[dahliental] sympathique [astoria]

Delicately maneuvering the last of the crumbs from the clafoutis from her plate, Christèle took advantage of the pause in her and Astoria's conversation to fill her lungs with the fragrant summer air of the garden behind her family's residence in Dahliental. Although the English girl had come to see a matinee of this year's spectacular, Deux visages du silence, the length of the program--two hours and twenty minutes, including thankfully an intermission--was sufficient that it was already past five when they arrived in Alsace. A leisurely dinner, fairly simple but naturally well-executed, had stretched their time to the golden hour before sunset. Soft light floated through the small orchard, although thin clouds had begun to drape a gauzy veil over what remained of the sun.

Christèle thanked Gigi, who bowed low as she collected their dessert plates and vanished with a soft crack, and turned back to Astoria. It was less often than she preferred that she saw her friends in such informal settings, and her social calendar had gotten rather full lately due to the public appearance requirements of her relationship with Hefin. Of course, Christèle was happy to spend time with her boyfriend, but marveled sometimes at how one additional person in her life could double her engagements. Astoria was, without a doubt, much better to discuss the performing arts with than Hefin was. Deux visages had included several longer dream-like dance sequences which she was glad the other woman was there to enjoy. Christèle almost regretted not choosing dance this summer, but truthfully she was becoming much less a multipurpose performer, a natural consequence of lacking the time to truly maintain two intensive arts.

"Oh right, to finish the story--well the end of it is that after three successive people had been called to inspect the organ, all looking seriously befuddled but nevertheless recommending a different and quite drastic repair, it turned out that the only problem was that a collection of Flitterbys had somehow gotten stuck in the pipes and were humming whenever, I suppose, they liked the resonance." She laughed. "Manu and Hervé were losing their minds, they didn't realize until one escaped in the second-to-last dress rehearsal and nearly flew into one of the trombones." Glancing toward the house, she motioned towards it with a tilt of her head. "Shall we go up to my room? It's getting a bit chilly for our attire." 

This, of course, was also coded language for suggesting that they retire somewhere a little less open. Her parents were in Portugal this evening so only Tristan was around, packing his bags for returning for his final year at school, but there was more an assumption of privacy in her own room from Gigi, for instance. Holding the door for her friend, she took the stairs at a stately pace, never being one for hurry. Broaching a more personal line of discussion, she cast a sideways glance towards Astoria. "How are things with Draco?" Her family had moved towards long courtships but shorter engagements, but Astoria, in the more arranged tradition, had been betrothed for over a year now.

@Astoria Greengrass

It was days like this one that made it difficult to believe that anything other than sheer bliss existed in the world. Here she sat, sipping wine to finish a delicious meal in a garden on a lovely August evening in the company of a friend after attending a beautifully-executed performance.

She’d sent Poppy home the moment they’d returned to Christèle’s, assuring the elderly House Elf that she’d be more than adequately supervised at the Deveaux family home and that she, of course, would not hesitate to ask if there was anything she needed. Astoria was fond Poppy, but she couldn’t deny the overwhelming sense of liberation that she felt when the elf was not present. Nearly twenty-one years old, and betrothed to boot – and she still had to have a chaperone! Marriage would come as a relief, for @Draco Malfoy was well-aware of her feelings on the matter and had booked no argument. He understood.
Astoria had long-since relieved her thick hair from its constraints; it now floated freely over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves, its ornate pin stowed safely away in her clutch. Her usually-impeccable posture was relaxed as she leaned back comfortably in her chair, her shawl draped companionably over her shoulders. She’d had half a mind to kick off her shoes and bury her toes in the cool grass, but instead her long legs were stretched out under the table before her, crossed daintily at the ankles. Astoria smiled kindly at the House Elf who cleared away their plates, who bowed deeply at Christèle’s verbalized thanks.

What more could she possibly want?

A soft laugh bubbled up from Astoria’s chest as Christèle finished the tale of the organ fiasco.
“Goodness! At least there was one last dress rehearsal sans Flutterbys. It turned out remarkably, truly,” she told her friend warmly. “The dance sequences were lovely. The choice of musical composition, the choreography… simply breathtaking. Mesmerizing.”

At her friend’s suggestion to move inside she nodded, rising from her seat and brushing any residual crumbs from her dress before following her hostess inside. As they ascended she caught Christèle’s sideways look and gave an answering smile.

