(1867-09-07) Another Breakfast
Another Breakfast
Summary: As is her wont, Miranda Giraldi invites her second son to breakfast to have a chat about the state of the family.
Date: 9.07.1867
Related: Previous Tourney Logs
Raimond  Miranda  

The is something Raimond is likely very familiar with:

Upon returning from the Tournament in Ostvor, he was summoned to an audience with his mother. She allowed him some time, of course; it wasn't until the morning after his return that she expected him, and he was invited to join her in breakfast, as was her custom. Predictably, then, Miranda Giraldi is reclined rather gracefully on a chaise in her sitting room as her maid arranges the trays of breakfast things - pastry, some cured meats and fruit, and of course the ubiquitous tea - around on the small table with its two chairs. She's clad in a robe that was, considering the wearer, rather prudish, draping modestly from her collarbone to her ankle. In the hand of the arm that isn't supporting her weight, she holds a teacup. The ring on her finger clicks against the china as she fidgets, waiting. She doesn't like waiting, and she's even more eager still to discuss the events of the tourney with her son.

Raimond certainly isn't late, despite the fact that he's still got a good day's worth of lingering Gatesickness to suffer through, having only lingered an extra day or two in Ostvor after the Tornado. Still, it's already faded from "pounding headache and violent nausea" to "throbbing head and mildly queasy" so he even manages to show only a few signs of it as he moves to the table, mostly lines under his eyes from fitful sleep. Still, he's shaven and washed and dressed (even if servants did a fair amount of the heavy lifting there) and manages a smile for his mother, leaning down to peck her cheek, "Good morning, Mother. I hope it finds you well." He takes a step back, then, offering a hand to help her from the chaise and to that small table to be seated.

"Well enough." She's a woman with great love for her family that is shown in…unconventional ways. Thus, the smile in her eyes is enough to know that she's veritably bursting with pride. Something about the calm demeanor about her indicated much was going according to plan, as Miranda was certainly a woman who not only enjoyed plans, but sticking to them (and seeing their predicted results).

"I won't be offended if you don't eat, dear, but I wanted it provided in the case that you wanted something." She knew it unlikely he'd do more than pick at a muffin - she hates gatesickness herself a usually travels the long way for that precise reason (the One save the muffins!) - but it was a lovely display for the sake of displaying at the very least. After his greeting kiss she rises, pushing up the sleeves of her robe to her elbows before settling the teacup on the table and rolling them properly. A plate appears before her by way of maid, and her teacup is refilled. She reaches for some grapes.

"I am truly sorry I wasn't there to see you and your brother joust, my dear. I am not truly sorry I nearly missed this near-death-experience we're all discussing, though."

"I've seen the whirlwinds on the plains here in Eastfield a few times, but this was…a great deal larger." Raimond notes, gesturing for a cup of tea that he sips at as they speak, "Watched some poor soul get pulled right into it." He shudders a bit, "Horrible way to go. Not sure if they ever found him. I helped a bit with cleanup the next two days, but decided it best to return after that. Didn't want to overstay my welcome." He pauses a moment, then smiles a bit more brightly, "I was surprised I won the Joust, truth be told. It was a varied and strong field. But it's put me in good position to perhaps win the Circuit in Pacitta." Unless, of course, he gets shut out and his closest competitors don't, but now's not a time for voicing that at-least-mildly unlikely fear. "And if I do, then I can safely retire from this tourney business save for the occasional event and perhaps the Rivana tourney each year."

Ah, yes. That sly grin shows she's thinking just along those lines, too, or at least along the 'winning' way. Whatever his plans are after are his own, and she's not real say in that. Even if he respects her opinion, which she mostly expects, she doesn't want to make choices for her baby forever. It isn't how it's done. "Maybe if I stay away, you'll win the entire circuit, hm? Seems I cast a cloud of bad luck upon the competition when I'm in attendance." There's a short pause that follows, in which the only thing to be heard is the soft 'plunk' of a sugar cube breaking the surface of the tea and sinking to the bottom of the cup. Finally, she attains that sought-after muffin. "Save your surprise for the natural disasters, love." She grimaces, shaking her head at the idea of being whisked away by a tornado. Ugh. "You're a man of great natural talent and skill, and you have practiced long and hard. While you certainly aren't perfect, you've definitely worked for this acclaim." There is, of course, the customary maternal warning in there - something about ego? It's in the tone and the way she looks up from adding some butter to the pastry. "What would you do upon retirement?" The most loaded question of the week, likely.

"Well, I won't stop being a Knight, certainly, but there are more important things in life than Tourneys. I'd focus more on the role I will one hopefully-far-distant day be playing for our house." Raimond adds, "And a Circuit victory would make me someone of greater note in Rivana and indeed the whole of the Edge. A better prospect for a prestigious…relatively speaking…bride, and someone that might have a touch more clout in social circles. It will be useful in the future. No one doubts our capability as merchants and administrators. But we have to prove we can uphold the other responsibilities of our station as well. So I suppose bolstering our military forces would be another logical step. I suspect Darren might have considerable advice in that regard, but regardless, we need to set our roots deep and build our walls high. The Greycen may not be at our throats after Darren's wedding but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared for someone to be."

