#𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖 -Baron AU-

[maitretmaitresse]

          @ladynumbers liked x

            “No, I s’ppose I can’t say I liked English styles much,” Beatrice chatted on idly, waiting vaguely on her husband to find the obscure wagon part which was certainly hiding somewhere. Pierre was a highly organized packrat, he would be more than happy to assert. But then, having too many things cluttering the store still resulted in longer wait times.

            “Too much cotton,” she finished with a smile probably meant to be charming, but which came off as smug.

[maitretmaitresse]

intoxicatiing:

This was how things ought to be, she told herself. Servants of the crown waiting on her, pulling out chairs and offering her drinks. She took a seat with a gracious grin beneath the mask. “My thanks to you,”  she said, folding her skirts around her legs and placing her hands in her lap.

Oh. But, coffee? She preferred tea. Ruby had always liked sweet things far more than the bitter tang of coffee, and would ask for it. “Oh, you don’t happen to have any teas from Crimms, do you?” They had the most exceptional artisans over there, aside from Herzen, of course. “I do love their teas. Only if it’s no trouble for you, of course.”

She was perfectly ambivalent about imposing herself on others. Ruby loved it as much as she hated it, but only so long as they seemed happy to do so. When they disliked it, it was much easier to lean on the side of hate, but the Baron and Baroness seemed all too happy to accommodate.

       Their smiles simultaneously turned wooden at her request, but they didn’t slip for a second. Neither of them took tea, even when the could afford it – Goddess Above knew that they didn’t serve it to the regular sort of riffraff that took shelter beneath their roof for a heavy price. However, they were nothing if not resourceful.

                  “Course, Majesty, we’ll just be a moment,” Beatrice responded, voice a half-octave higher than it had been a moment ago. She scurried into the kitchen behind them – caked in dust which always seemed to settle on their land as if by magic – an entirely likely possibility, come to think of it. She began frantically mixing together spices and herbs to a blend which could perhaps be called a sort of tea.

       Pierre was left to entertain the Mistress, fingers tapping tellingly upon the wooden counter as he leaned on it. “So, I’d suppose we’re not the only business you’ve got this far out y’Majesty? We’re far out from the capital, last time I checked.”

[maitretmaitresse]

May I have this dance ( masquerade starters) from Lumiere @misfitting-mistrusted 💛💛

          Hide Your Face - Accepting

@misfitting-mistrusted

              Thewoman eyed up her potential partner several times over, each time dotted by aglance toward a tall, sulking man in the corner. A smirk took her heavilypainted lips as she acquiesced to the stranger’s request.

                           “Course.”

               Thejarring switch between her manner of dress – which, while gaudy, was at leastin style – and her speech – an assault on the ears both in tone and accent – wouldfrighten most, but before he’d had a chance to change his mind, she’d taken hishand in a way which would be appropriate in a tavern, but certainly not in aproper ballroom.

                Thatthis Thénardier had been granted a title was such a point of contention in thefledgling community that they’d nearly considered dismantling the nobilityagain, if only to have a reason to strip him of it. But unfortunately, theBaron and Baroness du Thénard were too clever to allow it – and too in lovewith their position of petty respect.

[maitretmaitresse]

@allhumans liked for a starter with Christophe because she’s an angst monster

                  “Now lookit that, y’ve smudged up your face again…” Beatrice muttered and immediately fell to her knees to clean up her ward’s face. Both he and Éponine were to be spotless in public, little more than dolls which added to the Baroness’s reputation. There was obvious favoritism to those that knew the Thénardiers closely – unhappy souls that they were – but to the outside world, they were spoiled, new nobility brats which belonged to the worst couple to have ever graced the face of Montfermeil.

             One handkerchief and many licked thumbs later, the three were back on their way to the general store. The pair ran it in lieu of any real stipend from the government – as was their God given right in their minds – and though those around town resented it, it was a necessary business. They sat prettily, combined with the money Christophe’s unhappy mother sent them. Sometimes, in an act they were certain to bellow from the rooftops, they were kind enough to send it back with a kind note that they didn’t need it.

              However well-dressed he was, however, how healthy and educated they kept him, he was kept cold. The Baron and Baroness du Thénard were not his parents, nor had they ever pretended to be. They showered their own daughter in affection, but that which was given to Christophe was done so at arm’s length, and then held over his head for as long as it could be. How generous they were, to take in an urchin like him – though they were no better when they were born. How kind to care for the little bastard whose slut of a mother had to work for her supper.

