From the perspective of Ysanne, RL date March 16, 2002.
The scene is a back-RP of an exchange that took place between Ysanne and Jenaa shortly before Imperial Court.
Just a little background: Up until this point, Jenaa is presumed dead (even by the Sisterhood!), having been found slain in the Ginaz Embassy shortly after her Vegas-style elopement with the Marquis Ginaz.
Mother Superior's Office -- Chapter House (Kaitain)
A dark office, paneled in ancient mahogany, quaint in its size, comfortable with its furnishings: desk, leather-backed chairs, suspensed glow-globes which emit a soft light.
A wide window on the eastern wall over looks the Emerald Lawn and rose gardens, low bookshelves line that wall. An abstract painting, with bold lines and richly saturated colors hangs on the southern wall, singularly defining the room and its occupant.
Players:
Jenaa
Exits:
Oaken Door <W> leads to Proctor Hall -- Chapter House (Kaitain)
Descriptions
Jenaa
Jenaa Corrino is a slight young woman, a bit shorter than average, although she is fit and clearly athletic. Her dark hair is cut short, and provides a stark contrast with her smooth, clear skin. Dominating the refined, youthful features of her face are her eyes; large, expressive and intelligent, they appear black in all but the brightest of light and not even the faintest hint of blue touches the whites of them. In a jarring contrast to her otherwise smooth skin, a deep scar traces a faint curve across the left half of her neck.
She is dressed entirely in black. A high-necked, long sleeved top encloses her upper body with its soft warmth, and loose, matching leggings cover her legs. The darkness of the ensemble is striking, seeming to swallow up the light around her and starkly setting of her clear, fair skin.
Ysanne
Skin once smooth and free of blemish is now marked with a patchwork of wrinkles and lines as age has taken its inevitable toll. Still, her features retain some of her youthful qualities; her profile is as defined as ever it was, patrician features chiseled and refined into distinct curves and angles. Her eyes, brilliant cerulean, show only hints of the shadings of melange in their whites. She is of average height for a woman, her build perhaps a little on the spare side. Hair long since gone to a salt-and-pepper grey has been left to grow, its length reaching well down her back when left unbound.
Long black aba robes grace her form, the fitted sleeves reaching down to her wrists a contrast to the otherwise flowing nature of the garment. A voluminous hood has been pushed back from her face, its folds blending in to the uniform darkness of the rest of the aba.
The large windows behind the Mother Superior's desk are cloaked in the dark blinds that usually stand open during the daylight hours. Today however, they are closed, blocking sunlight. Glowglobes are lit to provide light, their auras illuminating the sole occupant of the room, the Mother Superior herself. Seated in a large wing-backed chair, her expression, even to the untrained eye, is tense and apprehensive.
Jenaa enters quietly, a young acolyte escorting her inside and closing the door behind her. When she has gone, the Princess executes a rare curtsey, "Your Reverence," she says in a soft voice, "Thank you for granting this audience."
You sense: Jenaa's motions betray a deep-seated uncertainty. Not fear, exactly, but something near to it.
Ysanne is on her feet before the door opens, and is standing as it begins to move. Her cerulean gaze alights upon the form she has, she realizes, hoped beyond hope to see. Relief floods through every limb. "Leave us," she says to the acolyte, who scurries away. The Reverend Mother, in turn, performs a curtsey of her own, head bowed to give herself a moment to compose her features.
"Your Highness," she says softly, "welcome."
Jenaa swallows on a dry throat as she nods, saying, "I ... felt I could trust the sisterhood in this difficult time." Her large, dark eyes rise tentatively and she adds, "I know that my presence here could be a risk to the sisterhood, and for that, I apologize. But I had no choice." Her words are slightly rushed, almost as though she forces them out in spite of some internal objections in her mind.
Sinking back into her chair, the Reverend Mother finds herself nodding, actions deliberately slowed to cast a sense of ease into the room. "Please...be seated," she murmurs, eyes never leaving the woman before her. "The Sisterhood," she continues, "is a safe haven for you, Highness." This, she hopes, will alleviate some of the fear she sees.
Jenaa manages a slight smile and takes the offered seat, "Thank you, Reverence. I had little hope of finding another way."
"Another way for what, Highness?" Ysanne asks.
Jenaa draws three quick calming breaths. The signs of her mother's unfinished training are clearly written upon her. Her voice is tentative, "As you are no doubt aware, the fact that I live is not common knowledge." Her eyes rise as she continues, "But the time is soon approaching when it will be more dangerous for me to be hidden than to reappear in public. I have received word that leads me to believe that His Majesty intends to call out the Chancellor to a duel on account of the alleged attempt on Her Majesty's life."
