Difference between revisions of "Logs:Wulfan's Turnday"

Beyond the great hall and the communal dining areas lie the living quarters of mere residents. Along sweeping staircases that lead upward, lies the Hold 'manor' -- the place of residence for those of noble birth and the kin and friends that visit.

In the drawing room adjacent to the family's private dining hall, Wulfan sits nursing a crystal glass of some brown liquor, while listening to the seemingly earnest chatter of his younger brother. Standing, but part of the conversation nonetheless, Pavrol and Korek interject as necessary, though the latters' eyes drift to a dark haired woman smiling magnamiously and conversing with his wife and some other holder women. It's an informally formal affair, not many moments where family both close and extended are gathered, to celebrate Wulfan's birthday.

Holding the delicate bubbly glass inbetween two fingers, Yuliye's striking figure stands by Anatolia. "No," she responds coolly to the woman's obvious fishing inquiry, "My husband will not be joining me in my visit." Where Braeden is is of little consequence to Crom's niece.

"Mother," Teoma, the flaxen haired daughter of Korek and Anatolia, admonishes her mother in a high whisper, blushing prettily. "I am sure he is busy and sends his regrets." She tries, perhaps too hard, to smooth over any ruffles that may have been created by her mother's probing; a reassuring smile is given the dark-haired beauty, before her blue eyes skip off to her sister.

Standing off to the side, included but not in the forefront, Farideh is dressed in pretty, sage-green velvet trimmed in gold, with her hair done up in curls and secured with sparkling hair pins. One would assume she would be perfectly content, that she would relish the moment to bask in the familiarity of company and high-born figures, but the skinny brunette looks positively bored. She has a glass, of the same pour as Lady Yuliye's, in one hand, that she holds near her chin. Her hazel eyes have settled on some point near the door, but her sister's words bring them back upon Yuliye. "I can't imagine why he wouldn't want to be at such a fine event," she says, attempting a fleeting smile; the unassuming would take it for face value, but her mother and sister both turn disapproving stares on the youngest daughter.

Where there's disapproval from family, there's a not so secreted smile into her glass, dark eyes intent on Farideh, as Yuliye finally takes a sip. "Lovely vintage, Lady Igen," says the brunette to Daroda, eyes shifting from the younger woman to Igen's mistress. "You didn't have to open this for my benefit. Braeden will regret having missed it and this fine," a brief pause to glance at Farideh again, before those eyes dance quickly to the menfolk considering, "Affair."

Across the way, the 'menfolk' conversation gets even more animated, though the Big Bay Holders seem to be staying out of it as Wulfan and Joremy discuss matters at hand. A beat passes, Yuliye seeming to try to listen in, but ultimately remarking, "How long do you and your family intend to stay at Igen, Anatolia?" It's the most subtle distinction that sets apart Anatolia's titleless name from that of Daroda's.

Forethought not being what it is in wiser, learned individuals, Farideh meets Yuliye's gaze with pinkened cheeks and a retreating stare. Her eyes, having dropped to the floor, maintain the semblance of a young woman embarrassed by her own words. She keeps her dark head bowed, fingers clutching the stem of her glass hard, until the Cromese woman speaks again to her mother.

Anatolia smiles stiltedly, inclining her head at Yuliye. "We would never want to wear on Lord Wulfan's generous offer," the woman minces, flicking sharp green eyes to Lady Daroda and then back to Lady Yuliye, "and Pavrol and Korek always worry about everything, even when our steward has everything well in hand. We shall stay until they can take it no longer. Be assured we will be not be away before the night or a day hence." Her smile is tolerant, her eyes sweeping to the two older gentlemen listening, aptly, to Wulfan and Joremy's discussion.

The men break up when Wulfan rises to get a refill, and the Lord pauses by his wife's elbow, "Ladies," he musters thinly, before leaning into murmur something into Daroda's ear. "Of course," she says lightly, reaching up to tweak his cheek in a decidedly indecorous fashion. Igen's Lord's second sweep of the women pauses at Yuliye, his expression decidedly mixed; as if he can't tell what to make of this lady or her place in the world.

"Lord Igen," greets Yuliye demurely. "High Reaches and Crom thank you for your hospitality." Greetings made, the young Crom woman drifts to slip her arm through Farideh's. "If you don't mind, I'd like to borrow your daughter and discuss where she got her lovely dress."

Lord Wulfan's presence makes Anatolia stand a little straighter, Teoma look a little starry-eyed, and Farideh roll her eyes under the pretense of turning about to fix the back of her skirts. Both mother and eldest daughter give the man the respect he is due - he is, after all, their Lord unto which their tithes are bestowed. But more than being respectful and genteel, everyone, Farideh included, is surprised by Yuliye's move to loop their arms and spirit her away.

Farideh keeps staring at Yuliye like she may have taken leave of her senses, and Anatolia frowns, lifting a hand to stop their flight. Teoma comes to the rescue, grabbing her mother's hand and caressing the top with the pads of her thumbs. "Mother, have you been using that lotion?" And from whence, the petite blonde starts to regal the women assembled of the wonderful potion that was mixed for them by a healer from the Hall, purported to make skin as smooth as a babe's and smells delightfully like flowers.

