Tatiana Vorontsova
October 29, 2019 1:20 PM
Stressed. by Tatiana Vorontsova
Tatiana felt unusually aware of her hair. It was almost entirely loose today, hanging well past her shoulders, brushing at a lower part of her back. Heavy pieces near the front were swept up and back into a sort of pompadour, twisted at the ends to help the pins holding them down just ahead of where she had tied a thin ribbon in place to hold them back; without this, the brown mass would have crossed over the front of her shoulders too, waving and distracting her further by also brushing against her face.She wore her hair this way more days than not, only further restraining more of it with stronger ribbons when she needed to do something physical. Lately, though, it had become more and more common for her to become suddenly aware of it, mostly on days when she received letters from home.
Mama's letter had not even mentioned her appearance, that was the annoying thing. It had mostly been about studying hard for her CATS. However, Mama had just had to mention that if she did well, this would be another thing which would help her impress potential husbands, and that had put her right back to thinking about her hair.
This summer, she would turn sixteen, and would be 'presented.' Before that, a professional hairdresser would twist her hair up on top of her head in some elaborate fashion for the party; afterward, she would be taught to pin it up in a presumably simpler fashion herself, and expected to wear it that way as a rule, because she would be considered a grown-up lady by the standards of Society at home. It was a banner to let everyone know she was old enough to be engaged; Mama and Papa would expect her to be married by twenty, but preferably earlier.
This was inevitable. She had known this was how things would be for as long as she could remember - she remembered in great detail the excitement when Anya had had her hair done up for the first time, though she had missed it with Sonia because of the plague here. It had taken a bit to get used to their faces without their hair falling down loose around them, but she had done it, and it would now seem embarrassingly intimate to see them with their hair down. It was the course of nature. She wasn't surprised that Mama was already talking about impressing suitors. She just was no longer remotely excited or happy about the prospect at all.
She tried to comfort herself with the thought that maybe nobody would want to marry her at all. She did not know many people. She was the third of four daughters. She only spoke English and Russian well; her French was lacking compared to many, and she had no German. She could play the balalaika, but not the piano or harp, and she did not paint well. She was lacking in proper feminine accomplishments and there was little chance of marrying her being particularly profitable. She could, perhaps, dance through her youth with handsome young men, then retire. Being an old maid was normally a life of sadness and seclusion, hidden away on tiny corners of estates, but surely Grisha would not care if she went to visit her American and Canadian friends often, and surely they would still be happy to receive her. She could not imagine Grishka allowing his wife to be too domineering or unpleasant toward her, either, removing the other major problem of being an old maid living on a brother's charity. Perhaps she could just revert to an endless childhood once she was old enough for Mama to give up on, perhaps it could all be all right.
Mama, however, was not a person who gave up easily once she set her mind on something, and her letters sounded ominously as though she had a group of candidates in mind. So Tatiana tried to bury herself in her studies and just avoid thinking about things.
She pushed her hair back again and looked at the books around her. Nobody could tell them exactly which topics would be on the CATS this year, but there were endless guides to which items appeared most often, what might need the most practice, and so forth. She had gathered a considerable number of them around herself and was struggling with them - struggling indeed, because every single one of them was in pure English. She had no Russian resources on the table, trying to prepare for what lay ahead, where she would be expected to function entirely in English.
"Tak mnogo slov," she muttered under her breath, looking up from a prompt about charms of locomotion to rub her eyes. Seeing someone nearby, she offered a weary smile, happy to be distracted if the other person wanted to speak to her, but aware that they were both probably here due to a need to work hard.
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Tatiana Vorontsova
Stressed.
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Dorian Montoir
November 21, 2019 3:58 AM
Distracted by Dorian Montoir
According to the neatly colour-coded schedule he had made himself (and offered copies of to all his friends), Dorian was supposed to be revising charms right now but he was finding it hard to concentrate. He had been finding that in general lately. His time was defined not by the neat little colour coded blocks he had given himself but by letters. By their arrival, their composition and dispatch. That last one seemed like it should have afforded a window in which to get work done, as he had no conflicting interest vying for his attention whilst he awaited a reply, and yet that seemed to be an all-consuming activity within itself - he was always restless, wanting to stare longingly out of the windows and wondering when there would be an owl for him. The only respites were having just received a letter and having just sent one - brief flashes of contentment, of an appetite sated, before the whole process began again. The letter he had received that morning was already dominating his thoughts, sprouting potential replies which he itched to get onto paper, or at least to refine in his head instead of staring at a textbook...Dear Dorian,
As someone who has survived major exams, I have some advice for you. I would like you to place the following somewhere very prominent. It may seem like far too obvious advice, but it really is vital that you remember to do the following... and then, on a separate sheet, in large, slightly spiky letters.
