If Mahan Could See Us Now
- Thread starter 4WheelSword
- Start date
- Original
- Location
- Somewhere!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Visit the palaces that belonged to a long dead Queen.
I wanna know how history went differently here?
I wanna know how history went differently here?
- Location
- Somewhere in the stacks
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Oh fuck. I missed this option.
[X] Visit the palaces that belonged to a long dead Queen.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
[X] Visit the palaces that belonged to a long dead Queen.
Convinced
Convinced
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
[X] Climb the Eiffel Tower! Visit a Gallery! Get some culture.
[X] Visit the palaces that belonged to a long dead Queen.
xa na xa
A.E.I.O.U. - Antarticae est imperare orbi universo
- Location
- σ Octantis
[X] Visit the palaces that belonged to a long dead Queen.
I want to know more about how Marie-Antoinette crushed a rebellion against the crown, set out to conquer the continent, only to be shot in the head by a stray fire from the defenders of a besieged fortress as she was observing them from a trench.
I want to know more about how Marie-Antoinette crushed a rebellion against the crown, set out to conquer the continent, only to be shot in the head by a stray fire from the defenders of a besieged fortress as she was observing them from a trench.
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
[X] Visit the palaces that belonged to a long dead Queen.
-[x] bother Sasha until she agrees to teach us foriegn tounges.
I like the idea of coffee shops being where the politics are, but I also feel like the characters don't have a personal connection to the sweep of history that drives Zepplin so hard. Getting context and seeing possible hints of ourselves in old contexts could give a hook to actually care about our upcoming speech for ourselves, and not just as an instrument of another. (A reason to be a player, not a piece.)
And the subvote is an attempt to address a big source of discomfort I've noticed when Sasha interacts with others, or that peacock tried to get to us at the party.
...plus the op for innuendo...
-[x] bother Sasha until she agrees to teach us foriegn tounges.
I like the idea of coffee shops being where the politics are, but I also feel like the characters don't have a personal connection to the sweep of history that drives Zepplin so hard. Getting context and seeing possible hints of ourselves in old contexts could give a hook to actually care about our upcoming speech for ourselves, and not just as an instrument of another. (A reason to be a player, not a piece.)
And the subvote is an attempt to address a big source of discomfort I've noticed when Sasha interacts with others, or that peacock tried to get to us at the party.
...plus the op for innuendo...
C5P3: A palace to die for
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
"Is this enough of a sight for you?" Sasha asks, as you step off a train into the grounds of a gigantic palatial structure. "Le Château de Versailles, the long empty residence of a long deposed monarch."
It certainly is stunning. Two huge wings, glittering gold and ivory in the morning sun, flank a broad avenue that leads up to an entranceway that could almost be built for an ancient temple. The columns are towering and the fresco that tops them is visible even from a hundred metres distant or more, a depiction of ancient gods carousing in grand and hedonistic fashion.
You've seen palaces, castles and mansions before - von Zeppelin's only the most recent - but nothing on this scale or grandeur and that is obvious enough only from the outside. It is not just the sight either, but a smell as well. Orange, lavender and violet perfumes drift across the boulevard as you walk up towards the entrance arm in arm.
"It's the gardens, if you're wondering about the smell. The last queen expanded them into a glorious celebration of Gallian floriculture, and let me tell you that that is something they take exceedingly seriously here. The entire palace has been a wondrous example of fragrances ever since."
"Have you been here before?" At this point nothing would surprise you about Sasha's past and this would be just another addition on a list of things she's never seen fit to share. She takes your arm and smiles, leading you up the broad path.
"No, never, but I've wanted to ever since I was a child. The fall of the Gallian monarchy and the Revolution was a central part of the education my family insisted I be endowed with." She smirks, "The intention, I believe, was to prepare me to put down any rebellious tendencies amongst our own people."
"Your parents were forward thinking," whoever they were.
"And foolish. It does no good to prepare your child for everything if you're just going to cast them out at the first conflict." her expression and tone darken for the briefest of moments before she shrugs it off. "But today is not about that. I want to show you history much older than my own, my love."
The palace, a series of signs informed you, had recently finished a twenty year course of restoration and conservation which had restored it to the beauty it had been famed for in the days of 'Madame du Crecy' the last Gallian Queen. Her reign had ended in revolution, but while it lasted it had been dogged by rumours of her and the King's somewhat less than savoury activities.
