Now, what to work on next...
May. 27th, 2008 05:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrDecisions, decisions, and of course there's no telling which idea will finally choose to cooperate. I'd really like my various novels IP to cooperate with me, but until they do...
[Poll #1194426]
Though, on that note, don't expect too much more from me this week >_o Today I go back to dealing with aaallll the lovely stress of work, and well, for one reaso or another, it's going to get worse. *sigh*
EDIT
A bit of the new regency story, cause I tried to write it a while back, only it wasn't really cooperating then.
The Wager
Lazare longed for his childhood, when he might get away with pitching his teacup across the room and enjoy the sound of fragile porcelain against fine wood, the angry but defeated sigh of his nurse as she threw up her hands and stomped from the room.
Alas, adulthood required good behavior.
He just wished the others in the room might recall it.
Forcing himself to use the manners no one else would, wondering what was wrong with this uncouth country he was to be stuck in for only the gods knew how long – until his mother saw fit to bring him home, and given she had not even bid him farewell, so great was her anger, he suspected he would not be going home for a long time.
Stifling a sigh, he smiled politely at the chortling men around the table, wondering what impertinent question they would put to him next. He dared a surreptitious glance at the clock mounted on the wall at the opposite end of the room.
Alas, at least an hour to go, and he doubted they would let him slip away before another half hour had passed beyond that.
"We hear there was nearly an altercation this morning, Highness," a man said slyly. "Giving his Majesty a run for his money, eh?"
A run for his money? Lazare frowned over that one, and made a note to ask Maitland about it later. He swore they did such things on purpose, and it was truly beginning to irritate him. He took a delicate sip of the fragrant tea. "I never discuss business over afternoon tea, gentlemen, but I assure you there was nothing so dramatic as an altercation."
The men laughed and exchanged disbelieving looks and snorts, but obligingly moved on to other matters, discussing plays and duels and other things which they thought might he might like to see.
Finally one man sat back and settled his hands on his massive belly. "So, Highness, how are you liking our Cat, hmm?"
Lazare frowned. What joke was he missing this time? If they did not stop with such nonsense, he would show them how cutting his own private jokes could be, truly. "Your cat? I beg pardon, but I do not take your meaning."
The men smiled, chuckled. "Why, Lord Maitland, of course."
"Ah," Lazare said.
A pleasant, if frustrating, thought, that one.
Kyler Maitland, the Marquis Lovett. He had been appointed Lazare's guide while he was here fulfilling his role as ambassador. He wished Maitland were here now, for he had already noticed that everyone tended to tread carefully and mark their every word when Maitland was around. Alas, he'd had some unavoidable private matter to attend, and Lazare had been forced to attend this tea alone.
He frowned. "Why do you call him cat?"
More chuckles. "For all the obvious reasons, Highness, and some less obvious. I take it you have not met his pet?" The speaker, another fat oaf, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then again, I doubt your Highness has had neither reason nor opportunity to visit the Lovett estate."
Lazare's frown eased slightly. 'The obvious reasons' certainly made sense. It was far too easy to describe Maitland as cat-like. Tall and long and lean, rich gold hair and eyes, and he moved with a sinuous grace that had, indeed, reminded Lazare of the mountain lions of his homeland right from the start. "His pet?"
"Oh, yes," said another man, spindly and pale. "You will have to contrive to see his pet." He winked. It was not a pleasant gesture coming from him.
"I see," Lazare said, making his disapproval plain. He did not want to gossip about his guide, and it was a poor showing indeed that these men saw fit to do so. Taking another sip of tea to calm his thoughts, he then set it down and opened his mouth to begin a new topic of conversation.
Alas, another started speaking first. "Speaking of Cat, are you going to join in the wager, Highness?"
"Wager?" Lazare asked. He was so very tired of being confused.
"Aye," said a man with a peculiar accent. Lazare was hopeless with accents in this confounded country. "Have you not heard of it yet, Highness? I'm astonished. The clubs have talked of little else since Cat was dragged out of his den to assist you."
Lazare bit his tongue. It was difficult. He would not stoop to their level by abandoning his manners. "Lord Maitland has been my savior," he said quietly, but firmly. "He is patient and kind, and I would be quite lost without him."
The table erupted in laughter. "Well!" said the fat man. "I certainly have never heard him so described! Perhaps you will win the wager, Highness."
"I—"
"Yes, indeed," said a man bland of face and voice. "The world would erupt to finally know the answer to that damned puzzle. Patient and kind? Never have I heard those words applied to Lord Cat!"
Lazare sighed and drank his tea. He wished Maitland were here.
"Has he mentioned the affair to you, Highness?"
"I do not inquire into the private affairs of another man," Lazare said sharply. "I was not aware such rudeness was considered acceptable in this country."
The men laughed again. "We mean no harm, Highness. Lord Cat is one of our own. If you are to work closely with him, you will hear of the wager at some point. Indeed, I believe many of the betting books are placing new wagers on whether you will be the one to win the wager which has been on the books for the past five years."
