Colors of Autumn

[Harlow Yvonne]

Harlow’s tender finger pads pressed into the ruined coils and gears of a once working pocket watch. A look of despair holding fast to her squared jaw and feline shaped eyes. She could feel the sting of salty tears blooming under her closed lids. It wouldn’t do to loose herself at this moment, with the Empress mere feet away. Silently, she pulled herself together and with nimble hands, tucked the pocket watch between the corset squishing her girlish features and the rich green fabric of her dress. She peered out the window, waiting for Camille to finish dressing herself. The City’s colors were starting to fade from the brilliant and vivid essence they held during summer. Soon, snow and disease would blanket over everything, weeding out those who were not worthy of breath. At least, that was her dearly departed mother’s theory.

In a twisted way, Camille reminded Harlow of her mother. The lack of compassion available in her dark eyes. Or maybe it was how their posture both seemed frozen. Miss Yvonne caught half the face of an almost pretty girl. Face void of any sort of aging lines or wrinkles. A simple pink to the cheek of an olive skin complexion. Harlow pressed her face to the window pane, the flecks of gold and green hovering ever closer until heavy lids slid close.

An exhale of breath fogged up the window pane closest to Harlow’s wide mouth. Once she pulled away, her arm lifted and wiped at the residue. Something so simple could only be so unladylike. Feet squeezed and laced into patent brown leather shoes, heal unable to create a noise in the thick carpets and rugs that dotted the floor. The start of a frown formed upon Harlow’s mouth as she noted the start of a smudge on the side of her right shoe. She thought she had been more careful.

Climbing up the walls of a dusty, forgotten library was indeed unladylike. But did it really count or matter if no-one’s eyes laid upon the act? It went unnoticed therefore no mark of shame could be put on the mental size up Harlow endured every time she walked into a room of high society. As of now, the record was spotless. Endearing, almost. Oh look at that pretty flower. Able to bloom up through society and grow into a proper young lady. Yes, she was an underdog. Unfortunate her father was as eccentric as he was. No matter, he’s gone now. Like that anal mother.

Harlow pressed her fingers into the corner of her eyes, urging the itch building under the surface of her skin to go away. It would be sight to see Harlow fussing with it for hours until a stolen moment when she could properly rub the irritation. God forbid she made such a move now. Natalia always seeming to be lurking behind a bend in the Castle’s walls. Ready to call out whatever crime of fault Harlow was committing. Yes, Natalia was dear to Harlow’s heart. Just like Camille and dear Mother. All of them the same sort of woman. All of them breathing down Harlow’s neck at ever moment, it seemed.

A dark head lifted and she peeked at where the Empress was getting ready. Silently, she thanked not being part of the poor saps in charge of making up Camille. No, she was higher ranked than that. Mother dearest would be proud.

[Natalia]

Booted heels clicked quickly down the seemingly endless oaken hallway; she was going to be late. Fingers thumbed through countless reports to make sure von Claret hadn't overlooked anything. It was all surrounding her latest series of assignments, Natalia had busied herself that afternoon in the libraries records for a little fact checking. Turns out that no, the Anatase District was not in fact, suited for low class squatters, who had recently taken a liking to the middle class stomping grounds. Such news brought a smile to the wicked petites face as hardly any excuse was necessary now to go about their removal. An extermination of sorts, if not at the very least a vast re-location.

She had been on her way to hand deliver said reports to the Empress before getting sidetracked, bumping into one of the more esteemed guards. Plans to make, lives to diminish, you know. Natalia had only hoped the incompetents in charge of readying Camille for the day had taken their time. Surely, she'd be in a fowl mood, as per usual, but it wouldn't be directed at her, which was really all she cared about. She rounded the corner like a tornado, eyes barely lifting from her pages as she passed the Empress' new lady in waiting, finger stuck in her eye like a dirty toddler.

"Do be careful Harlow, wouldn't wanna smudge that make-up, mess up that pretty face of yours. You need something going for you, don't you know.."

Bex trailed off as she peered in at Camille, still not ready, as Natalia had hoped. She exhaled a reserved, yet utterly relieved sigh. Getting bitched out for something so petty as lateness was really the last thing the woman needed today. She took these last few moments to seat herself by the window, caring less about the palaces' view, more so focused on the light given off by it allowing her to go over her notes one more time. She'd missed nothing, as was expected of her. Things slipping by Natalia was a rarity indeed. She was an overseer for a reason; the title suited her well.

Feeling confident that she did indeed have everything she needed, honey tinted hues lifted from the papers, an elevator glance shot to miss Yvonne who even though looked the part well enough, stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of the palace loyals. She didn't want to be there as far as Bex could tell, which was like a smack in the face. Thousands of girls would kill for her position, one that, in her mind, took very little if you weighed it against the benefits, or the alternatives. Yet here she was, merely deigning to grace the lot with her presence, and as much as it sickened her, Bex kept her mouth shut - to an extent.

Her eyes stopped as her grin began, gaze stuck to Harlow's feet and more importantly, scuffed shoes. Had she been running about with the squatters as well? Playing soccer or something perhaps? That's what it looked like and Natalia swallowed back a laugh as she recalled the afternoons earlier incidents. She'd been sitting at her favored table, books stacked and scattered seemed to bury the woman as she delved into her research. It was a stretch to see the top of the bookshelf which Harlow had seen fit to use as a makeshift jungle gym, in couture clothing that'd been provided by the Empress, no doubt. von Claret was sure about those shoes anyway. She hadn't been positive about the little monkeys identity until now and had been completely prepared to overlook it, until she stuck a name to it that is.

The woman chuckled as she shifted, sidling up to the other as the pair waited for Camille's debut. "Might be wise to clean yourself up, dearest. We don't want you looking shabby for our nobles, now do we. Honestly Harlow; we all know you don't want to be here but while your stuck, could you at least act like you give a shit? What -would- that mother of yours say?" Natalia sneered, words undoubtedly falling on deaf ears as Yvonne was almost always lost in that empty head of hers. She gave her head a shake, throwing up her hands in a fit of defeat. This one was useless...helpless...and there was nothing to be done about it.

