[gia (gh-eea): magicky herbailst, cool; and vaille (v-eye): childhood friend, not cool, oblivious dumb fop of a prince] [basically, my ocs; i tried to write a little story about them;;;;; enjoy;;;..?]
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The afternoon was nearing its end. When she opened the door, the sunlight was already falling in hazy slants across the courtyard and through the arches. Gia’s shift was done, and save for the task concerning her little sister, her day was as good as over. Supposedly.
She paced down the corridor, the beams and ceiling lit up by the warm light bouncing off the white tiles beneath her feet. The potted trees were whistling lightly in the wind. It was the end of the day. But of course, it wasn’t really the end of the day, not until—
Ah-- there we go. The floral whiff. The familiar footsteps, light and musical. Of course.
She did not turn.
Vaille caught up with her with his usual alacrity, somewhere between haste and complete nonchalance. She never figured out how he managed it.
“I’ve got the wildest news,” he said.
“What, lost your hairpin again?” She tried not to smile at him. “Can’t I get a moment’s peace?”
“I’m afraid not,” he replied, “seems like you’re destined to a life of turmoil.”
“As long as you’re around.”
“As long as I’m around.”
“And?”
“And?”
“Your wildest news?”
“Ah, right. I’ll have you know I didn’t lose the hairpin on purpose. I’ve retired it. I’ve decided to go au naturale. I told myself, I decided, it’s a sort of ‘natural, effortless beauty’ moment I’m in. You could learn a thing or two. Anyway—"
“Me? You still use ten pounds of wax a day.”
“Real, untempered, actual natural beauty would look foul, my dear,” he said as they turned a corner and passed by the vicar, who scowled at Vaille, wrinkling his nose at the thick current of rose-scented perfume that always accosted anyone within five feet of Vaille. “It would take even more effort to achieve such a thing; I'd have to forsake the baths, and I'd need to have an actual personality to be handsome then. There is a fine line between being a painting and a peasant and that line is composed of the very wax you so brutally insult.”
“All ten pounds…”
“All ten pounds. Anyhow, you already knew this. Anyway, what was I, oh right. The news— well not so much news as an assignment, my dear. My mother says the ointment needs a change of recipe.”
“A change?” Gia frowned. “She’s never had an issue with it for years now.”
“Ah, years, the years, the years do change, or was it the years change us all…” Vaille was already twirling off into a different corridor, lifting his hand off her shoulder. “I must away, darling— dinner calls.”
“You haven’t even told me what the problem is,” Gia called as he spun off into the distance.
Barely even looking back, he replied, his voice growing inaudible, “You think I’d know, Gia? Apparently a letter… your desk… don’t know why… still needed me to… it’s going to be ham tonight!”
And as always, Gia was left with a mix of exasperation and amusement. It was like a circus had come barrelling towards her and given her a two-minute preview of its most random attractions before ricocheting off to its next victim. Oh dear.
But this time, Gia couldn’t let herself feel bemused by that, nor could she entertain her usual perplexity at the twirling, dancing fop.
The Queen. The recipe. The letter.
This was bad.
Trying not to show her panic, she nodded and smiled at the passing maid. She then continued at the same pace back to her chamber, forgetting to stop by her sister’s door entirely.
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