NOBLE KNIGHT

dev patel, genderqueer, he/him, 30 // kiran desai, the knight errant and poet of england has just arrived in florence. they’re said to be inspired about being in florence. when asked they’re likely to says they’re chivalric, but the staff say they’re more along the lines of impulsive. ink stains on calloused hands, a sword and a quill in shaking hands, and the heavy footsteps of a lost boy. ( maric. he/him. 21+. )

“Spare me, I beg you.” Genevieve said, all but claiming his goblet as her own now as she took a breath and sat back in her chair. She was flocked by familiarity, after all theyd been given an area amidst the festivities that gave them at least a break from socializing with fellow royals and putting their royal presentation faces on. 

Wrinkling her nose in feigned annoyance as her brother kisses the top of her head, Genevieve just looks out into the crowd of people all assembled. “God help him, indeed.” she murmured, taking another sip of her brother’s wine as it felt necessary before the conversation they were about to have. “Truthfully? I don’t remember ever being this nervous about meeting someone. What if he’s horrible? There’s nothing I can do about it now, the betrothal is set and he’s around here somewhere… If he’s horrible then there’s nothing to do but bare it..” she said honestly, never feeling the need to hold back around her brother. “Just promise me that if he is, your first act as King will be to rescue me from Norway,” she said, giving him a small smile to let him know she was joking around as well. 

“spare you? oh, never, sister.” he watches her, still sitting on the table in front of them and swinging his legs from the ledge. his doublet was slightly rumpled, unbuttoned at the top. he looks up at the ceiling, noting the beautiful artwork there. he heaves a heavy breath, slow and steady.

“if he’s horrible to my sister, he’ll have to worry about more than just me. i doubt you would stand by and let anyone be horrible to you.” he’s slightly serious. if anyone had ever hurt his sister, he wasn’t sure what he would do, but it wouldn’t be good for the person who hurt her. 

“still, i’m sure father wouldn’t pick someone who was cruel. i would hope he wouldn’t, at least.” father loved genevieve. more than he loved jean-baptiste, he was sure. still, that might not have been true. jean was just a bit harder on himself than the rest of the world.

Jean-Baptiste’s cheerful disposition was the complete opposite of the bored look on Genevieve’s face as she sat at their table, staring at the goblet full of Italian wine. Rolling her eyes at her brother as she folded her arms over her chest she sighed, “Have you actually tried this wine? Believe me you would not encourage the copious drinking if you had.” 

Taking her brother’s goblet and sipping from it she relented. Whatever he had been served was infinitely better tasting and much less suited for a lady. “Brother, you’ve known me all my life. Do you really think that I would dote on a man?” 

“bah. it bets getter... wait. it ehm. it gets better the more you drink!” he laughs at his little verbal flub, and he gently taps his sister’s nose. “besides, i always encourage copious drinking. helps to deal with the boredom.”

he practically giggles when she takes the wine, eager to see her reaction to the wine he’d gotten. personally, he’d never cared where he got his wine as long as he got plenty of it. it was part of the bad partying habit. “you make a fair point. god help the man you marry. he will receive no quarter from you.” he’s teasing, of course. still, he places a kiss atop his sister’s head, fond of her.

“come now, sister. you ought to be drinking! merriment! we’re in florence, and mother and father are doing... god knows what? something boring.”

daniel sharman, cis man, he/him, 35 // jean-baptiste valois, the dauphin of france has just arrived in florence. they’re said to be excited about being in florence. when asked they’re likely to say they’re brave, but the staff says they’re more along the lines of haughty. laughter strained by the burden of kingship, the fleeting touch of a one night lover, and empty, tipped over goblets of wine. ( maric. he/him. 21+. )