Music. To. Her. Ears.

She has always had faith in her offspring. They were hers, after all, but Raimond's words now brought a smile to his mother's face. Yes. He was beginning to live and breathe the livelihood of this house as he hadn't yet, in his youth, and it, too, meant things were indeed going according to plan. "Would you raise money to bolster the military through merchant trading, or your new wife's dowry?" It was a test of character, though she was sure she'd already fully puzzled him out. His outward persona, at any rate. Miranda held off on taking a bite of muffin until she'd finish her next thought: "I'm confident your brother would continue to offer advice as he has. He understands the meaning of family, as you very well seem to as well." Bite, then chased with some tea.

Raimond sips at his tea, quirking a half-smile over the rim of the cup, "Unless the Dowry is a pile of war material, through trade. We are known for our wealth. Spending my bride's dowry would be seen as frivolous and irresponsible. No…barring an emergency any such dowry would be held in trust, wisely invested…the old-fashioned way. If it never gets used, then my future heirs can deal with it as they see fit." Raimond pauses a moment, and adds, "However, securing a military alliance with the wedding contract is entirely desirable, or favorable trade terms that will help with the buildup." He finally tests himself with a grape, and not seeming inclined to lose it as soon as he eats it, doesn't push it by eating too much more just yet.

"Ideally we should build forces equal to most baronies. Present ourselves as capable of operating at one level above our actual station and Her Majesty may one day see fit to grant such station to us."

Oh good, he'd gotten it right. Nodding, pleased, Miranda finishes chewing that bite of muffin before popping a grape into her mouth and clears her throat. "Have there been any developments, on that end? You're still young, of course…" There isn't really much pressure, but Gossip is one of the matriarch's weaknesses, and her son knows this. All he says meets with one more final nod and a grin, and a satisfied sigh as she leans back in the chair a bit, teacup in hand. It still steamed a little, the gray mist in contrast with her dark hair. "Remind me again when you joust next? I'm very seriously debating whether or not I'm bad luck." She winks.

"No, not particularly. Darren's been intent on training me for the tourneys, near to the exclusion of all else, and if he's too busy to handle it personally he appoints others to make sure I follow his regimen." Raimond notes with a touch of a grimace, then a bit of a smirk, "Which isn't to say that certain diversions haven't continued, but I don't quite think Rivana is ready for a marriage across the southern border, even if such a thing were practical." Raimond shrugs a shoulder, "I'll concentrate more on it when the Circuit is done…win or lose." He finishes off his small cup of tea and chuckles, "The next Tourney is the Circuit finals in Pacitta. I should think you'd want to attend for the venue as much as the competition. The prizes will be particularly excellent. Not Sidhe-steel, I fear, but that was always a long shot with Couviere's champion on the field."

"Practical has hardly ever been acceptable, sadly." It was practical for her to have Darren when she did, but oh, the rumors that followed! She still clearly disapproves of people disagreeing with her, but considering she's come out on top, she's rather smug. "Yes, of course. How could I forget Pacitta?" Another grape disappears, and then another portion of muffin as she sighs, sipping the tea and holding it out for another refill. "I'll make you a promise that I will, for certain, be present for opening ceremonies. I'll leave it up to fate if I show for the joust then. You know that, no matter how well you three compete, I still hate the sight of you getting hit at all." Though it did ease her mind that Darren carried a mace in other forms of combat. She thought that was always a very efficient weapon. "You've much to do today?" Miranda asked then, as her cup was refilled, as something of a segue.

"Nothing beyond light reading and lounging today. At least until the gatesickness wears off." Raimond segues right along, though "light reading" for him often still involves ledgers and accounts. "If it wears by the afternoon I might exercise a few of the horses, but all told it will be comparatively lazy for me today, unless you've matters I need to attend to, Mother."

"Your health is what needs tending to, I should think. Of course you should take as much time as you need." There's another pause, but she doesn't eat or drink. She's thinking over her words. "You've made me very proud, Raimond, and not just because you won the joust. I appreciate how seriously you treat our family and its well being." There, perfectly diplomatic.

Raimond smiles, that brilliant grin that makes him near the spitting image of his father, "I'm your heir, Mother. I'd be dishonoring you and Father's memory if I didn't." He inclines his head to her, "Also, I think Leander is due some congratulations as well. He may not be in contention for the Circuit, but he's scored well this season against many more experienced opponents." He smiles, a bit more subdued now, "But otherwise…I think I will go take some more rest, if I might be excused?"

More nodding. "Of course. You know I love my children equally." Another wink, and another sip of the tea, and then Miranda's rising to bid her son adieu. "You may be, indeed. Let me know if you need anything as you recover. If you get to your brother before I do, let him know I'll see him. Anytime, really." She reaches for his hand to squeeze it in the wake of that smile before he takes his leave.

Raimond leans over and gives his mother another peck on the cheek, and then following a courtly bow, he turns on his heel and moves back inside, ready to collapse into a bed or a comfortable chair and…well, ride out the rest of the gatesickness. Ah, the price of convenience.

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