Post by Eurydice on Oct 22, 2008 12:42:11 GMT -5
((Don't know why Len writing has thus far gravitated towards weddings ^^ Len's trip home for her brother's wedding was made up at some point after I hadn't played her for a while, and this grew out of that))
The sky was overhung with spotty gray clouds, blotting out the sun, sometimes only for a second, sometimes for a minute or two, but the overcast horizon did little to dampen the spirits of the revelers, pouring forth from the feasting tents and onto the green. Quick-fingered cousins went to pin up the bride’s train so that she might move about without tripping on her neatly embroidered hem. Faintly discordant but quickly resolving, the little trio of musicians was warming up with “For Love Shall Still Be Lord of All,” occasionally pausing to tune, listen, and tune again. Finally content, the flautist nodded to Feste and Eleanor, who rallied the wedding guests into lines and led off the dancing as the opening chords of a branle sounded.
Partnered first with an older gentleman that she did not recognize, Lenorah bobbed a curtsey off his bow, took his hand, and stepped lightly to the left. It had been some years since she’d danced like this, but she knew it would come back quickly in practice. The gentleman who was her partner was surprisingly lithe and wore a charming smile.
A galliard or two later, Len ambled off to the line of benches along the green, plucking an apple from a half-full basked at the mostly abandoned table of desserts. It gave a robust crunch as she took an un-lady-like bite, chewing thoughtfully as she moved to where her mother gestured. Long, athletic legs battered against the long green skirt of her dress with annoyance; Len was wearing the least offensively feminine of the dresses her mother had suggested, but she longed for her armor, or just the simplicity of plain linen trousers.
“None of that, please, Lenny,” her mother chided, noting her obvious discomfort. “The green’s very becoming on you, and you know it. So smile, child; you look lovely.”
“Yes, Mama.” Len smiled ruefully and sat, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. She watched her brother and his new wife, hand-clasped and radiant. “She’ll be good for us, yes?”
“Oh honestly, Lenny, you make it sound like something vulgar. Her father’s shipping business has been very kind to us, these last three years. They’ll continue to do so. It’s good for both parties, not just us.” Dafna Howe slipped an arm around her daughter’s waist, and Len inhaled the scent of tiny yellow blossoms wreathed in her mother’s hair. The clouds were drawing thick again, crowding out the sun, but the band played on, merry as ever, and the dancers waved to and fro like cornstalks on a breezy evening. It was drowsy and comfortable and lovely. Len longed to be out of the damned dress.
She felt her mother’s shoulders rise as she took a breath to speak again. “Lenny… you don’t ever think of it fondly, do you? Or think of it at all?”
“What—all this?” Lenorah asked, nodding absently to the wedding spectacle. “Going through all this again, you mean? We’ve talked about this…”
“Oh, I know, sweetie, I know you don’t—well, don’t want to go through it like last time, goddess bless Ian’s soul—but just the idea of marriage…” Dafna turned her silver-tinted head toward her daughter, as if a more direct connection might allow her to glimpse Lenorah’s thoughts. “You might meet someone,” she added finally. “To please yourself this time.”
Len turned her face to her mother’s shoulder, hiding a fond, foolish smile; Dafna misread her daughter’s taciturn response. “Or not, Lenny, or not. You’ve just a chance to choose now, what you like best, what makes you the happiest. That’s what matters now: what makes you happy. Don’t let me tell you how to do that.”
“Yes, Mama,” murmured Len obediently. She couldn’t fault her mother for gentle pushiness, even though she generally preferred her father’s straightforward demands—he was blunt, verging on rude, but at least with him, one knew where one stood.
“Anyway, it was just a thought. Go on, now; get out there again.” Dafna waved Len towards the green. “Enjoy yourself! Don’t let your poor old mother hold you back.”
“You’re not old!” Len shouted over her shoulder—more by reflex than anything else—as she weaved her way to the center of the teeming field of dancers. Gingerly, she held up her skirt, even as she deftly moved around couples and crowds. Finally at the heart of the revelry, she found her brother handing off his bride to the lithe gentleman with whom Len had been partnered at the start—evidently, the bride’s uncle or something. With a gallant mock bow, Len extended a hand to her brother, and stepping in rhythm, he acquiesced.
