(1310-02-25) Challenging the Chill
Summary: Magalie encounters Ortolette de Mereliot in the courtyard of the palace.
Related: None
Courtyard — Ducal Palace
So cold it still is outside, despite the fact that spring will be upon them in a few weeks, that to see Magalie Iskareios of all emerge from the warm depths of the Palace and step out into the courtyard appears like an almost otherworldly occurrence. The dark haired woman is a guest of the palace, has been here for a few months, and her odd name, and what has been whispered behind her back point to her being a foreigner. A foreigner from Hellas, residing currently at the Guest Tower of the Ducal Palace, a guest of none other than the Lady of Marsilikos herself. It is surprising to see the determination with which this Hellene is not afraid to conquer the terrain of the courtyard, especially as she is walking with a slight limp and uses a cane for additional support. A clever Hellene, perhaps, as she is wrapped into a dark warm woollen cloak with a lining of fox fur. Slender fingers are caught in leather gloves, and the hood that has been drawn over her head cannot conceal the perfect pallor of her skin, the sable hue of her hair that is arranged into a courtly hairdo no doubt, somewhere beneath the hood, but concealed for now. There is a faintly steely flicker though, in those dark eyes of hers, a commanding glance towards the maid that had been following her, to stand back. Magalie limps into the center of the courtyard and raises her gaze to the clear blue sky above, drawing a deep breath through her nose that makes her nostrils flare a little with delight.
The winter has been hard upon the Duchess' middle daughter's meagre constitution; a cold had fallen upon her lungs and only recently has she been able to take the airs in the courtyard. Still, she is not afoot as she goes, but she is settled warmly in a seat set cleverly upon three little wheels, a thick foxfur capelet covering her head and shoulders above a glorious blue silk gown; her hands and delicate wrists sit in a matching muff upon her lap, which, in turn, is bundled up in warm woolen blankets, heated water bladders tucked into the folds to keep her rosy and warm against the last throes of winter. A palace attendant pushes her in a slow circuit of the courtyard, and another several stroll out beyond to make certain the route is clear of stones that would make the chair bounce unduly. Ortolette, for her own part, is still frail of gaze, but no less is glorying in being outside after her most recent bout of illness. Spotting the family guest, she lifts one set of nimble fingers from the warm embrace of the fox muff, having her attendant bring her chair to a halt. "Is there spring in the air, Anassa Iskareios?" Even drawing out a respectful Hellene honorific, all the while maintaining as sunny a demeanor as her doll-like features can manage.
How odd, that Magalie had not noticed the young daughter of her host, when she stepped outside. But perhaps the urge had been too strong, to leave confining thick walls of the Dome of the Lady, to just get a bit of fresh and chilly air to fill her lungs. The dark haired Hellene woman turns when she finds herself suddenly addressed… And yet the cause for her overlooking Ortolette may have been that the young frail Mereliot is not on eye level at the moment, seated in this interesting construction of a seat on wheels. "My lady." Magalie attempts a curtsey that does not quite succeed, and in the end comes of as only slight lowering, along with a respectful downflit of dark eyes. "I cannot say. Spring cannot be far." The features of the woman shift into a faint smile as she pulls her gaze away from Ortolette briefly, to take in the scenery that is still so very much in the grasp of winter. "And please…" A careful step is taken to approach the young woman in her seat, "call me Magalie. Like Her Grace, your mother already does." No need for honorific, at least on Magalie's part. Straightening, she takes the Mereliot in with a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Are you feeling well, my lady?"
<FS3> Ortolette rolls Perception: Good Success. (4 8 1 7 8 5)
<FS3> Ortolette rolls Composure: Good Success. (7 3 6 6 6 3 8 7)
Ortolette sees nothing, hears nothing out of the ordinary; at least, one might think so, to watch the porcelain doll's masque of her face, mouth poised in a dainty smile, the ivory, swan-like pillar of her neck arcing delicately to incline her head permissively. "Magalie, then," she rejoins in renewed address, less formal, but with no less a genteel polish to her voice. A proper little maiden, this. "Oh, yes— Eisheth bless you for your care. I am much recovered of my cold and I hope beyond hope to be able to go to the theatre tomorrow for La Femme Ecarlate's closing night. I do so admire the opera," she effuses feebly. "I hope that the spring winds will not see you away to sea again. I have been perforce remiss in my shared duty and privilege to come to know you as our cherished guest."
