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D'Angouleme, Princess Marguerite
Topic Started: Jul 20 2009, 07:53 PM (168 Views)
Marguerite d'Angouleme
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M A R G U E R I T E D ‘ A N G O U L E M E

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* THINK ABOUT STORIES WITH REASON AND RHYME,
THINK ABOUT PEOPLE IN THEIR SEASON AND TIME .

HEY THERE. THE NAME IS ERIN, AND I AM EIGHTEEN.
I'VE BEEN ROLEPLAYING FOR ABOUT SIX YEARS
AND MY OTHER CHARACTERS WOULD BE NONEXISTANT .
OH, BY THE WAY, I READ THE RULES. WANT PROOF?
THE CODE WORD IS PUMPERNICKLE

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  • - - - - Full Name, Marguerite D’Angouleme
    - - - - Title, Countess of Perche, Duchess of Berri, Princess of France
    - - - - Gender, Female
    - - - - Sexuality, Unequivocally heterosexual
    - - - - Age, 22
    - - - - Place at Court, Honored Guest
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  • - - - - Eye Color, I did once hear a rather poor poem a young student at the university wrote for me once… Something about a radiant, violet-blue eyed princess. I think he may have been accentuating the hue, but it is true that my eyes are a rather startling shade of blue, and wide enough that the color shows..
    - - - - Hair Color, ] “Ah, my hair is just like my mother’s. Hers has begun to silver, but mine is still that raven black, and thicker than wool. I wear my hair down when I can. I still have that right, thank the merciful Lord. My virginity, and thus my life is still my own.”
    - - - - General Look, “I am a much beloved sister of the King of France. What do you think I wear? I am no burden to him, or his purse. Indeed, I help my brother keep the peace. It would be of no small advantage for any royal family to link theirs with the throne of France. Let us consider briefly. Spain was just united by those maggots, Isabella and Ferdinand less than two decades ago. Portugal has no princess, the German princes are too busy bickering to wield much power, and the list goes on. That leaves France a lonely power with claims to a throne centuries old. I and my brother are the public faces of the crown. Let’s not give dear Claudette credit where it is not due. When I look unkempt, the King of France appears ungenerous. I am kept in the best style and finest fabrics. I prefer teals, and blues and indigos for my own clothes. Not only are blues the rampant of my house, but they set of my skin quite well. I’d never consider caking on that disgusting led stuff they are so fond of here. I don’t need it.

    I am a woman of twenty-two. I’ll admit that once I was a tiny, unhealthy little thing. I was as tall as I am now, but my weight was so slight that my hips were as a boys, and my bosom smaller than a starving peasant’s. But I’ve grown into my body quite nicely. I have all the curves a proper woman should be in possession of. Mind you I’m certainly nowhere near corpulent, but I am not the stick I once was either. I’ve heard that these English women are rather short… Perhaps being on the mainland lets us French room to stretch our legs as it were. I have noticed, all joking aside, that I stand as tall as many men from that island.

    I would be falsely modest if I protested the description of stately or elegant, but I find that both are manifested in manner of expression more than actual feature… I’ve always been that way, I suppose. Some girls trip over their skirts trying to curtsey. I’ve never been that ungraceful. Among courtiers I am as I am expected to be. I stand tall, and proud, but I’ve never been accused of having an arrogant air. Proud, certainly, but who wouldn’t be in my station. When amongst my people, I prefer to walk as they do. Strong, as though I know the burden of work and mouths to feed. I do in a way. My mind works as hard as their bodies, the mouths I have to feed encompass every man woman and child in France. I am not afraid to appear strong, steadfast, earnest in their company. They expect it of each other. Why should they not expect it from their princess?

