In Which Marie is Yelled At

As soon as Colette's troop was clear of the nobles, she seized Marie by the ear. "You, walk with me. Now."

Marie followed, being well experienced with being dragged by the ear, the grin she'd gotten at the delightfully unexpected ending to the evening falling promptly. She thought about opening her mouth to protest - it had gone WELL, all things considered - but she was familiar with Colette's anger and kept her mouth shut.

 Colette shook the girl lightly, letting go and crossing her arms. "What the hell were you thinking?"

It was a loaded question, Marie knew, so she considered it carefully, then gave up. "I wanted t' see the prince," she answered, honestly, adapting an appropriately ashamed-looking face, though she couldn't resist glancing over her shoulder to see if he was still there, and blushing with relief when he wasn't. "He seemed glad to see me," she added, unable to resist a bit of stubbornness.

"Selfish," Colette muttered under her breath, reaching up to push a few sweaty tendrils of hair away from her face. "Marie. You made an incredibly poor... judgment call tonight. I expected better, after all I've tried to teach you."

 Marie cringed a bit. Colette was breaking out the Disappointed Voice. She was well practiced with yelling and smacking, but the Disappointed Voice was a cruel and unusual technique. "It worked out, didn't it?" she tried again.

"You crashed a royal banquet!"
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, Marie. It worked out. As in, we were not executed, exiled, or arrested. By some miracle. I'm sure you knew ahead of time that toppling over food at the king's table while wearing stolen clothes would enamor us all to the court. Congratulations on your foresight."

 Marie recognized the sarcasm, but couldn't think of any response that would end well. At any rate, her ear was free, and while it had never occurred to her that they could have been executed or exiled or arrested. She glowered, realized that wasn't an appropriate response either, and then attempted an endearing smile instead.

"You need to think, Marie. You're not a street urchin anymore. Your actions affect your troop. Your family. Me. I took you in, I trained you the way my brother trained me." Colette could hear her voice cracking slightly, but she shoved that sadness away and turned it into anger instead. "If you want to be part of this family, you need to act like it. I won't let one silly girl with a crush bring my airship crashing down."

 Chastised, Marie lost the endearing smile and sighed. She immediately thought of all sorts of responses - I'm not a silly girl, to start with, and somewhere beyond that, if I'm part of the family why didn't I get invited to the party, though she recognized that that was a silly-girl kind of thought - but she bit her tongue. "Sorry," she muttered. Though she couldn't resist adding, under her breath: "I don't have a crush." Crushes were certainly silly-girl things, And she was decidedly not a silly girl.

 Colette sighed, reached out and touched the girl's shoulder with a soft hand. "You need to trust me, cherie. I'm trying to do right by you. You know that, right? But I also have a business to run. I can't let you have everything you want. Not at the cirque's expense"

 Marie nodded. Again, with the things she wanted to say: For example, she was a grown-up, so didn't that mean she got to do things she wanted? But she seemed to have avoided an explosion, and did feel properly embarrassed at having caused trouble, so she said nothing. The servants were swooping in to clean up what was left of the dinner party, giving the lingering Cirque members - and everyone was lingering, watching Colette from a safe distance - looks and a wide berth. "Do I have to help clean up?" Marie asked, wincing at the very thought.

 Colette nodded once. "Please." It was rather mature of Marie to offer, though Colette knew the girl was hoping for a swift dismissal. "And you'll have to do something about Alexandra's clothing."

 Marie sighed and nodded. "Sorry Alexandra," she added, standing on tip-toe to call across the room to the seamstress. She had lived with her long enough to assume that the look on her face meant Alexandra would be shouting at her next, and might have started that very moment had she not been by the distractingly close presence of Asmodeous, waiting, composed as ever, to escort the ladies back to the cirque. Suddenly, Marie was not so worried about the time it would take to clean. Perhaps she might even get back so late that she would need to sleep in the acrobat's cabin instead.

