Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2015 17:24:16 GMT -5
"Set another tray of pinwheel pastries on the fourth table from the right -- oh, and make sure that front table has both the sugared plums and the candied peaches -- it might be a bit much, but, who doesn't love sweet things?"
Antoinette's voice was low but a touch fast, her words clearly a stream of consciousness; her small hands, gloved in a delicate lace number, wringing briefly together before pulling apart, moving to clasp at her waist -- a better effort to contain these small, subtle signals of anxiousness. Her words were cast out into the air, her blue gaze scanning the room, making sure each of the tables she had painstakingly planned was holding up to her overall vision of grandeur -- but it was the steward at her side who would answer her calls; Brunnild on her other side, the maid far more beautifully coiffed than she usually was; having even been given the honor of being dressed in one of Antoinette's selected gowns. This was to be a fine afternoon for them all; and Brunnild's demure smile could hardly be contained as she waited at her mistress' elbow, eager to join in the occasion.
The High Tea had just started a half hour before, but there were still women arriving -- the great hall in the eastern wing filling with the melodious noises of mingling female voices and clinking tea cups, the reverberating titter of laughter punctuating the air every so often. So far, it seemed to be going swimmingly -- and could Antoinette ask for, expect for, more? No; this was enough. To gather these women in conversation, in occasion for deeper connection that the previous sport. Antoinette herself had not taken a seat just yet; but she would shortly.
But for the moment, she was too busy surveying her playing field.
Antoinette's voice was low but a touch fast, her words clearly a stream of consciousness; her small hands, gloved in a delicate lace number, wringing briefly together before pulling apart, moving to clasp at her waist -- a better effort to contain these small, subtle signals of anxiousness. Her words were cast out into the air, her blue gaze scanning the room, making sure each of the tables she had painstakingly planned was holding up to her overall vision of grandeur -- but it was the steward at her side who would answer her calls; Brunnild on her other side, the maid far more beautifully coiffed than she usually was; having even been given the honor of being dressed in one of Antoinette's selected gowns. This was to be a fine afternoon for them all; and Brunnild's demure smile could hardly be contained as she waited at her mistress' elbow, eager to join in the occasion.
The High Tea had just started a half hour before, but there were still women arriving -- the great hall in the eastern wing filling with the melodious noises of mingling female voices and clinking tea cups, the reverberating titter of laughter punctuating the air every so often. So far, it seemed to be going swimmingly -- and could Antoinette ask for, expect for, more? No; this was enough. To gather these women in conversation, in occasion for deeper connection that the previous sport. Antoinette herself had not taken a seat just yet; but she would shortly.
But for the moment, she was too busy surveying her playing field.
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[OOC: Feel free to seat yourselves! Be there already or arrive just now; or you can @antoinette and I will seat you where I see fit ]