greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Deniel said. He tried to remember if he had ever heard the man’s name before, but could not seem to remember hearing anything about him because all of the names of Tortallan lords and ladies were floating about aimlessly in his mind.

“I am Deniel de Vallée Bleue,” he said strongly. His name was a source of great pride for him, while he may have been inferior in rank, age, and wealth to the man that he was standing with, at least he still had the honor of Vallée Bleue to find comfort in. He didn’t want to say that he was a refugee from Tusaine, that word held a mix of feelings for him. In the mix was definitely embarrassment, though he knew that Genlith would invariably know that that was what he was, it felt better not to say it.

[Duke Gideon of Genlith]

((Ahh! I'm so sorry I forgot about this topic!))

Gideon inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the greeting and answered simply, "Likewise." As soon as Deniel proudly spoke his family name, what he new of the family flashed in his head. He had made it a point to familiarize himself at least a little a bit with the names and situation of the refugees that had come to Tortall as it would not due to seem ignorant of any particular problems a family might have. Ruffled feathers were not a good thing - at least, for the moment. Besides, it was quite useful to have that knowledge already, then to have to look it up later.

From the last time he'd checked (which was actually not all that long ago because of the recent influx of refugees moving into Corus), Deniel, his sister, Lisette, and his mother, Lélia, had arrived in town only several weeks ago. As with most of the Tusaine nobles, they were in debt, and since the time of Alphonse de Vallée Bleue's presumed demise at the hands of a mob, Deniel had headed the family. Until their move here, they had entertained residence with the Cavall's. Quite a responsibility for so young a pair of shoulders.

Following the lines a normal conversation would go, the duke of Genlith asked, "What brings you to the Palace this afternoon? Visiting friends?" Gideon knew very well that Deniel hadn't come to Court since his first arrival fifteen years ago when the Vallée Bleue's had originally sought asylum, and that he didn't really have any connections at Court. But he highly doubted that Deniel knew that he knew this and so there was no harm in asking.

((Sorry it's so short...))

[Deniel de Vallée Bleue]

((Heh no worries ;D ))

It had been awhile since Deniel had spoken to anyone of real importance, he really hadn't had many visits or conversations with anyone besides the people who rented him the apartment and sold him the furniture that filled it. They had only been commoners, rough people that Deniel hadn't particularly enjoyed dealing with and obviously of no help to him in terms of social connections.

Standing here, Deniel was glad to be speaking to someone who seemed so refined, a gentlemen, which was more rare in his life than Deniel had hoped. He only wished that he could remember who he was and what he had heard about the man. If he was planning on getting anywhere socially in Tortall then he really should learn more about the important Tortallans. He folded his hands in front of him carefully, trying to look more composed than he felt.

“Yes sir,” Deniel replied, “Well, perhaps not friends, but a friend.” He paused, knowing that this was a lie too, the old lady that he was visiting was not a friend by any definition of the word that an ordinary person would have, but calling her a friend was the polite thing to do. “I am visiting the Baroness Merlena of Darroch, she grows easily tired of court activities because of her advanced age and enjoys more quiet visitations. Baroness Merlena has very kindly allowed me to do my best to entertain her.”

He kept his hands folded neatly, his pose and his words were very stiff and proper, exactly like a page out of one of his etiquette books. Deniel had always had trouble being a talkative and likable person, being sociable was always challenging, but being polite was just a matter of memorizing the rules that were already laid out. The only thing that he was actually good at without thinking about it was eye contact, he had a slow, thoughtful gaze that could look into someone else’s eyes deeply, but not intensly enough to be uncomfortable.

“And you, sir?” he asked lightly, “Are you on business this morning or simply enjoying the gardens?”