*Edited for spelling*

[Camille]

Empresses shouldn’t have to dress themselves, even if they are only twenty-some years of age. Not that anyone needed to know how old she really was. And it’s with this state of mind that she’d brought on a task force of sorts, to not only pick out her clothing for the day, but also to assist her in pulling such on from behind the confines of those fold out blinds.

Palms press flat upon the papering against her bedroom wall, and she holds her breath, awaiting her mistress to tug that leather corset taught about her firm frame. Years she’d been sucking her ribs towards her heart, and she never quite seemed to get use to that clinching feel, and the shortness of breath it brought upon. Still, she manages to steady such, a dark eye pinching shut in her efforts, and a single, petite hand lifting to smooth over the firmness of her stomach before flitting upwards to knock dark curls from her brow.

It’s then the door clicks behind an entering form. She recognizes that glance from around the corner of her blinds. Hell, it was almost a constant within her life, seeming to hover over her every move, and wait upon every command Camille had to issue. As it should be.

Still, Camille’s own chocolate eyes are lifting to that clock on the wall, naked gears turning, and grinding upon themselves to work the intricate hands around upon themselves in perfect rotations, “Bex,” Camille barks with a scowl, “You’re late.” she coos thereafter, silken voice bordering upon sickeningly sweet, definitely not a tone Lady Camille held very often, and certainly not one that held even a lick of sincerity. Natalia was late, but then again, Camille wasn’t even ready yet. The lady probably thought herself safe from any form of verbal lashing, and perhaps she was, for the most part.

“Empress’ are never late,” Camille breathes, lungs straining against the pinch of that leather corset. There’s the distinct jingle of what could easily be considered costume jewelry being turned over within her palms, inspecting such pieces of shined metal before breaking free the clasp upon one to draw such about her throat, “The help, on the other hand is not allowed the leisure of such,” with that piece cinched about her slender, sun kissed neck Camille pushes those fold-out blinds to the side to peer upon both ladies within her room. Her head tosses, directing servants from within the confines of her bedroom. It was obvious she was no longer in need of such.

Of course, there were more important things to attend to than the scolding of those who ran on a more lax time schedule than her own, “Harley,” Camille coos once more, the soft plump of her pout pulling into an almost eerily warming grin, “Have you found what I’ve asked of you?” she’s eager to question, ringed fingers settling to the warm swell of soft hips, flattening layer upon layer of skirts, “And, you, Natalia?” she questions of her help, directing that chocolate hued gaze to either of the ladies.

Their replies didn’t so much matter, as soon enough that firm scowl is settling upon the warm purse of her part, drawing dark, well manicured brows to knit. A small hand is extending forth in order to snatch whatever files Natalia seems to have gathered up, drawing such close before dropping the bundle upon her vanity. Dark gaze follows such a stack of papers to scan through before turning her attention back towards the two women before her, pretty eyes tracing up, and down the two of them.

“Harlow!” Camille finds herself scolding out softly, upon noting the fair woman’s footwear, “Those simply will not do,” she finds herself stating thereafter, dark brows knitting yet again. She’s almost uncertain as how to proceed, and she finds a tender hand fluttering upwards to first press upon her brow before flapping absently towards the confines of her dressing room, “Find yourself something more appropriate, I‘m sure there’s something to your liking.” It’s not so much Camille’s kindness speaking, nor her human decency, as it is the simple fact that she will not be embarrassed over the state of her ladies’ dress.

“Acceptable,” Lady Camille murmurs, turning her attention towards Natalia, “Be quick, Harlow, we’ve no time to waste.”

[Harlow Yvonne]

Harlow possessed very dark and manicured brows. Not a single hair out of place of the dramatic lift they held towards the mid part of them. Bex had entered, a flurry of papers, catty looks, and cutting words. Of course, one would assume anything said had fallen on Harlow’s deaf ears. Pretty face remained blank as she canted a look to the woman. “Hm?” Large hazel orbs were bright with the innocent naïveté Harlow had learned to perfect as a young girl. Bullet proof as it was, the smile topped it off. “Oh, good morning Bex.” Each word properly clipped with a posh accent. Dialect molded in a way that any professional’s opinion a socialite should have. Mrs. Yvonne worked hard during her short lived life.

Of course, no answer was given. Not that Harlow expected much from the darker in color and character. For a brief moment, she wondered what Bex was like as a child. Brooding and plotting sprinkled with catty remarks or carefree as a child should be? Did she pretend to -be- the Empress? Harlow could see that. A hope that would obviously be crushed as dawn would rise, but none the less, it gave Harlow a heavy heart.

Her gaze shot to her shoes, brows knitting. The smudge was sticking out to Harlow and apparently Bex’s attention like spilt ink upon one’s best silk. What -would- her mother think? Probably that Harlow needed another long lecture about fashion. Maybe a ban on the family study and it’s precious books. Something extreme. Yes, Bex was right.

No answers made their way to Harlow’s lips before Camille entered the room. Miss Yvonne sucked in her breath, the squeezing corset not quite as constricting with shoulders pulled back and spine stretched to the tallest possible stature. Upon demand, Harlow picked the book she had ruined her shoes retrieving from beside the window. Eyes down cast, she slid the book onto the closest table top Camille stood. No need to bother putting it directly into her hands when Bex was handing over official looking papers.

Silently, she waited out the chiding. A guilty bubble of pleasure formed in her chest and she bravely fought the battle of exterminating the smile that tried so hard to break the surface. And there it was again. Attention on her shoes. Cheeks burned a softer pink and she quickly marched after a pair of shoes to match her dress. Scuff free at that.

