pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes {christèle}

Zimapokrova was ready.  The candles were lit, the flowers arranged, the silverware placed.  The dining hall and parlour had been thoroughly attended to, and the freshly-polished furniture was practically sparkling.  Usually, an event like this would have made Ira giddy, but tonight her anticipation was preoccupied with a lingering and somewhat childish bitterness.  She had been forbidden from offering any creative contribution to the organization of the dinner party – her mother had condescendingly chided her for trying to help, saying that this event was far too important.  As if Ira didn’t know what she was doing!  She lived for this sort of thing.

Standing at the top of the front staircase, Ira tapped her fingers restlessly on the gleaming banister.  Below, Dariya was fussing over the large bouquet that was set up in the foyer, quietly scolding the florist’s inattention to detail.  She remembered a time when her mother had welcomed her help – how, when Ira was a young girl, Dariya had patiently explained to her the importance of seating arrangements and the different wine glasses, and which flowers conveyed what meanings.  Ira had been a diligent student.  It was an art form and a craft which had always fascinated her.  Frankly, Ira felt she had developed a better instinct for this sort of thing than her mother.  But then, she imagined her mothers’s territorial behavior could be explained by the fact that it was all she had to look forward to anymore.  Ira smirked haughtily at the thought.  It would only be a matter of time until she was the mistress of her own house, and the responsibility of such tasks would fall solely to her.

With quiet footsteps, Ira’s father arrived at her side.  She glanced up at him, offering a vague smile, and then both turned their attention back to Dariya as she began feverishly pulling stems of myrtle out of the arrangement.  Neither finding the need to make any comment on what they were seeing, her father spoke to her softly, saying, “The ambassador has a daughter that is a few years younger than you.  I understand that she doesn’t speak much Russian.  You must do your best to make her feel welcome.”

Ira sighed.  “And what about Igor?  Isn’t he fit to chaperone la belle demoiselle?”

“Your brother will be entertaining Nina Nikitovna this evening,” her father replied tersely.  “And anyway, it would send the wrong message about our intentions.”

“Of course,” Ira conceded with a slight nod, biting back the desire to complain further.  She sensed that her father’s patience was already wearing thin.  Though she very much did not want to spend the evening trying to impress the ambassador’s daughter, she understood that tonight was very important.

The Russian Ministry had invited diplomats from France to discuss trade of magical items between the two countries… or something of the sort.  Ira hadn’t completely understood, though she had pretended to.  Because of her father’s involvement with the effort, they had chosen Zimapokrova as the location for tonight’s entertainment, hopeful that the Ilyins would be able to give a good representation of Russian society.  The dinner was to be an assortment of traditional Russian dishes and the finest French delicacies – in a way that aspired to complement rather than clash – in the hopes that their guests would feel comfortable, while having the opportunity to experience the culture of the country they were visiting.  It would have surely proven for a good time, if only Ira had not been made to feel like a nursemaid. 

As the hour drew nearer, and when at last Dariya was satisfied with the floral arrangement, the Ilyins gathered in the foyer to greet their guests.

Christèle studied the estate of the Ilyin family as she stood near her father with the French delegation. It was a sheer and impressive building, stark in its difference from the elegant manors that she was used to seeing in France, including the one the Deveaux family lived in in Dahliental. The young woman had no doubts, of course, that the inside would be elegantly, possibly extravagantly, furnished; the Russian Ministry would not choose this location to entertain the French delegation if it was not. In fact, this was possibly a better impression made; both evident strength on the outside and wealth and luxury on the inside. To her knowledge, it was somewhat unnecessary--the trade agreement did not seem disadvantageous to either country, and Christèle didn't think that anything would stop some kind of agreement being made. Still, it was a formality that the elites on both sides were well acquainted with.

