more matchmaker
Aug. 17th, 2008 04:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrNow this probably counts as teasing ^_~
Even with his things unpacked and put neatly away, his office looked sparse. Barren, even. Nothing like the one had left two months ago to journey here, the one he sorely missed.
Still, it was not a bad office. Quite the contrary – technically speaking, it was nicer than the one he had left. This one even had a wide bank of windows along one wall, looking out over the sea. A long row of benches was built beneath the windows, deep and thickly padded with cushions, scattered about with pillows.
Rugs were everywhere, colorful and soft. There was also a small fireplace, perfect for the spacious room. The last wall, behind his desk, was entirely shelving, minus a small corner which had been given over to a bar, already stocked with fine liquors.
Before the fireplace were two comfy looking armchairs, a small table beside each.
Into another corner, near the windows, was another small table and chairs – perfect for breakfast or tea.
All the wood was a warm gold, with splashes of red and blue and green, gold and brown and cream, all over. His desk was large, with plenty of space to work, and well-stocked besides. Two more chairs were on the far side of it, made to be occupied for long periods of time.
He rather thought that he could become quite comfortable here. It missed only those things he had not been able to bring with him – gifts from grateful couples, rewards from grateful parents or guardians, awards from his own King, knick knacks from his family and friends.
Some of those items had come with him, those from which he could bear to be parted, but most had remained.
Sitting down in the deep leather desk chair, he reached up to remove his broach, curling his hand around it briefly before finally shutting it away in a drawer. He had worn it for his formal meeting of the Queen's men, but he had been instructed to keep his true profession a secret. The broach would be recognized by a few in the palace, and so he could not wear it.
All to the better, really. Constantly seeing it and being reminded of what he was would not endear him to men who had already chosen to dislike him.
He hoped it would ease; his time here would be difficult enough without being able to make so much as a single friend.
Shrugging off the thought, for he had work aplenty to keep him occupied, he opened up his leather portfolio and began to read through the papers inside. Dipping a pen in ink, he drew forward a fresh sheet of paper and neatly wrote 'Boothby, Charles' across the top, writing out his title below that.
Then he began to list general impressions, noting everything from speech to mannerisms to dress, and everything in between.
At the bottom of the sheet he wrote No?
Setting it aside to dry, he moved on to the next man.
Eustace and Lyle each got a Yes?
When he came to Sorrel, he did not hesitate but wrote No.
That, at least, was easy enough. If Sorrel had any reason, romantic, financial, power, or otherwise, to marry his cousin he would have seen to the matter himself. It did not take more than the brief meeting of that morning to see that one knew people.
Flirt said one of his impressions. Manipulative? said another. Arrogant. Proud. Likely to impede process however possible said further notes.
He frowned at the page for a moment, added another note with a question mark, then set it aside.
Across this page he wrote Michael Cartwright.
Though Michael was not on his list, after this morning, he felt obliged to add him. Interesting that the Queen had not put him on the list herself, and he made note of such on Michael's sheet.
Once all the papers were dry, he placed each one into its own portfolio, these covered with simple cloth rather than the good leather of his general one. They were also each a different color – green, yellow, red, blue, and violet.
Stacking the portfolios neatly, he then picked up the green one – Charles – and drew several fresh sheets of paper. Dipping his pen again, he began to write out the different sections that he would fill out over the course of the next several weeks.
He had just begun to work on the third portfolio when there came a sharp rap at his door. He had left it open, as a show of invitation, and so all it took was looking up to see Michael standing there politely. "Come in, please," he said.
Michael stepped inside. "Settling in?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Good. Do let me know if there is anything you require. Her Majesty has said I am to assist as much as I may."
"That is deeply appreciated," Joss replied.
Michael moved closer to the desk and held out a sheaf of papers. "Here are copies of all their schedules, including my own and her Majesty's, for the next three weeks. I will see you are kept apprise of all changes; one of my secretaries has been appointed with the task. His name is Roger; you have only to send a note to him should you need to know anything, and he will of course come to me if my personal interference is needed."
Joss accepted the papers. "You are impressively efficient. I think it is a good thing you were not able to accompany her Majesty when she visited my homeland – my King may have tried to keep you, by whatever means possible."
Laughing, Michael finally sat down.
Hiding a smile, Joss glanced briefly at the papers he'd accepted, noting who was doing what before setting them aside to inspect more closely later.
"You said you needed to interview me as well," Michael said after a moment of silence. "I am free now, if that is amenable."
"Yes, quite," Joss replied, and put away the portfolio on which he'd been working to pull out the violet one he'd assigned to Michael. He'd not yet had time to draw up the forms properly, but that could be done later, for he knew them by heart.