The 'Gallerie des Glaces' or hall of mirrors is both one of the first destinations of your promenade and one of the most famous. Twenty-four beautifully polished mirrored arches face twenty-four tall windows which show off the brightly coloured gardens beyond. The floor is deep, dark wood, varnished and shining, and even the walls between the glass and mirrors seems to glitter and shine. It is truly a beautiful room and a grand depiction of the sheer wealth and excess of the nations monarchy and of the states apparent desire to remember them.
"An Empire was born in this room, y'know." Sasha murmurs as you walk amongst the few other tourists, arm in arm and comfortable. There is a low babble amongst the crowd, just loud enough to cover the tap of your cane and the clump of your prosthetic and to almost lose her words in.
"Gallian? I hadn't realised they'd ever had one." They had a kingdom and then a republic, you remember that much from your schooling. But Sasha was someone who has always chosen her words carefully and this doesn't feel like an error.
"No, not them. The Dyskelande Empire was formed here, forty years ago or so, after a war. A union of Europan nations defeated Gallia so thoroughly that they used this ancient seat of Kings to declare themselves a new nation."
"That's incredible," You look at the room with a new eye as you try and sense the sheer magnitude of the history that this space represents. It is not just Gallian history then, but Europan. It is so easy to forget that Dyskelande is such a young country, older as it is than you. But this is where it was created.
"It was terrible. The treaty that followed that declaration barely touched the cities but the rural folk suffered greatly. There were many unkind years, from what I've read." Her voice is monotone but you can feel the rage in her throat and in the muscles of her hand that grips your arm.
"That's- I don't understand. Why must they suffer?"
"It is always the people who suffer when the great men go to war, you've seen that. Whether war is between nations or not, but perhaps they suffer more so when it is believed that a nation fights for a true purpose. As for why, well… I wish I had an answer for you."
Her silence is almost as much of a gut punch as the realisation of what the history of this place means. You chew your lip and fight the ill-feelings in your belly. It does seem that no matter where you go, you cannot escape the grip of war and death and violence. Even the Counts own people are not free of it. It is disheartening in the utmost to realise how much you will be fighting against when you speak; not just the sheer brutality of politics but also righteousness and the diplomats faith in conflict as the final step in enacting policy.
You continue on your tour of the palace but now neither of you are speaking or pointing or laughing as you had been just a few moments before. You can feel a weight on your shoulders which you had slipped for a handful of days and it weighs heavy.
You pass through rooms upon rooms, lavish bedrooms and beautiful halls, receiving chambers and similar. Each is yet another layer of opulence pasted across the last and by the time you get outside and manage to walk in the sunshine and scents and the buzzing of bees there is a part of you that almost feels sickened by the entire experience. The level of wealth still on display there inside those thin walls, none of it being used, surely it is entirely unnecessary. Who is it for? What purpose down it serve?
"Can you smell it? The orange blossom?" Sasha suddenly asks, stopping and taking a deep breath. You look at her for a moment before closing your eyes and inhaling. It's there, you can smell it, the sharp tang of citrus underneath the others. It's wonderful, in a way.
"I suppose so, yes." You answer, struggling to feel excited.
"Oh Koshka, what is the matter? I didn't bring you here to watch you be glum, even if you are still beautiful with such a frown on your face." Her smile is, if you let it be, infectious. But you don't want to let it be. She touches your chin and her smile saddens somewhat. "Look, I know what will cheer you up. You remember the Queens apartments, yes? The second set we visited?"
"Yes. They were a little less fancy, I believe, though I can't say anything in particular stood out."
"Oh no? Perhaps I misjudged you, dearest, I thought you had a sharper eye than that."
"What do you mean?" You ask, turning on her. You hate to admit that she has caught your interest, but there's no use denying it. Damn her and her well established habit of wanting to make you happy and keep you in kindness and care. It's wondrously frustrating when all you want to do is mope.
"Her art, it's mostly original and hung where the last Queen chose it to be. Did nothing stand out?"
You fold your arms and think, tapping your remaining foot on the ground in mock frustration. In truth, little stands out in your memory. There were a lot of women, hunting scenes, skin, animals, bare flesh. Perhaps that was it? But wasn't that simply the style then?
"There was an awful lot of nudity." you eventually respond.
"Yes, there certainly was."
"People playing games as well. Sports and cards and such."
"What sort of people?" her grin says she is certainly teasing you now and you can't decide whether it is charming or frustrating or, as is more likely, both.
"Well, women of course." You roll your eyes at her expression in mock despair, "Tell me! Tell me what it is, Sasha. I swear, you are nothing but frustrating however much I love you, Liybimaya."
She laughs, a deep sonorous chuckle which makes your heart sing.
