Familiar Faces - RPLOG
Participants
Date
15/1/481
Log
Hugo Snowmane is sitting alone in a small parlor, sunlight streaming through an open window, allowing a cool breeze to tug at the curtains.
The snow white lion is seated before a large canvas, his coat laid over the back of his chair and his shirtsleeves rolled up over his thick forearms to keep them away from the palette of paints he is using. A tea setting is on the table beside him, steam rising lazily from the spout of the ornate teapot and a number of small, artfully decorated cakes grace the silver tray.
Flora had... Requested an audience. Very un-Flora-like. Usually, she'd have asked for, possibly even demanded, an appointment, but the letter was clear. She'd even dressed up for the part, wearing a proper dress instead of her usual, common garb.
She'd taken the time to let one of Hugo's servants escord her, rather than following her usual barge-in-and-find-the-person-you're-looking-for approach... And while her walk certainly isn't perfect, she's -trying- her hardest to impress the more... Traditional noble.
A neatly dressed butler leads Flora through the manor, past display cases filled with armor and old parchments and jewelry and portraits of stately beings of various houses, but mostly the white lions of the Snowmane family.
"Highlady Flora Longtail," the butler announces, as he leads her into the drawing room where Hugo is working.
Hugo looks up from his painting and rises, setting aside his brush and palette. "Welcome, Highlady," he rumbles, stepping away from his canvas and extending a huge hand to Flora, "I confess, your letter was a welcome surprise. To what do I owe this honor?"
"Is... Is Flora doing this right?" the she-cat rumbles softly, using her muzzle to gesture down at... Well, to gesture down in general, really. "The... The etiquette thing," the she-cat concludes, her ears flicking lightly.
Still, the she-cat pauses for a moment, seemingly still apprehensive of the concept of touching people, even if she does offer an -amazingly- short handshake to the lion, after some trepidation.
"Flora was... Thinking, yes. Hoping, maybe," the white-furred tigress concludes, tail swaying lightly behind her.
Hugo is just a little nonplussed when Flora shakes his hand instead of letting him kiss it, but he takes it in stride. "If you are asking me if your dress is appropriate," he says, turning and pulling out a chair for Flora, "Then yes, you look quite fetching." He waits for Flora to sit, gently pushing her chair in under her, then he walks around the table to pour for himself. "I know that tea is customary around here," he says as he fills his cup with a dark, steaming liquid that is definitely NOT tea, "But I fear that I have acquired a taste for coffee during my time in the north." He raises the pot and an eyebrow in an unspoken question, the spout hovering over the second cup on the table. "I had rather hoped you had reconsidered about selling me those rings. I would greatly like to add them to my collection."
While it's not easy to tell, mentioning the rings hit a certain sore spot, and Flora pauses for a moment, before shaking her head. "The rings are... Still not for sale, no. No coffee for Flora. Flora has... Tried it. Not a fan, no," she offers, politely, even if it's following her usual speech-patterns.
"The dress, yes. But also the walk... The... Inefficient waiting. Etiquette," Flora offers. "Flora doesn't like it, but... Traditions exist for reasons, and Flora should honor them when appropriate. And set a good example for Douglas and Aurora, when they're old enough, yes. Best to practice now," she offers... Half explaination, half... Maybe trying to explain to him that she's trying to not change -everything- about the House. Likely not entirely clear.
"House Longtail is still an old House, yes. Even if it's headed in a different direction from where Lady Alessa once led it, yes."
"Ah," Hugo rumbles, seating himself and flicking his overly long tail over the armrest of his chair, "Lady Alessa. A golden age for House Longtail, to be sure." The immense, white lion waves a hand toward the wall, where a small, but beautiful oil painting of a somber-looking cheetah woman hangs. "I imagine that she was a bit like you, in some ways," he says, a faraway look in his eye, "Certainly out of her element as she assumed the mantle of nobility." He sips from his cup, his eyes sliding back to the Highlady.
"You will have to forgive me, Highlady," he says, carefully placing his cup on a saucer, "I am still not certain why you have come here today. If you are looking for lessons in ettiquette, I am sure there must be members of your. . . company who could supply you with ample instruction?"
"Lady Alessa had... A large task ahead of her, yes. Flora has one, too, though... Flora doesn't know which one is bigger. And it doesn't matter, no. Different tasks, different times, different people, different problems, and different solutions," Flora offers, smiling faintly.
"Well, cousin... Uncle Hugo has provided several paintings as references for past Longtails. Lady Alessa. Flora's grandfather, Reginald. Lady Maria," she offers, before pausing. "But," she continues, only to pause again.
"Flora realizes that the chance is slim, but. There is. One recent Longtail missing," she offers.
Hugo sips again from his cup, the tufted tip of his tail flicking in his lap. "I assume, my dear," he says, a hint of his northern accent creeping in around the edges, "That you are asking if I happen to have a portrait of your parents?"
"yes," the tigress offers. "But Flora figured that if anyone'd have a portrait of Flora's mother, even if it was one made as a child... Well."
"Flora realizes it was a long-shot, considering... Grandfather's actions," the tigress offers with a small sigh, looking off into the distance for a moment... "Flora was just hoping, well..."
Hugo sighs, "Young lady," he says gently, "I don't imagine that anyone has a portrait of your mother. Not if the rumors of what she did in exile are even half-true."
The lion hesitates as he looks at the tigress before him, a bit of an internal debate evident on his face. "I have heard that after Reginald died, that his daughter found her way to Shralesta. I spent a bit of time there myself as a young man. Even the distant branches of the family tree were not exactly welcome here in Firmament after the. . . unpleasantness here." He stops talking for a moment, rising from his chair and walking over to the wall, covered in beautiful portraits. "I met a few other members of the family in my travels, but I doubt I ever saw the face of Reginald's daughter."
"Flora understands. Flora figured it was a long-shot anyways... But still, a chance is a chance, yes?" Flora offers with a small sigh, as she looks at the wall with a sigh. "Does... Does uncle Hugo want flora to go? Flora means... That's what Flora came here for, after all. If uncle Hugo wants to continue his painting?" she offers, looking almost defeated. Definitely not crying, but it does look like the wind's been taken out of her sails for a bit.