                                     “Go play outside now, off with ya.”

[maitretmaitresse]

“Are you okay? I heard you throwing up… ”

            Bea is adorable pregnant okay - accepting

            Thebaroness cursed beneath her breath quietly from the other room. Not only hadthe bell not alerted her to the customer in the main room, but her retchingseemed to have alerted the mayor of the town. Thenardier had taken his bridescarcely four months and already she was pregnant.

            Beatriceforced herself to stand, washing her face and rinsing her mouth as she calledover her shoulder.

                      “I’m fine monsieur, won’tbe a moment!”

            Finally,stuffing hair back into her ribbons, she replaced herself behind the counter ofthe general store. A weak smile replaced her typically snide one, one handabsent-mindedly resting on her stomach while the other supported her chin.

                     “Monsieur le maire, it’s been too long!” She looked a bit pale, but nothing that couldn’t besolved with a lie-down, or maybe a half shot of gin.

                     “Can I ‘elp y’t'day? Only the other day, my lord ‘usband wos justwond'rin’ about your health.”

           She put ina valiant effort to cling to hernormal, slightly oily demeanor, but her heart just wasn’t in it. She was happyto be with child - as much as one could in the monetary situation theyinhabited - but the child seemed to be doing its damndest to kill its motherbefore it was born.

           Thoughtsdrifted back to her family in Paris - getting advice from her older sister,whose son would be older than his cousin by two years or her own parents. Sheknew Montpellier-sur-mer was good forPierre, but the town made her very lonely sometimes.

[maitretmaitresse]

bonhcmme:

     By now it was not quite automatic, but he was comfortable enough with the idea that it came easily to him, offering a prayer for someone. He believed and that was enough. He could do some good with or without the other person’s assent; surely it could do no harm.

    He watched her ascent closely as if he could do anything in case of a misstep. Well, it was possible— at the least he could have alerted others. But to his relief it wasn’t needed. The mayor let out a held breath of air.

    “I can’t help it,” he admitted. “Worry is in my nature.”

    Hence his purchase of both brushes. He preferred to prepare for anything. “Thank you.” He pulled out his purse and counted coins onto the surface. Even if he’d suspected overcharging— this was subtle enough he didn’t— he wouldn’t have offered much argument over it. Someone willing to do that probably needed it more than he— just as he had once. It was a thought he tried to keep top of mind.

    “There, that should do it,” he concluded, sliding the currency over.

             “I’d s’ppose that explains the profession.”

      Beatrice wouldn’t pretend that she understood, or even cared much for politic. Her husband waxed rhetorical every now and then, but they were both of the same sentiment. If Buonaparte wasn’t involved, it was bound to fail, and they were bound to lap up the rewards.

      Still, she kept her smile as he paid her. She may have had minor difficulties with the abstract maths, but it seemed that once the coins were on the table she was able to count well enough. They were swept quickly into her hand once she was sure he’d given her the proper amount, then into the cash-box.

            “Thank y’much, Monsieur le Maire,” she thanked him prettily, though her eyes were just as cool as when he’d walked in. She swept his things onto a sheet of brown butcher’s paper and wrapped them up in a fashion which was as neat as it was quick. A string of twine was tied laterally, then longitude-wide before it was handed back to him.

            “Keep care, will you?”

[maitretmaitresse]

“My God, you could fit an entire circus under her pannier. How’d she even fit through the door?”

                 Paper Faces on Parade… - Accepting

              Thesnort that escaped Beatrice both gave away her identity as anything but a ladyand confirmed that, yes, the powder covering her face was not French Chalk. Whateverit was created a dust around her which was only cleared away with a few wavesof a notably out of place fan in her small hand. The rest of her outfit wasshockingly color-coordinated, save the yellow-and-black silk currently savingwhatever was left of her lungs.

             From thesmell of it, it may have been ordinary schooling chalk – not that she’d steppedfoot in one in twenty years or so.

                              ���Side-steps, I’d imagine.”She sighed dramatically, now clear of the self-imposed smoke of white. “Course,nothin’ like the old days – I wos just a kid, course, but wot I’d not give forthe old queen.”