"Okay, okay. It is rumoured, though well understood as true in certain circles, that both the King and Queen of Gallia in the last era of the kingdom were of a more open persuasion than perhaps was expected of them or acceptable." She raises an eyebrow and you can't help but laugh, "The Madame du Crecy especially was a woman who welcomed many of her friends and confidants of the female persuasion into her bed."
"Oh! That… that explains all the flesh tones in her art."
"That is a very subtle way to put it, yes."
"Wait, hold on. Was that why, uh. The revolution, they killed her, yes?" There's a sinking feeling in your gut which threatens to quickly replace the growing happiness.
"They killed her, yes. But not, as far as anyone knows, for her choice of lovers. It was her husband's financial failings that did that."
"Ah, well. I suppose that's better." And it is, in some small way. It's a connection to a past you didn't have before, if only through you attractions and predilections. You are no queen, but hundreds of years ago there was, you now know, another woman who shared your passion. That will do, as a lesson to take away from the day. That will do.
Where to next?
[ ] Hesperia (not!Spain)
[ ] Otrusia (not!Italy)
[ ] Albia (not!UK)
It certainly is stunning. Two huge wings, glittering gold and ivory in the morning sun, flank a broad avenue that leads up to an entranceway that could almost be built for an ancient temple. The columns are towering and the fresco that tops them is visible even from a hundred metres distant or more, a depiction of ancient gods carousing in grand and hedonistic fashion.
You've seen palaces, castles and mansions before - von Zeppelin's only the most recent - but nothing on this scale or grandeur and that is obvious enough only from the outside. It is not just the sight either, but a smell as well. Orange, lavender and violet perfumes drift across the boulevard as you walk up towards the entrance arm in arm.
"It's the gardens, if you're wondering about the smell. The last queen expanded them into a glorious celebration of Gallian floriculture, and let me tell you that that is something they take exceedingly seriously here. The entire palace has been a wondrous example of fragrances ever since."
"Have you been here before?" At this point nothing would surprise you about Sasha's past and this would be just another addition on a list of things she's never seen fit to share. She takes your arm and smiles, leading you up the broad path.
"No, never, but I've wanted to ever since I was a child. The fall of the Gallian monarchy and the Revolution was a central part of the education my family insisted I be endowed with." She smirks, "The intention, I believe, was to prepare me to put down any rebellious tendencies amongst our own people."
"Your parents were forward thinking," whoever they were.
"And foolish. It does no good to prepare your child for everything if you're just going to cast them out at the first conflict." her expression and tone darken for the briefest of moments before she shrugs it off. "But today is not about that. I want to show you history much older than my own, my love."
The palace, a series of signs informed you, had recently finished a twenty year course of restoration and conservation which had restored it to the beauty it had been famed for in the days of 'Madame du Crecy' the last Gallian Queen. Her reign had ended in revolution, but while it lasted it had been dogged by rumours of her and the King's somewhat less than savoury activities.
The 'Gallerie des Glaces' or hall of mirrors is both one of the first destinations of your promenade and one of the most famous. Twenty-four beautifully polished mirrored arches face twenty-four tall windows which show off the brightly coloured gardens beyond. The floor is deep, dark wood, varnished and shining, and even the walls between the glass and mirrors seems to glitter and shine. It is truly a beautiful room and a grand depiction of the sheer wealth and excess of the nations monarchy and of the states apparent desire to remember them.
"An Empire was born in this room, y'know." Sasha murmurs as you walk amongst the few other tourists, arm in arm and comfortable. There is a low babble amongst the crowd, just loud enough to cover the tap of your cane and the clump of your prosthetic and to almost lose her words in.
"Gallian? I hadn't realised they'd ever had one." They had a kingdom and then a republic, you remember that much from your schooling. But Sasha was someone who has always chosen her words carefully and this doesn't feel like an error.
"No, not them. The Dyskelande Empire was formed here, forty years ago or so, after a war. A union of Europan nations defeated Gallia so thoroughly that they used this ancient seat of Kings to declare themselves a new nation."
"That's incredible," You look at the room with a new eye as you try and sense the sheer magnitude of the history that this space represents. It is not just Gallian history then, but Europan. It is so easy to forget that Dyskelande is such a young country, older as it is than you. But this is where it was created.
"It was terrible. The treaty that followed that declaration barely touched the cities but the rural folk suffered greatly. There were many unkind years, from what I've read." Her voice is monotone but you can feel the rage in her throat and in the muscles of her hand that grips your arm.
"That's- I don't understand. Why must they suffer?"
