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It was time yet again to undertake an onerous chore: deciding what to wear for the Feast of Fools. Claudia glowered at her closet, wondering how much trouble she'd get into if she "accidentally" tossed a lighted match inside...after dousing the contents with gasoline. Probably more than she'd care to handle, really. So she merely sighed, strode determinedly forward and dove in. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, or so the saying went.

Two hours later (and with all sorts of clothing scattered everywhere), she'd narrowed the selection to two choices: formal, and ultra-formal. No doubt of which one she was expected to wear; her mother had sent up the latter just the other day, clearly Claudia was to take the hint.

--God, she needed a drink.

[ooc: Claudia Chareut, Nine of Diamonds, Assistant Director of HR and Pierre's half-sister. Info and such is in the journal; feel free to drop in to help out the poor girl's frustration! Also, can has tag?]

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Standing in the doorway, Tally peers into Claudia's rooms thoughtfully. "I swear, there was a Five of Clubs who wore that dress last Christmas." Pointing to the more formal one as she speaks. "Their scribe, the cute one."

Well, that's what she got for leaving the door open. Claudia turned, spying the Jack, and quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh? Well, that settles the problem then." Quite nonchalantly, but jerkily, she snatched the "old" gown and uncaringly tossed it back in the closet, heading for the credenza and the Scotch.

"There you go, then." She looks the other dress over thoughtfully. "Takes a special kind of redhead to make a red dress look good. I don't tend to try, most of the time. Too much work."

"'tis the Season," Claudia remarked, refilling her glass. "If I were to appear in any other color, my mother would be bitching about the audacity for the next six months."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "No, thank you."

"My condolences. I'm lucky that my parents don't give me half as much trouble, now that I hold a higher rank than both of them. The idea seems to be that I've done something right with myself." She shrugs, not so sure for herself.

Oh, Claudia could wish. But she firmly believed that Martine Chareut would be giving orders on her damned deathbed. Granted, Claudia held to her own goals these days, but it was still a chore to keep the old woman at arm's length.

"Thank you." Dropping into a chair, she rubbed the bridge of her nose briefly. "I doubt it matters what rank I'll eventually attain; Martine believes herself to be Mistress of All I Do, so I'm more or less obliged to endure it until she finally drops dead." A firm gulp of whiskey. "Of painful and sudden heart failure, I do devoutly hope."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Should I show myself out?" Tally's actually a little surprised to hear that kind of death-wishing, to be honest.

It was no surprise how most breathing and rational individuals felt about Martine Chareut. Hell, Martine herself gloried in the fact that she was that important.

"Only if you've aught better to do," Claudia replied off-handedly. "I'm going to sit here until I get tipsy, myself. There's plenty more, if you'd like a glass."

She steps in, pouring herself a glass with a sigh. "Thank you for the invitation. Do you need to vent?"

Claudia laughed a bit tightly.

"Oh God, Tally. If I started, we'd be here till the summer." She shook her head. "No, not really. I just need to survive this Feast, and then get back to work."

So she could lose herself in routine and ignore her mother's churlish idiocy.

"Yeah. Once the holidays are over, I get to go back into my training schedule full-time." She nods a bit, thoughtfully. "At least, until Easter rolls back around."

"Mm, my sympathies." Physical exertion wasn't exactly one of Claudia's favorite pastimes. Granted, she did enjoy horseback riding and archery, but that was about the extent of her hobbies outside the Castle.

"Never could get the hang of swords-and-daggers-oh-my myself."

"I'd go with the first, if it was me." There was no rank too high to be shanghaied into bringing Nines extra scotch, apparently. Or there probably was, but Ben had several challenges to go before he got there. And he wasn't all that inclined to box his way up to Eight or Nine so he could get out of hauling lovely ladies very good alcohol.

"But then, I expect I can just get away with a suit for the occasion, so who am I to say?"

Pair of shoes in one hand and hose in the other, Claudia glanced up from her rummaging at the voice, irritably blowing a lock of hair out of her face. A glint lit her eyes at seeing Ben, but the slight smile appeared when she noted his offering.

"Oh?" Straightening, she tossed aside the shoes and hose, opting for the more useful potent whiskey. Thanking him with a nod, Claudia took a sip, saying, "Prefer the slink, do you?" A wry snort. "Yes, do rub it in, why don't you, hm?"

