(1866-09-28) Goodnight, Mother
Goodnight, Mother
Summary: Miranda happens upon Raimond doing some paperwork before bed.
Date: Septembre 28, 1866
Related: None.
Raimond  Miranda  

The Giraldi Manse, Pacitta
In Set.
Septembre 28 1866

A couple globes of everlight illuminate the room that Lord Raimond Giraldi has claimed for his "office" in the Pacitta manse of the Giraldi family. Which is just to say that it's the outermost room of the suite he's been granted due to his position as heir. For now, he seems to be going over a modest pile of correspondence. A mostly-full bottle of good wine rests nearby, though his cup, for the moment, is empty. His expression as he reads is intent…thoughtful, but betraying neither happiness or displeasure of the contents that he reads. The door to the hallway is open, inviting any who might visit inside. So whatever he's going over must not be TOO sensitive or important, but for all his knightly skills, Raimond hasn't shirked the more mundane duties of being the heir to a noble house…much less a mercantile one…which means lots and lots of paperwork.

Ah, he does her proud. It's not even a full week since her still-young second son has made a name for himself in the joust and, or so it would seem, things have resumed their normal way of things. Of course, there's little 'normal' about a young knight and aspiring merchant who takes such things as mundane paperwork seriously, but then, Raimond has never been a typical person. It was something his mother noticed about him very early on and, it's something she's tried to nurture and grow since.

It's with a genuine smile and pink cheeks, face beaming with pride, that she peeks in his open door and watches him for a moment or two before knocking on the jamb to request entry. "Busy?" It's rhetorical, obviously, as she knows if he were too busy the door would be shut. She's dressed in her nightgown already, hair loose and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

Raimond glances up from the parchment he's studying and shakes his head, smiling back towards his mother, "Never too busy for you, Mother." He sets the missive aside and rises to his feet, gesturing to the fairly comfortable chair opposite his desk. Just an indication, not so much an invitation, as technically this is her house, and therefore she sits wherever she pleases. "Would you like me to pour you some wine? A nice Couvieri white. Hard to find on our side of the border at the moment." He murmurs more quietly, "Might be a market wecan work ourselves into as the Treaty develops, at least in the sense of middlemen-shippers."

Her grin grows incrementally larger as she nods in the affirmative to the offer of wine before sweeping herself into the chair he's indicated across from him. True, it is hers, and likely so is the pen he's writing with, but if children are to prosper to become successful adults they ought to be treated with the respect they aspire to. It's how she got where she is today, at any rate, and she was already a mother by the time she was the age Raimond is now. Sinking into the chair, she exhales as the cushion sinks under her weight. "With all the training you did in your youth, I'm quite impressed at your knack to see opportunities outside the joust." Because wine and armor aren't the same.

"If we could establish some routes sending Tracano Red north, we'd make money on both ends of the trip, but I suspect the Moreno will already have that particular side of the market cornered, and that's assuming the Tracano are even willing to sell it outside their borders…legally, anyway." Raimond shrugs a shoulder as he moves over to pour a cup half-full with the slightly-sweet white wine, which he then offers to his mother before half-filling his own cup. "I'm a knight so I can defend our family. I'm a merchant because our family must prosper. Someday I'll be a husband and father because our family must continue." Raimond moves to sit down, "Sometimes a man has to wear many faces, but while I may not be able to wear all of them with equal comfort and facility, I'd like to think I can manage two or three well, at least." He takes up his cup and swirls it a bit, but doesn't drink just yet.

"But treaty opportunities are a more distant issue, regardless. We need to improve the revenues we're pulling through Whitewalls. It'll likely upset the Greycen but…" He makes a dismissive gesture, "They likely hate us simply for the land we were granted. As if they, in our position, would have declined a patent of nobility due to the location of the lands being offered, all to please a group of strangers." Raimond's tone does edge a touch towards bitter there, but it fades quickly enough, "Anyway…Darren needs more money to continue the rebuilding, and it's no coincidence he put us where he did. Now we just have to figure out how to capitalize on it."

Pressing her lips into a firm line, still red from the day's cosmetics, Miranda raises both eyebrows in something of a warning gesture. "I know I've had my share, dearest, but bitterness only poisons the roots of the most successful tree, making it easy to push down in a storm and its beauty only a facade." Surely this matriarch isn't talking about moral purity, though given consideration on the topic, that brings her back to something else he's already said. "I'm confident Tristan Tracano, if given the opportunity to make more money, would oblige." His habits are no secret, and as she judges him visiously, it's all in wordless scoffs as she tips her glass back and takes a measured sip. Mmm, crisp. "Whitewalls, you say," she continues, once the delightful beverage is swallowed. "And when you say 'hate,' do you mean that in a passive, or an active sort of way?" Now it's just one brow raised, quirked in interest.