Michael sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I confess I do not like whatever it is that her Majesty is plotting, but stomping around about it will help nothing. Nor do I see how I am relevant, but I am willing to cooperate. Please, ask your questions."
Joss was torn between amusement and frustration. Back home, no one was ever offended to be invited to interview with the matchmaker. It was simply a cultural thing – back home, it was regarded as helping; here it was regarded as interfering. Still, he wished they would not regard him as some sort of executioner.
"You have been her Majesty's assistant for a very long time, have you not?"
"Ever since she took the throne at sixteen," Michael replied. "I was astonished, for I always thought that position would go to Lord Dunkirk. Her Majesty and I have always been friends, but she is closer to Dunkirk. Even her husband, for the three years of their marriage before he died, was not as close to her as Dunkirk."
That Joss had already known that, for the Queen had told him a great deal about herself already, but it was always interesting – and telling – who told him what. He nodded in reply to the answer. "Are you close to them in age?"
Michael smiled. "My birthday and her Majesty's are only two weeks apart. Dunkirk is a couple of months older than us."
Noting the age, for it was a bit of information he had been lacking, Joss moved on. "You were made Baron…?"
"At age fifteen, actually," Michael said, sadness flickering across his face. "My parents both died of the illness that swept the country that year."
"I am sorry," Joss replied. "My father died of illness as well."
Michael nodded.
"So you both have had enormous responsibility from a young age. Does the Marquis share that trait, as well?"
"Oh, lord," Michael said with a laugh. "Dunkirk is a class all his own. He took up the title formally only five years ago, but he has always carried the responsibility and authority. You shall have to ask him more about yourself, however, for that is family business of his I would feel uncomfortable disclosing without his permission."
Joss smiled and made careful note. "Of course. Those are not the sorts of questions I would unfairly press. I was merely seeing that the three of you have a number of remarkable things in common. It must make you quite close."
Michael shrugged. "I think the only one truly close to Dunkirk is her Majesty. She and I are close, though, yes. It is truly an honor to be her personal assistant."
"What do you like best and least about your job?"
"A complicated question. I work for a Queen, Matchmaker, and a great part of being a ruler is doing those things no one else can, and much of it is unpleasant. I do not like seeing that burden upon her shoulders, especially as it was put there when she was but sixteen. She does it well, but at great cost. As for what I like…there is a challenge to it, and I can help her in ways I would not otherwise be able."
Joss nodded, and made more notes.
"Could I ask a question?" Michael said.
"Of course," Joss said. "This not, contrary to popular belief, an inquisition. More like…simply getting to know you. As often as not, I simply meet people for tea, or a stroll in the park. I chose an office setting…"
Michael snorted. "Because the children stomped out before you could suggest anything?"
Joss' mouth twitched, and he coughed to cover it up. "I am certain they will mellow as they realize speaking with me today does not mean tomorrow they will be shoved into a gown and thrown down the aisle.
Choking, Michael then threw his head back and laughed. "If you can convince any one of them to wear the gown, I will pay any price you demand, Matchmaker. Oh, that is an image to amuse me for a very long time."
"So you are all friends, then? You and the other four."
The laughter slowly faded. "Yes, I would say so, though they are closer to each other than they are to me. I am…" Michael shrugged. "I am only a Baron, and fourth generation at that. Their families go back to the creation of the country, and they would have attended one another in places to which I would never be invited. Being her Majesty's assistant obviously changes things, of course, and it helped she and I were friends since classes…" He shrugged again.
Joss nodded and made further notes.
"So on the rare occasion you have free time, how do you spend it?"
Michael smiled in rueful amusement. "I don't remember; it's been a very long time since I've had any of that. Swimming, or reading. I think these days when it manages to come upon us, her Majesty and I take a quiet tea in her private sunroom, often with the Princess as well. Her Majesty is fond of her daughter, but seldom gets to spend real time with her."
Jotting another note, Joss then set his pen aside. "That is all I have for now, and I thank you for your time – and cooperation. I will likely have to speak with you again, and I should warn you now that if the questioning reaches a certain point, the questions will become most personal."
"Personal…how personal?"
"About as personal as you are hoping I do not mean," Joss said, mouth quirking in the faintest of smiles. "I will say that I would be a poor matchmaker if I could not coordinate certain tastes and preferences between partners."
Michael's brows went up. "I see. Does that mean you are attempting to match me?" He immediately shook his head, and held up a hand to forestall a reply. "No, we're not to know what is going on, exactly. Knowing her Majesty, she could be dooming the entire lot of us, or merely one and making the others suffer as some sort of buffer." Something flickered across his face, but it was smoothed away a moment later. "There is never any telling with her, even for me," he concluded. "I hope the questioning does not reach that stage, but I will try to cooperate."