"Any redblooded heterosexual man is going to vote for the dress that looks a bit closer to lingerie." And the second dress, while lovely, was definitely a gown.

"A little bird caught me in the hall and said you were out of single malt Glenmorangie."

A sharp eyebrow went up. "I'll have to remember that, then. Particularly when the objective is to 'turn heads'." Taking another slow sip, Claudia gestured. "Feel free to join me; glasses are on the credenza."

Eyeing him a bit thoughtfully, she asked, "And what are you sporting to this little soireé, hm? I do hope it's tailored." Being "coy" wasn't generally in Claudia's repertoire, but something about Ben almost demanded it.

Apparently there was something about him, considering his list of past and currents. Something, possibly, in the sly smile and mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nothing but my very best flannel shirt will do for such an occasion, m'lady," he said, with a bit more of a brogue. "How much of a glare d'you think King Silas would give me for it?" In reality, he'll wear a suit. He's got them, after all.

Claudia's lip curled. "Silas might not object all that much, other than a raised eyebrow. Who knows, it might even make him laugh." One of her own eyebrows wiggled. "Or at least snort into his drink. Goodness knows the man needs to find something amusing these days."

"That's the key though, isn't it?" Ben said. "You have to find something amusing of your own volition. Make your own sense of humor, so to say." Ben certainly wouldn't be able to play the grinning fool quite as much as he did if he didn't have a well developed sense of the ridiculous about the twists and turns that had gotten him here.

"Life isn't a Buster Keaton film. Often, at least."

Claudia...didn't have one. Or, she surmised, if she did, it was definitely vile. Dealing with her mother, Aunt, her half-brother and managing her own duties within the Suit certainly left no time in her schedule for levity. She feared she was doomed to become horribly sarcastic, in her old age.

"Oh, I find lots amusing, Ben," she told him wryly. "Trouble is, they're things I'm not supposed to find funny, simply because most people would consider them horrible." Like her matron's ever increasing degeneration into senility, or her Aunt's insistence upon wearing clothing tailored to the teenage crowd and sporting enough makeup to shame the most hardened professional clown alive.

"...who is Buster Keaton?"

Now, a vile sense of humor can be the very best kind. So far as Ben's concerned, at least. Life can be black enough that you could only really combat it with even blacker humor.

And besides that, he often hid a smile around Claudia's Britney Spears of an aunt.

"Humor's not meant to be proper, I don't think," he said as he sipped his whiskey. "If it was proper, it'd just be normal, run of the mill life. Humor is when things get odd."

As for the question, he just shook his head. "Sometimes I forget that a lot of the classics don't make it here. He was a film comedian. The first one, you might say, back in the silent era."

Claudia gave him a saturnine glance. "Have you looked around, Ben? Odd was born here, dear boy." She gestured, indicating the Outside and all its peculiarities. "It's out there that's horrifying." The whiskey was starting to loosen her tongue; for all her habitual sipping, the Chareut heir was still a lightweight.

Glass propped on her chin, she mused thoughtfully, "When I was going to college in New York, I saw things that absolutely terrified me. And everyone else just treated it like normal happenstance. But when I returned here, and slipped back into 'normal Deck life' and was forced to deal with this idiocy, well, that always struck me as funny, for some reason."

She slowly refilled her glass, adding, "Probably because it's more acceptable to snicker at it than run down the hall screaming."

"So I've noticed." He raised an eyebrow, though, dipping his head down for a moment. "Some things here can be fairly horrifying," he noted quietly, before giving her an inquiring look.

"What kinds of things Outside terrified you, milady?"

God, where to start? Claudia thought back over her time Outside, memories she'd tried not to visit for almost a decade now. Before she realized it, she heard herself saying, "...all those homeless people." The Deck had no such thing.

"The--ignorant violence they visit on each other." Drive-by shootings. She'd actually witnessed one, window shopping downtown. It was only by a miracle she'd avoided being detained for witness questioning. "Drug addicts, alcoholics, degenerates who seem not to care for their situation, just...eke their way through life, somehow."

Unconsciously, she shivered, then took another healthy dose of Scotch. Looking over at Ben, she asked seriously, "How can individuals...live like that?" A Diamond born and bred, she'd never known poverty, or the lack of, well, anything. Recalling such things firmly kept in the forefront of her mind the absolute absurdity of her mother's asinine schemes and other nonsense.