"We're occupying the lands they believe belong to them by right. We're direct kin to Darren. I think it would be remiss to not at the very least assume the former, and be very well prepared for the latter." Raimond replies, now sipping from his winecup, "I try not to be bitter mother, but when one receives more, and more genuine, congratulations from the Couvieri and even more so the Pacittans than one does from their own purported countrymen, it does feel a bit telling of their opinion of us." He sips his wine, expression dark a few moments, before he shakes it off, "But ultimately irrelevant. We are who we are, and if they cannot see our merit, then they are fools."

"I agree with you there," she says in regard to the last sentiment, sipping at her wine again. "Though I wouldn't take anything the Rivanians may or may not say about 'us' personally. It's really me they loathe, and you're only half me, so you have that going for you." Sipping again, she regards him over the top of the wine glass curiously, waiting for his next move. "While I do appreciate all the steps you're taking for this family and the way you're laying yourself down, do remember that it's your own, independent reputation you're looking to build."

Raimond smiles, more than a bit sardonically, "Yes, and the other half is, in their minds…" That last bit added to make clear that it is not Raimond's opinion speaking, "A common merchant." He sips the wine once more, and despite his words doesn't seem as bothered as he did a few moments ago, "And yes, a personal reputation is important, but the first challenge is convincing people to see the "Raimond" and, at least partially, overlook the "Giraldi."" Raimond sets the cup aside for a moment, now about a quarter-full. "But I need to build that reputation sooner rather than later. I would not wish to be grey-haired by the time I have a proper wife and heir." He smirks a bit, the expression laced with a touch of warm humor, "Though if I wished to marry a merchant's daughter there are several offers here." Raimond taps the stack of letters that he's already read. Though that humor fades to something more thoughtful, "Funny. A few months ago I'd have believed more than a handful of them well worth considering."

Miranda scoffs again, the short expulsion of breath through her nose echoing into her wine glass. "Right, well." Certainly that handful is significantly smaller now, in his estimation, or even nonexistent. She'd be okay with either, truthfully. "Thankfully you have the ability to choose which young woman will change her name to yours, a name that you will, no doubt, be making strong and admirable in its own right. Your uncle may currently run the company, but it's really just stalling until it's your turn. You do know that, don't you?" It's not that she doesn't like Aurellio; rather, her feelings about him as a person have no place here. But she can see that the bright flame of talent within the young man before her is only growing, and needs a fan. Soon. Looking back to the stack he's tapping, she inclines her head in indication. "Well, who's knocking?" Curiosity is always her favorite game.

"I do?" Raimond chuckles as to the matter of who he might wed, "I believe that authority is yours, actually." Not admonishing, just a tickle of amusement. He glances to the pile, then chuckles and lifts it up, offering it towards Miranda, "You're welcome to see for yourself. I fear they're all rather staid, though at least a couple of them make an effort at being cleverly so. It seems at least among the common folk of Pacitta, my newly-ennobled status means they have to be much more…proper in their missives." He chuckles, "But the short version is most of them aren't even on the Low Council. Not bad families. Some have fairly strong, if smaller companies behind their name. But as is always the way, they seek to expand themselves at the expense of others…in this case us."

Raimond tilts his head, "Will I? Then I'll have to keep studying ever more diligently. Though I suppose if the Morenos can run a massive merchant company and a noble house, we can do the same." He pauses, considering, "Hm. The Morenos…they're newly-raised as well, and for not entirely dissimilar reasons, from what I've heard."

"Hm." If Miranda has more of an opinion on the Morenos, she doesn't voice it past that. Instead, she chooses to sip her wine silently, eyes unfocusing for a moment as she mulls over all he's just told her. "I'll leave that judgment to you, I think, though I would appreciate you checking in with me before making any decisions, hm?" Rising, she drains her glass and sets it down on the desk before her. "I trust you, Raimond. And that half of you that's me, at any rate." Grinning, she winks down at him.

"After all that talking up of father the other day, you don't trust the half of me that's him?" Raimond queries mock-innocently, rising to his feet as well, and leaning over to give his mother a peck on the cheek, "I won't be rushing off to wed without considerable thought. Besides, you'd have to approve and likely sign the contract, anyway, as I understand it all." He grins, "Good night, Mother. I'll see you at breakfast in the morning."

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