( He catches her off guard. At this time, when she can't afford to be, Birgitta - her PR manager - would throw a fit, had she known. The woman smokes too much as it is, but another few cigarettes would surely make their way over her lips in response. You can't show them weakness, darling. In their eyes, you're already halfway bent over. However, because she knows the voice and because she finds herself in surroundings that are familiar, if not her home, not hers, she manages to catch herself, letting the hem of her dress slip back into place not hurriedly, but with all the poise of a girl who her father brought up as an example of the good woman. She can play that role, but she won't be dishonest about it. She won't pretend for anyone, not even royalty.
Her father has reigned supreme for many years, she is used to self-designated kings.
His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Ludon, who she used to chase down these halls, calling Felix, Felix, on bare feet that didn't have to worry about straps on high-heeled shoes, is regarding her with obvious amusement and it is bait, of course, as such attitudes always are, it is an attempt to position himself, so she'll hold her ground against it.
She must, because she knows his opinions on things. She has read the interviews, the biographies, she has watched the news. She is her father's daughter, despite everything. Marie-Claude knows. She could as well be doing an on-screen debate right now. )
It appears to me, I'm having trouble with a setting that still refers back to an old world order, Your Royal Highness.
( Finally, Marie-Claude straightens up, reaching up with one hand to feel for her hair, just to make sure she isn't going to have trouble with anything but the strap. While she addresses him as respectfully as she must, she doesn't hide that she shall be the first to acknowledge that whereas they were children once, they are not anymore and they represent very distinctive currents in the country.
Opposites, perhaps. Opposition, if nothing else. )
[Felix observes the surprise, then the recovery, because it’s useful to see how she’s changed and just how far she’s come. It’s useful to use the now to overwrite the before, not so much cleaning the slate as it is filling in all the extra lines. Marie-Claude’s answer is not unlike a flag planted in the ground, a one-liner that could be televised or featured online, looping over and over until the point can’t fail to come across. He can see that point now, which means he knows what he should say next. These are the roles they play, and these are their places.
He tracks the movement of her hand, watches her smooth out her hair, testing to see if all is in place. The gesture is oddly endearing, like a marble statue made flesh. Or like a warrior checking the clasp of her mail.]
I understand.
[He says, instead. It's the kind of remark that should come with a disclaimer. What does the Crown Prince of Ludon understand, exactly? Nothing of strunggle, according to his latest biography, written this time by a self-proclaimed admirer. "Felix of Ludon was raised with care and all the privilege afforded his station," followed by several more saccharine lines about his idyllic childhood and loving royal family. That had been a rough one to sit through, but it came at the right time -- back when it was prudent to pretend that he'd always been popular. As if he hadn't been hated for the audacity of his existence, the palace a constant reminder that he should not belong. The lie is more palatable now because the privileged would only ever care about his victories, and not the struggles underneath.
Still, his smile remains. The amusement from earlier is almost affable now, as he regards her with familiarity than might be appropriate. As if their positions opposite could easily be connected with a single line, if one simply changed their perspective.]
It might help if you think of it under more familiar circumstances. Not as a symbol, [and here he gestures too, lifting his arm to indicate the castle around them,] but perhaps as a place we used to play in.
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we love long tags and we cannot lie.
Her father has reigned supreme for many years, she is used to self-designated kings.
His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Ludon, who she used to chase down these halls, calling Felix, Felix, on bare feet that didn't have to worry about straps on high-heeled shoes, is regarding her with obvious amusement and it is bait, of course, as such attitudes always are, it is an attempt to position himself, so she'll hold her ground against it.
She must, because she knows his opinions on things. She has read the interviews, the biographies, she has watched the news. She is her father's daughter, despite everything. Marie-Claude knows. She could as well be doing an on-screen debate right now. )
It appears to me, I'm having trouble with a setting that still refers back to an old world order, Your Royal Highness.
( Finally, Marie-Claude straightens up, reaching up with one hand to feel for her hair, just to make sure she isn't going to have trouble with anything but the strap. While she addresses him as respectfully as she must, she doesn't hide that she shall be the first to acknowledge that whereas they were children once, they are not anymore and they represent very distinctive currents in the country.
Opposites, perhaps. Opposition, if nothing else. )
so true i do love reading meta
He tracks the movement of her hand, watches her smooth out her hair, testing to see if all is in place. The gesture is oddly endearing, like a marble statue made flesh. Or like a warrior checking the clasp of her mail.]
I understand.
[He says, instead. It's the kind of remark that should come with a disclaimer. What does the Crown Prince of Ludon understand, exactly? Nothing of strunggle, according to his latest biography, written this time by a self-proclaimed admirer. "Felix of Ludon was raised with care and all the privilege afforded his station," followed by several more saccharine lines about his idyllic childhood and loving royal family. That had been a rough one to sit through, but it came at the right time -- back when it was prudent to pretend that he'd always been popular. As if he hadn't been hated for the audacity of his existence, the palace a constant reminder that he should not belong. The lie is more palatable now because the privileged would only ever care about his victories, and not the struggles underneath.
Still, his smile remains. The amusement from earlier is almost affable now, as he regards her with familiarity than might be appropriate. As if their positions opposite could easily be connected with a single line, if one simply changed their perspective.]
It might help if you think of it under more familiar circumstances. Not as a symbol, [and here he gestures too, lifting his arm to indicate the castle around them,] but perhaps as a place we used to play in.