Glancing at the wall-clock, Harlow made a small noise of grabbing Bex’s attention. They were obviously late to the first of the Empress’s meetings but the other woman had yet to say anything about it. Not wanting the darker member of Camille’s right hand to be thrown under the bridge again, Harlow nodded then to the time. Why did she even bother? Bex would snap at her, venom radiating off of the woman like the stink seemed to do with the homeless.

She couldn’t help the deviant smile that time around.

[Natalia]

Natalia had held her head high, posture straight as she handed over her assignments, somehow avoiding scratches from the clawing hand that reached out for them. She seemed in a well mood today actually, Bex was surprised. Features were kept relatively straight as Camille commented on her lateness, as much as she had expected, but there were other things to worry about.
Criticize.
Fix.
Harlow's downtrodden look had no escaped the Empress' attention and in an instant, was sentenced to her dressing room in search of a suitable replacement for the shoes she's so carelessly botched up. That was just what they needed wasn't it? They weren't late enough for that mornings meeting as it was. No. Certainly not. Natalia resisted a deep eye roll as she was in Camille's presence, t'would simply be bad form, no? In an attempt to distract herself from such stupidity, the woman followed up her report with the Empress, including such as was not in the papers among her table. The conversation she'd had with her guard.

"The top ranks have been fully briefed, awaiting the okay to spread the word. The District should be cleared of all filth by morning, your grace. I'll see fit to follow up with them after this mornings meeting."

'...If we ever get there', she so desperately wanted to follow up, yet knew to mind the company she was keeping. Harlow had had sufficient time, surely the Empress' wardrobe was extensive, but it wasn't like she was looking for a needle in a haystack. She emerged from the room a minute or so later; Bex already headed for the door,
propping it open for Camille and her lady in waiting to follow - they needed to get going already.

With the Empress' dressing quarters closed and locked behind them, the trio started down the hallway, Camille leading the way as per usual, to their breakfast meeting with the ladies at her heels. As they walked, Natalia took a peek at Harlows choice for replacement shoes. They were much nicer then the first pair, more valuable obviously, which made Bex nervous. Yvonne didn't care about the material possessions that had been bestowed upon her during her arrival here; if she did she sure had a funny way of showing it. The woman 'tsk'd' a few times in Harlow's general direction, brows arching into a fine curve of warning as she looked from the shoes to that pretty face.

"Try not to muck these up, will you? I'm sure the price you'd pay would be a bit steeper then being dismissed to a dressing room, dollface." The woman let out a sigh as they veered the corner, the buzz of distant conversation growing louder as they approached the dining halls. What was all the chatter?

[Camille]

Camille seemed eager to flip those files back to closed, before offering such back in Natalia’s direction. She drops such within the other woman’s grip almost absently before brushing fingertips to the pads of her thumbs, as if she may have gathered some sort of ink upon the pads of such. She hadn’t. Hell, she barely even looked over those files, let alone considered them!

The people of Elysia needed to be kept in line as much as any other land, possibly even more so than any other surrounding land.

“See it done,” Camille purrs out. Her voice is cold, and almost harsh, it was something the small woman with such a pretty face was known for. She was ruthless, and unafraid to make enemies, even of her own people. She’d never admit to such, but Camille was a power hungry woman, craving little more than money, and what came with her status as an empress. No one person could oppose her, no could a group, and she was more than aware of such. Camille felt safe, and maybe inappropriately so.

Still, it wouldn’t be long before Harlow was presenting herself once more, and Camille is giving her the once-over, yet again, before giving a nod of approval, “I do hope you disposed of those worthless shoes,” Camille comments, drawing that pretty gaze of hers away from Harlow’s footwear. Was she giving the woman permission to keep those shoes? Well, perhaps she was, though Camille would never confess to such.

And it’s only with Camille’s approval that the three ladies are exiting from her dressing room. The hallways were vast and winding, almost as confusing as the brass communication tubes looming above their heads. Small hands are left to bustling up the length of her skirt, lest she trip over such on their way towards the forum, where their meeting was to be held.

Even above the sound of their heels upon the hardwood floors below, there was the distinct sound of some odd arguments, loud voices filled with harsh words of deep opposition. Somebody obviously wasn’t where they belonged, or so the palace guards seemed to think, “Boys!” Camille comes to bark with a deep furrow to her brows, lungs straining against that too tight corset. Her hips set as she comes to a halt, small hands settling upon the swell of such, in a way that may demand some semblance of authority. As if the fact that she was the empress wasn’t enough of a reason.

She knew these faces. She’d at least been remotely involved in the hiring of these young males, oh so eager to sacrifice all they had to offer for the sake of their Lady. The small girl over looks nigh-horrified faces before her gaze falls upon one in particular. She knew him, too, though the circumstances under which they met were far less formal, not to mention far less favorable, “Mister Raleigh,” Camille coos, “Have you brought me something with which to rule the world?” Her face tips, and she offers an almost shameless grin, “I hope you’re better prepared than when we last met?”

She’s speaking, of course, on the last demonstration this Emery had held, the one where something had gone almost horribly wrong, and she’d almost been injured. Needless to say she’d not been, else this man would most definitely been within the walls of her palace. It’s then Camille finds herself addressing the once-arguing guards with a simple toss to her pretty head, directing them elsewhere. There were far more important things to attend to, and more dangerous adversaries, at that. At least Emery meant well.

“Shall we?” she proposes, directing her following towards the forum’s entryway.

[Emery]

"We cannot allow you through! Are you even listening to me?!"

Of course he was listening to them otherwise he wouldn't be openly protesting them as he was then and there! It's why his brow was furrowed and mouth set within the perfect candidate for a scowl; jawline tight and muscles working beneath the sunkissed flesh of his throat.

