The Ivy ceiling Memory (year 112) {Ursula}

[Myles Arnnett]

Glad 112 Day 21, (ten years ago, a 16 year old Myles sets the stage)

Grinning in spite of the bruise on his jaw, Myles slunk into the dimming light of evening. Despite his father’s wishes he would not be contained to that damn study any longer. No matter how much etiquette was drilled into him, no matter what carrot or cudgel was offered he refused to shape into the princeling his father wanted. He did care for his family, but he resented the roles his brothers filled, he knew his father already had what he wanted in his heirs, Myles was simply the afterthought, the side project. He didn’t blame his father for striking him, even as his swollen jaw took to purple, because it meant two things, his father wouldn’t be back to see him for at least a day, and when he did he’d be nice for at least a week following, or as long as the mark lasted. It also made it much easier to not feel any guilt for the bottle of Gelarian Shnapps he’d stolen on his way out.

Stalking along the rich quarter of Zaichaer Myles sought out one of the quieter gardens it offered so he might sequester himself away for an evening and finally try the beverage his father and so many of the other elites seemed to covet. Keeping to the left as he walked he kept his left side to the wall and looked haughtily forward daring anyone to ask him his business. The finery he wore marked him as at least belonging to the well to do side of the city for better or worse. The long shadows cast by the presidium hung over the city reminding it that their military was always watching over them. Myles clicked his tongue in distaste. The tower of the minders the Arcaenium, he resented those holier than thou mages more than most things, a prejudice instilled into him from a young age that only made more and more sense as he aged. Rounding another corner Myles stepped into a garden featuring all manners of vines and lattices creating multitudes of shady nooks to stow away into. Finding one devoid of thorny roses was the trick at that point, but after some meandering the truant teen found a comfy bench under a dome of ivy to call his own. Plopping down on the bench Myles finally produced the bottle from the black silk bag he’d stowed it in, before eyeing the cork with the realization he lacked a tool to remove it.

[Ursula Fletcher]

Ursula ran.

Ursula ran in pants.

She’d learned well that dresses, while pretty, were prisons. The crinolines added only weight and forced her to walk slower than Perpetua Angevin. Ursula practically drowned in fabrics, whenever her mother managed to trap her long enough to stick her in a corset. The new fashions were terribly overdone. One dress, two dress, three dress, sometimes four, all at once! It was impossible.

Pants were better. Easier. If Ursula could have only one wish it’d be that pants were fashionable for young women her age.

No lady’s maid would ever catch Ursula if only she’d only ever wear pants again.

She laughed, terribly, too loudly and with too much feeling, when she reached the garden. A rose garden, one of hers. Hers, in that her mother allowed her to give enough money to have it named after her. Ursula’s Garden.

Horrible. Marie Astor had teased her about it endlessly.

Ursula hated Marie Astor. She whispered a curse, a pox, and anything else she could think of, aiming it all at Marie Astor. She plucked every rose she passed and picked the petals until there was nothing left.

She imagined she was tearing the hair from Marie Astor’s pretty little -

Myles! She smiled - until she saw the bruise.

“Who hit you?” Ursula asked, running up to Myles, “Was it Him?”

They’d bonded so long ago because she’d seen him hiding in this garden. A bruise blooming on his face, as fresh as a Glade rose. She told him to come back and he did. He always did. Sometimes he brought wine.

“Also -,” she pulled a corkscrew from her pockets - another advantage of pants, she thought, “Because you always forget to steal one.”

[Myles Arnnett]

Disturbed from his thoughts by the sudden appearance of Ursula, Myles looked up and gave her his best lopsided grin. “I mean, I kind of baited him into it, besides it wasn't as bad as last time, I still have all my hearing.” Myles for his part had accepted the periodic violence in his life as the cost of doing things he wanted. Looking her over as she reached into her pocket, Myles grinned at his rebellious friend. “Prepared... and not in the dress of a lady? Who are you and what have you done with Ursula?” he teased.