Joss held his hands out in a placating manner. "For what it is worth, matchmakers are made to sign a great many contracts upon taking up our profession, and we face the most severe penalties for breaking those contracts. Even the King is not allowed access to the information we collect, and once matches are arranged and the information is no longer required, it is destroyed. We take our jobs very seriously. You have no reason to trust me, from your perspective, but I assure you I have never violated a confidence."
Light blue eyes locked with his for what seemed ages, but at last Michael nodded. "I believe you, Matchmaker, or at least am willing to believe you, until I have reason not. Now, I think I hear the clock chiming four o'clock. Unless he decided to be a brat – not unusual – I do believe your have an appointment with Dunkirk in half an hour."
"Thank you again for your time," Joss said, and walked with him to the door, and out into the hallway. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
"The same to you," Michael said, and his eyes shifted briefly to something past Joss' shoulder. "I think you will also need a bit of luck, and I give it." With a parting smile, he turned walked away.
Before Joss could turn around to see what had caught Michael's eye, a voice like crushed velvet purred in his ear. "My turn, Matchmaker."
Even with his things unpacked and put neatly away, his office looked sparse. Barren, even. Nothing like the one had left two months ago to journey here, the one he sorely missed.
Still, it was not a bad office. Quite the contrary – technically speaking, it was nicer than the one he had left. This one even had a wide bank of windows along one wall, looking out over the sea. A long row of benches was built beneath the windows, deep and thickly padded with cushions, scattered about with pillows.
Rugs were everywhere, colorful and soft. There was also a small fireplace, perfect for the spacious room. The last wall, behind his desk, was entirely shelving, minus a small corner which had been given over to a bar, already stocked with fine liquors.
Before the fireplace were two comfy looking armchairs, a small table beside each.
Into another corner, near the windows, was another small table and chairs – perfect for breakfast or tea.
All the wood was a warm gold, with splashes of red and blue and green, gold and brown and cream, all over. His desk was large, with plenty of space to work, and well-stocked besides. Two more chairs were on the far side of it, made to be occupied for long periods of time.
He rather thought that he could become quite comfortable here. It missed only those things he had not been able to bring with him – gifts from grateful couples, rewards from grateful parents or guardians, awards from his own King, knick knacks from his family and friends.
Some of those items had come with him, those from which he could bear to be parted, but most had remained.
Sitting down in the deep leather desk chair, he reached up to remove his broach, curling his hand around it briefly before finally shutting it away in a drawer. He had worn it for his formal meeting of the Queen's men, but he had been instructed to keep his true profession a secret. The broach would be recognized by a few in the palace, and so he could not wear it.
All to the better, really. Constantly seeing it and being reminded of what he was would not endear him to men who had already chosen to dislike him.
He hoped it would ease; his time here would be difficult enough without being able to make so much as a single friend.
Shrugging off the thought, for he had work aplenty to keep him occupied, he opened up his leather portfolio and began to read through the papers inside. Dipping a pen in ink, he drew forward a fresh sheet of paper and neatly wrote 'Boothby, Charles' across the top, writing out his title below that.
Then he began to list general impressions, noting everything from speech to mannerisms to dress, and everything in between.
At the bottom of the sheet he wrote No?
Setting it aside to dry, he moved on to the next man.
Eustace and Lyle each got a Yes?
When he came to Sorrel, he did not hesitate but wrote No.
That, at least, was easy enough. If Sorrel had any reason, romantic, financial, power, or otherwise, to marry his cousin he would have seen to the matter himself. It did not take more than the brief meeting of that morning to see that one knew people.
Flirt said one of his impressions. Manipulative? said another. Arrogant. Proud. Likely to impede process however possible said further notes.
He frowned at the page for a moment, added another note with a question mark, then set it aside.
Across this page he wrote Michael Cartwright.
Though Michael was not on his list, after this morning, he felt obliged to add him. Interesting that the Queen had not put him on the list herself, and he made note of such on Michael's sheet.
Once all the papers were dry, he placed each one into its own portfolio, these covered with simple cloth rather than the good leather of his general one. They were also each a different color – green, yellow, red, blue, and violet.
Stacking the portfolios neatly, he then picked up the green one – Charles – and drew several fresh sheets of paper. Dipping his pen again, he began to write out the different sections that he would fill out over the course of the next several weeks.
He had just begun to work on the third portfolio when there came a sharp rap at his door. He had left it open, as a show of invitation, and so all it took was looking up to see Michael standing there politely. "Come in, please," he said.
