#ofshi

                                 “Sémillon. A brew native to France, but enjoyed plentifully - and treasonously - in England.” Agile fingertips worked to uncork the bottle of wine resting in the duke’s hand as he spoke, a quicksilver fragrance of citrus and lanolin perfusing the otherwise musty quarters of the court athenaeum. He inhaled its crisp aroma with delight, his thoughts conveyed to his a past encounter; the bottle a gratuity he received from a Parisian ambassador on account of his hand in a recently vetted treaty. He glanced to his foreign counterpart, the Chinese woman he proudly considered company, and gave up a shake of his fair head with mirth. “Nay ––––– if not for a deeply unfortunate susceptibility to botrytis, I am certain it would be more common in court. Pray tell, does the land from whence you hail boast of a correspondence, or perhaps alternative, to our Sémillon? our Merlot?”  

@ofshi

Octavia had perhaps been enjoying herself slightly too much, her love of festivities making her light headed. But that may also be due in part to the copious amounts of wine she had consumed. Regardless of which, it was making her not quite sure of what was going on, thus she was confused when the whole place erupted into a frenzy and people started getting herded of places. The brunette vaguely heard something about poison, but not much else as she was ushered into a room occupied by someone she didn’t recognize. Brow furrowed, eyes squinted, she looked at her companion. “You’re quite pretty, you know that ?”