Sitting up he took the corkscrew from her and began to uncork the bottle of schnapps. “This isn't any usual old wine, this is the good stuff, Gelarian schnapps, I'm sure every blue blood buried in a ten mile radius is going to role in their grave if we drink from the bottle.” Popping the cork out with a resounding POP Myles wrinkled his nose immediately at the sheer intensity of the alcoholic smell he'd released. Looking back to Ursula Myles noted the fading creases in her brow that meant she'd been recently upset and raised an eyebrow. “I'm guessing you haven't had the best day either mademoiselle? Any knaves need dueling in thine honor this bitter evening?” Asking in his poshest voice he half teased and half genuinely wanted to know if his hunch was correct.

Finally working up the courage to take a swig from the bottle he held Myles tipped the full bottle into his mouth letting the strong alcohol tinted with powerful notes of cranberries that this particular vintage had used, More than anything it tasted like his mouth and throat were burning. Swallowing Myles blinked his now watering eyes before producing a handkerchief and wiping the rim of the bottle before offering it to Ursula. “It's fantastic” He lied.

[Ursula Fletcher]

“Doesn’t mean he gets to hit you,” she said, taking a closer look at the bruise.

Myles paid more than Ursula ever would for freedom. She liked that he fought. He was stubborn. He was difficult in the same way Ursula was, and that’s what Ursula liked.

She smiled when he mentioned her dress. “I can run in these. Faster than anyone. Faster than you, even,” she laughed, like crystals in the wind, “Dresses are horrid. Boys are so lucky. You don’t have to worry about death by fabrics.”

She sighed, dramatically, “It really is the worst thing, you know. Corsets and ribbons and buttons. It’s like they’d prefer a doll to me.”

Clothes really were a special sort of prison. An expensive one that required her to change it every season in accordance with the latest fashions. “Pants and shirts are easier to wear. I can move in these. Jump, even, if I dared.” It was such a rarity that she was allowed any sort of physical fun. Sport and war games were for boys. She was told to enjoy long walks under the watchful eye of a chaperone.

And, even then, she was only allowed outside if she swore to cover up with a parasol.

“Liar,” she smirked. She moved the bottle to her lips and, as cleverly as she could, stuck her tongue to clog the bitter liquid from ruining too much of her tongue. Ursula pretended to drink, to swallow, and wiped her lips as rudely as she could. Her eldest brother had taught her that trick.

“You’re so precious, Ms. Jarnnet!” Ursula snickered, “Not able to enjoy even the finest of schnapps.” She wiped the bottle with her sleeve and handed it back. She wondered if she tricked him - everyone knew Gelarian Schnapps was disgusting. Kalzasi champagne was the nicest drink she’d ever tried and next time, she’d have to smuggle some out for their meeting.

“And - no, sadly, no knaves,” she said, “Although, I have quite the eye for Eitan Angevin. Alas, his grandmother would never allow it. She’s never forgiven me for calling her Petulant Angevin.”

[Myles Arnnett]

Grinning as they slipped out of their formal speak Myles couldn’t but be impressed with how increasingly bold Ursula had become in their time together. In the back of his head he sometimes wondered if he was in fact… the bad influence everyone thought he was. Tho it was not something he could bring to voice he almost wanted to tell her that he liked the new look she wore, something about it suited her, most of all being the smile the freedom seemed to illicit from her.

Clearing his throat Myles adopted a tragic pose throwing a hand over his forehead. “You’ve got me there Mister Hetcher, swords, daggers, flaming hell magic, give me those… but please spare me the lace and ribbon… that’s just inhumane… you do make a good point, if we could get enough wax and a good artists we could make a dummy of you that could attend formal events, it might even make better conversation..” Adding the last part as he received the bottle of Schnapps back he tried not to be impressed by her ability to drink the fiery liquid without flinching, maybe she did deserve to be wearing pants he mused.

At her Mention of Eitan Myles perked up. He liked the fellow well enough in their periodic interactions, he wore his lineage better than most, and seemed to have a relatively noble spirit about him, Myles couldn’t blame anyone looking for someone with good prospects to pass up on the young man. “well you are young, you might be able to wait her out… tho I think the meaner the old lady the longer she’ll be around… so that’s only a century to wait.” Grinning at his own joke he took another swig from the burning liquor and again suppressed the urge to gag while cursing the tastes of the elites.

