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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on May 10, 2009 20:26:06 GMT -5
((lol she's like whatever mom is dumb))
"Saturday at ten, then, by the Porte de la Muette?"
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Sophie
- Ingenious Pilot -
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Posts: 149
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Post by Sophie on May 10, 2009 20:37:18 GMT -5
((Heh, more like she knows who keeps the sharper eye on her. )) She nodded. "I will be there. "
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Post by Tybalt on Oct 6, 2009 10:15:56 GMT -5
**NEW NIGHT**
Tybalt, leather pants and black shirt and dark green waistcoat and necktie, was true to his word - of course. Smoothing a hand over his hair again, he dawdled a bit and managed to make his way away from the punch, his own in his hand. His relaxing nerves told him what its alcohol content was, but he hardly intended to drink enough to become tipsy, much less drunk. That would let down Lady Capulet very, very far, wouldn't it?
He had upheld the family's honor so far. (He grimaced as he recalled suddenly what "upholding the family honor" had been used in euphemism for by Mercutio once. Certain bodily reactions did not need to be wrapped up with his meticulous sense of duty.) Madame Robecour had kept him in her immediate company for forty minutes before consenting to allow him away. He almost regretted it. It was not comfortable around adult women near his aunt's age, particularly not when they were so... matronly, in a way similar to how she was. But younger women were far worse. Tybalt stopped by the side of the ballroom, a facile place to stay and watch the action until the exhausting even was over, and finished his punch, tilting his head back.
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Post by George Boleyn on Oct 6, 2009 10:28:53 GMT -5
Not too far from where Tybalt stopped, there was a small clump of young women, and two or three young men. The eldest of those men, an animated fellow with dark wavy hair and a penchant for dark green, was gesticulating with one hand and drinking occasionally from his glass in the other, making the girls laugh and the boys smile. Gold buttons shone at his cuffs and along the front of his jacket against the dark of the material, as bright as the glint of his eyes when he happened to glance over and see Tybalt standing alone.
George excused himself from the group- his place closing like a door as he moved away, the circle tightening- and headed towards the Capulet. "Not a man for parties?" he asked as he came close, smiling at Tybalt over the rim of his cup as he took a sip.
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Post by Tybalt on Oct 6, 2009 10:34:24 GMT -5
Tybalt started slightly, having just finished his drink when George approached him, and turned courteously towards the other man, one hand unconsciously smoothing down his lapel, pressing over it and down his chest as though to straighten his clothing. Not that it was wrinkled.
...he hadn't worn it after a night with Mercutio, after all.
"Not generally," said Tybalt, almost hesitantly, though nothing in his manner suggested hostility, or that he wanted to flee. But he was never sure of himself in social situations, which was precisely why he did not like them much. "Tonight, however, it's... an obligation."
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Post by George Boleyn on Oct 6, 2009 10:52:11 GMT -5
"Ahhh." George shrugged a little. "I can commiserate, to an extent." Parties did get tiring after a while, but George had a rather desperate urge to get himself reinstated into society as soon as possible. If that meant flirting with every powdered and beauty-mark'd society lady in Paris, so be it. "But at the very least you can sample such over-priced delicacies as on display at yon table, an assortment such to make any animal-lover weep. Or gaze at the newest styles, yes, and wonder how women get into them? There's all sorts of entertainment here, really."
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Post by Tybalt on Oct 6, 2009 11:00:22 GMT -5
Tybalt was put in mind of Mercutio, and did not know whether this was a good thing or not. Of course, the tone was off, but the parade of words, none of which Tybalt could respond to quickly enough by his own standards, was similar. Still. That this man came off as being good-natured kept Tybalt from completely freezing up.
"I would rather not wonder how women get into their clothes, actually," he said, almost nonsensically, needing to come up with the first thing he could reply to. But it wasn't said defensively, nor superciliously. It was almost apologetic. Glancing away from him, and over the room, he was prepared for a response when he turned back to him. "Parties are... more difficult when one is out of one's element. Or home country, as I also am. I don't know anyone in the room."
Was this too personal? It was. By his standards, at any rate. He would have to stop.
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Post by George Boleyn on Oct 6, 2009 11:13:54 GMT -5
George's eyebrows rose. "Well, some of it is rather akin to the baser kinds of torture, I suppose," he said, then half-turned to survey the room. "I'm English myself, so I've not had much time to learn, but I'll try the rounds if you want to be informed. Or if you like a more personal touch- " He bowed, quite archaically. "Meet George Boleyn."
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Post by Tybalt on Oct 6, 2009 11:17:55 GMT -5
Tybalt's near-smile, a tentative twitch of the mouth, softening it, his eyes glancing over George in something like surprise, was evident for certainly enough time for George to note it, before Tybalt glanced away and back again. Unsure of whether or not he was expected to bow, he reached out his hand for George to shake it. It seemed simple and informal by comparison.
"I...would be glad to," he said. "Tybalt Capulet."
Personal touch. It was not such a bad thing to be told. Particularly not with what it would have meant had it come from, oh, Mercutio.
He banished Mercutio from his thoughts immediately.
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Post by George Boleyn on Oct 6, 2009 11:28:47 GMT -5
They shook hands, then George fobbed off his empty glass onto a passing waiter. "Capulet- Italian, isn't it? Of- " He was suddenly grateful for years and years of tutoring on the important families of various countries. George had hated those lessons then, but by God did they come in handy. "....Verona?"
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Post by Tybalt on Oct 6, 2009 11:33:36 GMT -5
Tybalt managed to put his empty glass on the same tray almost last-minute; his discomfort around other people extended to servants, as he could never forget that they, too, were people.
This recognition brought another small, hesitant smile to his mouth, and, twisting his hands almost thoughtfully, he nodded. "Yes. Verona. Though Paris is..." He sort of gestured with one hand. It did not illuminate much. He had come to Paris with Lady Capulet. Julia had been meant to come, too, though she had last-minute stayed home, which had nearly defeated the purpose of going - those rumors about her interaction with Romeo Montague had prompted the change of scenery, along with her mother's desire to go to the famed City of Lights. "I'm sure you know."
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Post by George Boleyn on Oct 6, 2009 12:42:31 GMT -5
“I’m sure I don’t,” George said with a laugh, but it was good-humored and not at Tybalt's expense. If anything, it was an invitation for Tybalt to tell him more.
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Post by Tybalt on Oct 6, 2009 12:49:19 GMT -5
Tybalt looked flustered. He couldn't think of any way to articulate what Paris was, because it was so personal.
"I've never been outside of Italy before," said Tybalt. "There's...family behind me, and... Someone followed me to Paris that I suppose I'd rather not see out of context. It's - complicated," he said with a short wave of his hand.
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Post by George Boleyn on Oct 6, 2009 13:25:07 GMT -5
Well, that didn't bother George. There was no one in England he'd want to see again. Not here. He tilted his head at Tybalt. "But for your unwanted friend, it doesn't sound too complicated to me. Of course- " A wry smile. "I don't know the whole story, but I'd never ask for it. Try to enjoy Paris. Let's see- how long have you been at this party?"
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Post by Tybalt on Oct 6, 2009 13:42:34 GMT -5
"About an hour," said Tybalt truthfully. He was out of his element, yes; in Verona he would make small talk with the guests, but only because they were all Capulets or affiliated with them and had known him forever. Any outsiders it would have been his job to stalk around and intimidate off. In Paris, the world was so much bigger than the feud, and he didn't know how to behave. That he could have this genial conversation with George would probably surprise anyone who knew him better. "Is that usual?"
He wasn't used to that many parties outside of the Capulet estate.
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