(1867-04-10) Gifts at Breakfast
Gifts at Breakfast
Summary: Leander is treated to some gifts at breakfast from his mother Miranda both physical and intangible.
Date: 4-10-1867
Related: The Wedding Joust for Tristan and Elaida
Miranda  Leander  

Giraldi Manse - Sunsreach
In Scene Set
10th of Avril, 1867

Pomp and circumstance are all very well for the Giraldi family. Being new money, as it were, their best bet for fitting in with the upper classes they've risen to become part of is to participate in the traditions that many have held on to for a long while. Weddings, of course, are no exception, and while it isn't one of her own brood that's leaving the nest, Miranda hasn't spared any expense when it's come to keeping her family looking sharp and honoring the newlyweds well with exceptional gifts.

The gift this morning, though, glimmering over in the corner as the sun rises through the windows of her sitting room, isn't for Tristan or Elaida Tracano. It's for her third son, the second Giraldi boy, for whom she has a special place in her heart. After all, he is her last boy, and that says something about how he ranks within the family. Mothers enjoy different things about each child, after all.

He'd been summoned to join her for breakfast - her favorite meal over which to deliberate - the morning after the tournament that landed him (twice) on the ground without a mount. She hadn't been present for the actual unhorsing, but words travels fast, of course…but then, money travels faster.

The armor was gleaming and shimmery and delightful there in the early morning sun, and just waiting for its new wearer.

Summoning for breakfast is certainly one thing. Actually walking to get to breakfast? That might be a feat. As it is, Leander might be a tad slow in answering the summons. When he does come, it is not with any of his usual swagger or feline grace that normally is attributed to him. No…it is with a slow, methodical approach…one that betrays that, underneath the finely crafted clothes may be a mass of bruises. Especially in the chest area.

Still, when he does make it to the room, Leander offers a small bow to his mother. Small only because anything more might be more hazardous than not. The youngest son speaks, in a soft and somewhat breathless tone, though he does his best to make his words as even as possible. "Good morning, Mother. I trust the morning finds you well?"

"Well enough." It would be a lie to hide that she was disappointed that he'd been knocked off twice, but then, it might not be dissatisfaction with him so much as the state of affairs that purses her lips thus. She waits for the bow and acknowledges it, then rises to kiss each cheek in turn before offering him a seat at her table. She hasn't yet dressed for the day, but even her robe looks like something the common folk would kill one another over.

Before she pulls the chair out for him - something she wouldn't typically do, but then, he is injured after all - she motions in the direction of said chair, but, with her hand, encourages him to look beyond it off toward the wall where his present awaits. "Did you sleep well, dear?" She retakes her seat.

"As well as could be expected." Leander does note the chair and the offer to him….and accepts it with a nod, though the expression on his face is a giveaway. He is just as disappointed in his present state and previous performance, and more so with his mother seeing him as such, as she probably is. He does wait until Miranda retakes her seat before he does, out of respect first and habit second. "Needless to say, I have had better nights."

As Leander sits, those eyes stray to the object in the corner. The particularly shiny object standing there, looking all resplendent and new. Not a speck of dust upon it. Certainly not the same as Leander's half plate, which was unceremoniously dumped in a corner for the squire to tend to the previous night, battered and soiled. The eyes study the armor for a moment…before a ghost of Leander's usual self colors his words. "A new set for Raimond?" The question is half-jest. He knows full well that Raimond had already received a set fairly recently. "Surely not for me. I need to stay in a saddle first before deserving of such a gift."

Ah…there it is. The true opinion of Leander's performance. It is apparent now that no one is more disappointed over his showing that Leander himself.

