Rupertsen Imperial Complex
Kongsfestning, Kongsbyen, Aesir
0929 Local, March 1, 2482
Synnove looked at three long dresses, trying to pick which she wanted to wear for the afternoon and evening. Holly Holbrook, her lady's maid, stood beside her already dressed for the occasion. Synnove decided to go with her mother's wishes, at least for a week or two, and play her part as nobility. The day prior she narrowed down her dress choices to one color, pearlescent white which slightly changed colors depending on the angle it was viewed at, and three designs of the finest silk.
She looked again at the first design to her left, a lightly corseted top, form fitting around the hips, and then falling straight to the ground. Too formal for anything but a ball and it didn't make much of a statement other than pretty princess. The next dress was sleeveless and form-fitting throughout the torso and fell straight after the hips. Synnove considered it momentarily but was put off by how much the top covered. The last dress was similar to the first, but form-fitting in the torso rather than having a corset.
Her eyes went back to the second dress, "I don't think it covers too much really."
"It covers the front and back. But," Holly paused, "Your mother will kill you. Well, she'll try to."
Synnove smiled just a little, "she won't be happy at all. She called me a little whore and that's what she will get in front of the media and court. They will blow my fashion choice out of proportion, but the issue will fade quickly as other women and royals want to emulate it."
- - -
Douglas stood in front of the floor mirror in his room while his head valet, Hemming Mattias, slid a mess jacket onto him. Today was the last day of the Imperial Air Derby, a week-long series of air races sponsored by his parents. Tonight would also be the first major royal ball of the year, which all the racers would attend. Nobles from across the Republic would be in attendance too, and he hoped a certain Reichsgräfin would also be at the ball tonight.
A footman buttoned the front of the coat while the valet smoothed the shoulders, "It's been awhile," Douglas said as the men worked on his uniform.
"Yes, quite a change from your dusty cowboy gear to this," the Hemming responded.
“I prefer the dusty rags,” Douglas responded, “They’re comfortable, functional, and I don’t have to worry about getting dirt or food on them. This stuff is just pompous show.”
Hemming ran a brush across Douglas' shoulders and down the back of the coat, “You were born into it. It comes with the position. If you don’t like it you can always elect to refuse your title.”
“I don’t mind my title or even some of the trappings that come with it. While pompous, the uniform does look quite good,” Douglas said looking in the mirror.
Although Douglas' normal military dress uniform was forest green, his position as nobility gave him the privilege of wearing a military uniform in the colors of his father's side of the family, mother's side, or a design incorporating both. He chose to go the usual route and pick the maroon-like scorpion red of his father's House.
His black balmorals were polished to a mirror finish that complimented the flat black color of his crisp trousers. The trousers had a two inch wide gold thread strip up the outside of each leg. Under the cavalry style mess jacket he wore a white button-up shirt and black vest. The buttons of vest were intricate gold while those of the shirt were hidden. The mess jacket’s black rolled collar contrasted with the maroon base and the gold threading around the edges and shoulderboards.
A junior valet entered the room carrying Douglas' ceremonial sword. The piece was a fully functional broadsword almost five feet in length. When light struck the sword at the proper angle the inscription "+ULFBERH+T" shone on the blade just forward of the hilt. The valet presented the sword to Hemming, who took it by the strong and weak.
"Reichsgräf, your weapon," Hemming said as he held the sword parallel to the floor with the grip to Douglas' right side.
Douglas took the grip and lifted the sword from Hemming's open hands. Grabbing his scabbard with his left hand, he slowly and respectfully slid the blade into its sheath. Hemming handed Douglas his ceremonial headgear, a gold helmet similar to those worn by household cavalry of Commonwealth nations during the 20th century.
Hemming stepped back and looked Douglas over one last time, "Ah, there we are. Your mother should be happy to see you dressed up for the afternoon."
"It does look nice," Douglas responded looking in the mirror, "I'll probably have more lunch on it than in my gut though."
A junior valet nodded to Hemming who then informed Douglas that his sister was also ready.
"Well gentlemen, let's go pick up the ladies," Douglas said as he turned and started out of the room.
He and the four men made their way to Synnove's room, just across and down the large hall from his own room. Hemming knocked on one of the doors. Almost a minute passed before it was opened by Holly.
"Hello Reichsgräf, Hemming, gentlemen," she said with a friendly smile, "Come in."
The four men entered the room. One of the junior valets broke into a brief coughing fit upon seeing Synnove in such an unexpected dress.
"Sis, you look very nice," Douglas said while keeping comments about what their mother would say to himself.
Synnove had went with the second dress; form-fitting mandarin collar with solid front and back and mesh insets on each side running from the hem all the way up. Her opera length gloves matched the dress design and her hair was ornately styled.
"Are you ok," Synnove asked the valet.
"Yes, just swallowed down the wrong pipe," he replied still recovering from his fit.
"Thank you for the compliment Douglas", Synnove said to her brother, "The uniform looks good on you. Fitting for your position as a Reichsgräf."
He knew his sister well enough to know when she was purposefully doing something and trying to play it off innocently, but he decided to just let it go this time, "I'd love to see that on a particular Reichsgräfin I'm hoping to see here today."
"I'm sure you would," she said putting out her hand, "but let's get going. I have a mother to embarrass and other women to make jealous."
No comments:
Post a Comment