"I have legal documents stating my permission for demonstrations within the forum!" It's his voice; thick with frustration and coming out nigh as a growl as he shrugged one hand off of him and then another soon after. He pries his arm away from one more then and snarls whilst reaching for his documents to wave within the faces of the guards and government officials that were stricken with worry. He knew why they didn't want him here. It was hard to forget the trouble he had gone through the last time he had made a demonstration.

It had been horrendous and he had nearly caused harm to the Empress; in fact, a number of people had been hurt within the process and others left with lost patches of hair upon their heads. He had even singed off half of one eye brow and earned pock marks for the effort that day and soon after had been interrogated and questioned for whether or not he had intended to deal harm to the Empress Camille. Had he? No, but the humiliation of his failed experiment had left him as being the laughing stock within the forum. Oh, how could he ever live up to his father's name?

Wilhelm Raleigh had proven himself as a magnificent man who not only changed the face of production and safe traveling, but had given the military leg of Elysia powerful arms to be used against foreign threats. He had been a threat all around; an experienced and renown engineer who would bring new innovations to the eyes of the Empress. As for Emery? He hadn't been so lucky.

Perhaps Emery simply didn't have the skill his father had and all that work under his wing was all for naught. He wanted to build his own place within the world and show off his own work and not that of his father's own. Still, that didn't keep him from digging his fingers into his father's old work book and usingh is blue prints and even building upon such; perfecting them. Yet, he had sold them off as his own creations. Perhaps that was why his luck was so faded and ill?

"You're not allowed, Sir Raleigh!" One guard barks and Emery snarls once more. "I've come all the way from Idola for this and you deny me entry?! Once my father commanded respect here, now I demand the same!" Emery barks and shoves one man off of his back plows through the guards to attempt at making the stairs that led to the front of the palace; two young lads followed along quietly with their large packs and chests curled tight against their chests. They look uncertain with their eyes flitting from one face to the other.

"Sir, we cannot allow you!" Another guard snaps and grabs for Emery's belt and soon hands were falling upon him from all sides; one tugging upon his collar and the other nigh popping a button free of his coat whist other was attempting to nigh lift him off his feet. It's then a voice stops them all and they're left paling and reluctantly drawing away. Emery shrugs off each hand and huffs before smoothing his coat front with his rough palms.

He looks like he hasn't slept for days; the dark splotches beneath his eyes giving such away. Still, he looks somewhat respectable for his smoothed dark hair and groomed beard. Even his clothing looked well enough; gleaming black boots and clean trousers; even his coat hiding away the fresh white shirt and double-breasted vest beneath. Still, his eyes gleam with quiet victory; he was more than happy with the fact that Camille had practically saved his hide then.

"I am, Empress," he says respectfully before inclining his head to accentuate his words thereafter. It's then he looks back to one guard and then the other; meeting their eyes for the moment and pursing his mouth. Bastards, all of them.

"Come, lads. We have a show to put on," Emery states firmly to the two lads at his heels nigh shaking within their boots. He didn't blame them - the frightened boys they were - they might have been apprehended today. Might have. It's then he quickly takes the steps two at a time to meet with Camille and the two other women within her entourage. Now he had to hope that he wouldn't muss things up today as he had every other day. He had something to give the world...

...and this day will be different.

[Harlow Yvonne]

Harlow blinked, surprise fluttering across innocent features. The ruckus and it’s noises seeming to bounce about the walls of the hall passage way, bumping against Harlow enough to make her resettle her footing. Being a rather tall girl, luckily not unfortunately giant, she was able to peer just over both Camille and Bex to spot the cause of the ripples in the usually calm morning meetings. A flustered man was demanding to get in. He looked ruffled and held a sort of curious air about him. Harlow’s brown eyes had never set upon him as far as she knew but the girl had an inkling this was the man so many whispers had tickled her ear. The inventor who tried to kill Camille. Something ridiculous and probably untrue knowing the castle gossip. The girl never heard much seeing as she was a bit of an quirky under the radar sort. Sure, she was social and nice and even friendly but on a whole, it was hard to recall her in one’s memory. Of course, when one saw her face they’d remember, “Oh, yes! That lovely Yvonne girl. We must invite her to tea.”

Maybe it was this sort of fascade that got Harlow where she was. If one was to ask her how she ended up being the right hand to the most powerful woman in probably the entire world…she couldn’t honestly tell you. She’d give a polite little laugh, flutter her fan or lashes or something worth fluttering and say “It isn’t nearly as interesting as how your day is, I’m sure!” She knew the right cues and the right answers. How to hold her tea, hands, features, and forks. Yes, Harlow could recite back “Society Approved” passages and advice at the drop of the hat. All with out really thinking.

Or caring.

When most young ladies her age would be concentrated fully on how eligible and attractive the herd of guards are, or what footing they should take to climb higher in the ladder. How could they mold the situation to be Camille’s best friend…Harlow was looking at the Inventor’s hands. And she was fascinated.

Meekily and behind the general cover of being tucked behind Camille, Harlow peered at her own milky silk soft hands. No lines or scars or blemishes of any sort. Perfectly clean and manicured nails with the light coating of a soft pink polish. Not even on her palms were the source of a day of hard work or labor. No, Harlow had the hands of a lady and this man had the hands of great stories. Scars and healed and even healing cuts and bruises were randomly splayed about. He clearly worked with his hands often and clearly put them through all sorts of work. She wanted to ask about every one of them. What story was behind the mystery of each imperfection of flesh? Surely, a man this flustered that had tried to kill the Empress and now NEEDED to see her had all sorts of stories and ideas. Yes, Harlow decided at that moment he was an interesting man and she wanted to speak to him.

Reality was thick and light as newly laced snow. Harlow’s chin remained politely tucked, and she studied the intruder through the thick shield of her dark lashes. Of course, before looking too long, she studied Camille’s back and waited for the woman to start walking and asking the man her own questions. In the far back of Harlow’s head, she idly wondered what Bex thought of the whole ordeal before she smugly remembered she didn’t really care.