Mange.
Bois de L'EAU
Dormis.
RESPIRE.
Following which, the letter had continued (Apologies, my writing is nowhere near as elegant as yours but you know what they say about healers' handwriting, and I'm worried that if I improve my penmanship too much they might not let me train).
This reminder was now attached to his revision schedule so that it would be the first thing he saw whenever he got out his study materials. He was anxious about the exams, and knowing himself to be distracted did not make it any easier to quiet that. He had not quite confessed this to the source of his distractions, and knowing that Jean-Loup thought he was being diligent and studious was likely to be a good spur - the permanent written reminder seemed like it might serve that purpose just as often as it calmed him down. He would do his best to stick to most of it. He was aware that 'water' was capitalised because he had mentioned something about surviving on tea alone but tea was mostly water, so he didn't think he actually needed to change anything about his habits on that front.
That had been the lighter side of Jean-Loup's letter. On the whole, the letters were kind and funny and warm. However, Dorian had also included some information on the third challenge, which had opened up the subject of Jean-Loup's upcoming birthday. His seventeenth.
I wish I could put you in charge. I can't say I'm particularly fussed about most of the details but my main wish was anything except a ball. Guess what I'm getting? What would you have suggested for someone who understands that they, regrettably, must be shown off and flaunt themselves but who doesn't really want to be forced to take centre stage, or have to do a lot of dancing? I have been allowed an opinion on the flavour of the cake, and part of me really wants to suggest something utterly ridiculous like rose, just to be annoying but I will make a sensible and dignified choice. Do you feel that dark chocolate and cherry befits a young gentleman? I actually like mint chocolate better but that's probably still too controversial.
Maybe there wasn't as much to it as he was reading into it. Maybe it was just meant to be amusing. But Dorian felt frustrated on his behalf, and it felt like a bigger glimpse into how Jean-Loup felt about things than he had had before. And Dorian was itching to reply. Even if he wasn't going to open up about all the ways in which society made him feel stifled, it felt significant. The main thing holding him back was not the little box on his timetable but the fact that he was still trying to dream up the perfect party, even if Jean-Loup could only have it on paper.
Still, in an effort to actually be good and not just spend the morning staring off into space, he had dragged himself down to the library. He much preferred writing letters with some feeling of privacy, and even staring out of the window daydreaming was something he was cautious of doing in public, unable to escape the feeling that he was so transparent that it was as if everyone around him had legilimency powers, or at the very least would judge him for not having his mind on his work.
He was pleased to find Tatya in the library, so that he would have both pleasant company but also perhaps enough peer pressure to keep him on track. He returned her smile, taking the seat beside her, and lay the stack of revision materials topped with their encouraging mantra on the table.
"Kak dela?" he asked.
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Dorian Montoir
Distracted
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Tatiana Vorontsova
November 23, 2019 9:45 AM
Ooh, shiny. by Tatiana Vorontsova
Kak dela. Tatiana thought about it for a moment, wondering what the proper response was, and then shrugged."Ustal," she said. Tired. "Mnogo raboty. Mnogo mama." Much work. Much Mama. "If Mama wants me to do good at test, she should not talk about how a good test makes more people want to marry me," she grumbled.
Dorian, she thought, knew more than anyone else except Katya how much Tatiana was not looking forward to being a grown-up lady, who was expected to simply be a flower in her papa's garden - beautiful, but passive - until she married and was stuck in some strange person's vase, to wither away until she was no longer of any use and was put in a corner with the other potpourri - though she did usually giggle at that point, imagining old women as potpourri and the looks on the faces of some of the old women she knew if she ever told them that. She fiddled with the corner of a page of notes.
"A ty? Is Charms time, yes?" she asked, only mildly teasing. His schedules for studying were extensive and a bit funny, but she couldn't deny that accepting a copy had helped keep her somewhat more organized than was her inclination. By which she meant a lot more organized, as organization was not necessarily one of her stronger skills, at least not outside of her jewelry box. That was organized, every piece carefully accounted for and cleaned on schedule, but studying systematically was far less interesting and therefore something she was far less likely to do without some outside force pushing her, especially since she had developed enough of a bilingual study pattern coupled with a high enough comprehension of spoken English that she no longer felt like she had no choice but to spend almost every spare moment trying to catch up on what she'd missed in class. "I have charms," she pointed out in case he'd missed it.