Christèle had been moving in these societies since she was very young, and every summer even at Beauxbatons she had come back and engaged with France's most influential men and women at parties such as this. It was the reason why she had excelled at the Diplomatie part of her Soi-défense classes. The Deveaux family was known for their involvement in international relations. It was still strange to Christèle that this was suddenly far more a part of her life than ever before. Now an adult and regarded more heavily, if only by a little, and now out of school and expected to perform her duties far more often by displaying herself as a member of one of the influential families in France, this was now even more crucial, however much it was part of a ritualized nonsense in a way. Even when performing with the symphony, she could never be allowed to forget that she was a Deveaux, and that her name carried weight with it, at least in France, even when seen on a program.  She supposed she should be grateful that her parents had not made a great push to find a suitable match for her yet. Although it was no longer precedent to arrange marriages in their family, she was sure that her mother would be beginning efforts to introduce her to eligible young men.

For the moment, however, she was with her father, and attempting to get accustomed to using her newly learned broken Russian, though it was more likely that she would converse in English or French tonight. Her lavender gown was a testament to the House she had just left behind permanently, and accompanied as always by her silver dove pendant, a nod to her mother's family. Christèle smiled softly at her father to assure him of her readiness as their party entered the building. The subtle effect on André's expression would be difficult to read by anyone not his daughter, but she knew that he was at least a little bit nervous that she had not been involved in any important events for at least a year. She intended to make sure that he had no regrets about bringing her on this trip.

They were met in the foyer by the Ilyin family and the other guests. Years of training from her mother and habit from dance had refined Christèle's bearing to grace and elegance, and she held her head confidently but not arrogantly, unfazed by the highly polished interior of the manor. Their own was no less elegant, although her mother always made an effort to avoid gaudiness. Her father had informed her of the somewhat disparate ages of their host family, and she quickly located the patriarch, Lev Ivanovich Ilyin, in his seventies, as well as the family member closest to her own age, one Iraida Lvovna Ilyina, a few years older than Christèle. As they all glided through introductions, Christèle offered the other woman one of her smiles, not overly brilliant, but certainly very open. Christèle tended to be open and inviting to others until they proved themselves untrustworthy, and she saw no reason to show anything less than affability and graciousness to the other woman, with whom she had no doubt that she would find herself conversing this evening.

As the introductions were made, Ira’s eyes scanned each of the visitors, committing their names to memory and examining them for possible faults and faux pas, as was one of her most devoted pastimes.  They all seemed to be decent enough – which, with foreigners, never ceased to amaze her.  Christèle Deveaux, whom Ira had been assigned to attendant to for the evening, seemed a respectable enough young woman, from what she could tell – genial, graceful and sophisticated.  Ira returned her kind smile with one of her own.  Cloaks and hats were taken, and the host family invited their guests into the parlour to wait for dinner to be announced.

Her father lead the way, while her mother took care to engage the ambassador in conversation. As they stepped through the archway, Ira turned to her assignment and smiled politely.  “Mademoiselle Deveaux, I do hope that you are enjoying your visit to Russia,” she said in French.  “I understand that you just graduated from Beauxbatons, yes?”  Conspiratorially, she added, “How do you like your freedom so far?” and quirked her brow.

At the time of her own graduation from school, it had seemed the single happiest event of her life.  Ira had been thrilled to be done with school, to be a proper witch at last, and, especially, to no longer be considered a child.  Yes, truly, at that time in her life, it had seemed her whole future was laid out before her, rife with possibility.  Admittedly, the feeling had diminished substantially over the last couple of years, as she had learned that her life wouldn’t truly begin until she was married, and her mother could no longer lord over her.  At times, she found Dariya was stricter than even the strictest of professors at Durmstrang had been.  At least at school, she had been free to make her own decisions.  It seemed no detail was too small to escape her mother’s notice.

Christèle was glad that the other woman returned her smile; it would have been unpleasant to be met with hostility. It was unlikely, of course, but even within the traditionally always polite upper classes (at least polite in situations like this) there were some who didn't care for that. As they all advanced into the parlor for that waiting period just before dinner, her father's attention was quickly taken up by Dariya Ilyina, leaving Christèle free to focus her attention on whatever she pleased.

She turned to Ira, who had addressed her in her native tongue, for which she was grateful. Already the snatches of Russian around her were mostly escaping her. "I am indeed, thank you," she asserted. "I have, for some reason, never traveled to Eastern Europe before, so it has been an enriching experience." The traditions and culture, although sometimes starkly different from what she was used to, were rich, and Christèle was enjoying her exposure to them. "Yes, I graduated in May," she said, and then paused, regarding Ira with an odd expression. Now that was something she hadn't thought of before, really. Christèle saw her freedom in her ability to pursue what she wanted, such as her involvement with the Symphonie, and the release of confinements on her time, for the most part. But there was something cynical that had been in the question, too.