At least, she didn’t care enough to ask.

[Natalia]

Emery.
Why was she not surprised?

As it'd been lately, where ruckus occurred, this particular Raleigh couldn't be far behind. It was only by the grace of God himself that Camille hadn't been killed by his careless antics, along with a majority of the court. Bex herself had only barely witnessed the travesty, finishing up on an errand she had expected to be late for that days festivities. She had thanked herself later.

This all attributed to the reasons why she had to look twice when the Empress motioned him forward to join their 'party' headed for the halls entryway. Second chances, especially when it involved things of such delacacy like Camille's life, were practically unheard of. This one should've been in jail right now, and Bex suspected that if it weren't for the status of his name, and the legend of his father, he may be in even worse predicaments then the Palace's holds. His display of flagrant disregard for her place of work and it's protectors made Bex want to spit at the mans feet, and yet she refrained, Camille was still after all, there.

"My, everyone is doing their predecessors proud today..." The woman trailed off, teeth bit against either side of her tongue so as to not completely shove her foot into her mouth. Bex thought it best to move on altogether. Arguing a decision of the Empress would prove to be, no doubt, fruitless and without reward.

When looking upon the scene before her became too much, Natalia busied her gaze with a glance to the girl, Harlow, curious to see how she had reacted to the mini fiasco. Blank stare, as per usual. Was this one even capable of coherent thought? Of course, they all knew she was only there for her pretty face, manners, and name, but really? Must you act the title to such a T? No matter, another quirk about the girls antics were getting on the thin of Bex's nerves. Here he was, Emery Raleigh making an utter fool of himself, and Ms. Yvonne could not tear her eyes from him. Eyes staring down the mans hands, she actually raised her own, as if to compare the samples. The grit and grim of labor that stained his skin was somehow appealing to the twits eye?

Forefinger and thumb met on the high bridge of her nose, pinching in frustration as Natalia uttered a sigh. "Must you concern yourself with such things, Harlow. I mean really." A bit of an eye roll ensued as she grasped the handle of the entries door, flinging it open as she cleared the way for the rest to enter, moving things along as well as watching for any unwanted stragglers. She wondered how long it would take the rooms occupants to shut their respective yapping holes and realize their ruler was now amongst them.

[Camille]

“I’m glad,” the Empress purrs in reply to Emery’s words. There’s a warm sort of smile curling upon that soft pout of hers. It looked unnatural and out of place upon her pout, “These are your protégés?” she questions of the small handful of boys who seemed to be tagging along after the scarred man. The one who’d nearly killed her.

Harlow has that blank look on her face, per usual, it wasn’t exactly something which offended Camille anymore. She’d come to learn the young woman would never change her ways, and it was no longer something that need be addressed. She’d rather have her silence as opposed to some embarrassing, and foolish sort of monologue. Her silence was a sweet one. She was much prettier with that mouth of hers closed, anyway.

It’s then Bex is speaking, yet again mind you. It had been easy to ignore when it was between the three of them; Bex, Harlow, and Empress Camille. A twisted sort of three amigos. But she’d not stand for that sort of talk before a guest. Believe it or not, Emery was a brilliant man, with good blood pumping through his veins, born and bred for this profession, and he didn’t need to be working for Empress Camille, heaven knew Joscelin and the rest of those rebel peons would be more than happy to take him on their side.

Natalia seemed to be the complete opposite of everything Harlow was. Oh, good help is hard to find these days. Camille simply couldn’t find that sweet middle-ground between the foolish words of Natalia, and Harlow’s impenetrable silence.

Camille lifts a small hand to draw fingertips across her brow. Lips part with a shaky sort of sigh. Gaze lifts towards Emery, and his small gaggle of apprentices, before turning towards her own entourage. Oh, the embarrassment. “Bex,” Camille murmurs. Her voice hushed, burning at the edges with a white hot anger. “I’ll not have you speak that way before our guests,” she continues onwards, “Need I remind you that you’re doing your parents no sort of honor; a trained monkey could do your job, as it could have done your parent‘s.” Was it true? Well, maybe! But then again, monkeys tended to be a slight messier than catty little girls, and they only spoke in sign language, which Camille knew next to none of.

“So, please, Child, silence yourself before I begin bringing my cat to these meetings, instead of you.” Those dark, exotic eyes of hers come to narrow a slight, along with the firm set of her jaw and the knit to those dark brows, “Why can’t you act more like Harlow?” Camille certainly was hammering this point home, and sounding like quite the angry mother at the same time. She couldn’t afford to be embarrassed. If even her most intimate of servants couldn’t obey her what’s to make others think that she was capable of running a country of her very own.

Still, the show must go on, and that included both Harlow and Bex, whether she liked it or not. She finds herself turning her attention to Emery, and stepping through those double doors into that spacious forum, “I apologize for that,” she murmurs, taking a glance over her shoulder, and towards the two girls who seemingly were always following her, “Good help is so hard to find,” she murmurs, quoting that old cliché. But it was oh so true.

Camille finds herself gesturing towards the open floor, for Emery to take before she herself is settling into one of those impossibly uncomfortable chairs to the best of her abilities. What a girl does to simply look good, “Please, Sir Raleigh,” she urges with another twisted smile.

[Emery]

Emery wasn't like most people. He knew where he was not wanted but this contract held him close to the heart of Elysia. It left him here having to perform his duties and showing off the latest innovations and inventions having come from his workshop. If not her then he'd be elsewhere. He'd be creating menacing machinary for the rebels...! Ha, never; no, he could not do that to his father's name. He had already been marked with a son who had been nearly exacted with punishment due to Camille's near death experience. No, he wouldn't do that.