            She wasspeaking from her parents’ memories, of course. By “just a kid”, she meant thatshe’d been born the same year that the poor queen had lost her head. But sheremembered those years following, she remembered them quite well.

            As such,Beatrice whole-heartedly supported the Emperor, not least of which because he’dgiven her a title – through her husband, of course.

            Though itwas worthless to anyone with more than four brain cells, the Thénardiers –newly christened as such – possessed approximately three together, so it infact, meant a great deal. Enough to embolden them to attend social functions,at any rate.

[maitretmaitresse]

           {More tag dumps sweet followers}   

[maitretmaitresse]

intoxicatiing:

She caught the glances, looking over the pair and waiting for one of them to crack, but it seemed she’d have to do more than the absolute minimum to get the truth out of them. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say who it was. Only that he looked very handsome in a dark coat.” Ruby wasn’t in the mood for anything dangerous today – nor was she at all, on the best of times – so she sauntered over to a table, hands clasped, inspecting the bench. There was a smile on her face, though it became a half grimace when faced with the prospect of sitting down.

“But I cannot visit such loyal individuals without indulging myself a little bit. Won’t you invite me for tea?” It didn’t matter – she was staying anyway. She did not have unending patience, but she could impose all she liked, without fear of repercussion. At least in the short term, anyway.

        Loyal perhaps wasn’t the word for it – opportunist was more accurate. The pair of thieves could benefit more from their current position than in a government more just, more loving, or better in some unspecific way. Though they couldn’t remember back very far, they were both acutely aware that they hadn’t always been nobility, nor had they always been as rich as they were now. They were much happier under the rule of the king than otherwise.

       As such, providing for the consort was an easily accomplished task – even if she would regret the necessity later.

       The man returned her question with a grin, pulling a chair for her as if he had any claim to be a gentleman. “Of course, votre majestie.”

        The woman, as if they were attached like strings, grinned in the same manner, and began quickly cobbling together a tea tray for their unexpected guest.

                                “Would y’take coffee, Ma belle dame?”

[maitretmaitresse]

       The Baron and Baroness exchanged glances, at once demanding to know if the other was hiding anything and realizing that neither was stupid enough to do so.  The only allure the books may have held was their price; one which was not, even to the gold-grubbing profiteers, worth the equal price of their necks on the block. As such, the master’s chest puffed out in defense, though his mealy tone remained cordial.

                  “I cannot imagine who would’ve accused us of such a thing, Madame,” he began in a pompus, exaggerated accent; he wore it like a coat, as he had since the title had been bestowed upon the pair. Not that either of them could remember when or why that was. “But I assure you, we would never disobey His Majesty.”

@maitretmaitresse​, liked ⚜ for a Queen of Hearts starter

She runs a finger across the banister and holds it up to her eyes, inspecting the dirt now sullying her pale skin. “I was told I’d find certain books here,” she mused, making it quite clear that she meant the now-illegal history books and ledgers dating back more than the ten years since the king began his rule. No doubt everyone in the room knew as well, with her reputation as it was. 

“I must wonder if you’ve hidden them under all the dirt. Don’t you ever dust?” It was said with false sharpness, a way to get people to leave the second she ordered them to. There were no guards outside, however, no true threat beyond her simple presence and who she might tell if her informant had spoken the truth.

[maitretmaitresse]

bonhcmme:

     Childbirth was a double-edged blade, he supposed even for the well off, and that was discounting its very real dangers. A daughter however beloved must eventually have a dowry and a son, some inheritance. For him though it would be a thousand times worth the price; he did not want to think it had aught to do with his aid for the mother, but it might.

    "I will pray for you, an easy delivery and a healthy child.“ He did not like to be publicly pious. This was different, to offer some feeling of comfort while she faced such a frightening prospect. His own mother had died from the birth of a child who consequently had not even lasted a week. It was in God’s hands, but it couldn’t hurt to put in a word on their behalf, perhaps with the virgin mother.

    He saw what she was doing as if in a dream. Before he could stop her or even say something she was much to his wide-eyed horror halfway up the shelf. "Er,” he began weakly then gave up. He couldn’t- or rather wouldn’t- wrestle her back down. He settled on caution: “Please be careful.” He would feel it in his soul if harm came to her or the child on his account.