    The point is, I am not unpleasant to look at. This I know as fact. Whether the admiring stares are for my beauty or because I am first in line to the throne until Claude produces a child is what I am not so sure of.
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  • - - - - Loves, A good hunt, riding, helping common people, interesting philosophy, her Dalmatian Jeannot, a challenge, cinnamon, the church, foreign people, her brother, her country, helping Phillip, diplomatic solutions, leading, her mother, duck

    - - - - Loathes, her brother’s wife, women who are empty headed flirts, being lied to, not remembering something she should know, condescending men, being underestimated, bad dancers, people who don’t bathe regularly, being bested, losing in general, being outmaneuvered

    - - - - Strengths, Multilingual- French, English, Italian, Latin, Greek
    Musical- An accomplished singer, harpist and lute player
    Leader- A born leader
    Highly intelligent- Well learned, well read, and well practiced, Marguerite can hold her own in conversation with any man
    Horsemanship- A steady, though not flashy rider, Marguerite has unusual stamina for the hunt
    Dancing- Extremely graceful with a wide repertoire, like riding, has remarkable stamina for even the most energetic dances

    - - - - Weaknesses, Cannot remain silent when people misquote literature
    Is poor at distinguishing flatterers from people whose words are sincere (tends to peg everyone as a flatterer)
    Has unabashed hatred for the Spanish
    Does not think it is possible for her to miss anything. Places ultimate confidence in her own intelligence.
    Hates advice, and refuses help from anyone but her family or her ladies.
    Can be stupidly stubborn from time to time from her manner of dress to etiquette she dislikes
    Trusts and likes common people to such an extent that many people find it unseemly
    Takes the plight of her people seriously, to the extent that she becomes depressed in years of famine or disease.
    Is quite given to open disdain of unintelligent women, while forgetting their more intelligent fathers, husbands, and brothers.

    - - - - Dreams, Marguerite dreams of being allowed to be herself. She doesn’t care if she is married or an old maid, if she is a princess or the wife of a lowly knight. She honestly doesn’t care as long as she may remain what she is. Marguerite could not imagine being happy if she was expected to be a silent, stupid wife like so many men desire.

    - - - - Fears, Marguerite fears drought and famine, war and plague. She fears her brother being struck down, or her borders overrun. She fears losing her independence to someone who is not worth is. She is afraid of losing her mind as she ages. She is afraid of most things that harm those she loves, or steals her sense of self.

    - - - - Overall Personality, There are some princesses in the world of 1509 that bask in their position. They do little or nothing to deserve their rank, and persist in their elegant lifestyle solely through the good will of their male relatives. Marguerite is no such Princess. Since she was five it was clearly apparent that her brother would be the King of France, and Marguerite his Princess. When she was as young as twelve it was clear that Claude of Brittany would be no real Queen for Francois. So it was that throughout her youth Marguerite threw herself at her studies.

    With a voracious appetite for knowledge and understanding, and the backdrop of the City of Cognac, Marguerite soon became a citizen of the civilized world. She absorbed language like a sponge, and her free time was willingly spent reading mountains of books. She read histories of battles, books regarding statesmanship, and volumes detailing the process by which one could rule an estate wisely and well. She began to write prolifically after learning Italian and reading Dante’s Inferno. The rhyme and meter of the poetry enchanted her. The musicality of language led her to a true desire to master music. Art began to hold great interest for her after visiting a studio at a young age. She insisted on viewing all the great works that could be found in what places her family lived. The life to which she was exposed and her own initiative led to Marguerite becoming an accomplished culturist. She did little more than learn how to speak and think intelligently on all subjects a noble woman could hope to understand in her younger days. By the time she was fifteen, Marguerite was widely regarded as the most educated female mind in Europe.

    The most important thing Marguerite gained from her education was arguably not her language, or her eloquence, but rather her work ethic. Despite the prominent position she was raised to, Marguerite can never be accused of being spoilt or petulant. She understands the importance of thought and reflection, of fairness and justice. Marguerite is perhaps an idealist, but not the sort that denies the true state of the world. In fact Marguerite is well loved by the common people wherever she goes. She has the most un-noble tendency to dress in simple clothing, and walk among the people in marketplaces and listen to their grievances without ceremony or pity. Marguerite is very talented at talking to all people as if they were her equal. She is known and adored by the peasants of France as the Prime Minister of the Poor. Marguerite has deep sympathy for everyone who is persecuted, and believes it to be a tenet of her devoutly Catholic faith to be charitable towards all mankind.

