I find myself slightly less concerned with your catching cold, now.
[ And slightly more in favor of the same, petty a thought as it is. Contrary to Red's voice, there is less teasing and more vague irritation- but only the default level of affront found when she missteps. It is not so infrequent a thing she's overly wounded. ]
One of each. Mm. Before...I was a child, so it is less clear.
[ She takes a moment and sips her tea, considering her options but one continues to come back around in bright, cozy warmth. ]
A benefit of having a noble family: we've more than one estate, yes? The one in Val Royeaux which is large and grand and has lasted through generations and on and on much like that as my mother would describe it- very much for show. Pristine and polished with not so much as a sprig of ivy out of place in the garden. But further north and east, close to Val Chevain we've a smaller estate- more a stretch of private land and something I thought was a cottage until I saw what an actual cottage looked like. On the shore of the waking sea. In Val Royeaux we had the family and the estate staff, maids and cooks and serving girls and valets- in the cottage it was only us. Family and perhaps a few footmen to help us unpack, guards that kept to the gatehouse. There we had no true expectations- we did not need to be perfect little noble children, we did not need to play the Game. My father would cook horribly, my mother would complain of how he burnt the bread and used far too much butter for the first day or two before she stirred herself to do the same.
It was a way to keep in touch with our merchant roots, or so they would say. I do not know how true that might be but- playing on the beach with my sisters and not worrying about if I was doing it right; swimming, laying on an old worn carpet that smelled of rosewater from where my grandmother spilled a jar when she was a girl while my father spun tales either from literature or his own imagination? It was lovely. They still spend time there, now and then- I would receive letters from my sisters and mother addressed from the cottage. Once Lilianne sent me a packet of sand and seashells from the beach- it was before my harrowing, I think I was, perhaps, thirteen? They all would pick at me so for not doing things properly before I was shown to be a mage. I think she was trying to apologize.
no subject
[ And slightly more in favor of the same, petty a thought as it is. Contrary to Red's voice, there is less teasing and more vague irritation- but only the default level of affront found when she missteps. It is not so infrequent a thing she's overly wounded. ]
One of each. Mm. Before...I was a child, so it is less clear.
[ She takes a moment and sips her tea, considering her options but one continues to come back around in bright, cozy warmth. ]
A benefit of having a noble family: we've more than one estate, yes? The one in Val Royeaux which is large and grand and has lasted through generations and on and on much like that as my mother would describe it- very much for show. Pristine and polished with not so much as a sprig of ivy out of place in the garden. But further north and east, close to Val Chevain we've a smaller estate- more a stretch of private land and something I thought was a cottage until I saw what an actual cottage looked like. On the shore of the waking sea. In Val Royeaux we had the family and the estate staff, maids and cooks and serving girls and valets- in the cottage it was only us. Family and perhaps a few footmen to help us unpack, guards that kept to the gatehouse. There we had no true expectations- we did not need to be perfect little noble children, we did not need to play the Game. My father would cook horribly, my mother would complain of how he burnt the bread and used far too much butter for the first day or two before she stirred herself to do the same.
It was a way to keep in touch with our merchant roots, or so they would say. I do not know how true that might be but- playing on the beach with my sisters and not worrying about if I was doing it right; swimming, laying on an old worn carpet that smelled of rosewater from where my grandmother spilled a jar when she was a girl while my father spun tales either from literature or his own imagination? It was lovely. They still spend time there, now and then- I would receive letters from my sisters and mother addressed from the cottage. Once Lilianne sent me a packet of sand and seashells from the beach- it was before my harrowing, I think I was, perhaps, thirteen? They all would pick at me so for not doing things properly before I was shown to be a mage. I think she was trying to apologize.