Cèsar de Borja, Cardinal Valentino (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cesar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-08-10 01:32 pm
cesar) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-08-10 01:32 pm
Entry tags:
[ closed ] put this one to rest
Date & Time: Aug. 10
Location: Unit 303
Characters: Cesare Borgia, Elizabeth Tudor, open to flatmates!
Summary: Cesare brings home the wine
Warnings: It's a Borgia and a Tudor, go figure (I mean N/A, for now)
Location: Unit 303
Characters: Cesare Borgia, Elizabeth Tudor, open to flatmates!
Summary: Cesare brings home the wine
Warnings: It's a Borgia and a Tudor, go figure (I mean N/A, for now)
The least Cesare could do was make allies of the people he has been assigned to live with. He has mostly kept to himself, slipping into his room in the early hours of the morning from his wanderings about the city, only to sleep until late and then repeat the routine. There is much to be discovered, but he has almost forgotten this one matter. The matter of flatmates.
Strange that he would find himself sharing such small quarters with others, a woman no less, but he knows to keep himself as quiet as possible, conducting himself with the care a shadow might take. What would Micheletto do?
There were slim pickings for good wine but he did his best, splurging much of his monthly allowance on a bottle cultivated in what was once Europa. He can dream that it was Spain. So with that humble gift in hand, he takes to knocking on each door and asking if they would share it with him, also a strange exercise when he would have an page boy managing his audiences for him. He comes to the woman's door last and knocks gently, for it seems necessary to conduct himself more properly because she is here to share his space, something that would be unthinkable for any honorable woman of his time.
There may yet be value in managing his reputation.
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If that was how he dressed, then perhaps she wouldn't loath living with him. Someone she could talk to. Or at least that was what she reasoned, but in the end what truly swayed her was the bottle of wine and just how otherwise -- dare she say it -- charming he was, in his own way. At least nice enough to look at when there was no one else in the end. "I should be delighted to." She turned back to her room, looking at her sewing for a moment then back to him. "If you may excuse me a moment, sir, I'll be out in a minute?"
Because if she was going to sit and drink with someone, she was needed to be more properly attired then.
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It is not customary for him to ever catch a lady unaware, lest it be his sister or his mother, from whose presence he flits in and out to ensure their safety whether or not they were dressed. They know he finds them beautiful always. And so, he doesn't know how long it takes a lady to dress but figures he should give her all the time she needs, nodding again before stepping backward and then away.
Cesare sets the bottle of wine at the living room table before walking toward the kitchen to open every cabinet to find a fitting glass. They are all strangely shaped and made of cheap glass, nothing to rival Venetian glassworks here. What a pity. In the end he settles for short whiskey glasses, setting out two of them beside the bottle as he takes a seat on the couch and waits.
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When she came to sit beside him, at a respectful distance, on the couch, she was looking far, far more like a noble woman. The heavy ring of state sitting still oddly heavy on her fingers, the dark red stone catching the light as she smoothed out her bronze coloured skirts after arranging them about her person. But she'd never risk losing that, even above the pearls they'd given her for defence.
Then she turned to him, smiling as she would to anyone of court. "I suppose introductions are in order?" As there was no one else to do it for them.
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He sits only after she has. He is himself dressed all in black, though the fine leatherwork may betray how expensive his doublet and his boots are. Then there is the Cardinal's ruby ring on his hand, the only color on his person. He thinks it an insult to his father to remove it without his permission, though the temptation has crossed his mind more than once. Here he can be whoever he wishes to be. Not a Borgia, a different kind of Borgia.
"Cesare. At your service."
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"A pleasure." She looked him over again, noting the differences between them. He was striking in his black to say the least. Italian perhaps, from his accent but she couldn't be sure. "Victoria Guildford." Her private own lie, but as much as she might be appreciative, she noticed one thing that was familiar, and her eyebrows went up. His ring. Everyone of a court in Christendom knew that ring, even if it was only a vague memory of her childhood.
"... You are a Cardinal, are you not?"
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"There is little use for Cardinals here," even if he wouldn't answer her question outright. There is little use in being easily known, either. "Do you hail from England, Victoria, or from this new land I have been told of, America?"
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"Perhaps you have some other skill then? Or perhaps we need guiding in prayer." She took up her glass of wine, sipping it slowly. "Though I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you. I told them I was a lady in waiting and they thought me as good as royalty. Most people here know not the difference." She snorted, it amused her still, but in answer to his she nodded. "Yes, I serve the Queen of England, Elizabeth of York." The lie was smooth now, she was learning to say it with such practised ease.
He wasn't the only one keeping secrets after all.
