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Tessa/Millie/Astor
Joined: May 2008
Gender: Female 
Posts: 9
Location: Canada
|  | A Contract... Until Death Do Us Part
« Thread Started on May 24, 2008, 10:26am » | ![[Quote]](http://s1.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
Who: Charles and Tessa
What: The newlyweds fight and then come to an uneasy alliance over their common goals.
Where: Lamport Residence, Goldleaf Estates Room 222
When: Late Spring
Note: Comes a few hours before 'You do not sleep?'
Charles enters the apartment, a stern expression on his face. He is greeted by the butler upon entering, but a motion of his hand motions Lane away for the moment as he strolls to the center of the room, not even turning around, relying on his ears to tell him when his wife has followed him in and closed the door behind them.
Tessa follows more quietly in the apartment, her daemon coming again to rest on her shoulder, fluttering down for an agile landing as the woman turns to shut the door. She doesn't speak immediately, just watches Charles rather stoically while she absently strokes Phrixus's foot where it sits on her shoulder. The daemon leans in to murmurs something quiet in French, but Tessa merely replies with a soft, noncommittal sort of answer.
Charles turns to a side, facing a wall with a family portrait. Charles is quite young in the photo, perhaps five or six, his sister beside him. While it was a significant investment for his poor family at the time, the portrait itself is certainly not from the highest caliber of artisans. "Can I ask you something, Tessa? How many hours did you spend learning etiquette?"
"I do not recall the exact number of hours, Charles," Tessa replies demurely, her tone kept level, polite, deferential, and a staying hand kept on the foot of her daemon. "They were many, still." She now moves smoothly into the apartment, coming to stand behind the sofa with her hands resting upon its back. Phrixus settles onto the upholstery beside her and she reaches out to absently stroke his feathers.
Valde solemnly gazes into the portrait. Charles manages to remain his composure, but Valde's eyes glimmer with tears at the memory of what they lost, regardless of how much gold Charles has earned nor the decades it has been. "How many pages of etiquette texts espouse the grace, honor, nobility and wonder of bigotry?"
Tessa stifles a quiet sigh, shaking her head slightly. "If this is about what had said about the Gyptian, I have apologized already," she points out. "It had not occurred to me that it might offend you. What do I know of Gyptians?" She tries again with taking the clueless tack. "And I meant only that, in contrast to your own wealth and knowledge, it seemed to me no Gyptian could compare." And flattery - we'll try some of that too.
Charles remains before the portrait on the wall, still not facing Tessa. "We are each the products of our heritage, Tessa. I'm sure, somewhere in your ancestry, there was probably a penniless soul who had no note, no worth, no dignity and no respect until they did something that captured some combination of pity and gratitude from someone else with a title. Truly, if your family has kept the legend, I would like to read or hear it. Regardless, because of that person, your family has what it has today ... a place, some prestige. It was passed from that person to their children, and so on. I, on the other hand, never had an ancestor who caught the right combination of pity and gratitude from a European noble. Tell me, Tessa ... were my skin not pale, but my purse still heavy, would you still have entered into this arrangement with me? If I were, say .... Gyptian?" What an absurd question! The flattery doesn't seem to be working ...
"But you are not, so what does it matter?" Tessa points out, not wanting to play the hypothetical game. "My family, we have had this prestige longer than any can remember. And now you are a part of this family. I thought that this was what you wanted." She studies Phrixus, still stroking the smooth feathers along his back, where there's that brilliant flash of white. After a moment of contemplative silence, she continues quietly, "But Charles, you should not speak of the Gyptians like this. They will look to their own reputation and you must look to yours."
Charles finally turns from the portrait to walk to the sofa and face Tessa. "But I am Gyptian, Tessa ... by my mother's paternal grandfather. Gyptian blood courses through my veins. I am proud of it, but in this land of gold and jewels, of etiquette and grace ... my own blood could condemn me, and I must fear how our ... how /your/ society would react. There are men of nobility, Tessa, who already look for any crack in what I've built to tear it all down, especially me personally. That there was no noble blood in my family means no on in the aristocracy could have cared less until I acquired a fortune unbecoming someone ... unnoble. There are scant records scant records, its something they couldn't bother to look for, at least not yet ... what I know of my family has been passed down orally."
"Then you do not know of it for sure," Tessa insists levelly, after a moment of adjusting to this bit of news. "How can you trust just what one person has told another? You are not Gyptian, Charles." It's said quietly but firmly, not exactly an order - she wouldn't dare to go that far - but certainly a suggestion. "Be proud of it in private, if you must, but do not speak of such things. You have acquired the fortune, and a fitting bride. Do not give them that crack and there will be nothing to tear down. Do you think any family is without its secret shame? Those who survive, those who flourish, they do not allow these secrets to be used against them."
