Morianrhod
Does Her Best.
I'd like some feedback on this please. I started it about two months ago but I dropped it for a while and have since taken it back up.
Scenario's this- It's set in the 1920s, and is set about five years after the main gameplay of Pokemon X and Y (I went with it being Y, but that's beside the point).
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The frost was heavy in the air creating a very fine layer of fog that obscured the view from the carriage window but Augustine did not care. Pulling his thick winter coat tighter around his shoulders he drew his legs further into it, staring spuriously out from the folds at the outside world. Thank goodness that he was the sole occupant of the carriage he thought, sacrificing comfort for decorum was not his desire as he tried to fight off the cold. He smirked, remembering his secretary Seema’s discomfort earlier that day when he offered to accompany her to the masquerade. She had called him a Libertine, perhaps intending to send him away or not wanting to upset her evening plans, which Augustine recalled were staying at home with her mother, knitting and occasionally listening to the Wireless to the musical programmes and the latest news reports from across the world. How boring, he thought. Who wouldn’t relish the chance to go to a ball, much less a ball where the Elite held their annual masquerade.
The faint tinkling of a rushing carriage in the distance made him glance out the window. An open carriage pulled by a team of two Winter Sawsbuck rode past, their reins decked with tiny silver bells that jostled as the Sawsbucks trotted over the cobblestones. Inside were three women, Augustine recognised them as the Marquess D’Eternale and her two eldest daughters, whom he had many a secret rendezvous with on the Ile de la Lys, a small island on the river that boasted noble trees and beds of magnificent lilies and when the weather was right, beautiful women bathing in the waters.
Sitting upright quickly he stuck his head out the window of his carriage and held his hat to make sure that it did not fly off. He shot a grin at the eldest daughter, Marcine, who caught his glance and giggled behind her hand. The Marquess looked sharply at her daughter, scolding her and Augustine quickly pulled his head back into the carriage and hitting his head on the top of the window in his haste to avoid being seen.
The Marquess was not a woman you wanted to upset. He grimaced and rubbed his head. He wondered if she had brought her little Chou-Chou with her, an annoying little Glaceon. Augustine could not understand why she kept the rat-dog with her at all times.
Stopping at the rail crossing Augustine glanced sideways, catching a glare off Marquess D’Eternale. Nervously tipping his hat to her, he felt her icy stare dig into him and he felt ill-at-ease. Chou-Chou jumped up and began yapping at him as the train passed by the crossing.
Once it had passed both carriages rolled up the long road towards the Palais du Rois, and Augustine silently begged that the Marquess was not heading there as well. The daughters, even silent Etienne who spurred his approaches at every turn, would be welcome in his mind but time with the Marquess and her frigid rat made his stomach churl . He did not look forward to having to bite his tongue at the Masquerade Ball.
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The Masquerade was an annual event, something held exclusively for the upper classes and those few people of merit that had earned their invitations by doing great deeds. Augustine Sycamore was one of those few people. A notable scientist who had made several contributions into biological sciences, he had published an extensive essay documenting regional differences in fauna and the mutations they underwent when exposed to certain wavelengths of radiation. Though his work was still incomplete, the theories that he had created had earned the respect of the scientific community and polite society with his notions of ‘Greater Evolution’ or as the Upper Classes called it ‘Mega Evolution’.
The road up to the Palais was cobbled and Augustine was having a hard time keeping his composure as the carriage clattered over the snow covered stones towards the palace.
He cursed the Marquess silently as he tried his best to sit rigidly straight, hoping that the she might not glance his way and catch him looking at her fine daughters.
All the way up to the daunting gilded gates of the Palais, Augustine held his stiff pose and felt a shudder of relief as the Marquess’s carriage pulled ahead of his own and entered the main grounds of the palais. The carriage stopped at the gates.
“Good Evening Sir. May I see your invitation?” asked one of the porters, who stood outside the carriage door. Augustine checked his pockets and found a slightly crumpled letter inside his breast pocket. Smoothing it out with a brush of his hand he passed it to the porter who grabbed it with a mitten covered hand and held it close to his eyes and squinted as if struggling to read it in the cold. “Let’s see, that’s an A... Aug-gus-teen... Sea-ca-mor-ay?”
“Give that here, Antoine.” said another Porter, swiping the letter from the first porter. After a few tense seconds, he struck the poor man on the head. “Idiote! Don’t you recognise the seal of the Grand Duchess Diantha?” Antoine cowered beneath his arms, protecting himself from his colleague.