It's why he's here now within Camille's presence. It's the investments of Elysia's government that keeps him coming with every passing month to display the fruit of his loins; not quite so literally, of course. So, where else would Emery be other than here? No where. Then again - truth be told - Emery wouldn't lie about the thoughts he had once upon a time ago. He had idly wondered where he would go with or without the State. Where?

Perhaps he'd flee to some unexplored territory. He'd build a cottage by hand and live off the fat of the land. He could be like the men within those stories his father would tell him of. He could do that, right? He wasnt soft. He could kill if it were to come to it. He could...

Reality was settling upon him then at the sound of one of the women's voices. She seemed disgusted with Emery and rightfully so, no? Perhaps not. Emery didn't tell her she should tag along. He's partly sure that she dealt with a number of folks when waltzing beside Camille when one must consider all the business a person of high status must deal with; treaties, trade agreements and tax laws, and then on. It wasn't long until Camille seemed fine with biting back though. Should Emery feel somewhat satisfied? Yes, and he did, but he likewise didn't show such lest Camille bite him as well. So, he simply stood quiet as that woman - the one who seemed displeased - opened the door to the forum and they were soon sauntering within.

"Of course, Empress," Emery utters and tucks his chin toward his chest. He bows his head to her then as the unified breathing of his "protégés" flit to his ears; they were settled behind him at his right and left with their arms full and their backs screaming with the weight of what they carried.

Emery knew what was next with the sight of Camille offering him the floor. It's then that she was finding her seat with the other two women - and even with the others within attendance then and there - before Emery was gesturing his lads forward. As for the open floor though?

It's clear but for the marble that gleams with the torchlight whenever the wind gutters the dancing flames upon each pillar. This had once been the place where Marcellus had shown off his own peculiarities to Tiberius, and here had been the same place where his own father had danced the dance of a pitchman. As for Emery? He knew the dance well. He had a number of inventions that had been patented and exclusive to the State and only the State.

"Come, lads," Emery states firmly with a toss of his head as they took to the floor and each boy set out to place their satchels, packages and then some upon the ground; oh, so heavy objects, or so it seemed! Emery was removing his clothing all the while though, or rather, his coat; fingertips cleverly undoing the buttons before he was shedding such and placing the article upon one of the packages. His vest was revealed then - clean, surprisingly - as his scarred, marred hands had begun to roll the lace cuffs of his shirt toward his biceps. His voice raises then as silence falls over the gathering; himself demanding full and undivided attention.

"Empress Camille," he greets her warmly and formerly before greeting the others with as much respect. He was pacing then; his lads upon their knees and gingerly working away with their grubby hands and their heads tucked. It's then with the cluck of his tongue that one of these boys were tossing up what seemed to be an old and weathered military grade rifle. Emery caught such with ease as he holds such aloft and above his head for all to see.

"For as long as I could remember, and since I've been a child, these rifles have been Elysia's first and foremost weapon against foreign attacks and the enemies of the State. These rifles are also traded amongst those of Elysia's rebellious forces. As you all know," Emery breathes out and throws back the primer to reveal the dull cup where gunpowder would be placed.

"These rifles within the hands of our enemy has swiftly become our fear; the rebels beginning to even out their numbers against us. How so? Old rifles being traded off to foreign nations and then some. It's become quite easy for the poor to come across these weapons from years having already passed, but these are old. I'm sure you know how these work. Gunpowder here," his fingertip points to the dish then before he's spinning such around to thump the butt against the sleek marble floor. His fingertips pry out the ramrod; this of course having been done after the hammer had been primed and flint set.

"You're given one shot," he states firmly and as he shoves the ramrod back where it was - guards nearby more than happy with the fact that such wasn't loaded - Emery then tosses the rifle aside and to one of his lads. "One shot without the promise of precision." It's then that the guards - armed to the teeth - begin to shuffle from one foot to the other with uncertainy as their nerves run high at the sight of a package being undone.

It's revealed within a gleam; the sleek silver plating either flank of the rifle reflecting the fire of the sconces and torches. It was longer than the last but besides that little else seemed different besides the missing pan and other machinary that had been apart of the flintlock rifle; oh, and the peculiar cartidge lodged along the underside. It's this peculiar rifle that's placed within his hands and the sound of feet shuffling becomes louder as each guard on duty draws closer to the sight of Emery shouldering the rifle and practically aiming such at Camille. How could they trust him? Was Camille mad for allowing him? Emery's eyes flit from Camille's face and to the two other women with each and soon after the faces of everyone else.

"O. S. P.! Overwhelming Speed and Precision! LOOSE!" Emery's voice fills the open air of the forum. It seems that Emery had been quite the distraction. How so? Because one of his lads had managed to set up a peculiar piece of machinary that had lunged porcelain discs within the air; the saucers spinning through and cutting the air. Emery turned upon the heel of his boot quickly.

Emery could have sworn he heard the breathing of everyone then stop. Why wouldn't they? He did something that he shouldn't have. Perhaps he was a bit too wild and far gone by then. He was risking her life but there truly was no way to show off this piece without such! So, with the rifle primed and set against his shoulder; his chin tucks and cheek presses against the stock as his eye looms down the sights and over the circular aperture and then...

The air fills with dust with each clap of sound that bounces off of the walls; each shot following the other with little to no rest and five porcelain saucers falling to pieces onto the once clean marble flooring. It's then that the scent of gunpowder fills the air; the discharge of the rifle he still held. His back was to Camille and the others then as the guards drew closer but still held their distance lest they would be at the end of Camille's whip. Emery still held the rifle there; pressed against his shoulder all the while as his chest tightens and heart races. He could still feel the ache of the recoil; not much to do about that, truly. As for the lands nearby? Crouched with their hands over their ears before quickly rushing over the sweep up the debris.

"Imagine...If you will...Imagine a battle upon the frontlines where our enemy holds our dated rifles to their shoulders and are soon after faced with this? One man swiftly becomes the power of five! Overwhelming the enemy with not only speed but utter and complete precision thats unmet," Emery states firmly before beginning to turn to face Camille and the others.