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Tatiana Vorontsova
Ooh, shiny.
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Dorian Montoir
November 23, 2019 7:21 PM
Yes, he is by Dorian Montoir
Dorian gave Tatiana’s shoulders a sympathetic squeeze and gave her forehead a kiss when she complained about both the work and her mother. He considered promising to be no more interested in marrying her if her grades were good but he wasn’t sure if that was actually going to amuse or somehow offend. He was fairly sure they were on the same page with regards to the idea that marrying each other was utterly comical/icky even without her knowing who he really had feelings for. Still, the subject was clearly a sensitive one, and being told ‘I don’t want to marry you’ was generally an insult. He also wasn’t sure he should entirely rule it out. He was concerned by how stressed Tatya was over this whole thing. He had always known it was coming, and that she had about as much interest in… Well, if he was honest, she had about as much interest in boys as he did in girls. He had just assumed she’d grow up and stop regarding the whole thing as yucky. He was starting to wonder whether it was very specifically the idea of being married to a man that Tatiana had a problem with, and whether they shared the mirror images of the same problem. If so, then maybe marrying each other would be a reasonable solution. It was not ideal. He still believed in the fantasy where he and everyone he cared about got exactly what they wanted - lives filled with love, free from judgement or shame. That he got to marry a boy and keep his family. And, if what Tatya wanted was to marry a girl, then he wanted the same for her. Still, it didn’t hurt to have a back up plan… The only fly in the potion was that he was not Russian, which he was pretty sure was a deal breaker for her family, but if it was that or a life of scandal, perhaps they could overlook his heritage.“I think you will get good grades for being a hard worker,” he stated instead, taking advice number four from his handy cheat sheet, and feeling that it really was going to be useful for more than just exams. Deep breath. Focus on the things he could say and control right now. “And I will be proud of you for being smart, and you should be proud of you for this also. It is not for other people, it is for you.” He knew that Tatya knew this really - at least he hoped she did - but it never hurt to be reminded of the good things. “You fight with English and you win,” he encouraged with a smile. “And if not - if tests are horrible - I love you anyway,” he assured her, feeling like the first part maybe sounded like a lot of pressure.
“Yes, very good,” he acknowledged with a smile when she pointed out it was Charms time and she had Charms. He was not sure, from her tone, whether it was a coincidence that she had the scheduled work in front of her, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She seemed to be a little amused by his need to rationalise and control it all but more because it seemed to be such a counterpoint to her own Pecari nature than because she was laughing at him. She seemed appreciative alongside it, at any rate. He supposed if he had really wanted to get Tatya to have good study habits, he should have linked it somehow to jewellery, but he didn’t have the time for that kind of customisation. “What are you studying?” he asked, not trusting his own mind not to wander if he simply opened his own books, but feeling like he could keep it on the conversation at hand if they worked together - it would be rude not to, after all.
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Dorian Montoir
Yes, he is
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Tatiana Vorontsova
November 25, 2019 10:12 AM
You are pretty shiny too. by Tatiana Vorontsova
Tatiana's resting expression broke into a brilliant smile as Dorian offered better reasons than Mama for studying for her CATS and doing a good job on them."Lyublyu tebya," said Tatiana. "But I do win," she added, lest it sound like she was not planning to fight and, well, win with the English language.
At home, Papa had always thought of Tatiana as smart. For a long time, she had thought of that as who she was - umnaya doch', clever daughter, even though she knew Katya was more accomplished than she was. Tatiana had earned her father's approval - which was now her mother's disapproval - because she had not stuck to the proper accomplishments. She had pushed her nose in everywhere it wasn't supposed to be, insisting on keeping up with her brother and boy cousins instead of staying with the girls like she was supposed to. It had been amusing to Papa, back then, her falling out of trees and getting into scrapes, along with her asking questions and knowing so much about what interested her...
Of course, Papa still talked like that sometimes. When they had guests, Papa bragged about his two daughters who went to school in America and still made good grades. Most of the time, though, Papa talked about his daughters as a unit now - the flower garden. And even he had shaken his head at her once last summer and remarked that he loved her but that she really must grow up.
"We do good on test anyway, though," she said firmly. "Show stupid Amerikanskii they are not better than us."
She looked back at her notes. "This is about moving charms," she said. "Writing about them. I know how to make them go, but hard to write about why it works," she said. "But I must. I will," she said, remembering what she had just said. She glanced at his stack of things and noticed the list on top. “Chto eto?” she asked, noting the handwriting looked unlike his.
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Tatiana Vorontsova
You are pretty shiny too.
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