He nodded a little, looking away. He'd seen a lot of violence, of course - first as a cop, and then in his second, less legal career as a gun runner with IRA connections.

"It's not so different from here," he told her. "Not at the core of it. This is a smaller place, more stringently governed, and so the violence we've got is carefully contained. The struggles for power can be governed because there's not many of us. There's no desperation. But out there..." He grimaced a bit. "Not everyone has the same choices. For some, there's little else but desperation, and little to do but turn to crime to live."

Claudia shook her head, swirling the remaining ice in her glass. "It's...horrible. I can't--I just can't even imagine." It wasn't the squalor or violence or filth that unnerved her, but the acceptance writ on every hopeless face.

"How do they do it? Just--lie down and take it?" She'd been pushed, prodded, shoved along all of her life, striving for perfection; she'd never been allowed to simply stop. "It seems...a terrible waste. A hopeless ruin of, well, of nothing."

Rambling to a halt, she blinked, stared into her glass and realized it was empty. Then frowned, annoyed at herself. "Jesus," she whispered, propping her head on one hand, "I'm rambling, how bloody idiotic..."

He scratches the bridge of his nose, considers whether to say that they're clawing their way to survival as best they can, given the circumstances, and then just releases a calm sigh.

"It sounds like you've had a long day, Lady Claudia," he said.

Rather than finish the whiskey in her glass, Claudia stared at it for a moment, then put it on the dresser and pushed it away. It wasn't often she let herself imbibe unchecked, and she was acutely conscious of the need for numbness happening more and more.

"--you're quite right," she replied with a semi-forced smile. Kicking herself for this show of weakness, she felt her bland, perfect mask returning, despite her loathing of such a firewall. "There's been so much to do lately, what with organizing the coming Feast, this problem with individuals being unable to leave; it's been quite trying."

Decorum. Decorum she could do. "But I do thank you for your kind concern, Mr. Mackinnon." Despite her formality, she twinkled slightly. "And for the good Scotch."

"Not at all, Miss Chareut," Ben said with a matching twinkle in his, and a neat bow. "Enjoy the dress selection, if at all possible."

As for the rest, he certainly wouldn't be mentioning this conversation. He'd long ago learned the virtues of keeping his mouth shut, after all.

Claudia returned him a cool nod, glancing back at the two outfits with a jaundiced eye. Formality was so...time consuming. And pointless, in the long run.

"I'll make every effort," she promised, tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear. "And even save you a dance, if you like." Wouldn't that just set Martine's blood pressure to volcanic proportions?

She wasn't worried about gossip; far worse had been bounced around before, thanks to the women of her family and their love for prevarication. Not that many would believe it anyway; Claudia Chareut? Baring her soul to a mere Five? What nonsense!

Edited 2012-12-29 03:57 (UTC)

"You're looking freshly annoyed." He wasn't far away, but he was out of reach. She just wasn't looking very happy, and actually looked fairly cranky, and Silas knew Chareut women. Silas knew Claudia. Probably for the best that he just. Stay over here for the moment.

"I've found that wine soothes the temper far more readily than does liquor, you know." But then, that's his poison of choice. Might just be a matter of preference.

"Wine stopped doing the trick years ago, Majesty," Claudia replied blandly, capping the bottle. "But I've a bottle chilled, if you'd like." She reached for a fresh wineglass and set it on the sideboard, stepping over to the small liqueur cooler she kept in her quarters.

"And I do apologize for my pique; Mother's been at it again, I'm afraid." If she bashed her head on the wall, would it mar the paint?

"I don't think one glass would go amiss," he agreed, watching her with carefully concerned eyes. Normally so composed, and now it's somewhat obvious that she's trying to keep herself in check.

"There's no apology necessary, darling. You just have to accept that, when one is a member of a very old, very powerful family in the Deck, there are expectations. You may choose to live up to them, or you may choose to bypass them, but they will continue to exist either way."

Claudia retrieved the cold bottle from the fridge and set it beside the glass, gesturing for him to help himself. A very chewy red vintage, perfect for closing the door and letting the world pass right on by.

She dropped into a nearby chair, sprawled somewhat inelegantly thanks to three previous tumblers of Scotch. "Oh, I'm know there are. I've only had to memorize each and every one since I was five years old." A mulish look settled. "I simply have no intention of parading about as a 'live doll' with the intention of becoming the next Chareut broodmare, thank you."

