paradisa | ♔ un || christmas eve

[ Written most elegantly; ]

My Dearest and Most Beloved Elizabeth,

I bring you the most blessed of tidings. Can you guess? I will let you take a few moments to make use of your wit and figure it out while I continue on. (Come now, surely it would be obvious to you!)

Your father, the King, is doing quite well. He is of good cheer and fine health, God bless His Majesty. He asks after you, and I promised I would send word of his love and ever present concern for you, my sweet rose.

And speaking of such, while we were in the gardens just recently, I discovered the most beautiful of roses. Though the King insisted I not touch it for the thorns it bore, I daresay I had it cut anyhow! And wouldn't you know, the thorns harmed me not. It reminded me of you, and so I had it pressed as I read of once in a book. It is my sincerest wish that you look upon it and know of my eternal love and devotion to you.

Oh, I cannot keep silent on the matter any longer! Have you guessed yet? No? Well then, I will tell you, but only because such tidings should be shared. You will soon have a little—

[ The writing is drawn to a sudden halt, interrupted by the sound of a woman's soft sigh, and then the clattering of odds and ends being dragged off the table by said woman as she slides to the frozen floor with a thump. ]

[ ooc; Any journal comments will be responded to after Anne's been awoken by Elizabeth and had the 411 dished out! ]

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With all due respect: just because we do not all follow a common God or a common goal does not mean we are without allegiance, Your Highness.

And also: I have hardly ever been comforted by uncertainty or blind faith at any point in my life. [he gives her a wry, tiny smile before sipping once more at his tea] I am more what some deign to call an optimistic pessimist: I know the worst will come, but still expect to find some small amount of good in it somewhere that will carry me through.

And with all due respect, Master...Snicket, for all to have personal allegiance is just as grave as having none, for even if their desire to do good may carry some far, it will not carry them to the end. Eventually, the different goals and desires will force them to break apart, or in a worse but more likely scenario, turn on one another. Surely you must see this, being an...optimistic pessimist, as you say.

[and with that, she touches on something very close, and very deep, and very, very important - an old, vast wound that will likely never completely heal. he goes silent, staring into his tea as though he expects to find his answer to her in the dregs milling at the bottom of the cup]

I am no stranger to schisms, Your Majesty.

[ She seems rather content having made her point on that matter, settling back into her chair with a blanket and sipping this tea. That's the taste of victory.

An empty one, to be sure, considering she's not any happier about knowing that the castle is divided a hundredfold. But at least now she is aware, and can try to think up ways to help. And maybe this man can help her.

She lets the silence sit until she sets her tea cup and saucer down in a light clatter. More please. ]

Worry not, Master Snicket. I will do my utmost to help these people unite. For surely they will be far stronger together than apart.

[Your Majesty, you are entirely missing the fact that you just hit one of his trauma buttons, aren't you? he's well aware that that went over her head at an altitude of about 5000 feet, and the silence that follows while she finishes her tea just drives it home. all in all, he feels pretty miserable.

but, luckily, that is the Normal Emotional State of a Snicket, and he's able to nod and politely refill her cup for her once it hits the saucer all the same.

when she speaks, he feels something start to grow in his stomach - something akin to a knot, but really it's more like a katamari of dread, rolling up her words. the t's are particularly spiky, as they are present in all the words that bother him - utmost, unite, stronger together, apart. the ones that practically scream that this is such a terrible, horrible idea. he figures that maybe someone ought to at least try to tell her.]

Your Majesty, if I may speak with candor...?

[ It isn't that she missed the cue, so much as she didn't care enough to prod. She has her own ideas, her own desires, and she's not about to ask why a grown man she doesn't know looks close to tears at the mention of anarchy's true nature.

Anne is snapped out of her daydream for a moment by his voice, and she pauses in the middle of lifting the cup to her lips. Her gaze on him is now a suspicious one. She recognizes that body language; she recognizes that tone.

It reminds her of Thomas Cromwell. ]

Of course. You have been sound counsel thus far.

Thank you. [he pauses to sip his own tea, both for moisture and moral fortitude. as the last of it slides down his throat, he's gathered the thought enough to at least begin with eloquence and confidence]

I may have only been here a matter of months, but in that time I have done my duty as a flaneur, an observer of the people and of this place we all commonly inhabit under such uncommon circumstances. And in my observation, it has become somewhat apparent that there is already a sort of status quo here, strange as it may seem. People have found a way of life that is comfortable, even if it is not Utopian. Indeed, Thomas Moore would likely have much to say, but I digress. ... I would surmise that if anyone were to attempt to impose any other sort of social structure other than that which has satisfactorily superimposed itself upon the settlement, it would cause more conflict that it would curtail, no matter how well meaning and delicately implemented.

Edited 2013-01-31 22:33 (UTC)

[ Anne actually has to struggle not to look bored when he first starts talking, but her posture stiffens a touch and her smile sharpens at the mention of Thomas More. It's a sour subject, and one that ruins her taste for the tea.

Still, it alone is enough to keep her attention for the rest of his little...what was this? Was this actually counsel, or just a blockade? ]

Impose? You assume much, Master Snicket, when I have in fact said nothing of my plans, and will say nothing still. Right now I merely would like to spend time with my daughter and learn as much as I can.

Only then will I act, and you may speak again.

[ She sets the cup and saucer back onto the tray, then leans back as comfortably as one can in a cold chair. Regardless, she doesn't let any discomfort show on her face as she merely flicks her gaze in the direction of the door, accompanied by the barest of nods. Dismissal. ]

Good day.

[maybe he shouldn't have mentioned Moore. oops. even so, it isn't as though he's particularly wounded by her dismissal, simply annoyed. why ask a man his counsel and his assistance, only to turn him out on his ear, somewhat rudely, if he might say so himself? Lemony nods in reply, getting to his feet and taking only his own teacup with him.]

As you wish, I suppose. When you've finished with the tray, the ghosts can dispose of it for you. Good day and good luck to you, madam.

[as his hand lights on the chilly doorknob, he can't help but hide a smirk at a thought that wanders across his mind: if Anne Boleyn acted this way often, it's a wonder someone removed her head for her. she seems far capable enough of losing it on her own]

♔ un || christmas eve

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