Colette smoothed her rumpled clothes, and gave Marie one last order. Just to remind her--and maybe herself--that she was ringmaster. Boss! Not a friend and certainly not a mother substitute. Her heart did twinge at the girl's face, though. Maybe she'd teach the girl some new flips on the trapeze tomorrow, or let her have a go on the russian bar she'd been eyeing. "Help clean up here and then head back to camp. I'm going to speak with Asmodeus now. I expect you to arrive at practice early tomorrow to help set up." She pauses. "If you're going to be incredible, you're going to need to push harder. And I know you can do it." She quirked a half smile. "I did, and I caused twice the damage you did, more than once."

Colette cast one last glance around the wreck of the room. Marguerite had disappeared with her new friend, unsurprisingly, but Asmodeus--faithful albeit slightly drunk Asmodeus--was waiting on Alexandra and herself. Colette felt a slight twitch of unhappiness. Marguerite and Froederick. Asmodeus and Alexandra. And now, Marie and this prince! She chided herself for her sudden flight of imagination. There was nothing between Marie and the young royal. And even if there was--jealous, of a sixteen year old? Really? She could almost hear Aurele's gentle jibe in her ear. "I do miss you," she murmured softly. She sighed, turning away from this latest disaster, and strode to Asmodeus's side.

Now it's a train wreck... or is it?

 Enthralled by Prince Maximilian’s charming rescue, Marie practically levitated across the dining hall, oblivious to the varied reactions of her circus family and the decidedly negative ones from the King’s other guests. As Alexandra groaned a second time at her passing, Asmodeus inquired, “Marie? Our Marie? Are you certain?” Glancing up from his near-empty plate, he added, “Doesn’t look like the Marie I know,” and went back to the last bites of a perfectly fried schnitzel.

Muffled through her hands, Alexandra muttered, “It’s definitely her… and in my favorite day dress.”

Looking a second time, Asmodeus’ raised his brows in surprise. “Ah yes! Quite right; that is your day dress.” Leaning back, Asmodeus gazed off into the past. “Oh, the times I’ve wanted you out of it… but never quite like this.”

Alexandra’s eyes peeked out from behind her fingers in to shoot daggers, aimed first at Asmodeus, but immediately finding a new target in the heedless Marie. “I’m dreaming. This has to be a dream but I know better! If that misfit gets even one stain on my clothes, I’ll…”

“Have me to willingly, nay, gladly restrain you,” purred Asmodeus as he pushed the empty plate away from his immediate vicinity. “We should give her a chance. At the very least, she tried to dress herself for the occasion. And she’s spunky enough to have followed us at risk of the wrath of Colette.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Alexandra conceded, “but I have a bad feeling about this. Mark my words we should have locked her in her room.”

After the general scuffing of chairs and murmurs of disproval over Max’s new dinner guest, Marie was firmly entrenched between the warm, inviting eyes of Maximilian and the darkly manic eyes of her ringmaster. Timidly, Marie opened her mouth to tell the prince a story, any story about circus life, but no sound came out. She just stared at his smiling face while the world around him melted into a trifling. Down the table, Asmodeus casually nudged Alexandra and nodded in Marie’s direction with a sly wink.

Colette, silently berating him with a glare, verbally jumped in front of this imminent train wreck. “Your majesty, what are those delightful confections I see coming out of the kitchens”

Maximilian glanced back, and explained to Marie, with a note of pride, “You’re lucky you arrived when you did, Fraulein. You are just in time for dessert which, I might add, we Bavarians exceed at.”

Marie blushed slightly at the prince’s attentions and meekly remarked, “Well I must say dessert is my favorite meal of the day. I could almost swear I followed the sweet smell of cakes and pies to find this place.” She looked around her with a grin and a nervous chuckle, only to be met by the stern glares of the dour politicians, but Ludwig’s rich, rolling laughter convinced them it might be in their best interests to get the joke. A resounding chorus of mirth echoed through the hall.

With a sigh, Ludiwg wiped a tear from his eye and handed a bowl of steaming broth to Marie. “Before the sweets, you should really try the Pfifferlingesuppe our chef prepared. It’s wonderful.” Marie thought she heard ‘soup’, and was willing to give the dark broth a try. She leaned over a large spoonful, inadvertently submerging her necklace, letting it dangle amongst the fungi. Several nobles shifted away from a deep growl emanating from somewhere around Alexandra.