Michael stepped inside. "Settling in?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Good. Do let me know if there is anything you require. Her Majesty has said I am to assist as much as I may."
"That is deeply appreciated," Joss replied.
Michael moved closer to the desk and held out a sheaf of papers. "Here are copies of all their schedules, including my own and her Majesty's, for the next three weeks. I will see you are kept apprise of all changes; one of my secretaries has been appointed with the task. His name is Roger; you have only to send a note to him should you need to know anything, and he will of course come to me if my personal interference is needed."
Joss accepted the papers. "You are impressively efficient. I think it is a good thing you were not able to accompany her Majesty when she visited my homeland – my King may have tried to keep you, by whatever means possible."
Laughing, Michael finally sat down.
Hiding a smile, Joss glanced briefly at the papers he'd accepted, noting who was doing what before setting them aside to inspect more closely later.
"You said you needed to interview me as well," Michael said after a moment of silence. "I am free now, if that is amenable."
"Yes, quite," Joss replied, and put away the portfolio on which he'd been working to pull out the violet one he'd assigned to Michael. He'd not yet had time to draw up the forms properly, but that could be done later, for he knew them by heart.
Michael sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I confess I do not like whatever it is that her Majesty is plotting, but stomping around about it will help nothing. Nor do I see how I am relevant, but I am willing to cooperate. Please, ask your questions."
Joss was torn between amusement and frustration. Back home, no one was ever offended to be invited to interview with the matchmaker. It was simply a cultural thing – back home, it was regarded as helping; here it was regarded as interfering. Still, he wished they would not regard him as some sort of executioner.
"You have been her Majesty's assistant for a very long time, have you not?"
"Ever since she took the throne at sixteen," Michael replied. "I was astonished, for I always thought that position would go to Lord Dunkirk. Her Majesty and I have always been friends, but she is closer to Dunkirk. Even her husband, for the three years of their marriage before he died, was not as close to her as Dunkirk."
That Joss had already known that, for the Queen had told him a great deal about herself already, but it was always interesting – and telling – who told him what. He nodded in reply to the answer. "Are you close to them in age?"
Michael smiled. "My birthday and her Majesty's are only two weeks apart. Dunkirk is a couple of months older than us."
Noting the age, for it was a bit of information he had been lacking, Joss moved on. "You were made Baron…?"
"At age fifteen, actually," Michael said, sadness flickering across his face. "My parents both died of the illness that swept the country that year."
"I am sorry," Joss replied. "My father died of illness as well."
Michael nodded.
"So you both have had enormous responsibility from a young age. Does the Marquis share that trait, as well?"
"Oh, lord," Michael said with a laugh. "Dunkirk is a class all his own. He took up the title formally only five years ago, but he has always carried the responsibility and authority. You shall have to ask him more about yourself, however, for that is family business of his I would feel uncomfortable disclosing without his permission."
Joss smiled and made careful note. "Of course. Those are not the sorts of questions I would unfairly press. I was merely seeing that the three of you have a number of remarkable things in common. It must make you quite close."
Michael shrugged. "I think the only one truly close to Dunkirk is her Majesty. She and I are close, though, yes. It is truly an honor to be her personal assistant."
"What do you like best and least about your job?"
"A complicated question. I work for a Queen, Matchmaker, and a great part of being a ruler is doing those things no one else can, and much of it is unpleasant. I do not like seeing that burden upon her shoulders, especially as it was put there when she was but sixteen. She does it well, but at great cost. As for what I like…there is a challenge to it, and I can help her in ways I would not otherwise be able."
Joss nodded, and made more notes.
"Could I ask a question?" Michael said.
"Of course," Joss said. "This not, contrary to popular belief, an inquisition. More like…simply getting to know you. As often as not, I simply meet people for tea, or a stroll in the park. I chose an office setting…"
Michael snorted. "Because the children stomped out before you could suggest anything?"
Joss' mouth twitched, and he coughed to cover it up. "I am certain they will mellow as they realize speaking with me today does not mean tomorrow they will be shoved into a gown and thrown down the aisle.
Choking, Michael then threw his head back and laughed. "If you can convince any one of them to wear the gown, I will pay any price you demand, Matchmaker. Oh, that is an image to amuse me for a very long time."
"So you are all friends, then? You and the other four."
The laughter slowly faded. "Yes, I would say so, though they are closer to each other than they are to me. I am…" Michael shrugged. "I am only a Baron, and fourth generation at that. Their families go back to the creation of the country, and they would have attended one another in places to which I would never be invited. Being her Majesty's assistant obviously changes things, of course, and it helped she and I were friends since classes…" He shrugged again.