    In addition, the general youth of the household after her father’s death taught Marguerite an easiness of spirit that leads her to have the affectionate and kind disposition she is so well known for. Marguerite and her brother grew up as confidantes and peers, without competition or rivalry. It can be said that the pair perhaps love none so dearly as each other, with the exception of their mother, who loves them just as well. Marguerite indeed holds it a very simple truth that never shall a man attain to the perfect love of God who has not loved to perfection some creature in this world.

    Despite her friendly nature, Marguerite is not a Princess who may be used as a pawn for favor. She has a great mind and is more than capable of understanding when people are using her to gain power or influence. Marguerite is proud to consider herself the one person Francois can share all his troubles with, and she would never compromise that by betraying his trust and promoting her favorites. She has a keen mind for deal making and diplomacy, and whereas Francois is prone to tempers Marguerite is known among the ambassadors for being a formidable strategist. It is rare that she enters a negotiation with France ending up the worse for wear, or the ambassador angry at the deal struck.

    Marguerite is also of an extremely calm and gentle disposition. One will never find her in a temper or a rage, and after a sound beating form her mother when she slapped a servant at five, Marguerite never struck a human being again. Marguerite is no pacifist, but she hates to enter into war, or any situation that might result in innocent deaths, and thus tries her best to encourage Francois to employ diplomacy and negotiations whenever possible.

    Marguerite is also a great lover of the fine arts and does her best to encourage what talent she can bring to the French court. Since Francois was crowned she’s been begging da Vinci to grace their court, but her stay at England will unfortunately delay that for some time.
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  • - - - - Family Members, Louise du Savoy, 37, Mother, Mother of the King of France, Comtess du Angouleme
    Francois I, 20, Brother, Count of Angouleme, Duke of Valois, King of France
    Jeanne of Angouleme, 25, bastard half-sister, none
    Madeleine of Angouleme, 22, bastard half-sister, Dame de Givry, Baroness du Pagny et du Mirebeau (by marriage)
    Souveraine of Angouleme, 19, bastard half-sister, none

    - - - - Overall History, I was born to Charles, Comte d’Angouleme and his wife Louise of Savoy. It was a funny little marriage. Most men do not desire an intelligent wife, but my mother was such a one, by any standard. My father loved her for it. Papa was a second cousin to King Charles, but as each of his children died before he did, it became clear that Louis of Orleans would be the next to hold the throne, and to him Father was a first cousin. Of course, Papa died before Louis, which made Francois the heir presumptive.

    I was only three when my father died. I’ll admit I don’t remember him at all. In the latter part of my fourth year, my memory begins. Mother was very young when Papa died, and she insisted many things about my education. People thought it outlandish that she ensured my brother and I receive the same education, but she ignored such opinions. I learned from the best tutors, and was taught by my mother to hold my mind in high esteem. My mother also had the unusual foresight, despite being a minor princess by her marriage to my father, to teach me a love of the people, rather than a love of my rank. She encouraged me to be friends with the servant’s children, and the musicians and artists in the city. She taught me that no trouble was too small, if it was a trouble of my people, and no problem too large, if I bent my mind to it.

    Francois and I grew up happily. Father’s estates were large, and mother managed them intelligently so that we were always very wealthy. We did not have those sorts of worries, and our importance in France was guaranteed by Francois being the heir presumptive. My mother was generally unconcerned with finding me a husband, convinced that I was destined to be a great woman, and would only be held back by a betrothal to a child who would grow into a man of questionable worth. The only real attempt I know that she made was the offer of my hand to the present King of England, Henry, when I was ten. A very polite letter was sent by his father telling us that Henry was destined for the church, and thus would not be taking a wife, but thanked us for our kind offer.