"Do you need something a little harder? One thing all this fabric is good for is hiding the important things." Yuliye is busy rustling about her skirts when Joremy comes up to the pair, an arm slipping about the former Lady Reaches' waist too familiarly. "And what are the two loveliest ladies at this shindig doing in dark shadowy corners? Whisky?" He moves from Yu to draw out a flask from his formal jacket.

"What? To drink?" Farideh is still holding tight to her champagne glass, and doesn't know what to think when Joremy comes up to them and slips an arm around Yuliye's waist. She stares at the offending limb for an unseemly amount of time, before settling wide eyes on the flask-holding man. "I.. I thought you wanted to talk to me about my dress," she says, swinging towards Yuliye with an accusatory look pinned onto her face; Joremy gets a side eye, a suspicious one at that.

"A pretense. A moment longer with you so near your mother, or me near your mother, and there might have been bloodshed. Which would reflect quite poorly on our gracious acceptance of Igen's hospitality, no?" Yuliye reaches for Joremy's flask and fills her empty glass with a small pour of it. "It doesn't mean I'm not interested in your dress. Be a doll," says the woman to the man at her side, "Fetch her a clean glass?" The brilliant smile she affords Igen's younger brother has him off to do her bidding without word.

A sigh is drawn from the younger brunette, her defensive demeanor subsiding. "I suppose," Farideh tips her chin to Yuliye, "that would be unfortunate. It would be a pity to ruin Lord Wufan's rug." Her mouth quirks nearly imperceptible, her eyes following Joremy's retreat. "Are you and.." That question is loaded, and a myriad more questions linger on her tongue and in her eyes as she turns them on Yuliye, thin brows raised. "You are married still? There are rumors, but as rumors go, I thought they were ridiculous. Have you split?"

"He's pretty to look at. Lovely, broad shoulders," muses Yuliye aloud as she watches Joremy's back, "But yes, sweetheart, I am still married and I honor my marriage bed, as much as it honors me in return." Slim fingers run down the length of her gown, smoothing out unseen wrinkles and comes up to rest on Farideh's elbow. "Your mother is ambitious," is said without blame. "She would have you married to Joremy if she could I imagine. If he wasn't a little too old for you, but age has never mattered much in our circles, has it?" The cultured, pretty face slants Farideh a look. "What do you think of him?"

Since Yuliye is pointing it out, Farideh doesn't hold back the appreciative cant of her head, glass touching her lips as she admires and sips. "Too much so," she agrees, turning her attention back to the Cromese woman. "I can't see the advantage. We are already within Lord Igen's graces and he would gain little to see us married. Better to marry into Ista or Telgar." Still, that's not the exact question here, what does she think of him. Pink cheeks and all, her thin shoulders lift in a faux-indifference. "He has hardly a rival within Igen. He is quite lovely to look at," she agrees, eyes flitting to the toes of her slippers sticking out from under her dress. "He seems much more enamored of you, Lady Yuliye. I look plain in comparison," she says, directing her stare back up to meet the other's eyes.

Unsurprised, Yuliye merely remarks, "As many men are. You'll find, Farideh, that a woman is capable of far more than she should be if she utilizes all the assets she has at her disposable." But lessons on feminine wiles and the power of sex, or lack there of, must be set aside for another day for Joremy returns with a clean glass for the young Igenite. "Thank you, Jor," distinct flattery somehow infused in just those three syllables. "I'd like you to escort the young lady to dinner as my company has been claimed by Pavrol for the evening. It was a pleasure meeting you, Farideh. Perhaps our paths will cross again some day. Hopefully," she adds tartly, "Not at Ista or Telgar."

The suggestion is lost on the much younger woman, whose brow puckers with befuddlement, and just as quickly smooths out when Joremy returns with a fresh glass, prompting her to feign deep thirst and finish off the first. She accepts the second with a generous, if timid, smile and bobs her head in farewell to Yuliye. "It was wonderful to meet you, Lady Yuliye. I hope you'll consider coming to visit again, if not at Big Bay, then.." Her lip curls in, her eyes slanting to Joremy. She reaches a hand to tuck any stray curls behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious; nothing like someone pointing out the opportunity at hand to make one doubt oneself.

"You're about as in love with her as I am," Joremy starts companionably. His arm extends in a crooked offer while his other hand takes the used bubbly glass and puts it aside. "She's a character, leaving fallen men in her wake and entire Holds felled. I imagine the only man who has been immune to her charms is Braeden." But what else the man might think of the former Lord Reaches is left unsaid. "Joremy, Lord Wulfan's brother, and you must be one of Korek's lovely daughters."

Laughter bubbles up, but Farideh tries holding it in with fingers pressed to her lips. "Is he? I'd heard the rumors. I cannot imagine how. She's gorgeous and brilliant and.." Joremy may be right, she might as well be enamored with Yuliye too. He, luckily, has her attention from there on out. She won't try seeking out Crom's niece once she's made her leave. "Joremy," she repeats, settling her hand within the crook of his arm, her newly free hand holding onto the extent of her green skirts. "I am. Farideh, the youngest, and less mentionable. Teoma is the one they brag about." Her smile is sly, her expression more playful and less malicious as she looks towards her pretty, blonde sister.