Uncorking the bottle with a practiced ease, Silas poured himself a glass and offered the bottle for her before putting the stopper back into it. A single sip had his eyes closing and a smile on his face.

Man's a sucker for a good red wine.

"Then what will you do, Claudia? Your mother is an influential woman, though her rank is low. It's not out of the realm of possibility that you'll be on your own, darling." He inclines his head, tone gentle. "What would you do then?"

She could make it on her own. She could. Because she'd done so before. Although there wasn't a soul in the Deck who knew it. And she was determined to keep it that way.

But to the king she shrugged a slim shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "Whatever I had to, Sire." Claudia gave him an arch little glance. "I'm not entirely helpless, you know."

"I don't doubt it," he answers with a wink. "But even so, being without one's family can be difficult, emotionally speaking. However miserable they may make us, losing the connection to those with whom we share blood is never easy." He's speaking from experience, there.

She'd never dare to call her current family relationships "healthy", Silas. In fact, those eighteen months away from those morons were, quite possibly, the best she'd yet experienced. And as of late, Claudia was starting to question why she'd bothered to come back at all.

"Somehow, I don't think I'd have that much of a problem getting over it, Majesty." Bland, unemotional, very very cool response, that.

Never once did he refer to her relationships as healthy. But neither was his relationship with his own parents, and yet he still mourned their passing. So maybe she didn't expect any difficulty or pain or anything else, but she may find herself surprised when the time came.

Instead of saying so, he simply shrugged.

"Only time will tell, my dear. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, and not a moment sooner, mm?" He smiled warmly. "Take a look at this, please. I've been meaning to get it down here, but some other things have taken precedence." Namely dealing with the slowly dwindling supplies.

In the file he handed over was specifications for an assistant required for Rachel's assistant, and one of his own, too. "Anyone come to mind off the top of your head?"

She gave the files a glance, idly wondering if snatching them out of his damned hands and flinging all of the damned things into the cheerily burning fireplace would be considered...rude. But diplomacy took over before she could yield to such an impulse and she did take them, only to flip through cursorily.

"Hmm...I'll have to mediate on it a bit." She made to rub the bridge of her nose, thought better of it and shrugged a shoulder instead. "It seems we're getting alarmingly thin on top around here. Avery asked me not an hour ago about potentials for her own assistant. And Lord knows I need two. Or possibly three." Not that she couldn't handle her workload, never.

"There's only so much that we can do to balance things," he sighed. Silas was very aware of the thin upper numbers, but he couldn't exactly bring Twos and Threes to Eights and Nines without some serious issue, so it was probably better that he let it go and they all make do as best they could. He'd been needing an assistant for months, though, so it was time to just figure someone out and go with it.

"Take your time with it, though. I know Pip is good for Avery, so if she's after another one, things will have to be reprioritized." Silas could do with a Pip of his own, but Avery has the only one in the world. He'll settle for someone similar, at least.

"I'll take care of it." And she would. Just as soon as she got through the oncoming hangover. But Claudia knew she was going to have to start cutting down on the booze, there were other, more constructive ways of handling her stress. But she was a Chareut; nothing was ever wrong.

"Thank you."

He hesitated a moment, though, inclining his head. "Is there anything I can do to make things easier?" His workload was already obscene, but Silas had never been one to let others suffer if he could help, even if it was to his own detriment.

Oh, several. But none he'd have the taste for, she was sure. Because assassination was simply so uncouth. It took effort, but Claudia managed to keep her face carefully neutral; Diamonds always reflected dazzlingly, they did.

"It's fine, Sire." Empty platitudes, but the correct responses nevertheless. "You've no need to worry about me." And pity she despised. Regardless of Silas' intentions. Concern was just another form of it, to her.

He couldn't force help on her, and she'd only resent him if he tried, so he let it go. Smiled and inclined his head to her. "If you need anything, Claudia, you know how to reach me. My job is to oversee all of it and provide aid where I can. Call me and I'll come do what I can."

With that, he was turning to take his leave unless there was anything further. "Thank you for the wine, darling."

She nodded in return, taking his empty wineglass and setting it aside. "You're welcome, Sire." Though cordial, her tone was unpressing. She wanted nothing more than to find a corner and hide, hopefully forever.

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I recognize that dress...

It's preeety.

Yush, yush it is.

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