After such a startling entrance, the assembled dinner guests gradually returned to their conversations. Maximilian had a glass brought and a servant began filling it with a delightfully dark, sweet wine. Marie, enjoying the wine’s flavor and newfound cover for her giddiness, never noticed the waiters on hand to refill the glass, content to attempting small talk through burning cheeks. Marguerite, having found a remarkable intelligence in the king, returned to explaining some of the more technical aspects of her research to a rapt audience. Meanwhile, Colette was engaged in a discussion with her neighbor, a lesser noble from a nearby city, over the best and worst locales in her travels. She was currently remembering an ill-fated event in the Arabian deserts. “And that, lordship, is when our magician over there rerouted the gas in the balloon through the boiler and out of a pipe he had shoved out the back window, allowing us to escape those blood-thirsty dervishes. Now, avoiding crashing and ending our lives…”

Asmodeus raised his glass in mock salute, his lips cocked in a wry smile. “We made it out alive, didn’t we?”

Marie suddenly perked up, having heard this story before and realizing they were telling it all wrong, turned from Maximilian so fast she upset her fourth glass of port. Affecting a high-brow mannerism, she interjected, “Wait! Isn’t that the time when Asmodeus found that completely inebriated girl with the tight corset ad too much blush and he took her…”

Alexandra gave Asmodeus a glare and a solid kick to the shins. “Home!” he interjected hastily into his glass, nearly choking on the fine Gewuertztraminer perched at his lips. “I took her home! It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do, of course.”

“But Asmodeus,” Marie continued, “That’s not what happened. I distinctly remember you saying… ouch! Colette, what was that for?”

There was a muted ‘thud’ from beneath the table. With a snarl, Colette whispered through clenched teeth, “Shut up and eat your food. We’ll talk about this later.”

Marie was daunted… for mere moments. Perhaps it was the wine, the atmosphere, or the fact that nobody had thrown her out.

“You know,” she said conspiratorially to Max, “I can tell you the whole story later. It’s really quite thrilling, and requires a lot of flexibility but as an acrobat I can appreciate it and show you all the moves…”

“And you’ve had enough,” declared Colette, taking hold of Marie’s glass and gently pulling it away.

Marie, however, had other ideas, tugging forcefully by the chiseled stem of the crystal goblet. “No, I have not, thank you very much!”

With a violent wrenching Marie freed her glass from Colette’s clutches, only to hurl the ruby liquid in a shower over herself, the rumpled yellow dress, and Prince Maximillian’s dinner jacket. A resounding gasp arose from the assembled dignitaries, some looking incensed, others like they had eaten something sour. The wine was as blood to Alexandra as it eclipsed the sunshine of the day dress; a grievous injury to a once vibrant and youthful article of clothing. The color drained from her face; she could already sense the cotton fibers dying an irrevocable shade of mauve. With a sigh, her eyes unfocused and went skyward, her body thudding to the floor. Asmodeus would have caught her, should have caught her, but was instead dumbstruck, the spoonful of a delicious custard hovering just outside his mouth now sliding slowly back into its bowl with a resounding ‘plop’. Marguerite leaned back into Froderick’s arms, casually sipping coffee from an ornate gilt-edged cup and saucer, surveying the chaos, and Alexandra’s despair, with a grin. The courtiers held their breath, afraid to make even the slightest sound. Tears glistened on Marie’s eyelids, the glass falling forgotten from her fingers to shatter on the cold floor. Colette winced in visible pain, seeing in her mind’s eye the evening’s events, her social standing, and her desperately maintained patience collapsing alongside the shards scattered at her feet. Had King Ludwig, a deep scowl settling over his face, not been seated between them, Colette felt she might have sprung upon Marie and throttled her then and there. As it turned out, this might have been a recommended course of action, for it would have prevented what happened next.

Apologizing incoherently, Marie snatched at her napkin which in turn upended the bowl of soup, sending it sliding and gliding across the table into Colette’s lap. She jumped to her feet, but not fast enough to avoid being decorated in wet mushrooms. Her arms, as if of their own volition, flew into the air, catching the duke sitting next to her square in the chest and sending him, chair and all, tumbling over backwards… into the path of a servant laden with dishes. As servants are wont to do when confronted with an obstruction not entirely visible or expected, the liveried man tripped on the duke, throwing his arms out to catch himself and simultaneously hurling the remnants of a cake at the duke’s wife.