Joss nodded and made further notes.
"So on the rare occasion you have free time, how do you spend it?"
Michael smiled in rueful amusement. "I don't remember; it's been a very long time since I've had any of that. Swimming, or reading. I think these days when it manages to come upon us, her Majesty and I take a quiet tea in her private sunroom, often with the Princess as well. Her Majesty is fond of her daughter, but seldom gets to spend real time with her."
Jotting another note, Joss then set his pen aside. "That is all I have for now, and I thank you for your time – and cooperation. I will likely have to speak with you again, and I should warn you now that if the questioning reaches a certain point, the questions will become most personal."
"Personal…how personal?"
"About as personal as you are hoping I do not mean," Joss said, mouth quirking in the faintest of smiles. "I will say that I would be a poor matchmaker if I could not coordinate certain tastes and preferences between partners."
Michael's brows went up. "I see. Does that mean you are attempting to match me?" He immediately shook his head, and held up a hand to forestall a reply. "No, we're not to know what is going on, exactly. Knowing her Majesty, she could be dooming the entire lot of us, or merely one and making the others suffer as some sort of buffer." Something flickered across his face, but it was smoothed away a moment later. "There is never any telling with her, even for me," he concluded. "I hope the questioning does not reach that stage, but I will try to cooperate."
Joss held his hands out in a placating manner. "For what it is worth, matchmakers are made to sign a great many contracts upon taking up our profession, and we face the most severe penalties for breaking those contracts. Even the King is not allowed access to the information we collect, and once matches are arranged and the information is no longer required, it is destroyed. We take our jobs very seriously. You have no reason to trust me, from your perspective, but I assure you I have never violated a confidence."
Light blue eyes locked with his for what seemed ages, but at last Michael nodded. "I believe you, Matchmaker, or at least am willing to believe you, until I have reason not. Now, I think I hear the clock chiming four o'clock. Unless he decided to be a brat – not unusual – I do believe your have an appointment with Dunkirk in half an hour."
"Thank you again for your time," Joss said, and walked with him to the door, and out into the hallway. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
"The same to you," Michael said, and his eyes shifted briefly to something past Joss' shoulder. "I think you will also need a bit of luck, and I give it." With a parting smile, he turned walked away.
Before Joss could turn around to see what had caught Michael's eye, a voice like crushed velvet purred in his ear. "My turn, Matchmaker."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 08:26 pm (UTC)I GET MY REVENGE WHERE I CAN
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 08:38 pm (UTC)What have we done to you to warrant such mean, mean behavior? *pouts*
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 08:41 pm (UTC)Heh. Not a thing. I just have a brat streak.
the abuse of the caps locks starts:
Date: 2008-08-17 08:47 pm (UTC)WANT WANT WANT TO KNOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW
TIS TORTURE I SAY
::DIES::
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:08 pm (UTC)You know, I had thought this to be a silly distraction. now, everyone is pysched, and I'm hoping it lives up to the unexpected pressure I'm feeling x.x cause it's not half so shiney as people clearly expect it to be. Ah, well, I can not but try.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:11 pm (UTC)DON'T MAKE ME TEASE YOU BACK. YOU WON'T LIKE ME WHEN I'M TEASY.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:14 pm (UTC)SEXY? !!!!!!
YOU WOULD DESTROY ME, THIS I KNOW. I AM WRITING, SHEESH.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:17 pm (UTC)I TRY TO ONLY USE MY POWERS FOR GOOD.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:21 pm (UTC)*pouts* this will teach me to click on links preceded by the word tease :(
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:22 pm (UTC)IN A HURTS SO GOOD KIND OF WAY, MAYBE.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:22 pm (UTC)*laugh* Sorry? but I'm writing, I'm writing. Goblin will kill me otherwise.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:25 pm (UTC)NO. I'M JUST WAY TO USED TO BEING MADE SOMEONE'S BITCH.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:55 pm (UTC)Hi!
Here be a lurker XD
so I really, really love your stories they are everything that a person needs to beat a depression away. I love your style, your words bring person in your world and your stories give pleasure and happiness.
I love your dragons and fairytales and demons and and and and, but I have to admit that my favorite story is *The Jewels of Bangkok* and I have read *I think* all of the drabbles to this story... but *and now to the whining* I have found the link to the story *Bangkok Princess* and *cry cry* I couldn't read it, so would it be possible for me to read said story?
Thanx!
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:56 pm (UTC);o;
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 09:57 pm (UTC)Alas, I never finished Bangkok Princess. I'm sorry.
Yes, that qualifies as teasing...
Date: 2008-08-18 07:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-18 06:57 pm (UTC)