    I joined the court of Louis XII for the first time when I was thirteen, and there I quickly made an impression. I was deemed a ‘clever little flirt’ by the King, and unbeknownst to me, he started to scheme about marrying me to Charles IV of Armagnac. Louis knew about the treachery of an outlying county, and endeavored to use my marriage to a son of that house to waylay the split. Charles was an idiot. A kind idiot, but a complete dolt nonetheless. Thankfully he got himself killed in a riding accident. I was well liked at court, though I only spent the summer season in that hotbed of treachery. I was smart enough that being kind didn’t doom me to a place of irrelevance. Life in general proceeded as planned. It was only a matter of waiting until Louis dropped dead for my family to take its place at the throne of France.

    Where I escaped a terrible marriage, Francois was not so lucky. His betrothal to Claude, Louis’ daughter went smoothly, and by royal decree they were married just before Louis died. It was a matter of months before Louis death that they were married, and now poor Francois has been saddled with a sad little creature. Claude has a bent spine and it is only growing more crooked with this pregnancy of hers. No one thinks the child will be healthy with such a mother to carry it. But let us forget that trouble. With my brother King I was created Princess of France, Duchess of Berri and Countess of Perche. I was, along with my mother, the most powerful woman in France, with the ear of the king. Until this past month I lived in the court with my family, ruling with Francois and my mother. We have since declared a tentative peace with our neighbors, and I have been sent to England for a variety of reasons.

    Francois first and foremost wants me to gage the mood at court. I am not the ambassador in official terms of course, but while I am here it has been made clear that the man my brother appointed is to act under my direction. I am to make myself important, a trusted channel of negotiation betwixt my brother and Henry, and most of all an untouchable spy of sorts. Whereas our ambassadors or citizens can be hanged if convicted of spying, to harm me would mean a full war against France that had the support of not only the lords and the army, but every last civilian in our lands. Any war in my name would not be run with the worries about morale or supplies. I am loved by my people, and they would give up much to avenge any harm made to me. So it is put to me to learn the weaknesses of the King, to learn the methods by which France can advance itself in the court.

    But there is another task I have been given, and that is making myself desired by the King. Politically it is in his interest to be interested with me, but as with any youth spoiled from birth, he is more prone to doing what he wants than what he ought. I imagine it will be an interesting little challenge. My brother wishes to secure all of the French lands without the pest of the English to worry about. With this young King Henry, Francois hopes to end some of the irritating rivalry previous monarchs have engaged in. There are freshly crowned rulers, and Henry is unmarried. Francois is trying to arrange a betrothal between myself and Henry, as my mother tried so many years ago. Funny, how these things work out. Our marriage would create a nearly unbeatable alliance between France and England, and end the constant bickering that has plagued our two nations. The trade and prosperity of both our countries would multiply, and the rest of Europe would not dare touch our lands or people. I have heard things about this Henry XIII. They say he is handsome and intelligent, vigorous and religious. They also call him handsome. Should these things be true, I cannot say that I would mind marrying an Englishman. What a strange thought!

    Of course that is not a given. There are droves of minxes who desire to marry the King. It will be a major work to earn myself the title of Queen of England. I relish the coming months. Never have I had such a complicated task.
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  • - - - - Roleplay Sample, Composure. Dignity. PAH. Tally didn’t have it and she didn’t want it. She was quite content with flitting about her world on her toes, always ready for something unexpected. If latching onto what life offered enthusiastically made her ill-bred, then that was fine by her. It wasn’t so much that Tally lacked manners. No, that wasn’t it at all. Tally could behave with decorum, with reserve. But life just seemed so boring that way. There was too much to be done that practically required a bit of scandal. Cliff diving and Aingingein certainly weren’t the typical sports for a proper pureblooded lady, and her fiddling would never have been learnt without muggles to teach her. Perhaps pureblooded people were better, but Tally wanted to taste and touch and feel and know everything there was to know about the world, and as it happened muggleborn wizards did exist. Halfbloods did exist. There was nothing to be done about it, and Tally wasn’t the type to push what life gave her away with a sniff of her nose.