“But Francois- I swear I’ve been keeping up with my lessons!”
“No buts!” Francois glared. “A thousand pardons Monsieur. Please, drive on.” Francois passed the letter back to Augustine who was driven on into the courtyard.
The courtyard was covered in a fine blanket of snow and the Palais was lit with giant lights that illuminated the intricate architecture above them and a bannister smartly decked with twisting chains of fairy lights. Augustine’s jaw hung open as the cart drove around a magnificent fountain of a dancing Milotic surrounded by smaller Cherubs and Horseas carved out of white marble. He wondered why the water had not frozen nearby as he picked up his earlier discarded coat and wrapped it over his shoulders, suddenly aware of how cold he was.
This was only his second time gracing the Palais’s environs and the extravagant beauty of the Palais still fascinated him. Her tall and shapely pillars and her velvet red carpets that welcomed the highest echelons of society, her ornate Noivern Gargoyles that clung to her gutters and stared down at the world of elegance and lights below. She was a fine specimen of a building rivalled only by the Parfum Palais a day and a half’s ride southwest from Lumiose City’s Western Quarter.
Stepping outside the carriage he gasped as the cold snatched away his breath. He wondered what the temperature was as he brushed down his coat to free it of the creases where he had been sitting for so long. At the door at the top of the stairs, he was met by yet another porter, who asked for his coat and hat. Passing them to him Augustine walked into the reception hall of the Palais.
To say that the Palais du Rois was ornate was an understatement and potentially sacrilegious. It had been built over three hundred years ago by the King of Kalos as a statement of his power over the entire region. It had been the centre of the political authority for well over one hundred and eighty years before the seat of the government was transported to Anistar City under the decision of the Senate. Magnificence was the codeword here and nothing had been left wanting in the interior design.
Augustine slowly walked into the grand hall, admiring the large arched windows and the detailed frescoes on the ceiling. Three golden chandeliers inlaid with many precious jewels hung from the ceiling, lighting the large hall with a warm glow. Specially adapted to take Electricity instead of candles as a fire only fifty years ago caused by dripping wax had burned away much of the original architecture. They’d done a magnificent job of repairing the damage, Augustine thought. You could hardly tell the difference between the original work and the repairs as he’d been told once by an old friend of his Lysandre Sauveterre at the event they attended three years ago, the last ball he’d attended before the Geosenge event that had ultimately culminated in his death.
Determined not to think of the past, Augustine made himself watch the many elegantly dressed people dancing together, waltzing across the floor in a spiral of colours. Augustine wasn’t all that bad of a dancer himself. He could hold his own in a waltz but he preferred the vivacity of the Jitterbug. With a pretty lady to dance the Lindy Hop you could bet twenty credits on the certainty that when the night was done the pretty lady would be completely entranced by his flirtations and might be persuaded to join him for a private solicitation for two later that night.
Somebody was calling his name. Glancing around, Augustine saw a short balding man in his fifties hailing him down in the corner of the room. He tried to place a name to a face, but unfortunately he was at a temporary blank.
“Doctor Sycamore!”
“Monsieur Allard!” Sycamore smiled, jovially shaking a proffered hand. “It has been too long. How is your wife?”
“Suffering with Influenza I’m afraid.” Monsieur Allard said without missing a beat. “She did so want to meet you again when she heard that you would be attending.”
“Such a shame. I hope she recovers soon.” Augustine said.
“Have you met my acquaintances before?” Monsieur Allard asked, gesturing to his company. “Allow me to introduce you. My eldest, Modeste.” A shy boy of about fifteen years held out his hand. The boy was smartly dressed wearing the latest cut in a black suit with a small cravat. “I told him that he should have worn the bow tie but he insisted on wearing the cravat, not that it makes him look any younger for it.” Allard mentioned casually to Augustine before he addressed the boy, “Stand taller boy! You’re an Allard, one of the finest young men of your generation. Act like it!”
“Yes father,” Modeste nodded, adjusting his posture.
“Now where were we. Ah yes. These are the Desrochers, I believe you’ve met before. Two years ago, was it? Now, here is the second earl of Lachance.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Augustine shook their hands in turn.
“Don’t start a poker game with him. The cad will wipe you out, he’s notorious for it.” Allard whispered behind his hand before coughing loudly. “Now this is Lady Fyodorova.” Allard said, gesturing to a tall and proud middle-aged lady who wore a enchanting red gown with black vines snaking over the folds. Her pale hair was held up in a bun at the back of her head and she seemed to examine him in a way that made him both intimidated and excited with her icy blue eyes.