"Most enchanted, Farideh. I've heard you are the tempest to her calm." In his tone, this is a compliment it never likely seems to be off her mother's tongue. Joremy ruffles his hair with one free hand, even as the other arm draws Farideh proprietarily closer with an inward draw of his elbow. They begin to walk, because he walks. "Braeden is an interesting fellow. We fostered together for a spell at Tillek, before the old Lord passed away. The stories he could share, but doesn't, reflect in a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "And the lady Yu is as ambitious as gossip says. I wasn't surprised when she'd somehow made that match for herself, but..." the aftermaths is relegated to a shrug.

Being escorted around by such a handsome - if temporary - suitor is enough to make the young brunette's face positively glow, not to mention the smile that seems unable to leave. Farideh lets him lead, moving at his side with subtle grace - something her mother will probably chide her about later. She gives her head a little shake, and returns avid hazel eyes back to Joremy. "I've heard a lot of things. That is all I can do. I have never met Braeden myself, and Lady Yuliye.. well, everyone says horrible things about her, about how she is, about how.." She hesitates, biting the corner of her lip in an unladylike manner, herself. "She does things a lady should not. But you admire her?" The last asked with open curiosity.

Joremy admits, a rueful twist to his mouth as he seeks out the maligned lady seated down the way with Pavrol. "I don't know that any other woman could live with such a reputation, hold her head up, but somehow the way she handles it is admirable in its own way. And it makes me wonder just how much of what's said is true." Rose colored glasses and all. "She has interesting ideas and can hold her own in any discussion, even with Wulfan, and he's a hard one to argue with. The harpers did right by her, though I'm not even sure if they had much hand in it." He pulls out the chair for Farideh and gestures, "And you, my lady? What are your thoughts?"

Disquiet falls over Farideh while she's listening to Joremy's piece. She sits on the chair he offers and drops her hands in her lap. Her fingers are quick to find and pluck listlessly at the golden ribbon falling from her waistline. It's with troubled depths that she lifts her eyes to his, her smile robbed of her for the moment. "Can I trust you to keep my confidences?"

Curiosity turns Joremy from his sidelong glances at the former lady Reaches. He leans in to adjust her napkin, attentive in making sure she's settled in properly, and murmurs quietly, "Always, my lady."

Farideh's gaze drops from Joremy to where Yuliye sits. "I sometimes think," punctuated with a hurried, speculative look at Igen's youngest, "being like Lady Yuliye would be far easier and less contrived than being.." She grapples for a word, pursing her lips and settling back in her seat. "This. All of this." Her fingers stop moving and she sighs. "She is herself. She is who she wants to be. She doesn't mind what other people think. What isn't there to envy?"

A smile brackets deeply about Joremy's mouth. He makes one last motion of smoothing out her napkin and sliding her chair in slowly. Then, he takes the seat next to her. "I think, days past, long ago, she used to play by society's rules. She was married before Braeden, you know. I think," the man looks from Farideh to the animated Yuliye, entertaining Farideh's father and uncle with a story that somehow sets the other side of the table in laughter, and then back to Farideh, "She's learned hard lessons along the way. I find her ability to sit here, dine with us, laugh, and fit in this society, and then in the next second be elbow deep in muck helping some sick child out in the field with their work endlessly fascinating. She should never have had to touch filth and excrement and yet..." The man shakes his head and gestures, "My brother's cook makes the most excellent smoked herdbeast. Be sure to try some when it's offered."

"Was she?" Farideh asks, wistfully, and reaches forward to grab the glass with water at her place seating. She's, too, turns to watch Yuliye entertain those around her with her vivacious personality; it's enough to make a young, impressionable girl all the more self-conscious. Her mouth has even developed a frown, or it does until she catches her mother's eye across the way. It's clear from the glare and the gesturing that Anatolia is not impressed with Farideh's version of playing companion to Wulfan's brother. Fearful of incurring her mother's wrath, Farideh smiles brightly and asides, through her teeth, to Joremy, "Laugh. Or she'll come down here."

"Let her," says the charming man carelessly. "Your father doesn't screw her vigorously enough." Rough words aside, he winks at Farideh and then laughs, as she's asked. "Tell me about your life, lady Farideh. What places you've visited, what matches your parents mean to make." And so the evening might go, small talk, chatter of what goes on in their circles, what might be going on outside, and how fantastic that smoked meat is.

Such raucous words coming from such upstanding a man as Joremy, with ease even, is enough to earn a stuttered sound from Farideh as her eyes grow, progressively. Her face is aflame, and she'll duck it, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in her napkin. But far be it for her to deny his request. Once her initial shock has worn off, she will do just that, sharing what little of her life she has lived, asking him the same, and thoroughly enjoying his company - and the smoked herdbeast - throughout the remainder of the night.