“Well?” he asked after a moment. “Aren’t you meant to be teasing me about the woes of married life, the old ball-and-chain and all that?”
Len laughed melodically. “Plenty of time for that later. Anyway, how does it feel, being Feste Howe, married man?”
Feste flicked his straight red bangs out of his pleasant gaze. “She’s a sweetheart. She’s a smartass. And she makes a mean spiced beef stew. I’m happy.”
“The essentials of life,” Lenorah chuckled.
The tempo picked up slightly; Len and Feste swept along the wide arc of couples. “Saw you dancing with Ellie’s somethingth cousin Henry,” Feste said casually, arm linked with his sister’s as they turned. “Apparently made quite an impression—he thought you were terribly charming.”
“Nah, he was the charmer. I just smiled nicely and made pretty replies.”
“Doesn’t sound like you, Len,” Feste snorted. Music filled the silence between them before he added, “He’s looking to settle down, you know.”
She let out a little melodramatic groan. “Mama put you up to this, didn’t she?”
Her little brother grinned; it was an expression half gleeful, half tentatively serious. “Only partially kidding. He’s a kind, goodly man. And he really did seem awfully taken with you. I know you don’t fancy the idea of marrying for the family’s sake, not again, and no one would ask you to, but still…” He shrugged, the movement neatly in rhythm with the cadence of the music.
Lenorah lowered her voice. “He’s a little old, isn’t he?”
“Not especially…” There was a fractional pause as Feste readjusted his assessment. “…well… I mean, sort of, but no more of an age difference than between Mama and Da… ‘sides, it just means he’d be more like to stay home, let you go off crusading or whatever while he tends the house. It’s not like he’d want to be holding you back or anything of that sort. He’s just sort of… wanting company. Someone kind to share his life with.”
The buoyant breeze picked up, playing havoc with Len’s hair, tugging at her skirts. She shivered slightly, despite the upbeat tune. “You seem awfully insistent about this... why are you playing matchmaker with me, little brother?”
Feste shrugged again, turning his face into the wind, savoring the feel of it. “Just don’t want you stuck on your own, Lenny. Everyone should have someone.”
Lenorah smiled softly. “I’m very lucky, having you to look out for me, little fool.” There were only four or five couples dancing now, the remainder of the guests having retreated to the sidelines, either uncertain of the steps or in need of a break. “I’ve got my family, though, and friends aplenty. Not even close to being lonely. Not even close.”
Feste studied his sister’s face in the yellow-gray light of the early evening and smiled. “Oh.”
“Oh—what, ‘oh?’”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”
Len rolled her eyes. “What are you on about, you brat?”
“Only,” said Feste, “that I know the real reason why it’s so easy for you to be dismissive about the idea of being courted, of having your heart charmed by someone like Henry.”
“And why is that?”
“Because, darling sister, your heart has already been charmed by someone else.” Feste sported a smug, triumphant grin, one which broadened with his sister’s faint, surprised blush.
Again, she lowered her voice, brow furrowed. “If you so much as breathe a word of it to Mama…” Feste demurred, looking shocked and appalled at the very idea. Exhaling in relief, Len shook her head, red-gold hair flicking left and right. “This is why I don’t come home—you read me too well. I can’t have my secrets.”
“That’s so not my fault…”
The breeze kicked up again; it was minorly but unmistakably darker now, and Len barely flinched in half-surprise when the first raindrop spattered on her cheek. Feste was already looking up, his lips pursed in a rueful smile-grimace. “Ah… nine hells…”
Faint, far-away thunder muttered in disgruntled discontent; the downfall had not yet begun in earnest, but wedding guests were holding hooded cloaks over themselves, retreating indoors with martyred, heavenward glares. Still, a smattering of dancers stayed put, either wine-soaked to foolishness or too happy to care. Len watched Feste and Eleanor link arms and skip through the grass to chimerical, intangible music, heedless of the wind and the rain and the stains the dirt would leave on the bride’s skirt. Eleanor’s cousin Henry had swept up one of his nieces into a careless, haphazard waltz; she giggled happily and let him swing her around in a circle.