"You wanted something to rule the world with...? This is it, Empress Camille, and such will only grow with time," he states firmly before that mouth of his begins to twist into a smile. He couldn't help but wonder of what she thought, or even the others; that pretty, quiet woman who hadn't seen a day of work with her soft hands, and even the one who had seemed displeased before. Now Emery was doing something worthwhile; offering them something exclusive to them. That wasn't the whole of it either; especially when considering that peculiar launcher latched to that carrying-case. Perhaps he had read Camille's mind? Her need for something that would assist and affirm her hold upon that seat of power.

[Harlow Yvonne]

Harlow’s heart pounded against her chest. Quick, fevered beats rocked rapidly and nearly shook the girl from the seat she had just adopted. The whole scene happened rather quickly and yet felt so slow at the same time. Brown hues were as wide as saucers. If those saucers were the size of a full moon. Adrenaline was pumping through out her scrawny body. The liquid hot butterfly feeling pooling in her finger tips and toes before racing off again. Her head was light, almost dizzy and she finally dropped her hand away from her chest. She was not able to, however, look away from Emery.

Growing up in such a sheltered life that any real socialite upbringing has, Harlow had only heard about the bone ricketing sound of a gun. She obviously never went on the male only hunting trips with her father, not that she had the slightest ounce of desire to. Any sort of squabble with the guards and those suppose rebels never made it far enough into the castle’s many veins and heart to ruffle Harlow’s skirts.

She did, however, read about all sorts of battles. Fiction and nonfiction. Picturing the gory scenes in her head and trying to recall the sound of cannons and guns and screaming like a song she thought she might have heard a long time ago. The sound of the shots had echoed through out the forum with it’s great high ceilings and perfect acoustics. The room was for entertaining so they had bands and singers and the like come all the time. Miss Yvonne imagined the sound of a gun firing outside would not be quite as nerve jumbling, but in this crowded room with the Empress herself sitting mere feet away, the effect was different.

Was Harlow scared? No, not at all. No fear or horror griped the girl. Excitement and curiosity and even the want to see the display again was rather obvious on her pretty face. She was pleased by the whole thing and millions of questions were racing across her conscious. How on earth did it work? Did the guards not realize he was carrying a weapon? Two weapons really. This was the man that tried to kill Camille, after all.

She could only imagine Bex was ready to loose her shit. She’d throw names like “Idiot!” and “Reckless!” at Emery. The words did not scratch the surface but regardless, Harlow’s chest was rising in defense to the man she had never met before. The man she only knew rumors about the display that had been presented before her this very day.

Composing herself within the confusion of everything, Harlow gave a haughty roll to her shoulders and held her chin high, spine perfectly straight. “My, “ she murmured breathily, “I suppose we should have expected something like that from him.” She spoke in jest, a rare action for the young beauty. Her mood was soaring though, and she wouldn’t dare wipe the smile from her face. Unless, of course, Camille expressed any distaste. A smile could easily be tucked under a well rehearsed cough.

((I'm sorry they keep getting shorter. :\ ))

[Natalia]

Natalia had gone through it as they entered the hall. Had she indeed taken a vow of twit-like silence upon accepting this job?
No.
No she hadn't.
Would she ever make that point clear to her one and only superior?
No.
No she certainly wouldn't.
That didn't stop her from grinding her molars as the group took their seats, awaiting Emery's proposal of sorts. Bex didn't even want to think about him and the relish he must've taken from witnessing her little scolding. He and Harlow both.
"More like Harlow." Hah. She'd be of no use to Camille at all. Would the Empress rather have a fully competent, albeit outspoken assistant, or one with the sound of a mouse that busies themselves staring at peoples hands? Bex really didn't think it was much of a contest. But she was not the ruler here now, was she?

"A monkey could do your job." A trained monkey, sure, but a monkey nontheless. Really? For an instant, the sadistic, perhaps moreso masochistic notion took her, wondering what it would really be like if for just a week, Bex took a vacation, and stuck a chimpanzee in her place. Mayhaps one of those flying monkeys that could apply various shades of green face paint to Camille's features and give her a big pointy hat. Surely, based on her former claim, this would suit the Empress just as well, yes?

The woman shook her head, eyes focused forward as to suppress the tiniest hint of uncalled for amusement. That simply wouldn't do.

All of this went on in that busy noggin of hers, reserve plastered over features as Emery began his schpeel, Natalia dared not glance to either of the women at her side, for everyone's sake. She didn't want to embarass Camille. No, that was never her goal. Far be it from Bex to be concerned in the presence of the man who'd nearly gotten them killed, and was even now pointing a potentially harmful weapon at them. He had the brains, she'd give him that. He had the hands, she'd even give him that too. It wasn't really the man she took issue with it, but his disregard for the life of one so imperative to their land. She supposed she'd have to let it go. And that's just what she did.

She watched Emery with a neutral gaze, expression unchanging even as he fired off his new weapon causing a bout of commotion within the hall itself. She saw the appeal, of course. Who in this day and age wouldn't? Judging by the look of Camille's guards, they did as well, if not more. She watched their eyes widen, their jaws drop like dogs. Bex sat unamused.
Emery and his ideas were not without merit, even if his wits were not always about him. It was simply unacceptable to view this one in low regard, and Bex took note to later rectify her earlier mistake. But for now, she sat, silent as she was appreciated, a vague smile creeping at the corners of her lips.

[Sorry that took so long >.< ]

[Camille]

All Camille had to do was to sit back and enjoy the show. Though, to be fair that was really what most of Camille’s duties included. Nestling into a comfortable seat and simply observing. She had an entire board of employees to make decisions for her, and attend meetings for her. But this, this was something that interested Camille, if only a slight, something with which to more efficiently rule her lands with that iron fist of hers.