He was on the betting books? Lazare scowled into his tea. To the devil with manners.
Once more, however, the men spoke up before him. "It was a duel, Highness. Lord Cat was embroiled in a dawn appointment five years ago. No one can prove it, of course, but everyone knows he was there and that he fired the fatal shot."
Lazare's hold on his teacup faltered. Fatal shot? What nonsense was this? "I do not favor gossip," he said icily. "Especially such ridiculous statements as that. I would appreciate it, gentlemen, if you would find another topic about which we might converse."
"Oh, and you know Cat so well?" A man asked sneeringly. "It was his lover, you know. He challenged his lover to a duel, and shot him dead."
"I have heard quite enough," Lazare said coldly, slamming his teacup down and standing, then stalking to the door of the grand tearoom. A steward appeared almost immediately with his coat, hat, and walking stick.
Ignoring the voices that chased after him, Lazare stalked out of the building and into the street. His carriage…no, he did not feel like being trapped in the infernal thing. Waving off the stewards who started to call for his carriage, he turned and strode briskly down the street.
The sound of his voice, spoken in a gruff baritone, drew him up short. "Highness?"
"Lord Maitland," he said, blinking. "Did you conclude your business?"
"Yes," Maitland replied slowly, confusion in his gold eyes.
Such pretty eyes, for all they constantly seemed to hold something back. The very same shade of gold as his hair, which had been tousled by the brisk wind on the street, softening the strict lines of his handsome face. "If I may ask, Highness, why are you walking about? You were not due to leave the tearoom for an hour or two yet, and I saw you into the carriage myself."
"I am tired of the tearoom," Lazare said levelly. "Nor did I feel like being trapped in that wheeled box. I thought a walk might do me some good."
"As you wish, Highness. May I escort you back?"
Lazare smiled faintly, unable to stay angry with Maitland before him. He had only known Maitland three weeks, but there was something steadying about him. Ever since being sent of as Ambassador, he had felt lost at sea. Maitland, from the very first, had seemed an island. "By all means, please. Your business was well concluded?"
"Yes. I apologize again for abandoning you. Was the tea so unpleasant, then?"
"I do not care for malicious gossip," Lazare said with a shrug as they fell into step together. Even in the ripe smells clogging the streets, he did not miss the cinnamon and honey scent of Maitland. "Walking out was poor form, I know, but I will not be subjected to such unpleasantness."
Maitland's mouth tightened. "I apologize again for not being present."
"Do not worry upon it," Lazare said with a smile.
[Poll #1194426]
Though, on that note, don't expect too much more from me this week >_o Today I go back to dealing with aaallll the lovely stress of work, and well, for one reaso or another, it's going to get worse. *sigh*
EDIT
A bit of the new regency story, cause I tried to write it a while back, only it wasn't really cooperating then.
The Wager
Lazare longed for his childhood, when he might get away with pitching his teacup across the room and enjoy the sound of fragile porcelain against fine wood, the angry but defeated sigh of his nurse as she threw up her hands and stomped from the room.
Alas, adulthood required good behavior.
He just wished the others in the room might recall it.
Forcing himself to use the manners no one else would, wondering what was wrong with this uncouth country he was to be stuck in for only the gods knew how long – until his mother saw fit to bring him home, and given she had not even bid him farewell, so great was her anger, he suspected he would not be going home for a long time.
Stifling a sigh, he smiled politely at the chortling men around the table, wondering what impertinent question they would put to him next. He dared a surreptitious glance at the clock mounted on the wall at the opposite end of the room.
Alas, at least an hour to go, and he doubted they would let him slip away before another half hour had passed beyond that.
"We hear there was nearly an altercation this morning, Highness," a man said slyly. "Giving his Majesty a run for his money, eh?"
A run for his money? Lazare frowned over that one, and made a note to ask Maitland about it later. He swore they did such things on purpose, and it was truly beginning to irritate him. He took a delicate sip of the fragrant tea. "I never discuss business over afternoon tea, gentlemen, but I assure you there was nothing so dramatic as an altercation."
The men laughed and exchanged disbelieving looks and snorts, but obligingly moved on to other matters, discussing plays and duels and other things which they thought might he might like to see.
Finally one man sat back and settled his hands on his massive belly. "So, Highness, how are you liking our Cat, hmm?"
Lazare frowned. What joke was he missing this time? If they did not stop with such nonsense, he would show them how cutting his own private jokes could be, truly. "Your cat? I beg pardon, but I do not take your meaning."
The men smiled, chuckled. "Why, Lord Maitland, of course."
"Ah," Lazare said.
A pleasant, if frustrating, thought, that one.
Kyler Maitland, the Marquis Lovett. He had been appointed Lazare's guide while he was here fulfilling his role as ambassador. He wished Maitland were here now, for he had already noticed that everyone tended to tread carefully and mark their every word when Maitland was around. Alas, he'd had some unavoidable private matter to attend, and Lazare had been forced to attend this tea alone.
