────────「 ʳⁱᵛᵃˡˢ & ʳᵒˢᵉˢ 」──

[woodland]

ＭＡＮＳＩ ＢＡＳＵ
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ＴＩＴＬＥＳ//nonexxxxxx ＰＲＯＮＵＮＣＩＡＴＩＯＮ//MAHN-seexxxxxx ＴＡＧＳ//ellie, serena, ray, laurence → kit, asmund
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oh sweet eleanor. the woman was radiant as she was brilliant. one embrace from her was overjoying, like a momentary eraser to all the misfortunes she had endured that week. 'she's innocent', mansi concluded, finding a small sense of peace with it. at a time of unrest, at least she could count that her closest confidants were true. she had a small sense of sheepishness for having her doubts that week, feeling foolish that a hard week could have challenged away decades of friendship. mansi was still as a statue in ellie's loving clutches, her gaurd was always up. on the inside, she was beaming. the little time she had with her companion was maddening. at the onset of trumpets, she had to divert her attention from one princess to the next. everyone moved to their places. she made an effort not to glower at whomever was coming their way.

it was a dark-haired woman swathed in red. undoubtedly the princess of france making her grand entrance. the place quieted itself a little to take her in. she had soft, delicate features. the color of her garb meant business with the clear intent to showcase the power and might of france. a bold choice, would the foreign princess live up to the expectations she was wearing? it was a stark contrast to eleanor whom had opted for a gown the color of spring cherry blossoms. both princesses were startlingly beautiful, evoking their own distinct auras. naturally, mansi had her biases towards princess eleanor: the woman radiated a warm, welcoming air with strong undertones of security and power. she was proud to call the woman 'princess' as she represented her country well. the indian woman watched the foreign lady with a small sense of suspicion. so far so good. the crimson princess made an excellent and shrewd curtsy before addressing everyone.

lady mansi the french princess had greeted. instinctually, she was startled by the poisonous words. it was a far-away title that she was actively working for. unfortunately, a quick power grab was often perilous for people like her. as pleasing to the ear it was, that was reserved for a future version of herself. at present, mansi stood still, absorbing the shock internally rather than having it show on the surface. she did not jump. stomach tightening at the start of danger, her eyes remained dutifully trained on the woman before her despite the urge to survey the room on the precariousness of her situation. she was not to be branded as an insubordinate to the english throne for she presumed she was already under hot water for her ambitions. on cue, she nodded when the princess addressed her but remained silent for the crown prince and princess eleanor to deliver their formal salutations. raymond and mansi were the extras, were they not? in the presence of royalty, their say didn't matter altogether, assuming whatever role that was spoken for of them. at this moment, mansi was glad she wasn't born to the task of stringing shallow pleasantries. her role was to remain silent, look pretty, channel and direct all eyes on the sovereign. like a frame to a painting; ray was the protection, mansi was the decoration, laurence and eleanor were the works. although the french aristocrat may have misspoken and put mansi in an awkward position, she commended the foreigner for her ability to acknowledge the smaller folk. in unison with the prince and princess of england, mansi lowered herself into a deep curtsy. it was no easy feat for someone of the likes of her. she needed to dip lower to compensate for her height. due to the current situation, her curtsy was even lower for the prying and hypercritical eyes on her- damage control. in response to the misidentification, she submitted herself to the rank of a maid for the time being. it was a despicable deed she was doing to herself - a backwards show of progress meant to appease those who had baseless suspicion for her. through gritted teeth, she was a master of dancing on egos with the strength of eggshells, but it was no less painful every time. for a moment of self-depreciation, a speedy recovery followed as she ascended to her full height with grace and assurance. any indication of animosity on her face was swiped clean by the time she lifted her face. for the time being, she held an inquisitive expression as her eyes followed the princess out of the scene.

among the four in their little greeting committee, mansi was not the ball of sunshine. laurence, though intimidating by height and carried a masculine air to him, everyone knew him for his benevolence. he was a true gentle giant. eleanor was the songstress of kind words. raymond was the pretty boy that drew all the noblewoman in... and men too. mansi, although not necessarily unwelcoming, she was the judging eye. the embodiment, manifestation, and pressure of what these events were really about: the first impression. if one wanted to argue she needed to lighten up more, she was unyielding of that matter. as polite and mannerly of a woman as she was, she was forthright when it came to business. an image of a disapproving aunty came to her mind, reprimanding her to smile more, look friendlier, and marry her son. at an indian party, she'd soften a little for the sake of her maa's watchful eye, and pivot her way out of telling a proud mom her son wasn't hot stuff. blinking twice, she returned to reality and directed her curious gaze on the next person coming along.