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"I have heard that the Lady Margaret Beaufort bears great influence." Greater than even the queen she serves, perhaps even the king, but he sees little need to say that.
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It reminded her of home, almost. Though that was a far too private thought.
"The Duchess of Richmond? Aye, she does." Another woman she only knew through stories, but she'd been a mother to a dynasty and it was hard not to know of her. "She and my mistress do not always get along, though Her Majesty was loyal to the King, even in the face of deceivers that would cause even more strife." It was easy to talk of these things like it didn't matter. After all, the entire court was dead and the rulers of this land long turned to ash.
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Still his smile is pleasant when he holds up his glass for a toast. "Shall we toast to... chance meetings? Or peace?"
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But her glass tapped against his and the that high sound of glass hitting glass softly echoed a moment. "To chance meetings. For there is no peace here." They were at war and none would take that more seriously than she would.
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"I heard England has much rain but this--" he gestures vaguely to the general direction of the window. The weather is particularly dreary today and the skies are as dark as if day decided not to come at all. "Has it always been thus?"
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"No." Elizabeth shook her head, turning back to him with a sad smile. "She did rain often though, there can be denying that. But she had as many warm summer days as she had cool winter nights." It was easy to speak at length on the country she loved so once. "Her palaces stood proud, even after the wars, and the fields were vast and green. The King's forest was bursting with life, and the hunts were always prosperous." She crossed her legs under her skirts, tapping her foot as she thought on those days now so utterly gone. "You should of seen her, Your Eminence, a young man such as yourself would have loved it."
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"My father is fond of hunting," the implication being that he isn't. There was always more important things to do, matters more pertinent to his family's safety. "But if you would accompany me, we may yet procure decent steeds for ourselves."
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"Truly, sir? I do not always take after the hunt myself, as I am but a woman -- but riding is one of my greatest pleasures." She leaned forward just that little bit, eager to here such a plan. "But I do not know where you would find such a thing, as I am told all the animals of the land died here a long time ago." Another drink of wine, followed, and her mind went to more practical matters. "The feeding and keeping of the horse would cost greatly still I think, so such things would have to be organized, as I have yet to see much in the way of stables."
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"Finding a horse here would be nothing short of miraculous." He takes another sip of his wine before setting the glass down, leaning forward with his elbows resting against his knees. "But, I learned that we may yet be sent to other places, the past, where they might yet live. We could take a little time to go riding then."
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"But that seems a wonderful alternative, though I cannot say for sure the missions they send us are ever so leisurely." Her head tilted to the side, nibbling on the tip of her finger. "It would be wonderful though, would it not?" Elizabeth could see him upon a black stallion. Black like his clothes, he did seem to favor the colour.
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Speed and secrecy are his greatest weapons and he means to use the very same ones to complete tasks assigned to him here. He would not like to disappoint even those who would seek to enslave him. "Do you not trust that you can, my lady?"
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"Nothing like that -- it is only I trust in very little other than what lies before me and the task at hand. So I cannot in truth make comment." Another sip and she settled it in her lap comfortably again. "Nor do I think counting on things before you are able to plan for them is very wise. Even if I should dearly like to dream as much as the next woman for better things than I know to expect." She propped her arm up against the back of the sofa, turning to face him more fully, stiff formality all but forgotten in the comfort of privacy. "But pinning things upon such hopes of indulgence? Seems only to beget misery."
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A jest, noting the smirk on his face, but that does nothing to lessen the intention behind his words. Of course she means thus. But he and his family are gamblers by nature, which made them so formidable to the Italians, and if the reward justifies the risk then he will take his chances.
"So you would content yourself with whatever the Initiative serves you."
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But at his slightly more serious question she shook her head. "Would any man be content with this?" She's not inclined to speak openly so much, it only seemed to get her in trouble here, almost as much as England. Besides who knew what was listening? Who even knew who he worked for, come to think of it. Cardinals tended to be no friend of hers.
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"Many men have made themselves content with far less." Men for whom he holds no respect for. Even poor farmers may strive harder than the foolish lords of the Romagna and he holds the former in far higher regard. Their striving is something he can more easily relate to. "But you are no man, my lady."
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"They have, and no, I am not." Something she could never forget. That prompted another drink, and a deeper one at that. "But it gives me a disposition used to weathering such things in silence, as a woman must." A diplomatic answer -- the answer expect that she's learned to say, even if its bitter to speak and not even the wine dulls that sting.
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"But a woman's ways are different to that of men. You may seem silent, but..."
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She lent back, and quite probably too bold of her in return, but he hardly seemed to mind. But she didn't quite meet his eye after that, opting to take another drink.