Briza — Roleplayer Guild

L o r d   F i n n e g a n   O a k 𝓼

A long night it would most certainly be. As the Perfumsist believed, interesting things were hardly interesting if they were not at least in some sort long-lasting. He believed this in more than one way, without skirting any of the vulgarity that generally was brushed under the finely woven Kashmir rugs and their high kpsi count. The vulgarity in particular, of which he generally imagined, would be a long drawn out murder due to the classical soliloquy of a scent he created by his very own finger tips when playing Mother Nature's finest and darkest attribute like oh, let us say, a violin, perhaps. It were the hearts that he enjoyed making lethal, not the heads. The tops were usually much too shrewd and loud and often tried to cover the beautiful intricacies of the fundamental aromas being played through his perfumes, and Finnegan had no use for such egos for they were noticed far too quickly, like the smell of a whore's bloomers in a bakery. He had the better preference of plucking heart strings, for such a case.

While slipping on his other white glove, Finnegan closed his eyes and fitted his hand comfortably. The soft fabric glided over his skin, and he opened his eyes, turning to the woman on his left, “Shall we?” His mouth made a small, polite twitch of a smug smile, approving the elegantly dressed lady next to him. She was draped in some fine lush, silk, and her collarbones were accentuated in dainty style. He had decorated them with a string of pearls and an opal, elaborated with golden floral. The necklace was his gift to her, and as he suggested, she made sure to have her light auburn hair curled and pinned above her neck to make a decent show of her present from him. The curvature of her neck was quite daunting, as well.

“Ah, of course, Monsieur,” Evelyn's rose lips turned upwards as her eyes curved into a decently excited manner. If she showed herself anymore gaily, Finnegan would have chastised her. There was something that caused a robust disinterest in women who acted in the mannerisms of those who were too young. It was a strange rebellion he would rather snuff as he had not the patience to make play with such a thing. She watched as his arm lifted, and with proper grace, her own wrist was pulled upwards by invisible puppetry and placed gently on the sleeve of his off-white suite. 

Finnegan was looking down at her, judging her poise and beauty with a falsely penitent adoration, and with such an audience, his lady could not help but smile and blush at him by batting her eyes and bashfully turning her prim cheek away from him, “Very well then,” he took in a small breath of jesting relaxation. The scent of her perfume smelled nicely. He believed it would flow well after having enjoyed a carriage ride and proceeding to masquerade over her natural scent during the party. The light touches  of the chemistry that had been added to the white, beaded decor tucking into her curls, would also make a for a smooth and modest appreciation along the dance floor. He took a pass forward guiding her towards the entrance, “Let us not keep the our chariot waiting.” He paused his speaking for a moment and gave her a small, handsome smile as he admired her like a portrait in front of the foyer's flamboyant, baroque appeal, “Even if I would like to.”

A servant opened the large oak door of the manor. The lever of the brass handle turned, and the door was pushed open, “Sir, Ma'am,” the servant motioned forward in stewardship as he watched the two take their leave. Evelyn gave the man a quaint nod before letting her thoughts twirl about her into the carriage waiting for them. She felt like a grand duchess or more with the way he was treating her, and she was not sure if she could feel anymore honor by being taken to the Supreme Commander Phillip Osborne's estate. There were stories of the beautiful and very popular place. In fact, as a little girl, along with her sisters, they played pretend on more than one occasion daydreaming to be invited inside it. The distant view of the garden alone was worth admiring with longing sighs. However, she had heard almost nothing of the Supreme Commander's estate other than what had been imagined.

Finnegan thought of Evelyn as to be naive and lacking discernment. He was already making gambles with himself over how long it would take before he was yawning from the very memory of her. She was sweet, though, which is why he dressed her in a slightly more romantic and soothing perfume to calm not just her nerves but the nerves of the people around her. It was only humanly for him to think of those his clients encountered, as well. Word of Mouth has been a traditionally sought after marketing prospect, or at least, rumors have lead many to believe it is, but Finnegan believed in Word of Nose, as well. What is a perfume is you cannot smell it? Poison, probably, but the Perfumist only marketed such delicate potions where rumors did not touch. 