“Enchantee,” Augustine said with a curt bow as he went to kiss her gloved hand, but Lady Fyodorova withdrew her hand before he could kiss it.
“Good luck trying to make any moves with her, Augustine,” Allard said casually. “Recently divorced and the heiress of a large estate in the north of Sinnoh. Related to the Sinnotian Royalty, would you believe it?” Augustine smiled weakly.
“Royalty, you say?”
“Oh yes. Ever since the Revolution got rid of the immediate royal family twenty years ago, most of the extended branches fled abroad to places like Unova and here in Kalos. A few of them settled in various other lands but Lady Fyodorova was one of the lucky ones who managed to keep her lands and title until fairly recently before emigrating here.”
“I hope you’re not telling my entire life story, Monsieur Allard.” Lady Fyodorova interjected, “It is terribly long and there are more important things to do than discuss the past.”
“Quite right my lady.” nodded Allard. “Shall we dance?”
“I do not dance, Monsieur Allard.” Lady Fyodorova said flatly, staring him in the eyes. Augustine noticed that Allard was shaking and unable to maintain eye contact with her.
“Monsieur Allard, might I borrow you for a time?” he asked. “I believe I heard Monsieur Perrault calling for you over by the window over there.” Excusing themselves, Augustine lead Allard away to the window on the further side of the ballroom. “Forgive me for lying on your behalf my friend, but I couldn’t stand seeing you so uncomfortable over there.” Allard sighed.
“Don’t apologise my lad. You did a grand thing, and I’m sure that your parents would both be proud of you acting nobly to save my sorry behind in such a place as this.” He held a hand on Augustine’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t speak ill of Lady Fyodorova, but her demeanor frightens me. I guess she’s one of those infamous Sinnotian Ice Queens. Did you know she is one of the few people alive now to tame a Froslass?” Augustine shook his head. He was unusually nervous and felt a cold sweat sliding down his back. What an incredible woman, he thought, shaken.
Later that night, the Grand Duchess and Champion of the Kalos Region, Diantha, had risen to make a speech. At the back of the crowd Augustine stood on the balls of his feet to get a better glimpse of the beauty of the Grand Duchess but was thwarted when a man behind him coughed his disapproval loudly, causing him to quickly sink back down. He felt angry as he couldn’t hear a word that was being said.
“That’s the Jewel that the Unovans are gifting to Kalos.” whispered a man nearby him.
Jewel? Augustine craned his neck higher and saw a large glowing stone on a velvet cushion on a tall platform behind the Grand Duchess. The man behind him coughed again, and Augustine clenched his fist.
Why were fascinators the craze now? It wasn’t as if he wasn’t short- far from it, Augustine was a decent height. Just a little bit taller than average. He liked to embellish his height, and whenever he was around taller men he instinctively held himself just that little bit straighter, something that made him feel a little bit more important.
He was holding himself at his full height now, barely touching 5’9, and struggling to look over the crowd of people.
The Grand Duchess Diantha was wearing a beautiful dress, or what Augustine could make out from his disadvantaged view. It was a rich red satin gown with a wide strap across her right shoulder adorned with a small wreath of fabric flowers resembling Gracidea flowers and over her left shoulder, the ivory strap was held in place with a white fabric flower clasp. The bodice was attached to a velveteen skirt which fell to the floor in long folds. She wore her hair up in a side-bun, with a small tiara headband on top of it, the rhinestones glinting in the limelight.
It made the Grand Duchess look divine, Augustine thought.
The Champion of Unova and his Wife were more respectably dressed in comparison. Their dress was plain, but smart.
The Champion of Unova was a tall and broad shouldered man who had tried his best to slick his auburn mane back, but had given up and had tied it into a respectable ponytail held with a black ribbon. He wore a smart black suit, quite spartan and distinctly Unovan in design- Kalosian suits were almost always professionally altered to fit the wearer, whereas Unovan designs were worn off the rack, something that Augustine found somewhat disconcerting. Mass production, he recalled.
The Champion’s wife’s clothes were about the same. Though her clothes fit her frame better, her pea green dress was quintessentially modest, with long sleeves adorned with lace cuffs and a long skirt to her ankles. The addition of a Cloche hat with a large flower and a simple necklace of pearls suggested that she’d tried to embrace Kalosian designs into her wardrobe, which she’d achieved to a far greater extent than her husband.