"I suppose everything is relative," she said slowly. "I am using my time to promote and perform with the Symphonie Magique, something that is a personal interest to me. My parents have never been overly demanding of my time apart from occasions such as this or the events we have at our own estate. But graduation comes with its own responsibilities to enter into society, as it is." She laughed a little, not entirely mirthfully, and added, "I should just be glad for the moment that I haven't been married off, as of yet." Christèle still hoped that she'd meet someone she truly had affection for. A less than happy look crossed her face as she remembered Luca and Maria, forced into unwanted marriage before they even graduated. Her parents had been more than a little disapproving at that one, even.

"How has your experience been? You graduated from Durmstrang Institute a few years prior, correct?"

Upon entering the parlour, Ira stopped in front of the fireplace, turning to face Christèle.  “I am glad to hear it,” she said pleasantly.  She did not doubt that Russia would be a culturally enriching experience for anybody who had the capacity to appreciate it, and would generally attribute feelings that expressed the contrary to a poor upbringing.  Ira’s pride for her home country was so vast that it did not even occur to her that Christèle might have been appeasing her for the sake of civility.  Much in the same way that, when visiting another country, she always felt compelled to respond positively to hosts who inquired after her, whether or not she was actually enjoying herself.

The smallest twinge of jealousy occurred in response to Christèle’s reference to her parents not being demanding when it came to how she spent her days, saying that she was currently occupying herself with the symphony.  Out of personal interest.  Ira could only wonder what that must be like.  Her own mother and father had always carefully dictated exactly how she would utilize her time, and even if she had been given leniency, she realized she would have no idea what to pursue.  She had always believed that it was any respectable parent’s responsibility to provide that kind of structure for their child.

Admittedly, as she’d grown older, it was all becoming increasingly difficult to endure.  She felt like an adult, and yet she was often treated like an adolescent.  But she knew she would only have to endure it for a couple more years, at the most – and she certainly hoped it would not be that long.  But Ira supposed it wasn’t surprising for someone like Christèle to be glad she was not yet married.  Ira attributed marriage with freedom, but to someone who already had that… well.  The whole world must seem different to her.  And Christèle was still very young, after all.

A passing servant offered them their choice of wine or sparkling water, and Ira took one of the glasses without turning her attention away from Christèle.  “I did, indeed,” she said matter-of-factly.  “I’ve been enjoying it quite a lot, I must say.  It’s been nice to be able to spend so much time with my family, as opposed to being away for ten months out of the year.”  She smiled wistfully.  “But I’m very interested to hear about your work with the Symphonie Magique.  What is it you do there, exactly?”

Christèle took a glass of wine from the servant when it was offered, of course. A glass of wine, or any liquid, was a useful tool in many ways; a sip could be used to hide an expression, or it could be used as a focus for the eyes so as not to disturb a companion with staring, or it could occupy the hands, and still them when they were shaking. For the meantime she held it lightly with a practiced hand. Christèle was actually quite an expressive young woman by nature, but she did understand that there were times--especially in unfamiliar company, such as here at Zimapokrova--that reserve could be a better option. Still, she saw no reason to come off frosty, and she was warming up, a little bit. Some of the unconscious tightness that she had experienced, nerves from not doing this for a long time prior, was dissipating. It was a relieving feeling.

Enjoying time spent with her family? Christèle thought how different Ira was from her own sister, Ellèrie, who was much of a similar age. As soon as she had graduated she had absorbed herself in her own work with the Ministry, spending extensive time in Italy and away from their family. It was true that she often had somewhat different views from the rest of them, but even Christèle was not about to stay home for the majority of her time. She loved her family, but even in an influential family like hers, adulthood was accompanied by a necessary independence. Who you were should be defined by you yourself and not anyone else, family or no, in Christèle's opinion.