"I am surprised to see you outside," Magalie confesses, her tone not unkind. "Even I have been thought mad for daring the weather," a quick glance the Hellene shoots over her shoulder towards her concerned maid. Once attention is back on Ortolette, she shifts her weight a little, to lift the cane and show it to the young fragile lady. "My own health is hampered a little. And I know, that there can be nothing more refreshing than a fresh breath of air, sometimes." The next has the dark woman lift her brows. "A play? At the theatre? I am certain, your mother wouldn't hesitate to summon the players and singers here to the Palace, so that you can enjoy the opera here, within the safe walls of the Dome." A faint twitch of a smile. "Do now worry, I am to stay here for a while. Her Grace has assured me, that…" And here her brows twitch upwards, "she is very interested in maintaining good relations to my people."
"Fresh air is wholesome, and is a great boon even for an ailing constitution, if only said constitution may bear up under it," Ortolette lifts her chin slightly, speaking with the confidence of a long-term patient if not the expertise of a true physician. "The cold air, especially, is not given its due; it is blamed for a wide variety of ailments, when its dry, brisk zephyrs can be the very thing for a dampness set upon the lung." But her hand slides back into her muff to join its mate, in any case, the little maid sitting up quite straight. "You know what it is," she nods graciously to the sight of the cane. "Does the chill cause you an ache?" she wonders. "Oh— I should hardly adore the fuss, much less the expense. If I miss this run, I'm sure that there will one day be another."
"I like how the fresh air brings back clarity to my thoughts," the dark-haired Hellene woman muses with a faint smile, "of how it reminds me of the grand forces of nature. Of wind whipping at rocky slopes… of my home." The latter part murmured more to herself, perhaps. "As for the chill, I don't mind it, not at all. My leg feels much worse when it is raining outside." Her gaze returns to Ortolette with some concern, as if the frail creature were her own child. "If you are already feeling better, perhaps it will help improve your condition to get out, to enjoy new impressions. But it could very well also cause you to fall back into your cold, from just the exertion of it all."
Ortolette is still, largely, and were it not for the faint motion of her ribcage below her silken gown she might be taken for the very doll she so resembles; the polished little smile never faltering in degree, the wide eyes that seem so seldom to blink while listening most rapt to the Hellene's reminiscillations. "I haven't ever had the chance to travel from Marsilikos," she pipes up, in her conversational turn. "But I have read of Hellas in books; they say that travel between the various cities is so treacherous for all the crags and mountains that each city of Hellas was long but its very own sovereign state, and still to-day are very independent of one another," she presents her words in carefully selected order, as a child reciting a lesson. "Is it as I have read, Magalie? And, yes, I do like to take the air when I am able; craftsmen have designed this seat for me, so that I may go out without much exertion. But I will have to go on foot to the theatre, as there is no place in the box for the bulk of this seat, and many stairs to ascend, in addition. But I will do my best. Have you seen the opera, yet, Magalie?"
"It is a beautiful country," Magalie smiles, "perhaps you should consider visiting it some time." And likewise, she falls silent for a moment to listen to Ortolette's so carefully picked order of words. "Most cities can be reached by ship," the dark-haired woman informs the blonde Ortolette. "We have harbours, you know. The beautiful city of Athena, with the port of Peraias close by. You don't have to go to the mountains…" The ghost of a smile touches her features, and Magalie falls silent, her eyes flicking to the seat with wheels. "I have never seen anything like it.", she comments, and then looks towards the Mereliot lady again, when she mentions going to the theatre on foot. "Oh, I am sure you have a carriage, and inside… No I haven't been there yet. Perhaps I should pay it a visit."
Not carefully enough, to all evidence, "Oh! Yes, to the theatre in a carriage; but within, on foot," the little maiden clarifies her position, the warmth of her breath wisping in the cold, dry air at her lips. "You should go to tomorrow's grande finale," she advises with the eagerness of a fan avid to attend, if in the thin, reedy tones of a sickly girl. "I will write a letter and see whether Ma'am'selle Clementine will invite you," she decides, with a heady tilt of determination added to the angle of her chin. "The city of Athena. With the long walls to Peraias," Orto recalls from her reading. "Is that the city from which you hail?"
<FS3> Magalie rolls Composure: Success. (3 5 4 5 4 7 2 4 2 1 5 5)
"I hail from a smaller city in the mountains," Magalie Iskareios confirms with a fine smile. "But I've spent some time of my life in Athena, my lady." She shifts her weight a little, leaning a touch more onto the cane, tilting her head a little, as she regards Ortolette. "I would very much like to go. What about Her Grace? Will your mother attend as well? I would like to…" And here her smile becomes a more pronounced one, "learn more about d'Angeline culture. Music. Opera. Even if opera is a thing Terre d'Ange took from Caerdicca Unitas, if I'm not mistaken?"
scene on pause
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