Contentment burning warm in her heart, Lenorah leaned back and let the rain wash over her face.
The sky was overhung with spotty gray clouds, blotting out the sun, sometimes only for a second, sometimes for a minute or two, but the overcast horizon did little to dampen the spirits of the revelers, pouring forth from the feasting tents and onto the green. Quick-fingered cousins went to pin up the bride’s train so that she might move about without tripping on her neatly embroidered hem. Faintly discordant but quickly resolving, the little trio of musicians was warming up with “For Love Shall Still Be Lord of All,” occasionally pausing to tune, listen, and tune again. Finally content, the flautist nodded to Feste and Eleanor, who rallied the wedding guests into lines and led off the dancing as the opening chords of a branle sounded.
Partnered first with an older gentleman that she did not recognize, Lenorah bobbed a curtsey off his bow, took his hand, and stepped lightly to the left. It had been some years since she’d danced like this, but she knew it would come back quickly in practice. The gentleman who was her partner was surprisingly lithe and wore a charming smile.
A galliard or two later, Len ambled off to the line of benches along the green, plucking an apple from a half-full basked at the mostly abandoned table of desserts. It gave a robust crunch as she took an un-lady-like bite, chewing thoughtfully as she moved to where her mother gestured. Long, athletic legs battered against the long green skirt of her dress with annoyance; Len was wearing the least offensively feminine of the dresses her mother had suggested, but she longed for her armor, or just the simplicity of plain linen trousers.
“None of that, please, Lenny,” her mother chided, noting her obvious discomfort. “The green’s very becoming on you, and you know it. So smile, child; you look lovely.”
“Yes, Mama.” Len smiled ruefully and sat, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. She watched her brother and his new wife, hand-clasped and radiant. “She’ll be good for us, yes?”
“Oh honestly, Lenny, you make it sound like something vulgar. Her father’s shipping business has been very kind to us, these last three years. They’ll continue to do so. It’s good for both parties, not just us.” Dafna Howe slipped an arm around her daughter’s waist, and Len inhaled the scent of tiny yellow blossoms wreathed in her mother’s hair. The clouds were drawing thick again, crowding out the sun, but the band played on, merry as ever, and the dancers waved to and fro like cornstalks on a breezy evening. It was drowsy and comfortable and lovely. Len longed to be out of the damned dress.
She felt her mother’s shoulders rise as she took a breath to speak again. “Lenny… you don’t ever think of it fondly, do you? Or think of it at all?”
“What—all this?” Lenorah asked, nodding absently to the wedding spectacle. “Going through all this again, you mean? We’ve talked about this…”
“Oh, I know, sweetie, I know you don’t—well, don’t want to go through it like last time, goddess bless Ian’s soul—but just the idea of marriage…” Dafna turned her silver-tinted head toward her daughter, as if a more direct connection might allow her to glimpse Lenorah’s thoughts. “You might meet someone,” she added finally. “To please yourself this time.”
Len turned her face to her mother’s shoulder, hiding a fond, foolish smile; Dafna misread her daughter’s taciturn response. “Or not, Lenny, or not. You’ve just a chance to choose now, what you like best, what makes you the happiest. That’s what matters now: what makes you happy. Don’t let me tell you how to do that.”
“Yes, Mama,” murmured Len obediently. She couldn’t fault her mother for gentle pushiness, even though she generally preferred her father’s straightforward demands—he was blunt, verging on rude, but at least with him, one knew where one stood.
“Anyway, it was just a thought. Go on, now; get out there again.” Dafna waved Len towards the green. “Enjoy yourself! Don’t let your poor old mother hold you back.”
“You’re not old!” Len shouted over her shoulder—more by reflex than anything else—as she weaved her way to the center of the teeming field of dancers. Gingerly, she held up her skirt, even as she deftly moved around couples and crowds. Finally at the heart of the revelry, she found her brother handing off his bride to the lithe gentleman with whom Len had been partnered at the start—evidently, the bride’s uncle or something. With a gallant mock bow, Len extended a hand to her brother, and stepping in rhythm, he acquiesced.