"I am glad to hear that," she replied. "My own sister made a point to spend rather less time with us upon graduation, but I am afraid she has a touch more ambition than I do. I think I will miss my brother though; he still has four more years at the Academie." Christèle hadn't yet decided if she was going to look into moving out of their home for most of their time or not; it seemed like a viable option, but then, she had no idea what sort of accommodations she would seek. It might be simpler to remain in Dahliental.

"During its earlier stages I actually was a driving force for its recognition among the elite in France," she continued on the subject of the Symphonie. I have long thought that such an institution would be beneficial in a multitude of ways. It provides opportunities for some of our most talented musicians and other masters of the performing arts, and it will also provide a valuable neutral venue to conduct business and events with class. One of the benefits of coming from an influential family is being able to promote such things, I consider. You must be acquainted with the Kasyanov family?" Leonid's family was another of the influential names in Russia, although fairly new. "One of them has provided the theater and backing for the Symphonie." That was a certain windfall, seeing as the performing arts were their specialty. Leonid seemed quite happy to have his own place as well, from what she had seen of the man.

"In addition to this sort of promotion, which is of course more discreet, I am actually performing with them. Music is a personal passion of mine, and I thought it fit to give back some of my talent for a good use." It raised the profile of the symphony as well, just a touch. She earnestly wanted it to gain recognition for both class and its truly high caliber. Christèle wondered if Ira would consider that appropriate--she might not, for a young woman of such a family--but she had gotten a blessing from her father, and that was enough. They'd all known she wouldn't be joining the Ministry like her siblings for a long time.

Taking small sips of her drink, Ira listened with polite interest as Christèle spoke of her family, wondering what exactly it meant to say that her sister was ambitious.  “Is your sister married?” Ira guessed, for, as far as she had come to understand the world, that could be only explanation that a respectable young pureblooded girl might spend so much time away from her family; if somebody else had stepped up to take care of her.  Perhaps Christèle’s sister didn’t get along with her family very well.  This, Ira thought, would be a rather pitiable thing, but that was coming from someone who put an enormous amount of effort in stifling her own emotions and desires in order to please those that she loved.

As Christèle spoke of her work with the Symphonie, Ira responded with polite enthusiasm.  “Oh!” she murmured, raising her eyebrows.  She was surprised that someone so young could be so accomplished.  And though she would have liked to, she couldn’t even criticize her decision to take such an active role in the Symphonie, for Christèle managed to phrase it in such a way that made it sound perfectly respectable.  “That is fortunate, then, that you managed to find something that you are so passionate about that will both better yourself and society at large,” she said, giving a commendable bow of the head.  Culture was, and always had been, very important to Ira.  Especially the kind of refined culture of the Symphonie Magique.  “I will have to make a point of attending one of your upcoming performances.  I’m sure you’re very talented.”

Christèle was perhaps being a little more free with her words than she preferred, in the sense that she was talking quite at length. It was something she should work on, possibly, but the young witch by nature was somewhat loquacious, and she preferred to elaborate at first to give a whole picture than give the wrong initial impression. Although Ira was older than she was, and one of her hosts, and therefore possibly should be taking more of a leading role in the conversation, Christèle was being the talkative one between them. She only hoped that the Russian woman did not find her manner too much.

She gave a slight shake of her head. "Not yet," she replied, twisting the stem of her wine glass in her fingers. "She is only twenty, and as far as I can tell is putting her career ahead of her personal life at the present time. I do recall something about her being involved with a man from a good Italian family at some point, but I see no wedding bells in the immediate future." It would be strange to see Ellèrie married, when the time came. She had no doubt it would be to a well-off, pureblooded young man who had as much ambition as she, but for one thing, Christèle probably wouldn't like her brother-in-law, when he appeared. She had never had the best relationship with her sister in the first place.

Ira looked...surprised. Christèle wondered for a moment what her family exactly wanted her to do. Was it all merely hosting and attending events such as this one? In the mind of the French witch, that was just a compartmentalized portion of her life. "Thank you," she smiled, genuinely meaning it. "We will generally perform in France, but I have no doubt that Leonid will find some way to bring us to the Grand Orchid sooner than later." She took a sip from her glass, considering. "What do you pursue with your personal time?" It never crossed her mind to believe that the other woman didn't have any personal engagements that took her time, no matter how traditional the Ilyins appeared to be.