The Duchess stared, open mouthed, as the pastry arced toward her, soaring straight into her face. With a cry muffled by delicious whipped icing, she frantically clawed at her face, endeavoring to remove the offending baked good before it could do anymore harm, and thus slinging it wildly in all directions. Asmodeus gasped, the thought of cake marring his favorite vest simply appalling, and nimbly dodged from his seat, taking two steps only to trip over Alexandra’s inert form. He sprawled face-first on top of her, bringing her out of her unconscious retreat. Dazed, she reached up and gently caressed his cheeks and eased the wrinkles from his startled brow, a smile creasing her lips. “Well good evening handsome. Come here often?”

Asmodeus, close enough to feel the soft tickle of her breath across his face, to become wrapped in her intoxicating scent, closed his eyes and leaned closer, preparing to give himself over to her and his desire. Alexandra could feel the soft bristles of his moustache brush her lips. She felt his heart pounding through her corset. Her eyelids fluttered in anticipation.

And then Asmodeus was airborne. Something grabbed hold of Asmodeus’ shoulders, wrenching him from the ground and forcing him to his feet. Lips still puckered, he opened his eyes to a visage twisted with rage and eyes alight with a burning desire to hurt something. He knew this face quite well.

Colette was furious, sputtering incoherently. After a moment, she seemed to get her thoughts in order and her hands around Asmodeus’ throat. “You,” she growled. “This is your fault. Let’s go to Germany. We’ll perform for the King. We’ll go to a fancy dinner.” She began to shake him to and fro, shrieking, “You let Marie find out.”

Marguerite, still lounging languidly against Froderick, set her cup and saucer on the table and looked up at the engineer. “I suppose I should calm her down; no telling what she’ll do. Please excuse me, dear.” Reaching under her skirt she produced a syringe already loaded with tranquilizer and was just standing to wrangle her ringmaster when laughter thundered in her ears.

All those within the dining hall turned at the sound. Marguerite stopped midway out of her chair. Colette stopped throttling Asmodeus; he stopped choking. All eyes turned to the head of the table, where Ludwig stood, arms akimbo. He stuck his finger in a nearby cake, and playfully smeared a line of dark chocolate across Max’s cheek. “Spitze! Wunderbar!” he cried. “This was the most fun I’ve had in some time. My usual guests,” he gestured at the nobles staring wide-eyed and terror-stricken, “are often such a bore, but you are so talented… especially this little one!” He gave the tipsy acrobat a good natured pat on the back. “You even had my son in on it. If your act is half as exciting, then we are in for a real treat.” With a final chuckle, Ludwig stepped away from his throne, one hand on Max’s shoulder, face beaming with a smile. “Now, my guests, the night’s festivities have drained me. If you will excuse me, I shall retire for the evening. Thank you, my guests, and goodnight.” Turning on his heel, cape swinging majestically, Ludwig left the room amidst a forest of bowing bodies, the great carven doors thudding closed behind him to leave the hall in eerie silence. Maximillian removed Marie to arm’s length. “Well, maybe that’s enough excitement for one night. No, do not worry about the jacket. It can be cleaned. Come, I’ll see you safely home.”

Marie turned to look at Maximillian through half-lidded eyes and simply replied, “You have… beautiful… eyes,” before falling asleep, head dropping against his chest.

Now it's a Party

Getting dressed had taken Marie a little bit longer than she'd anticipated, in part because Alexandra had the most readily available fancy things but was not at all Marie's size, and in part because one of the stage hands had seen her changing when the cabin door swung open and she'd had to chase him down at punch him. She'd torn the too-long hem of the yellow day dress she'd chosen in the process, but she was convinced that it wasn't noticeable - she'd tied the extra length up in the back into something that to her mind looked like a bustle. The extra fabric at the waist was held back by a bright red sash. She'd also borrowed a black boy's waistcoat from Tom, which, buttoned closed, almost hid the bunching of the dress at the chest where it was sized for someone rather better endowed than herself, and had looped a long costume necklace several times around her neck, which she thought distracted from this slight problem of fit but perhaps just served to draw attention to it.