He frowned. "Why do you call him cat?"
More chuckles. "For all the obvious reasons, Highness, and some less obvious. I take it you have not met his pet?" The speaker, another fat oaf, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then again, I doubt your Highness has had neither reason nor opportunity to visit the Lovett estate."
Lazare's frown eased slightly. 'The obvious reasons' certainly made sense. It was far too easy to describe Maitland as cat-like. Tall and long and lean, rich gold hair and eyes, and he moved with a sinuous grace that had, indeed, reminded Lazare of the mountain lions of his homeland right from the start. "His pet?"
"Oh, yes," said another man, spindly and pale. "You will have to contrive to see his pet." He winked. It was not a pleasant gesture coming from him.
"I see," Lazare said, making his disapproval plain. He did not want to gossip about his guide, and it was a poor showing indeed that these men saw fit to do so. Taking another sip of tea to calm his thoughts, he then set it down and opened his mouth to begin a new topic of conversation.
Alas, another started speaking first. "Speaking of Cat, are you going to join in the wager, Highness?"
"Wager?" Lazare asked. He was so very tired of being confused.
"Aye," said a man with a peculiar accent. Lazare was hopeless with accents in this confounded country. "Have you not heard of it yet, Highness? I'm astonished. The clubs have talked of little else since Cat was dragged out of his den to assist you."
Lazare bit his tongue. It was difficult. He would not stoop to their level by abandoning his manners. "Lord Maitland has been my savior," he said quietly, but firmly. "He is patient and kind, and I would be quite lost without him."
The table erupted in laughter. "Well!" said the fat man. "I certainly have never heard him so described! Perhaps you will win the wager, Highness."
"I—"
"Yes, indeed," said a man bland of face and voice. "The world would erupt to finally know the answer to that damned puzzle. Patient and kind? Never have I heard those words applied to Lord Cat!"
Lazare sighed and drank his tea. He wished Maitland were here.
"Has he mentioned the affair to you, Highness?"
"I do not inquire into the private affairs of another man," Lazare said sharply. "I was not aware such rudeness was considered acceptable in this country."
The men laughed again. "We mean no harm, Highness. Lord Cat is one of our own. If you are to work closely with him, you will hear of the wager at some point. Indeed, I believe many of the betting books are placing new wagers on whether you will be the one to win the wager which has been on the books for the past five years."
He was on the betting books? Lazare scowled into his tea. To the devil with manners.
Once more, however, the men spoke up before him. "It was a duel, Highness. Lord Cat was embroiled in a dawn appointment five years ago. No one can prove it, of course, but everyone knows he was there and that he fired the fatal shot."
Lazare's hold on his teacup faltered. Fatal shot? What nonsense was this? "I do not favor gossip," he said icily. "Especially such ridiculous statements as that. I would appreciate it, gentlemen, if you would find another topic about which we might converse."
"Oh, and you know Cat so well?" A man asked sneeringly. "It was his lover, you know. He challenged his lover to a duel, and shot him dead."
"I have heard quite enough," Lazare said coldly, slamming his teacup down and standing, then stalking to the door of the grand tearoom. A steward appeared almost immediately with his coat, hat, and walking stick.
Ignoring the voices that chased after him, Lazare stalked out of the building and into the street. His carriage…no, he did not feel like being trapped in the infernal thing. Waving off the stewards who started to call for his carriage, he turned and strode briskly down the street.
The sound of his voice, spoken in a gruff baritone, drew him up short. "Highness?"
"Lord Maitland," he said, blinking. "Did you conclude your business?"
"Yes," Maitland replied slowly, confusion in his gold eyes.
Such pretty eyes, for all they constantly seemed to hold something back. The very same shade of gold as his hair, which had been tousled by the brisk wind on the street, softening the strict lines of his handsome face. "If I may ask, Highness, why are you walking about? You were not due to leave the tearoom for an hour or two yet, and I saw you into the carriage myself."
"I am tired of the tearoom," Lazare said levelly. "Nor did I feel like being trapped in that wheeled box. I thought a walk might do me some good."
"As you wish, Highness. May I escort you back?"
Lazare smiled faintly, unable to stay angry with Maitland before him. He had only known Maitland three weeks, but there was something steadying about him. Ever since being sent of as Ambassador, he had felt lost at sea. Maitland, from the very first, had seemed an island. "By all means, please. Your business was well concluded?"
"Yes. I apologize again for abandoning you. Was the tea so unpleasant, then?"
"I do not care for malicious gossip," Lazare said with a shrug as they fell into step together. Even in the ripe smells clogging the streets, he did not miss the cinnamon and honey scent of Maitland. "Walking out was poor form, I know, but I will not be subjected to such unpleasantness."
Maitland's mouth tightened. "I apologize again for not being present."
"Do not worry upon it," Lazare said with a smile.