“and kit verne, french gentleman” they announced, putting a name to the next person before the four. mansi waited a moment for them to elaborate on his title, the reason for his recognition. silence. lingering eyes. silence. a small smile. silence. it dawned on her that there was nothing else to him. a titleless gentleman, a nobody that princess serena granted the courtesy of an acknowledgement in the vicinity of nobles. 'you're me', she thought to herself. as grateful as she was for her bond with princess eleanor, at times, and although she knew her friend never intended for it to be so: the smaller folk were always given the social leftovers. mansi broke the silence, "a pleasure to have you join us today... mr. verne" -you are acknowledged. seeing as they were of similar titles, a bystander would have only seen it as appropriate that mansi be the one to 'waste her breathe' on a fellow commoner, as they would say 'better you than the real nobility'. she genuinely meant what she said, even for someone that was never really big on small talk. by the looks of it, all this attention was unusual for the gentleman before her. with that, she drew the distinction between her and mr. verne, reckoning that he had little affluence to his name. by the time he had turned to walk away, mansi quirked her head, eyes curiously lingering on him. she wondered whether it was a cruel joke or a kind deed that went wrong for his case. judging from her brief impressions on the french princess, mansi had her reservations.

from the snippets of information she had received throughout the week, she was given the impression that this was an engagement party. 'why not announce the pairings from the get-go?', she pondered, 'who else is getting engaged?'. the suspense was driving her crazy. for her highnesses, it was an easy guess. for everyone else, it was a messy guessing game. a quick side eye towards sir raymond's direction 'are you getting engaged too?' the crown had always played a heavy hand in terms of his life. with him at their disposal, it was easy to imagine him getting married off for political gain. still, it was hard to tell if he was there for protection or if he was a part of this messy charade. he was in for quite the interrogation later that night- 'if we can make it to the taverns' the skeptical voice in her head reminded her.

in a moment's notice, their little greeting committee dwindled to three at princess eleanor's swift departure. the throng this evening was a restless sea of anxiety. her companion was clearly not exempt with her own set of troubles. a part of her wanted to follow her highness and offer some solace, a more dominate side willed her feet to remain put. selfishly, she had her own burdens to shoulder. in no doubt, the english rose was tougher than she looked. there was no need to coddle the royal. as soon as the princess's silhouette vanished, her focus was dutifully turned on her monarch. she stood tall and expectantly. a moment of awkward silence. without the princess, their group didn't feel the same. mansi knew the crown prince was well-capable of greeting guests, he would undoubtedly make a fine king one day. among the three royal siblings and all the years she had known them, she regrettably knew little of prince laurence on a personal level. today was not the day to break the ice. with ease, she barely needed to tilt her head to meet eyes with the prince "please excuse me your highness, i believe my fiancée was just before us and i request to meet him". with an approving nod from the crown prince, mansi curtsied once before him and once before raymond, solely for the purpose of appearances. "we shall reconvene later", addressing the knight, 'don't forget' her eyes glinted both playfully and threateningly.

from a practical standpoint, perhaps it would have been nice to keep close to those that kept her anchored in all the turmoil. on the other hand, safety was always fleeting. her time being near ellie and ray, two people whom she could always feel secure, was brief. after the princess had walked off, ray's presence was reassuring enough... except she wasn't so keen on hiding behind someone. besides, in time he'd surely have to leave for his knightly duties elsewhere. it was best that she left him first because if it were the other way around, it would have spiked her angst. 'why do i feel safer in a decrepit part of the city than the court?' she navigated through the crowd with ease, her chosen gown clung close to her body and allowed for free movement. on the streets, her height and look alone was all it took to avert trouble. at the court, her assets on the street became her burdens. during events like these, she always wore flat slippers simply to not 'demasculate' some of the eventgoers. another perk to flat shoes: they granted her nimble footing against a jostling crowd. the french gentleman was on her mind. naturally, her mind drew connections from the rumors she had heard about her betrothal to a foreign servant. the more she thought about it, the more the curly blond with a kind face fit the bill. 'why else would they have announced a person of such low status?' mansi kept her eyes peeled for him, determined to engage and worm out some information. from a distance, she spotted her target in dialog with a familiar wavy-haired prince. perhaps her fiancée was more well-connected than she had thought.

slowly, she approached the two, fixating herself towards one of them for a long moment. the danish prince, oh how long has it been since she had last seen him? 'since his twin's funeral' a grave voice reminded her. it helped to think about his darling sister to push the darker thoughts away. expectantly, mansi looked left and right in search if princess liva had been nearby. perhaps she had brought her new lord of a husband for mansi to meet- anything to help distract her from her crumbling world. to no avail, the end of her path lead to the two young men before her. "greetings prince asmund" respectfully addressing the danish man first and folding her legs into a deep curtsey. turning to the other gentleman, she did a quick bounce on her knees to show respect. a nod would have been sufficient for someone of her similar status but she wanted to make it as though they were equals. "mr. v...erne" the name rolled off her tongue awkwardly seeing as she had not been accustomed to the french language. "i see you're quite the close acquaintance to my fiancée. do tell", addressing the prince once again, 'lets all get to know each other... and i hope the french gentleman is a good, civil mediator'

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ＴＲＡＮＳＬＡＴＩＯＮＳ//चाची - chaachee/aunty - honorific term for a woman older than oneself. in popular culture;
nosy, gossiping, rather abrasive individual that holds a lot of social power due to traditional values of respecting one's
elders. being older hence 'wiser'. extra powerful in the company of other aunties.xxxxxxxxxमाँ - maa - mom