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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 11, 2010 18:31:23 GMT -5
"Verona's summer has not such a flower," Elizaveta insisted, crossing her arms. The marriage had already been approved by Roderich, but she was still a little annoyed at the fact she had barely no say in it whatsoever. [/color][/size]
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Post by Tiger on Apr 11, 2010 18:42:19 GMT -5
"Nay, he's a flower," agreed Ludwig. "In faith, a very flower." His tone was slightly mocking; he said these words for the purpose of appeasement alone. What else was he supposed to think? After all, he just couldn't go and outright disagree with the master of the house. Admittedly, he would probably be able to get away with it, but he did not want to eat his words after they were cooked and served to his face in a cast iron frying pan.
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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 11, 2010 18:55:20 GMT -5
She turned to Kiku, a hopeful expression crossing her face. "What say you; can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; read over the volume of young Ameria's face, and find delight written there with beauty's pen. Find written in the margin of his eyes--this precious book of love, this unbound lover--to beautify him only lacks a cover." She realized now she was only speaking of his attributes now, and that could easily be delaying the question. "Speak briefly--can you like of America's love?"
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Post by Tiger on Apr 11, 2010 19:05:37 GMT -5
"I'll look to like," Kiku remarked, "if looking liking move. But..." He paused, thinking of how to put this. He had never actually met the American, but was vaguely interested in the proposal of marriage. "But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly."
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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 11, 2010 20:58:04 GMT -5
A servant entered, seeming somewhat fidgety and nervous, probably because he feared he was interrupting something. "Madam," he began, bowing his head politely. "The guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young man asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight."
"We follow you." Elizaveta agreed, and stepped forward. As she began to leave, she glanced at Kiku over her shoulder, and said: "Japan, the county stays."
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Post by Tiger on Apr 12, 2010 17:21:02 GMT -5
"Go, boy," said Ludwig, pausing next to Kiku as he walked out. "Seek happy nights to happy days." He continued out the door, propping it open with the carpet as he left.
Kiku followed obediently, like a dog being told exactly where to go and at what pace. His mind was preoccupied by the recent conversation and he barely looked where he was going, noticing only things like walls and paintings, things he could run into -- and sometimes, not even then.
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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 12, 2010 17:36:01 GMT -5
[[ooc: I can't remember who's roleplaying who in scene IV; I think all the characters except England are universal.]]
Evening fell like a shroud above the city. Arthur was sure the sunset would have been a pleasurable sight, but he made no effort to watch it--somehow it seemed childish. He paused on the stone path to wait for Francis and Matthew--his two closest friends--to catch up with him. A handful of others, wearing masks and bearing torches, but he paid no mind to them.
"Shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?" he asked towards the both of them, holding a scroll with a formal apology written hastily upon the parchment. "Or shall we go on without a apology?"
"The date is out of such prolixity." Matthew was the first to reply, running his thumb along the line of the scar Gilbert had inflicted earlier that day. He seemed vaguely annoyed--greetings like that seemed too old-fashioned and drawn out for his tastes. "We'll have no Cupid hoodwinked with a scarf, bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke after the prompter, for our entrance: but let them measure us by what they will; we'll measure them a measure, and be gone."
Arthur nodded in agreement, but winced at the thought of dancing. "Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; being but heavy, I will bear the light."
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Post by Tiger on Apr 13, 2010 18:55:31 GMT -5
Francis leaned forward, reading the scroll with a vaguely interested expression. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and smirked in that way he always did when he had a bad idea. "Nay, gentle England, we must have you dance." This behavior was completely typical of him; these slightly sadistic, slightly idiotic behaviors were amusing to watch and perform but less so to receive.
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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 14, 2010 20:57:10 GMT -5
"Not I, believe me." Arthur stiffened, taking a few steps forward to avoid Francis. Under circumstances like this, an argument could easily be started, but he knew it wouldn't do either of them good in the future to break out fighting in public. "You have dancing shoes with nimble soles; I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground, I cannot move."
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Post by Tiger on Apr 15, 2010 19:14:15 GMT -5
Francis chuckled and took a single bounding step forward. He landed lightly on his right foot and spun around to face the other two men, tapping his toes as though dancing the jig. "You are a lover," he asserted, with his feet now still. "Borrow Cupid's wings and soar above them with a common bound!" The words could be applied to Francis himself equally well, if not better -- he lived to love.
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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 15, 2010 20:59:56 GMT -5
Arthur exhaled slightly, trying not to dwell on the topic that was bound to come up soon. He simply passed Francis, glaring at him--it seemed like his perpetual good mood was only dragging Arthur's typical melancholy down. Perhaps, although they had been so-called friends for a long time, he was yet to get used to Francis' wit and teasing demeanor. "I am too sore enpierced with his shaft to soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: under love's heavy burden do I sink." [/size]
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Post by Tiger on Apr 16, 2010 15:42:43 GMT -5
"And, to sink in it, should you burden love: too great oppression for a tender thing." He did not turn around but simply began to walk backwards, first quickly, and then at the same speed as Arthur to keep pace with him. Still his speech remained theatrical and exaggerated, as a stereotypical Frenchman's would, in an attempt to toy with the Englishman. Francis fancied himself as one who knew a thing or two about love and as one who was certainly qualified to talk about it.
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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 16, 2010 18:28:38 GMT -5
"Is love a tender thing?" he asked, a bitter tone penetrating his voice as he moved on, gritting his teeth. He wondered briefly if Francis had ever felt the sting of love--of course not, he assured himself. His life was made up of brief flings and exaggerated goodbyes. "It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn." [/size][/color]
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Post by Tiger on Apr 17, 2010 13:34:46 GMT -5
"If love be rough with you, be rough with love!" Francis asserted, utilizing both tone of voice and grandiose gestures. "Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down." He changed the topic quickly, as thought what he just said had settled the matter on love. "Give me a case to put my visage in. A visor for a visor -- what care I what curious eye doth quote deformities? Here the beetle brows shall blush for me." Again he smiled, evidently thinking of finding a pretty someone at the party and taking her (or perhaps him) home.
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Post by Jimmeh on Apr 17, 2010 15:54:54 GMT -5
[[ooc: I cracked up at that last sentence. xD]]
Before Arthur could respond, Matthew stepped in between them, his arms crossed in an annoyed way, knowing that the conversation was wasting time. Rarely did the Canadian lose his temper towards either of them, but it seemed nowadays he was getting closer than usual. "Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, but every man betake him to his legs."
"A torch for me," Arthur repeated frostily, stepping in front to glare at the both of them. Compared to Matthew, he was liable to burst into anger at any second. "Let wantons light of heart tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, for I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was never so fair, and I am done." [/size]
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