“He is well, thank you. We are well. However the planning is moving at a flobberworm’s pace, regrettably.” She sighed as she climbed the final few stairs and followed Christèle into her room. “I cannot determine whether it is due to Mother and Father’s obsession with ensuring all is grand and flawless and magnificent; an attempt to buy more time for Daphne; a combination of these… or another reason entirely.” Astoria frowned slightly and gave a small shake of her head. “Despite the fact that this is my future in the making, it appears as though I have little say in how things ought to proceed.”
She fought to keep the bitterness out of her tone at this last comment for the sake of not coming across as ungrateful; though she had always been less guarded around Christèle. The Deveaux family was undoubtedly more ‘progressive’, but Christèle still knew the plights of the more ‘traditional’ Purebloods like the Greengrasses. Astoria loved her parents, certainly, and knew they meant well and wanted the best for her. But the youngest Greengrass was less about the flair and dramatics and more about the heart of the matter; she had grown to love Draco, and the practical side of her was interested in cutting the extraneous fluff and focusing on the truly meaningful piece. She had the sudden urge to vocalize all of this to her friend, but held her tongue. Time enough for that later; besides, it likely wouldn’t come as surprise to Christèle.

Belatedly remembering her manners, she turned the question back to her friend.
“And with you and Hefin Howell ? I know what the Prophet and tabloids say, of course, but as you well know I am rather… disinclined to believe” – she smiled knowingly at this – “much of anything I read in those particular sources.”

Christèle acknowledged the point with a nod and a laugh. "But what are we to do with the state of Wizarding organ technicians in France? Are we to have to begin importing them from your England?" Not forgetting the compliment that they had been paid, she added, "And thank you for that, really. It's so good to hear how far we've come--do you know, the 2002-2003 season will be our fifth? We're planning a few special events as a result, so I expect to see you back in France within half a year." The accompanying smile had a hint of mischief. It was the most minor of tactics that could be termed manipulation, not that she was invested in coercing her friend into visiting her. She hoped that would happen regardless of any scheming with words. But she recognized, with minor ambivalence, that with the family she had been born into--not to mention the curriculum at her alma mater, despite its apparent increased focus on defensive capabilities--there was a certain low level of practice that worked itself neatly into all her interactions. Christèle didn't see it as unwaveringly negative, though she shied away from the ends-justify-the-means mentality; at some level, the best things were achieved when both people believed the action was in their interest. But it was mostly a matter of habit that did not need to be enforced; though Astoria had the well-bred manner that triggered certain patterns of interaction in her, she was a friend.

She grimaced sympathetically, almost an inevitable reaction to anything involving the word flobberworm. Shutting the door gently behind them--the few times that she'd slammed the door as a child, her mother had looked so disappointed, and Gigi had given her the most resigned sorts of dressings-down, that she'd felt too badly to continue--she took a relaxed position near the head of her bed, gesturing towards the rest of the bed and the bench at its foot as options for the other woman. Christèle, ever the talker, was brimming over with reactions, the first being a less than polite face at the mention of Daphne. She was the sort of person that Éliane got along with, if a general tenor of poisoned honey could be called getting along. "All due respect," she was still her sister, after all, and if someone said the same thing about her sister she'd still feel something of a sting, "but if they wait for Daphne, I'm not sure whether it'll take longer for her to find someone she deems acceptable or for someone to resign themselves to suffering her." Now that was the sort of thing she reserved strictly for friends; it would be a small scandal in itself if she were overheard speaking that way about another woman, fair points though they were, truly.

Turning back to her real interest in her friend's life, she asked, "Is it the sort of thing where they wave you off when you inquire about the progress, or are they simply using stalling tactics and spending months choosing the flowers and a few more choosing the caterer?" She paused for a moment, then gently added, "If you could have it over with tomorrow, would you prefer that?" Christèle knew that Astoria cared for Draco, more than she'd have expected her to given the situation, but there was also a finality about marriage. Divorce was so costly for the face of a family, unless it could be demonstrated unequivocally that the other was at fault, and that was never a sure gamble. Then again, breaking an engagement at this point might be equally costly, and Astoria was so heavily supervised; if it was merely accelerating the inevitable, she could see the appeal.

Astoria turned the question back on her, and Christèle smiled, her blue eyes dancing. "Oh, you don't hear wedding bells just yet? Or are you referring to the fact that I don't, in fact, appear to be pregnant?" She couldn't resist poking fun at the tabloids, although she and Hefin had certainly incited some of those rumors--the more tasteful ones--themselves. "You know, I haven't gotten the chance to ask you what you think. You know of him from Hogwarts, don't you?" Not interested in keeping the ruse up to a friend, she quickly gave a softer smile and shook her head. "I've no interest in keeping secrets from such a perceptive friend, though. We're not actually dating, so don't worry," she confessed. "Though I've found him quite a bit more pleasant company than the news makes him out to be, and a perfectly good friend and comrade in making appearances--but I don't think we're really aligned in that way." There was a certain arrogance, and also a coolness to him at times which Christèle saw in glimpses, that made her uninterested in anything closer than friendship. "He seemed to want to get his mother off his back for a while, and although mine has not been too aggressive, I thought that this would temper things for a time as well. It's been nice, in a way. I get the chance to talk to people without wondering if they're considering me solely in that way."