    Maybe it was the fact that he tolerated her that somehow distinguished Regulus. Perhaps he understood her thirst for experience. Perhaps he had his own version of it that somehow involved being respectable. It honestly didn’t matter to Tally. She just knew that she liked how he spoke. She liked the way his mind worked, and how his desires came to light. She liked laughing with him. She didn’t think too hard about it, but nonetheless Tally knew that there was something more genuine about it when Regulus laughed and smiled. Normal people did those things as a matter of course. Regulus did it when he actually felt happy or amused. Tally liked this. She liked honesty too, and maybe in some odd way, Regulus’s honesty with his body was what Tally found so intriguing. So refreshing. It was even charismatic in some strange way.

    It didn’t occur to her that the easy flow of their words was unusual. Tally was used to understanding most people. The layers weren’t hard to peel away, but Regulus really only had a few more than anyone else, as stunningly complex as they were. He was simply a human, a young man, another person facing life who tried rather desperately to be closed. To be perfectly honest, Tally thought that Regulus was too used to being hated, or ignored. It was Tally’s personal, and perfectly private belief that Regulus Black desperately needed a true and honest friendship. An affectionate relationship. Something healthy that wasn’t introduced to him with the sole recommendation of “she is a pureblood” to make it worthwhile. In some self-important way, Tally thought that she might be giving him that.

    There was something magnetic about Regulus. Where she has started off intending to use him, Tally couldn’t even bring up Bran without guilt assaulting her conscience. She wanted to talk to him, know him. She had never been interested in a person quite that way before. Never quite that intent on understanding every nuance to every syllable out of his mouth. He was different, delightfully so. That was all she knew, and somehow… somehow it was enough. She did care for him, as painstakingly proper as he was. She cared for him very much.

    Though she had her own motivations for studying what Regulus gave her, there was something else satisfying about learning with him. When she understood something, could speak about it intelligently, challenge an idea, extend a practice into a new theory, something in Regulus just clicked. He got this look on his face, a different pitch to his voice that told her that he was impressed, excited, glad to have someone who understood what he did. And this in turn raised something else in Tally, a happy warmth that made her feel as if she had accomplished something worthwhile, made a human connection, strengthened the bond she and Regulus had begun to construct.

    Tally raised an eyebrow at Regulus’s words, her smile widening as they locked eyes.

    “I’m having trouble imagining what could tie you up at this hour, but I appreciate the promise anyway.”

    Regulus was a good teacher. He had a way of explaining things that Tally found easy to understand. Plus she actually cared if he thought she was stupid or not, so she applied herself on the texts and spells he taught her when the need arose.

    “Of course I got something out of it Regulus. I am in the NEWT runes class after all,” she teased with a small smile. “I think that I’ll start out with the first one I was shaky on then…”

    Tally grabbed her wand from the desk she had been sitting on, and thought for a moment before she began to mumble out some unintelligible words. Her brow furrowed as her wand began to flick the curves and angles of symbols in midair. The outlines she drew started a silvery blue but they quickly began to flicker into deeper and deeper shades of smoldering red. As she approached the last runes, the symbols were radiating heat in an intangible black that occasionally flared as a flame does from coals. When she finished, the flick of her wand sent the runes into a rain that left a sheet of shivering black hanging midair, and another twirl reeled it into the wall. With a small `pop` the conjured instrument charred away into two feet of the hewn stone wall.

    Though Tally had known precisely what was supposed to happen, she had been expecting for the results to be more minor than the intended effect. She hadn’t even been sure of the syllables and symbols she had spoken and conjured and yet… The magic had done exactly what it was supposed to do. Her eyes widened slightly as she contemplated the black ash that had appeared along the edges of where the sheet of magic had eaten into the wall. A grin spread over her Tally’s face. She had impressed herself and she wouldn’t feel sorry for that.

    “Mighty Merlin,” was all that was said before Tally bounded over to Regulus and still laughing at how well it had worked, threw her arms around his neck to pull him into a hug.

    “Can you believe how well that worked?”
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