  A weak smile was all she could give, biting back her typical response to prayers. Why don’t you just wish upon a star? It was astonishing to realize that between the pair she was somehow the friendlier toward the concept of a God. Attempting to wish the Baron a Happy Christmas often resulted in a few minutes of thorough verbal beatings.

          “Thank you, Monsieur, we appreciate it.”

   Though she tottered and swayed, as if purely for dramatics, she never quite seemed to lose her grasp on the ladder. It wasn’t more than a minute that she’d come back down with the varieties of brushes requested, a clearly self-pleased smile on her lips. Even with a five-pound baby in her belly, she could climb like the squirrel she’d been nicknamed for.

          “I’m not so clumsy yet, don’t worry,” though she could hear her husband’s words echoed in the mayor’s.

    The goods laid out between them, she pulled a well-worn notepad from beneath the counter, her quick hand scrawling basic math’s across a receipt sheet. Her lips screwed up in a pout – she had a better grasp of language, while math was the baron’s strength. Still, she managed to do the adding up just well enough to slightly overcharge the man.

          “Fifty sous, monsieur.”

[maitretmaitresse]

bonhcmme:

     The number had evoked more than a few raised eyebrows even among the peasants of Brie, though it was by no means unheard of. The mayor now put down the look of horror on her face to a mixture of nebulous imagining— seven at once!— and her current experience but multiplied. From the births alone, which he had only witnessed from afar by ear, he could well think why the notion might instill dread in a woman.

    He fell silent, his glibness momentarily failing him. He had loved the little ones, he remembered; but if there had only been fewer… he shook himself and produced a smile. “Indeed. A full garden.” Too full in the end perhaps, but she didn’t need to hear that.

    “Only three months— why, it’s nearly upon you!” he exclaimed with a genuine smile at least for the upcoming child. He did not discourage them following him around because nothing pleased him more than to make them smile (unless perhaps to put coins in their parents’ pockets and therefore food in their stomachs).

    As for the business that had brought him here in the first place, Madeleine stopped short. What kind of hair did the child have? Fantine’s had not yet grown back and all she had said of it was that it was beautiful. Even that could be put down to a mother’s doting, really. “Well then, I’ll take one of each to be sure…” his hand strayed to his own hair; he made do with a comb, but still… an indulgence if he had no other reason behind it, but he did.

            It was a remarkably healthy pregnancy; when the village doctor was called upon, he could hardly believe it was Beatrice’s first. That may owe to her demeanor as well, but any suggestions to her relationships prior to her marriage were kept under tight binds. With that said, labor was a frightening concept to all women. Eve’s punishment weighed most heavily on those with child.

                         “Very lucky.” It was disingenuous, but so were most words which fell from her lips – and it wasn’t as though he disagreed, considering his tone. They were expensive, children. Between clothes, food, the hypothetical education that their new station required of their offspring… It was enough to make her shudder.

           She smiled back, though it was the slightly embarrassed smile of a woman unsure of the joy thrust upon her. “Yeah, it should be soon now…” Her hand fell back to her stomach, her thumb rubbing over the linin-covered bump which concealed their child. It kicked so frequently – she’d heard that meant it would be a boy. In the day-to-day, she wasn’t a terribly superstitious woman, but in the desperation of the unknown, she was willing to believe anything.

          Her smile widened at the prospect of a hitched sale – even accidentally, she was an excellent saleswoman! “Course, Monsieur, won’t be a moment.” She turned once again, mild irritation in her eyes as she realized they were all on the top shelf – damn her husband’s lanky legs! Heaving a quiet sigh, she jumped up to the first step of the only slightly rickety ladder and scaled the heights. She was a nimble woman under ordinary circumstances, but a six pound infant in her stomach was bound to make her slightly clumsier.

[maitretmaitresse]

bonhcmme:

     The nobles were Madeleine’s least favorite aspect of the mayorship. As individuals he quite liked some of them, but always he was aware of the vast gulf that stood between them and himself. The king could dole out as many appointments as he liked. No one, not even a bishop, could change a man’s past. He would always be a peasant from—

    Never mind that. Enough to say he was a peasant, however much he prettied his speech or however much wealth he accumulated. He simply didn’t fit in.