The only difference between this and her usual lazing was the seemingly constant discomfort upon her backside. With hips sidled forth and the warm swell of her rump settled upon the lip of that tightly pinched “throne” of hers. Soft knees lifted, one settled atop the other with ease. Shoulders slumped back upon the backboard almost lazily; wrists draped absently over the arm rests of her seat. Her very posture spoke of an almost professional laze. And truth be told, in many ways, Camille was extraordinarily gifted in such a department. Hers was a life of luxury, after all.

He’s a cheeky bastard with that new piece of technology aimed nigh directly at that pretty little face of hers, near directly between those almond shaped eyes. Should she have been afraid? Well, yes, yes she should have.

But then it’s one, two… five, and Camille is in Love. Pure, and warming Love. No, not with Emery, not that there was anything wrong with him, but that piece he held within those rough and scarred hands of his. It was impressive, sleek, and smooth. Awe inspiring. It was the kind of technology which minstrels would write songs about for years to come, even if Camille had to pay someone to write the songs about these new weapons.

It was an impressive sort of show, to say the least of it, quick and startling, resounding throughout the walls, and high ceiling of that room. It was certainly a dangerous piece of artwork, and something that, perhaps, Camille should have feared, especially after his little display during their last meeting, and that heavily spoken of incident. Little mess had been made, and Emery’s little servant boys seemed to already be attending to such a thing, the piles of little more than dust scattered upon marble flooring.

It was satisfying. Camille was satisfied. Of course she’d need to gather up a small gaggle of maids to more appropriately clean that floor, of course, it had needed a good cleaning for some time, now, and this was just an excuse to get someone to do such. After all, Camille usually had more important things to attend to than the trivial cleaning of floors. Like mid-afternoon naps.

Still, Camille finds her soft pout curling upwards into an almost devious sort of grin that speaks volumes of satisfaction. Her palms smooth along the arms of that seat before she’s pushing herself upright, and into a more appropriate position, “Impressive, Sir Raleigh,” Camille coos out, her voice raised to cross the gap between the two of them.

Despite the weapon’s seeming perfection there were still many things to be worked out, no doubt there was a matter of maintenance, and the cost of mass-producing these fine pieces. Then, no doubt there would be the matter of training her armed forces to handle these new pieces. Despite her initial excitement there is still an almost impossible amount of work to be done.

Camille presses teeth upon the lower tier of her pout, turning her attention from Bex to Harlow and then back to Emery once more, “Of course we’ll need to hammer out the details, so to speak,” Camille continues onwards, pushing herself upwards, and from her seat.

[Emery]

Emery knew this sort of weapon would be ideal for Empress Camille. It's why he had worked on this project for some time; perfecting his father's old prototype of the same name. It's now a more simplistic straight forward design as compared to the first; maintenance being reminiscent to their now current military-grade rifles. So, training with these rifles wouldn't be quite the chore since they'd feel as familiar to current line that Elysia's military leg now uses exclusively.

"As you may have known, Empress Camille, my father believed within the notion of staying one step ahead of your enemies because within reality the man with the better arsenal shall always win," he states firmly for not only her ears but for the rest of those within attention. As for the moment? This was reality and what he said was true; this wasn't any bard's song. In all the songs the time was always filled with summer warmth, the men gallant and the women beautiful, but the reality of such was anything but that. It's then Emery's mind works quickly.

He knew the manufacturing costs will be higher than their current line but these were more than well worth the price, no? He figured that most of the cost would go toward teaching fellows how to work the new prints with ease other than actually having to teach soldiers how to use them properly; after all, the rifle as a whole was a rather complicated design for being something so simply used. He had worked the calculations himself the other day before coming to the palace. Yet, he knew those calculations would be considered by Camille first, and perhaps even one of her women soon after. It's then that Emery turns away to offer the rifle toward one of the lads.

It's swiftly packed away as Emery snaps his fingers toward another lad with a: "the case," he states and soon receives such within his hand. It's a small leather-bound case and naught much else about it to draw attention. Within such was contained his own written out manufacturing costs alongside training costs for not only the line within Idola but a simplistic figure for her soldiers - his sources used being that of old costs for their prior line. There was a contract as well; more or less to protect himself and ensure this would be an exclusive weapon for Camille's army alone. He states as much then and there.

"And with that I am ahead of you my dear Empress," he states firmly. "Here I've written out the figures to be considered. Of course, you or your factors may make the necessary changes. Oh, and my contract," he states soon after; his coin. She'd pay him, of course. It's then he's stepping forward with the case within hand but soon a guard was rushing forward to cut him off and snatching the case up. Emery didn't complain; he knew why. They didn't want him any where near the Empress after that prior display. So, soon the guard was rushing up to the Empress and bending low to his knee whilst offering the case. Emery suspected such would be looked at later and most likely handed off to Bex first to consider. It seemed she did a lot of that considering that Camille was busy with other such things. It wasn't long until his lads were done cleaning though and filing close to Emery with his packages. Emery stands there all the while with his green eyes flitting over the women and soon settling quietly upon Harlow; eyes meeting her own and leaving no doubt to who he was looking at then and there.

"There's much to talk over, Empress Camille, but perhaps with due time," he says before reluctantly looking back to Camille to offer a slight smile. "I hope that you will be in contact with me," he says simply before snapping his fingertips at one of the open cases still; that launcher. "Oh, and I've never forgotten to mention this specimen here. I'm sure you've already seen such in action. There will be documents within that case," he gestures with his hand to the one the guard had handed over to Camille, "on figures and a contract; exclusive rights," he says simply. "I think you will be pleased overall with what you find here today," he says lastly before gesturing for one of the lads to shut the case.

"Now, mayhap I should get out of your hair," he says and snaps his fingers toward the other boy to fetch his coat. He looked nonchalant there; as if he hadn't been roughed up by her guards only moments prior.