#fwstart

location: the chapel within hôtel saint-pol 

     it had been some thirty years since isabella had departed her homeland for a throne she no long coveted and a husband no longer compendious. within that time, she had returned to the country of her birth only once, then she had been a queen as radiant as the sun in splendour, basking within the regality of her status. now she was naught more than a pitiful exile, shrouded by grief, vexation and an all consuming hunger for vengeance. the experience, may have been humbling to most – a prime example of how fortunes wheel could cast even the mightiest into the murkiest of waters – yet for isabella, the turning of the wheel had only heightened her own hubris. ardent in her belief they would one day bask in the sun’s rays once more, she had fortified, exerted patience and watched henry’s court as though a predator stalking its prey, awaiting the opportune moment to strike. 

such a moment had finally arrived, after twenty long years she had the opportunity to flex her political prowess within the court of her french relatives. her letters of support may have gone unanswered in the past, but to hear her pleas parted from her own honied lips was something no king nor emperor could disregard. whilst it was true that her position had been weakened since the death of her son, her husband still breathed and as greatly as she wished their roles had been reversed, at the very least he was still a direct threat, if only in theory alone.  it was for them both that she had taken to her knees in prayer that morning, the quietude of the chapel soothing her tormented soul and offering guidance for a woman who had long-since lost any semblance of sainthood. with her final declaration of devotion uttered, isabella made the sign of the cross upon her person, raising to her feet in order to light a candle for the slain martyr sprung from her own womb.

The colour blue engulfs them, each wall and floor is lined with the carpet of French Royal blood, every corner glittering with wall hangings or bunches of forget-me-nots, bluebells and irises pinched into pouches to keep the smell of the Seine away. To someone more attuned to the ocean, perhaps one would think of the coast as the colour follows your person around the stone laden Hotel Saint-Pol — but Philip, born to the valleys of Aachen, had rarely ever been lucky enough to see the sea first hand. Indeed, though he had come to follow his father or lead squadrons within the Reichasarmee, his travels had never quite lead him to the coast — of which, within the Holy Roman Empire’s control, were few and far between unless you were to travel Southwards towards Italy, where tensions grew against the burning Kingdom of Naples. 

location: the emperor's apartments 

 Experience of a certain kind lay before Maximilian, on no narrow scale; Paris was a cosmopolitan city, and its current inhabitants from every nation, and likewise varied in rank of life. His mind was a good deal bent on success - Maximilian could not bear the thought of being baffled or outwitted by the the undisciplined and indocility of lesser minds present. Wishing to get a more definite idea of his companions, whose positions seem to him insecure or overconfident, he requested them to favour him with a personal visit; they gathered now in his apartment, each come to flourish and display thier best charms. "I thank you for accepting my invitation -- I have no doubt you received numerous requests for an audience, and took great care in delegating your time." The Emperor's expectant, sober look never waned; rather, it intensified. 

Felipe bore no ill-will toward those who had come to the summit, and yet friendliness was far from his nature, so one might be forgiven for thinking it was so. Even if he bore no active intention of unkindness, the Prince of Asturias had thus far kept his distance from the other celebrants, even in the midst of the great festivities. His participation in the current conversation, then, had come rather against his will, and yet he maintained civility. "I am not one for great shows of celebration," he admitted, in regards to his relative quiet since the arrival in Paris. "Such gatherings are vital, I think, for the growth of friendship, but I find greater pleasure in peaceful moments, when one is better able to focus on the spirit. Do you not find this to be so?"

survival  now  took  on  a  different  meaning  than  it  had  the  earlier  part  of  her  life.  everything  had  always  been  about  survival,  where  they  were  going  to  eat,  sleep,  how  they  were  going  to  get  to  school,  how  she  was  going  to  pay  for  college,  even  her  escape  plan.  survival  now  was  still  in  the  same  vein  with  the  same  issues,  just  a  different  set  of  skills.  she  needed  to  take  a  step  back  and  reevaluate  the  means  of  which  she  was  given,  the  means  of  which  they  were  all  fighting  for.  autumn  had  braced  the  walk  to  mcdermott,  having  turned  over  her  own  bottle  of  ibuprofen  and  turning  up  empty  handed.  maybe  it  was  the  weather,  or  the  migraine  headache,  or  the  last  town  meeting  they  had  attended,  but  her  mood  was  sour,  and  she’s  certain  the  look  on  her  face  said  it  all.  she  found  the  medication  she  was  looking  for  easily,  but  apparently  wasn’t  the  only  one  in  need  of  their  limited  supply.  “wait  don’t  tell  me,”  she  feigns  a  pout,  “you  partied  too  hard  the  last  time  we  tapped  into  the  town’s  alcohol  supply  and  you’re  truly  paying  the  price?”  

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:  hollow  falls  park  .

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂:  open  !

               (   *      ──     𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄  𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐒  𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇  𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐃  𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄  from  the  duties  of  being  one  of  the  co  -  leaders  of  new  ham's  third  faction  .  finnegan  contemplates  the  falls  in  silence  that  is  only  broken  when  they  hear  footsteps  behind  them  ,  gentle  voice  accompanied  by  birdsong  .  ❛  do  you  hear  that  see  see  see  sound  ?  they're  ...  ❜  a  pause  as  they  look  down  at  an  edition  of  birdwatcher's  digest  they've  borrowed  ,  ❛  golden  -  crowned  kinglets  .  they've  got  the  coolest  little  yellow  and  red  mohawk  .  isn't  that  adorable  ?  ❜