    But some things were universal to the human condition. Sickness, and… ah. Madeleine caught himself with the beginnings of a real smile when her hand moved to her stomach. It was a gesture he recognized from his sister’s many children, or rather the months leading up to them. His concern, which had lingered, now seeped away to be replaced by an almost wistful look. Just in case he was wrong he made no comment about it but nodded a vague greeting.

    This was followed by genuine surprise. “My health?” Was that what passed for gossip in this town? It was small, but surely not that small… “I am quite well, thank you— feeling better than you are, evidently. Have you tried mint? Chamomile?”

    He wasn’t avoiding her initial question, just taking his time about an answer. “Yes, I came to see whether you had candles, standard size— oh, and a hairbrush?”

       In that way, these Thénardiers and Madeleine shared a station, if uncomfortably so. Pierre's title came from a now-defunct government which made everyone rather sore if mentioned - which, around him, it frequently was. They were both crude, uneducated folk who wouldn't have much more than a scrap of land were it not for the stipend awarded to them from their title. Of the two, Beatrice was marginally more cosmopolitan due to her heritage and being in school for one year longer than her husband - all the way until she was ten - but neither of them exactly curried favor with their peers.

       Not that either of them minded. In their own heads, they were leaps and bounds ahead of the old guard anyhow.

       In truth, the conversation the pair had regarding the mayor last night had gone something more to the effect of "Dear god I don't trust the man, there's something wrong in his eyes," but even in her delicate state, Beatrice could hold a lie with the best of them. She still smiled in return, noting the suggestions down. “Well I am glad t’hear that.”

                "I haven't actually, sir. I'm with child, y'see, my first." A bit of nerves crept into her voice despite her best efforts. Her eldest sister had died during childbirth, and the two were not dissimilar in frame and health. She could only hope for the best now.

       She turned away from him to hunt down for the requested shopping, sucking at her cheek with a slightly obnoxious pop.

                "Let's see... Candles, I know we've got 'em somewhere..." She crouched down along the painstakingly - if not confusingly - organized display, coming back up with one box full.

                "Wot sort've brush did you have in mind, monsieur?"

[maitretmaitresse]

allhumans:

      more than anything, christophe was told how BLESSED he was that the baron and baroness were so kind, for no one else had WANTED to care for the bastard son of a poor mother and NAMELESS  ––  he knew his father’s name, for he remembered, scant as his MEMORIES of her were, his mother telling him his name was tholomyès;  but he’d been called a stupid INGRATE for saying that was his NAME in the baron and baroness’s presence  ––  dishonorable father.  how FORTUNATE he was, everyone would say with their scolding eyes  ––  for they seemed to imagine UNGRATEFULNESS when there was none in the sweet, quiet little LARK. 

“might  ––––––––––”   he STOPPED and cleared his throat, hands beginning to tremble.  they HATED when his voice shook and squeaked with anxiety  ––  no one was to know how foolish and weak he was, after all.   “might i… READ instead?” 

if he were to ask to simply walk among the flowers instead of PLAYING with the noble boys outside, the BARON would have his say about that ‘girlish foolishness’ in his ward.  READING was better, anyway.  he could still look at the OUTDOORS and breathe in the flowery scents about him, but he could IGNORE the not-so-quiet taunts of the rich boys and girls who so often poked fun at the smaller, BASEBORN boy. 

       Éponine ran off in the general obeying spirit she showed towards her mother, unbothered that Christophe wasn't following her. Children picked up on their parents cues faster than most, despite their naivety at the world on the whole. As such, Christophe was treated with indifference at best and contempt at the worst. Her skirts flounced around her knees as she ran off to join her friends - little noble children who, likewise, shared their own parents' opinions of the Thénardiers, but which allowed Éponine to join their games regardless.

       The silence that followed the ward's question was deafening, and tighter than a straightjacket as the Thénardiesse considered his question. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she tied an apron around her waist. Truthfully, it didn't matter what he did so long as he was out of her hair and the front room of the store, but in practicality, it was a power play. Was he going to get his way because he'd asked, and run the risk of becoming entitled, or was she going to allow him his books as an exaggerated show of generosity?

       Finally deciding on the latter, she gave one stern nod and turned to the walls of shelves which surrounded them both.

                      "Fine. But if I 'ear a word for you, it's straight outside."