Setting the bottle on the bench Myles hugged his knees to his chest while watching Ursula. “So what brings you out so late into the evening? I heard young noble ladies out after dark can attract anything from dragons to goblin hordes?” at least that was how the curfew police seemed to act…

[Ursula Fletcher]

“Wax would melt,” Ursula replied with the confidence of someone who’d already tried and failed.

Candle silhouettes. Dopplegängers. She’d fantasized all sorts of twisted plots. Magic, even, when she was feeling especially daring. Witches, she knew, traded in all sorts of things. Surely Ursula Fletcher would have something that would purchase her freedom from her family. She hadn’t yet found something she couldn’t buy, after all.

She shoved her elbow into his side, “Hey! I have it on good authority my conversational talents are at least as good as any wax figurine’s.”

It’d be nice, she mused, to never bother with society ever again. No more socials. No more galas. No more events cooked up by her witch of a mother. Oh, if only she could find a doll lifelike enough that she’d be free, forever.

“If only it was his grandmother I worried about,” she said, rolling her eyes. “My father might kill me before I ever made it down the aisle. You know he isn’t human? Eitan, I mean. Although I wouldn’t be surprised to find my father wasn’t human either.”

Her father, the Admiral. Cold, unfeeling, and obsessed with his family’s legacy. Everyone was so impressed by him. The world seemed cowed by a man who could hardly control his daughter.

“I wish,” she said, resting her head on Myles’ shoulder. “Goblins, dragons, whatever, anything that would make my life more exciting. I’d give anything for a bit of adventure.”

Ursula sighed. “My mother wants to send me to finishing school,” her voice had lost whatever confidence it had. “In the fucking Imperium. I don’t even speak the language.”

[Myles Arnnett]

Her wit rarely failed to make him smile, the way the two constantly traded ribbing without ever really causing offence was a rare organic banter he couldn’t claim to share with anyone else. Taking the well earned elbow to his ribs with a smile Myles scooted over for his compatriot before taking another swig of the vile fire water called Schnapps.

Oh-ing quietly at the revelation that Angevin was a mixed blood he wondered what the man’s heritage was not knowing him too particularly well. He understood her fear when it came to the Fletcher patriarch, he managed to be intense and as cold as a statue simultaneously, Myles own father had lauded the man as “calculating”.

Adjusting himself to accept the soft weight of Ursula’s head he was greeted with the soft flowery scent of her hair. He wasn’t always sure how to put the feelings to words but he always found her presence to be comfortable, relaxing. Taking in her words Myles sympathized with the young heiress understanding well the cold upbringing those of status were “gifted’ with. Hearing that she was being threatened with being sent away he stiffened. “Ive faced similar threats of letting the military finish me if I don’t… oh how did he put it… Grow a brain and use it” finishing his sentence with his best imitation of his father he smiled sadly. Taking one of Ursula’s hands he gently squeezed it. He wanted to lift her spirits but he felt like any consolation he could give her would be lies. He was as trapped as she when it came to being slave to their parent’s desires. At times he envied Ursula still having a mother, tho the more he heard about the woman the more he second guessed the feeling. He’d thought of offering up the idea that they run away together, but he was smart enough to know it would be foolish, or cowardly enough to have convinced himself he was too smart for that.

“You are… smart, smarter than me, and I managed to learn Kathalon, I bet you could pick it up without even needing beatings… And I could help you if you want its not so bad…” He knew his offer wouldn’t do much to soften the blow of such a thing but he didn’t feel like he had any other positivity to offer her. “besides, on the off chance they do send you, I’d expect you to return owning half of the place… or at least all of the gardens…” Giving her hand another gentle squeeze he offered “If you ever need anything of me…. Well you have my loyalty Hetcher, I’ll follow you onto any battlefield.” Covering his serious offer with the sarcasm he used to cloak his feelings he hoped he was able to lift her spirits some.

[Pharaoh]

R E V I E W

Lore: 8 Lores

Ursula:
(TBD)

Myles:
(TBD)

Experience Points: 10

Injuries/Ailments:
None

Loot: N/A
Notes: No Magic XP.