[open post, or so they say]

[cruelpatience]

She is sitting before a mirror, in some ubiquitous room in one of the Mansion's upper stories. For all intents and purposes she is quite absorbed in her own reflection, and the manipulation thereof; the splash of perfume, the adjustment of a drooping auburn curl, the addition, careful consideration, and eventual removal of a white flower

Comments

[decentscoundrel]

"I'd say that'd do very nicely," someone says from the doorway.

[cruelpatience]

She doesn't turn around immediately - there really is no need to, for though she was too preoccupied with her own reflection to see the other, the figure in the doorway is reflected quite clearly in the mirror. Her lips (just recently, so carefully, made redder) curve into a rather cat-like smile. "Bonjour, monsieur," she says lightly. "Do come in. I shouldn't like it to be said that I made strangers-- made guests-- stand and deliver unlooked for compliments from the hall."

[decentscoundrel]

"You didn't," with a flash of a grin, "I did that of my own accord. --But since you ask." He steps over the threshold

[cruelpatience]

She finally does turn, swiveling on the low stool she's sitting on before rising to cross the room to him, every inch a Gracious Hostess (and if it's an act, it's a nearly unconscious one). "Please, sit down- there's so many chairs and sofas in here, at least one of them must be put to use!"

[rockabye_hamlet]

*cheerful* Hi, sweetheart.

[cruelpatience]

*a delicate (crafted just so) smile, as she turns away from her mirror* Bonjour, monsieur! To whom have I the pleasure...?

[rockabye_hamlet]

His Royal Highness King Fortinbras the First of Norway. Or, you know, Forti.

[cruelpatience]

*raises both eyebrows, her smile growing a bit* I've never spoken with royalty before, I must confess, your majesty. Or, you know, monsieur Forti.