Raimond? Miranda scoffs. "Your brother has enough." Both of them do, in fact, but Darren isn't even part of the equation at the moment. Waving a hand in dismissal before reaching for a pastry on the plate between them, she shakes her head. "You may take whatever time you want to earn it, if you feel it right. But there's no way you can safely expect to survive the next tournament with what you pulled yourself out of last night." She'd seen that, though. She hadn't been present for the actual joust, but when she'd heard, she went looking. She wouldn't be her if she hadn't. "Truly, you know what you did wrong, and I'm certain that, if you're my son, you know how to rectify it. Dwelling won't do you any good at all." All truth, but then, Miranda was never the type to coddle. Pushing the pastry plate in Leander's direction, though, she offered a scone of truce, as it were. "You have talents you allow your brothers to eclipse, you know," she instigates, eyeing him over the spoonful of jam she's dabbing onto her pastry before taking a bite.

There isn't any debate offered in regards to need. Yes, there was certainly a need for something better. "Of course. It could also be the fact that it doesn't look well for our house to have a tournament knight from it seen in such. Not with the Normont Tournament a scant few weeks away." Because Leander knows it may not be so much about the state of the armor…but appearances. Appearance is everything. "We have enough detractors as it is…both within Rivana as well as without. We certainly do not want to fuel the fire, so to speak, and give them something else to use."

The scone is taken, slowly, and placed upon Leander's own plate. "And I know what I did wrong. I wasn't careful enough….not like Pacitta. Not like Hart's Home. I was too complacent. It shall not happen again." There is a shake of the head, though, at the mention of talents. "Whatever my talents are, they do not seem to involve the tournament field. And I am no good as a courtier presently. About all I am good at is inciting others, which I must admit can be rather gratifying at times. That and taking a beating, I would imagine."

A sly grin pulled the corners of Miranda's mouth upwards, even with all that chewing going on. "You're wise enough to see the state of things, which I would consider a talent. It serves you well to see with your eyes open instead of just accepting what you're told as fact." Good, she hadn't made mistakes with them that were grave enough to detract from their adulthood. Well, at least none that she'd seen so far. "You're dour, though, likely still sore in all sorts of ways from those hits. I don't need to know which mistakes you made, Leander. I was already confident enough in your ability to have understood them yourself. You have the time still ahead of you to work up to the oncoming tournament." Taking a breath, she reaches for the tea that had been set out before he arrived. "If you let it consume you, your opponents will continue to win out over and over again, my dear." Sip.

A soft chuckle escapes from Leander's lips. "Yes…I never did much go for just accepting matters. Something I picked up from you, Mother." Simple fact. There isn't any ill will or the like to the statement. "And you are right. I must not dwell on what has happened, but simply focus on the future and what we are going to do. Both on the field and off." Another glance is cast to the full plate armor, then back to his mother. "I will be my usual charming self in no time." Despite the slight wincing, Leander offers another chuckle at a thought. "Though it did not bring any luck last night…I may wear the favor to the Normont tourney. No doubt it will put certain combatants off. It might prove a useful distraction." He may not have said much to Miranda from his trip northward, but there certainly was enough stir for bits to come back. Dancing with the Baron t'Tremaine's daughter, in front of the noted Rivana-hating patriarch. That took either bravery or stupidity. Perhaps both. "She will certainly be there, with her brother. That…would be a welcomed distraction."

"Distractions are what get you through, truly. They pass time like nothing else." Cup suspended between her hands, Miranda smiles at her son. "It is pleases you and you know it won't be fatal, I don't see why you shouldn't wear her favor. She's a delightful girl, from what I hear, and the prejudices of the children are not always those of the parents." She sips her tea again before summoning a servant over to refill the cup. With her cup otherwise occupied, the older woman reaches over and clasps her hand gently over his. "You're my boy, and we both know it. These worries of yours will pass in no time. I can already see the plans brewing." Dark eyes dart up to his head in indication before she raised her teacup in an offer of cheers with him.

"Truly delightful. I rather enjoy her company. And I certainly don't mind the affect our interactions have on her brother." At that, a rather sly little smile curls the corners of Leander's lips. As his mother rests her hands upon his, his own eyes flicker up to meet hers. "Always a plan. We always have a plan. Thank you for helping me find it again." With that, he lifts his own teacup in answer, as the two continue on with their breakfast.

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