Post by Belgium on Dec 19, 2010 14:38:12 GMT -5
There was something about Austria, Celia thought, that made it impossible not to tease him whenever he called her in to meet with him.
It had been different when she'd been under the rule of Spain. Spain had alternately played friend and ruler to her--in good times, they had gotten along well, heading to parties together and playfully flirting, while in more stressful times--particularly in the months leading up to his loss of her lands--he'd been more self-centered and occasionally violent, distancing himself from her in his struggles for authority.
Austria, on the other hand, seemed to have a single approach--strict formality. He seemed to want to make sure that she knew her place, which was mildly annoying, because rank to her was a malleable thing that she preferred to twist and defy as she pleased. It never amounted to more than 'mildly', though, because the days when she would refuse an order or interrupt an explanation or ask excessively personal questions of Austria always elicited amusing reactions from him. There was something about said reactions--his blushing, his fidgeting, the little twitch of his mouth that manifested when he was apparently trying to keep himself from making a snappish retort--that made it so she could never quite take a meeting with him seriously. She always had to do something obnoxious or improper within minutes of entering his office.
This particular morning, she'd planned ahead of time--she'd been irritated at the fact that Austria, planning around later work, had seen fit to have her report to him at six in the morning. Not that she had far to travel to get to the city hall that hosted his presence, but she did enjoy sleeping in to a few hours later. Thus, as she strode down the hall to his office door and was duly let in by the guards flanking it, she flopped down in the chair before his desk, shed her coat, and revealed that she was still in her loose linen night-shift.
So much for formal dress, she thought to herself, crossing her legs and smiling, waiting for him to comment.
It had been different when she'd been under the rule of Spain. Spain had alternately played friend and ruler to her--in good times, they had gotten along well, heading to parties together and playfully flirting, while in more stressful times--particularly in the months leading up to his loss of her lands--he'd been more self-centered and occasionally violent, distancing himself from her in his struggles for authority.
Austria, on the other hand, seemed to have a single approach--strict formality. He seemed to want to make sure that she knew her place, which was mildly annoying, because rank to her was a malleable thing that she preferred to twist and defy as she pleased. It never amounted to more than 'mildly', though, because the days when she would refuse an order or interrupt an explanation or ask excessively personal questions of Austria always elicited amusing reactions from him. There was something about said reactions--his blushing, his fidgeting, the little twitch of his mouth that manifested when he was apparently trying to keep himself from making a snappish retort--that made it so she could never quite take a meeting with him seriously. She always had to do something obnoxious or improper within minutes of entering his office.
This particular morning, she'd planned ahead of time--she'd been irritated at the fact that Austria, planning around later work, had seen fit to have her report to him at six in the morning. Not that she had far to travel to get to the city hall that hosted his presence, but she did enjoy sleeping in to a few hours later. Thus, as she strode down the hall to his office door and was duly let in by the guards flanking it, she flopped down in the chair before his desk, shed her coat, and revealed that she was still in her loose linen night-shift.
So much for formal dress, she thought to herself, crossing her legs and smiling, waiting for him to comment.