eachdraidh | fourth bull ( memory )

[Two women speak grandly before a mirror. One is the blond many Seelie have come to know as Lucrezia Borgia, standing in the very elegant dress she arrived in. It is not yet finished though, the older woman whose beauty nearly outshines Lucrezia's stands behind her with a her sleeve, fixing the gold ribbons and comparing their dresses. Despite it all, Lucrezia seems happy. She speaks of her wedding and she should be, though something lurks behind her eyes, something no one seems to address.]

My mother's favorite color is apricot. It would not do well to outshine her. [Lucrezia turns back to the woman, much like a child who is trying to gain power when someone already has it. She speaks well to Guilia, but this woman is not her mother. She has replaced her.

But Lucrezia's mood soon shifts. Guilia tells her that it is not possible, and Lucrezia frowns at the idea of more secrets.

This is no secret. Guilia does not speak about Lucrezia's mother, but there is more there, a tone that speaks of Guilia's nobility and Lucrezia's mother's lack of. Guilia is kind, but Lucrezia will not see to this. This is her wedding, and she cares little about anything save her mother's attendance. She has already voiced her opinion on this marriage and has lost a dear friend for what she suspects was money for her dowry.

So she barges into the room where her father and brother are. The pope is sitting in all white, adorned just as one would imagine the pope would be adorned with. Cesare is more simple, in black and across from the Holy Father. Rodrigo thinks she has come to show her beautiful town made of pearls and gold fabric, but Lucrezia is too distressed to placate him. She wants answers. He stands, and she approaches, frustration writ across her face.

He has hurt her already.]

You are the Pope of Rome, but surely the Pope of Rome would not bar my mother from my wedding day. [Her voice cracks, and Rodrigo looks sourly. He has the look he has given Lucrezia many times: it is for the family. But she cannot accept this, and her heart breaks as he looks to Cesare, trying for a way out. But Cesare does not stand with him. So Lucrezia follows her father, begging in her tone.]

I will gladly marry who you choose, what your politics demand, the Borgia family will be united with the Sforza's but-- [She moves around him, trying to pin him to one place so he must answer her. There are tears in her eyes, and she is pleading with him, and clearly by all that is said between the lines, it is not the first time.]

However noble their lineage is they cannot bar my mother from my wedding day.

[Rodrigo tries to patronize her, tell her these are not issues for her to dwell on. But she won't have it. She snaps back:]

But I am learning, Holy Father! She was once what they call a courtesan and you are the Pope of Rome, but you loved her once. As I do now, and I will have my mother at my wedding day.

[Rodrigo looks uncomfortable, while Cesare looks onto the scene mostly helpless. Her father turns to leave, to hear no more of this as her tears are already falling. Cesare tries to console her, bringing her away from the door, but she cries out.]

Please, Holy Father! I need you both there. My father and my mother.

[The door is closed in her face as she sobs, moving away from her brother to leave. Not even he can comfort her for he has done nothing to protect her from this as he has done nothing to protect her from this wedding.]

ooc: so I'm on hiatus but I really wanted to post this since people seeing this and addressing it's contents needed to happen. However Lucrezia isn't going to be answering the post, mostly heartbroken and shamed. If anyone wants to plot with me for running into her after pm me or plurk me at

xdombillyx.

Threaded | Flat

[ ...so, then. The man who would be monster, Chronus eating his cubs. And Rodrigo Borgia looks, through this - sister? Sweet sister's eyes, returned to hypocritical form.

He doesn't think to speak at first (shouldn't, bears his silence well, this isn't his moment, his hour), but - stupidly - does. ]

They... they speak of your mother across all of Italy. Of her beauty and her wit and her ways. She is a fine woman, donna Lucrezia. The finest of all.

They'd keep your mother away?

[There's a lot of emotion to be taken there as he acts as some cruel observer of this dream. How pretty she seems at first. It's a familiar dress and he can see how happy she is in it. Just as happy as that day he first saw her wear it. All that promises to be a happy memory, until he begins to learn of her distress.

A bastard girl's mother, forbidden to attend a wedding. A common woman, no doubt, excluded and rejected just as his own mother had been. And yet, it's not that commonality that holds its attention. It's the realization of what that dress was and what it meant.]

... m'lady. I'm sorry.

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