Charles flares with anger, preceded by Valde's hackles raising. "IT IS NOT SHAME OF MY BLOOD, IT IS SHAME OF MY COUNTRYMEN!" he bellows, fuming, then hopes to hell these rather pricy walls absorb a great deal of sound. "And I did not acquire fortune, it was not some dead pirate's treasure map I found! I built my empire, all that I have, all that you sought one keg of ale at a time, one crate of coal at a time, one sack of flour at a time. I never studied etiquette, in school ... I hired a coach to give me a tips, and I've used my eyes and observation as I've had to to deal with your society, the same eye and regard as I give the many tribes across the globe to conduct trade and business with them, to find treasure in what they would throw out or give away. There are places on this globe where gold is admired for a glitter, but not so valued as it is here, because in those lands it is common and mundane. There's a history, a value to every person, regardless of their blood, and this land, this kingdom, this country into which I was born is blind to it. I married you, Tessa, because, yes, of your family's status, but not, I think, for the reasons you or others would think ... I wish to father children, Tessa, to establish a legacy. I do not care to dump such a load of wealth on them that they would be spoiled and not do a lick of work for their life! I do want to work the impossible, to give myself a voice, to put this mountain of gold I've managed to earn to work for all the people of this land, pale or tanned!"
Tessa merely flinches at the bellowing, though Phrixus betrays her by squawking and fluttering his large wings as wide as they'll go. Tessa murmurs something to him in French and he grudgingly settles back down, glaring daggers at Valde. His person, meanwhile, just listens impassively to her husband's passionate speech, seeming more like she's just biding her time until he's finished rather than really taking to heart what he's saying. "Then you must learn to hold your tongue, Charles. If you think we do not work - that /I/ have not worked... You spit upon the pageantry, but /this/ is our life's work. When all involved have such money that it cannot be used now to distinguish, it is respect that must become the new currency. And respect must be earned the same as your gold. The work is no less difficult."
Charles shakes his head. "I will bite my tongue, Tessa, when I must ... but I forbid you from ever again initiating any conversation demeaning someone else for their ancestry. In the chance I'm able to drive a wedge into the cracks of pageantry, make some real change for the majority of the people that are relied upon to carry all the loads, I'll not have their mother feeding them bigotry. You were a beggar, Tessa ... you may not have had to beg for food, but your extended family left you with nothing compared with what of your ancestry's wealth they took for themselves. You were an appendage, overstock set far in the back and kept around only to help keep a broad line of indirect heirs. You were exactly what I needed, something of little value to your society, but to me something I could not buy with all my gold: an opportunity to grow influence with the powers that be. That's how I built my business, Tessa, that's how I've led my life ... fill a void with another's excess, and grant your excess to fill a void with another's excess, and grant your excess to fill their void in return."
And now it's Tessa's turn to flash angrily. Unlike Charles, her anger is quiet and cold as ice. "How /dare/ you," she grits from between a proudly set jaw, her words enunciated as clearly as her thick accent will grant her. Phrixus has plumped himself up, his feathers literally ruffled, as he cocks his head between Valde and Charles. "How dare you speak of me like that, of my family. I will be this tool of yours, this ... means to an end. But we do not speak of it ever again. There are things we do that we may not like, that we may not wish, but we do not speak of them." In other words, he's not going to hear her admitting she only married him for the money, however obvious it might be.
Charles continues glowering. "It is a difficult think for me, wife, to marry for reasons so different than those of my un-noble ancestors ... they all married for love, for someone they liked. To have any chance in your society, I had to set that aside. I had to marry for the reasons your society marries -- for power. Its a contract, Tessa, but make no mistake ... we are married. There must be no secrets between us. My Gyptian ancestry is a fallility that could undo all that I have built. Over time, I may entrust you with ... other secrets. This way of getting what I need, it is slow, but it is my most honorable path. There are other, less honorable ways. Do you remember Gregory, former Lord of Onell?" he asks. Gregory was one of several aristocrats who had attempted to destroy Charles' trading company through a number of attempts to enact legislation that, while not naming Charles or his companies specifically, would have denied his company's airships and sea fleets from operating. After a number of years with slow, limited success, Lord Gregory's own holdings suddenly collapsed and he lost his title as his family, his entire extended family, fell into sudden massive debts as suppliers for their various businessholdings were suddenly unable to meet their needs. Lamport was suspected by many for somehow being responsible, but no formal investigations could find any evidence of wrongdoing.
"You think I do not realize that we are married, Charles?" Tessa replies smoothly, mastering her own anger as quickly as it had come, though now her words hold a sardonic edge that wasn't there before. "I have been made aware of this fact. Your secret, they are my secrets now too, yes, and they will go with me to the grave. But I know why it is that you married me, Monsieur Lamport. That is no secret. I do not need you disrespecting me, my family, to my face. You are not so accomplished a liar, it is in your actions, and that is enough." She goes back to lightly stroking her daemon. "I know nothing of business. That is not my place," she replies simply, bitterly, to his talk of intrigue, not looking up from Phrixus. "You have married me for your own reasons, and I will help you with it. So much as you will let me."