“Well?” he asked after a moment. “Aren’t you meant to be teasing me about the woes of married life, the old ball-and-chain and all that?”
Len laughed melodically. “Plenty of time for that later. Anyway, how does it feel, being Feste Howe, married man?”
Feste flicked his straight red bangs out of his pleasant gaze. “She’s a sweetheart. She’s a smartass. And she makes a mean spiced beef stew. I’m happy.”
“The essentials of life,” Lenorah chuckled.
The tempo picked up slightly; Len and Feste swept along the wide arc of couples. “Saw you dancing with Ellie’s somethingth cousin Henry,” Feste said casually, arm linked with his sister’s as they turned. “Apparently made quite an impression—he thought you were terribly charming.”
“Nah, he was the charmer. I just smiled nicely and made pretty replies.”
“Doesn’t sound like you, Len,” Feste snorted. Music filled the silence between them before he added, “He’s looking to settle down, you know.”
She let out a little melodramatic groan. “Mama put you up to this, didn’t she?”
Her little brother grinned; it was an expression half gleeful, half tentatively serious. “Only partially kidding. He’s a kind, goodly man. And he really did seem awfully taken with you. I know you don’t fancy the idea of marrying for the family’s sake, not again, and no one would ask you to, but still…” He shrugged, the movement neatly in rhythm with the cadence of the music.
Lenorah lowered her voice. “He’s a little old, isn’t he?”
“Not especially…” There was a fractional pause as Feste readjusted his assessment. “…well… I mean, sort of, but no more of an age difference than between Mama and Da… ‘sides, it just means he’d be more like to stay home, let you go off crusading or whatever while he tends the house. It’s not like he’d want to be holding you back or anything of that sort. He’s just sort of… wanting company. Someone kind to share his life with.”
The buoyant breeze picked up, playing havoc with Len’s hair, tugging at her skirts. She shivered slightly, despite the upbeat tune. “You seem awfully insistent about this... why are you playing matchmaker with me, little brother?”
Feste shrugged again, turning his face into the wind, savoring the feel of it. “Just don’t want you stuck on your own, Lenny. Everyone should have someone.”
Lenorah smiled softly. “I’m very lucky, having you to look out for me, little fool.” There were only four or five couples dancing now, the remainder of the guests having retreated to the sidelines, either uncertain of the steps or in need of a break. “I’ve got my family, though, and friends aplenty. Not even close to being lonely. Not even close.”
Feste studied his sister’s face in the yellow-gray light of the early evening and smiled. “Oh.”
“Oh—what, ‘oh?’”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”
Len rolled her eyes. “What are you on about, you brat?”
“Only,” said Feste, “that I know the real reason why it’s so easy for you to be dismissive about the idea of being courted, of having your heart charmed by someone like Henry.”
“And why is that?”
“Because, darling sister, your heart has already been charmed by someone else.” Feste sported a smug, triumphant grin, one which broadened with his sister’s faint, surprised blush.
Again, she lowered her voice, brow furrowed. “If you so much as breathe a word of it to Mama…” Feste demurred, looking shocked and appalled at the very idea. Exhaling in relief, Len shook her head, red-gold hair flicking left and right. “This is why I don’t come home—you read me too well. I can’t have my secrets.”
“That’s so not my fault…”
The breeze kicked up again; it was minorly but unmistakably darker now, and Len barely flinched in half-surprise when the first raindrop spattered on her cheek. Feste was already looking up, his lips pursed in a rueful smile-grimace. “Ah… nine hells…”
Faint, far-away thunder muttered in disgruntled discontent; the downfall had not yet begun in earnest, but wedding guests were holding hooded cloaks over themselves, retreating indoors with martyred, heavenward glares. Still, a smattering of dancers stayed put, either wine-soaked to foolishness or too happy to care. Len watched Feste and Eleanor link arms and skip through the grass to chimerical, intangible music, heedless of the wind and the rain and the stains the dirt would leave on the bride’s skirt. Eleanor’s cousin Henry had swept up one of his nieces into a careless, haphazard waltz; she giggled happily and let him swing her around in a circle.
Contentment burning warm in her heart, Lenorah leaned back and let the rain wash over her face.