"It is always the people who suffer when the great men go to war, you've seen that. Whether war is between nations or not, but perhaps they suffer more so when it is believed that a nation fights for a true purpose. As for why, well… I wish I had an answer for you."
Her silence is almost as much of a gut punch as the realisation of what the history of this place means. You chew your lip and fight the ill-feelings in your belly. It does seem that no matter where you go, you cannot escape the grip of war and death and violence. Even the Counts own people are not free of it. It is disheartening in the utmost to realise how much you will be fighting against when you speak; not just the sheer brutality of politics but also righteousness and the diplomats faith in conflict as the final step in enacting policy.
You continue on your tour of the palace but now neither of you are speaking or pointing or laughing as you had been just a few moments before. You can feel a weight on your shoulders which you had slipped for a handful of days and it weighs heavy.
You pass through rooms upon rooms, lavish bedrooms and beautiful halls, receiving chambers and similar. Each is yet another layer of opulence pasted across the last and by the time you get outside and manage to walk in the sunshine and scents and the buzzing of bees there is a part of you that almost feels sickened by the entire experience. The level of wealth still on display there inside those thin walls, none of it being used, surely it is entirely unnecessary. Who is it for? What purpose down it serve?
"Can you smell it? The orange blossom?" Sasha suddenly asks, stopping and taking a deep breath. You look at her for a moment before closing your eyes and inhaling. It's there, you can smell it, the sharp tang of citrus underneath the others. It's wonderful, in a way.
"I suppose so, yes." You answer, struggling to feel excited.
"Oh Koshka, what is the matter? I didn't bring you here to watch you be glum, even if you are still beautiful with such a frown on your face." Her smile is, if you let it be, infectious. But you don't want to let it be. She touches your chin and her smile saddens somewhat. "Look, I know what will cheer you up. You remember the Queens apartments, yes? The second set we visited?"
"Yes. They were a little less fancy, I believe, though I can't say anything in particular stood out."
"Oh no? Perhaps I misjudged you, dearest, I thought you had a sharper eye than that."
"What do you mean?" You ask, turning on her. You hate to admit that she has caught your interest, but there's no use denying it. Damn her and her well established habit of wanting to make you happy and keep you in kindness and care. It's wondrously frustrating when all you want to do is mope.
"Her art, it's mostly original and hung where the last Queen chose it to be. Did nothing stand out?"
You fold your arms and think, tapping your remaining foot on the ground in mock frustration. In truth, little stands out in your memory. There were a lot of women, hunting scenes, skin, animals, bare flesh. Perhaps that was it? But wasn't that simply the style then?
"There was an awful lot of nudity." you eventually respond.
"Yes, there certainly was."
"People playing games as well. Sports and cards and such."
"What sort of people?" her grin says she is certainly teasing you now and you can't decide whether it is charming or frustrating or, as is more likely, both.
"Well, women of course." You roll your eyes at her expression in mock despair, "Tell me! Tell me what it is, Sasha. I swear, you are nothing but frustrating however much I love you, Liybimaya."
She laughs, a deep sonorous chuckle which makes your heart sing.
"Okay, okay. It is rumoured, though well understood as true in certain circles, that both the King and Queen of Gallia in the last era of the kingdom were of a more open persuasion than perhaps was expected of them or acceptable." She raises an eyebrow and you can't help but laugh, "The Madame du Crecy especially was a woman who welcomed many of her friends and confidants of the female persuasion into her bed."
"Oh! That… that explains all the flesh tones in her art."
"That is a very subtle way to put it, yes."
"Wait, hold on. Was that why, uh. The revolution, they killed her, yes?" There's a sinking feeling in your gut which threatens to quickly replace the growing happiness.
"They killed her, yes. But not, as far as anyone knows, for her choice of lovers. It was her husband's financial failings that did that."
"Ah, well. I suppose that's better." And it is, in some small way. It's a connection to a past you didn't have before, if only through you attractions and predilections. You are no queen, but hundreds of years ago there was, you now know, another woman who shared your passion. That will do, as a lesson to take away from the day. That will do.
Where to next?
[ ] Hesperia (not!Spain)
[ ] Otrusia (not!Italy)
[ ] Albia (not!UK)
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
[X] Hesperia (not!Spain)
I'm curious about Hesperia, since I'm unfamiliar with pre-WWI Spain. And Italy too I guess, but even more so Spain.
I'm curious about Hesperia, since I'm unfamiliar with pre-WWI Spain. And Italy too I guess, but even more so Spain.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
[X] Otrusia (not!Italy)