Charles looks to Tessa. "You have my secrets. I just want you to know, I have ways. I have never been dishonest with anyone ... if needed, I will bite my tongue, hold back portions of the truth, but I will not lie. The splendorous mountains and plains of New Denmark, the ferocious jungle of the Empire of Peru ... I hope to show you more of these worlds, they hold some beauties few Europeans have the faintest hint of, but I know you are not yet ready for them. To visit, yes, to marvel at the wilderness, yes ... but the peoples in these places are good to know with wonders and stories that could enrich Brytain to learn about. I cannot demand nor command you to open your heart or mind to things, you could not even demand nor command yourself to. I ask you to consider, though. I need you to gather influence for us, and so long as you do so, you have free access to the product of my sweat, broken bones, scurvy and blood from my occaisional bad deals in the form of gold and pounds sterling. Take that lady from the library on your airship, go to Paris, Venice, Rome, Moscow, share my purse with her ... and I /wish/ you to splurge, especially with those of your society. You will buy friendships with my money, and in return I gain influence."
Tessa looks up from Phrixus without raising her head, though it's not hard to read the doubt in her eyes that anything could be gained from mingling with those savages in the New World. But she's learned not to speak those sorts of thoughts aloud, and instead just gives a demure nod. "Of course I will travel with you as you wish me to, though my time might be better spent here. I will make you these contacts, Charles. I will use the very part of me that you disdain to get you what it is you want. If for no other reason than my fate is tied now to yours, for better or for worse. If this is not what I was born to do, then it has become my life's work. I only ask that you do not poison that with your temper," she adds, more frankly than she usually would dare.
Charles returns, "Gregory felt my temper. If he still lives, the remainder of his days will be spent begging, dependent on the very people he spent so much of his life stepping on. You merely have my authoritation. For Brytain's sake, for yours and my family's, take whatever means are necessary to avoid anyone rousing my temper again. I am a trader, I am in the business of making friends and influencing people, not in the business of revenge ... but in such a contest, my coin can wield even worse and more shocking fates. I'd rather not do that, and I hope you can understand, without experiencing it or seeing it any closer than stories of what happened to Gregory, that is something best avoided."
"You do not frighten me, Charles, with your temper," Tessa informs him smoothly. Though perhaps he should - or will eventually. "However, I thought that you were a stronger man than to let his temper hold such sway. You take it all much too personally. Vengeance, that is a matter of business, and you will do as you must to protect your interests. No one could expect otherwise. I only ask- Well, what does it matter. You will do as you will, and resent me for suggesting there is any other way. I could make you a very well-connected man, and you could undo it all by shouting at the wrong person. That is the power you yield over this situation. Me, I have none," she says with a modest shrug.
Charles uses a finger to try and soak a tear soaked into the fur near Valde's eye as she rests on his shoulder. "In the end, I am no different than the mightiest king or the lowliest bum on the street or murderer facing the guillotine, Tessa, in that I am a man. I have failings. I have selfish goals. I am proud of what I've built, proud of what I've earned, and if I have to wage a dirty economic war to protect it, I will. I hope I never do again. I will bite my tongue when I hear vile bigotry from others, but if I ever hear such poison from your own lips, I'll need to find something stronger than my tone to use."
"Then you will not hear it from me," Tessa replies quietly but solemnly, not exactly a vow, but more as though she's stating it for her mental notebook: don't say these things in Charles's hearing. And then, somewhat abruptly, yet still moving gracefully, she leaves her post behind the couch to stand in front of him, reaching out to absently brush a bit of lint or dust from his sleeve. Phrixus has to fly closer as his person moves, and flutters to a landing on the mantel, still keeping as much distance as he can, perhaps betraying that this fond gesture, the closeness, is only an act. But still, it seems to be an act for Charles's benefit, and in this play that is their marriage, perhaps that's just as good. "It is a contract, Charles. And if we are smart, if we can work together, we can both have all that we have wanted." Except perhaps love, but that's too foreign a concept to consider anyway.
Charles's expression melts slightly into a smile. "My dear, there's hope for you yet ... each of us having what we want shall be our mutual vow. A contract ... until death do us part."
Valde, for her part, is not so much afraid of Tessa, as hesitant. She gazes back at the painting, at the man and woman who were Charles' parents and their loving expressions. She shakes her head a bit sadly, and as Charles takes his wife's hand into his own, Valde clambers down his arm to his hand, and reaches from it to put her small paw onto Tessa's thumb.
Tessa looks up at him on an angle with a coquettish smile, allowing him quite easily to take her hand. As Valde joins in, however, Tessa's expression shifts to one of pure shock, and she has to fight the urge to pull her hand away. She manages not to, though her smile, as it returns, is awkward, and she's clearly not all that comfortable with this level of intimacy. Phrixus puts up a bit of a fuss before she quells him with a look and then turns back to Charles, nodding demurely that she will follow his lead on this.
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- Contessa de la Mater Lamport (wife of Charles) - daemon: Phrixus, magpie
- Mildraed Louise Payne (nurse at St. Paul's Cathedral School) - daemon: Aristophanes, bouvier
- Currently applying for Astor Underwood (son of Evie and Algernon) - daemon: Ismene, unsettled |
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