Although the news of the Emperor's intent to duel with the Chancellor is indeed intriguing, the Reverend Mother is more intent upon the idea of "reappearance". Her white brows rise as she considers this, her words measured as she responds, "And what part is the Sisterhood to play in Your Highness' plans?"
Jenaa furrows her youthful brow and nods slowly as she considers her words. "I believe that the Emperor intends to pin everything -- all of these recent crimes -- upon the Chancellor's shoulders. It would stand to reason that he will vilify him as much as possible, so that he can extract the greatest reward from the Chancellor's demise." She pauses and draws another breath, "If, in the course of his accusations, he claims that the Chancellor was responsible for my assassination, then it would only stand to reason that he would have to appear delighted and relieved if I show myself to be alive after the Chancellor falls." Again she pauses, the plan working its way out slowly, "The best opportunity to force His Majesty into an open and public acceptance of my return would be for me to appear in the upcoming Court... assuming he dispatches the Chancellor as I suspect he will. But I will need a safe way to enter the Selamlik... disguised, so that my appearance can be carefully timed and so that if things do not proceed as I expect, that I can remain in disguise and retreat..."
As the tale spins itself out, the expression of the Mother Superior remains a mask. Her eyes, however, betray the tumultuous thoughts that race through her mind. Avenues and possibilities are examined as each new fact presents itself. "One of ours," she says at length. "You wish to attend Court as one of us..." Blue eyes meet yours in a gaze most intent, "Your Highness realizes that it is a gamble beyond measure for the Sisterhood." The tone is grave in its declaration. "For though there is not a doubt in my mind that any person knows the mind of His Majesty better than yourself, there is much to be lost if you err."
Jenaa nods slowly, her eyes falling to the floor. She draws a long, calming breath and says, "Yes. I know. But I feel the dangers are even greater -- for me, personally," her eyes rise to yours, "if I do not do this thing. His Majesty and his network of spies will eventually learn that I still breathe. And if everyone in the Landsraad already believes otherwise, then there is little risk on their part to see the duty done properly this time." She pauses a long while and swallows, adding, finally, "One does not escape His Majesty's assassins forever."
Concern for the Sisterhood is weighed against the simple truth of these words. Inwardly, Ysanne sighs. Compassion rings in the voice of the aged woman as she responds, "You are to be known as Airia, a trainee under my guidance. In the days to come you will make yourself invisible within these walls and not dare step foot outside of them." The sudden lack of decorum and proper address are a jarring change from the propriety observed heretofore by the Reverend Mother, but it is for your benefit. If this attitude is accepted, and subservience attainted, the ruse may yet work...
Jenaa nods slowly, perhaps a bit too regally, but sincerely nonetheless. "Yes, Your Reverence," she says softly.
Ysanne inclines her head in acceptance of the tone and demeanor. "A room will be prepared for you, and clothing supplied. In the time between now and the Court I will do my best to see you." The words are formality, almost distracted as Ysanne takes a mental inventory of angles to be taken care of and ways to put a stop to wagging tongues. In the end, she finds herself looking at the Princess, wondering in the back of her mind what she would have become had she...but no. It cannot be undone. There is a silence then, drawn perhaps overly long. "Is there anything else?"
Jenaa's words come slowly, and gently. Clearly she has been taught the art of diplomacy from a young age. "The sisterhood cannot be asked to engage in this risk without the appropriate recompense." Her eyes find yours and look into them expectantly.
At that, the Reverend Mother smiles. Not mirthfully perhaps, but because the teachings of insight are so clear in the woman before her. "A Princess presumed dead and still facing that very reality would offer...what?" The question is without malice. "Let us speak of this if your plans succeeds. And only then."
Jenaa's smile is a tight one as she nods and weighs this. A slight furrow on her brow, before she nods, "As Your Reverence wishes..." she says, finally.
Inwardly, the Reverend Mother sympathizes with the Princess. To have an as-yet unknown price hanging over her head... But it must be as it must be. We almost lost her once...we will /not/ do so again. Outwardly, Ysanne only nods as the terms, or lack thereof, are accepted. "I will send for you in a few days' time," is all she says.
Jenaa nods deeply and curtseys once more, the nearly forgotten gesture more graceful this time as she begins to sink into her new role, "Yes Your Reverence," is all she says, her voice soft. Even as she says these three words, you can hear the timbre in her voice dampen from its usual clarity into something more muted and deferential.