— — —

The carriage ride was full of petty talk and quaint subjects. Finnegan pointed out small intricacies in the scenery to give Evelyn more life and comfort in a social situation, as he found it amusing that she had an admiration for the finer details, but the carnal delight that provoked in the woman when she found the man to have entertain in the same small ornaments, was too childish and easy for him. However, he was certain that she would make the night quite interesting regardless of what occurred, and for such a reason, he would not dismiss himself from patiently minding her personality and silly wit. She was after all, within his current courtship and treating her anything less than what he would his future Madame, would be quite boring to his masculinity in one way or another.

And, to make the evening even longer, the arrival to the Super Commander's estate was not truly anything spectacular until the two were directed by a properly dressed suitor of the household. His directions were simple and plain like the escapades lacking for an excellent expose. “The Library is right this way, Sir,” he gracefully motioned the couple down the corridor of the gentry. Evelyn was feeling a bit disappointed by the sight. Although, her genuine ignorance was still fluttering with hope as she followed the Lord's lead. The man had said nothing of distaste towards the staleness, yet she could tell there was something bothering him. The young woman found herself trapped between saying something incorrect and not saying anything at all. She opted to say nothing and held closely to him with one hand, and with the other, she felt the softness of her dress by carefully lifting it for a more appropriate stride alongside Finnegan while she studied the grandeur of the manor.

Upon seeing the entrance to the Library, she held more tightly to him, “Those doors... are oh so lovely, Finnegan,” her voice was spoken in a whisper and sounded as if she had meant to be more stern about the compliment, but in doing so, she lost her breath from the beauty in front of her. She took in several breaths and then, while holding her breath from finding nothing much more to say, her hazel eyes looked up to Finnegan, “And the bookshelves...” He did not seem so impressed by the doors as she did, but a judgement of respect was to be noted. Evelyn wished for him to implore with her in astonishment as he had done so well in the ride to the ball and begged to think it was the mask that was causing a disconnect.

She was most certainly correct. The rosewood doors were quite a lovely choice. There was no denying the once-was ornate architectural work put into the furnishings and decoration of the estate itself, even if the event planning and age was generally quite dull in all senses of fashion, smell included, “They are very lovely, Evelyn,” he spoke gently, attempting not to sound in anyway chastising. He paused their walk, to push a faint, invisible curl from her cheeks, causing her to shy in a blush, “But, so are you, Evelyn.” He was not willing to be anxious about losing her as she turned into a wallflower by allowing the doors of a labyrinth to be more of a masterpiece than herself. Evelyn seemed all the more interested in him, now, and he gave her a frisk of a smile as he suited his own demeanor to waltz into the library. 

Finnegan was actually more than excited to enter the Supreme Commander's library, as a man who was part of the Scholar Guild. Although his patience had waned some time in the carriage and even further through their elongated welcome, his first impression of the Library was nothing remotely close to the disappointment of the estate's inability to understand the proper etiquette in throwing a masquerade ball. Yes, the night was growing in length, but so had his curiosity. He was all the more delighted, having regained the necessary composure for his company. Sometimes, an endlessly bland prologue was necessary for a good opening, which smelled of old books and candles and conversations that were veiled in whispers and heavy symbolism.

These notes were heavily appreciated, and the scenery was too brilliant to deny Evelyn's initial, intuitive reaction. But still, he pulled Evelyn close to him, motioning his hand close to her lower waist as he whispered in her ear, “You truly are beautiful, Evelyn,” he took in the tiniest whiff of her perfume and drew his face to look and lock eyes with her, “I believe our good man, Alexander, is somewhere in this gorgeous library,” his eyes left his lady's before she could respond properly by taking her tempo and looking around various bookshelves with a more innocent gaze, “But first, our dear beautiful Captain Adrianna Kingsford,” he motioned and nodded reverently towards the Captain who was seated studiously near the entrance.
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