She thought she looked quite dashing, though she'd given up on the pair of shoes she stole from one of the other acrobats halfway up to the castle, and had been unable to do anything about the dirt on her ankles from the walk. It was dark. No one would notice.

"Um. I'm sorry I'm late," she said hopefully, after the long beat of awkward whispers which met her arrival. "I... Uh..."

Marie, normally the queen of excuses, found herself somewhat at a loss amid all the grandeur. Fortunately, and to her eternal delight, the Prince swooped to her rescue, standing up. "My fault entirely," he lied gracefully, such that everyone could tell he was lying but no one would dare bring it up. "I was so eager to hear about Fraulein Mary's act that I invited her, but I must have failed to give directions, and you know the castle can be baffling to those unfamiliar with it," he addressed the king with a slight, apologetic nod. "I still get lost sometimes,' he added to Marie, smiling, then turned to the servants. "Another chair, please?"

This put everyone in the terribly undignified position of scooting to make room, which they did with only a minimum of huffing and the mutual understanding that this would never be spoken of again except in gossipy whispers or when intoxicated.

"Thank you," Marie said, blushing as she sat - next to the prince! Her stomach was so a-flutter that she thought she might not be able to eat, but then she smelled the food coming out and quickly changed her mind.

"You're welcome," he replied, and Marie was so captivated that she failed to notice pretty much everyone at the table glaring at her. "Now you owe me some exciting stories about circus life."

Dinner with a King

Madame Rosamunde resettled the woven basket of neatly folded clothes on her hip after she finished the climbing down the stairs from her sewing tower to where the Bayreuth Swan Ship was docked. She paused outside the ship when she heard a muffled thump and the sound of falling furniture.

Pausing, Rosamunde called out, “Froderick? Are you all right?”

There were more muffled thumps before a voice finally yelled, “Just a minute!” The mechanic emerged from the ship with only a brightly coloured paisley curtain edged in thick fringe wrapped around his waist to protect his modesty. “Yes?”

 “Ah, I see you are testing how comfortable all the furniture is?” The older woman asked with a knowing smile. “I know you worked particularly hard on improving the collapsible bed.”

The tips of Froderick’s ears started turning a bright shade of red and Rosamunde, taking pity on the mechanic, handed him the basket full of clothes. “Here, I just finished getting a proper outfit together for Marguerite and I also brought a new waistcoat for you, your old one is getting rather worn. Also, you might want to hurry in getting dressed, the dinner is supposed to start in an hour and you don’t want to be late.”

Froederick, balancing the basket and the strategically wrapped curtain, thanked the seamstress and went back into the ship to Marguerite. The mechanic found her lounging comfortably amid a pile of blankets and cushions on the aforementioned large, ornate and collapsible bed. Marguerite stretched contentedly and slid to her feet, greeting Froederick with a kiss and a seductive pull at the curtain wrapped around his waist.

Laughing, Froederick kissed her and occupied her hands by giving her the basket. “I’m afraid we have to be dressed for the dinner and not undressed.”

 Rita sighed picking up one of the skirts in the basket, “Very well, as you help me get into this ridiculous outfit.”

After half an hour of much cursing and struggling with laces, Marguerite was dressed in a fine black and blue taffeta dress. The underskirts were heavily pleated sapphire cloth; the top of the dress was a fitted black corset with straps with a black over-bodice striped with blue cut to look like a man’s coat with broad folded tails that fell neatly over a small bustle.

Froederick was dressed black wool dress pants tucked into practical, but neatly shined, boots. He wore a crisp white shirt and a blue and black striped waistcoat, similar to Marguerite’s dress. Overtop, he wore a fine wool dress coat lined in black satin with gold accents. Despite Rita’s dislike of fancy clothing, she had to admit that the outfit Rosamunde picked from the castle storage was better than she had imagined being forced to wear. And she discovered Froederick looked as good in fancy dress as he did out of it.

Once Marguerite and Froederick had finished fidgeting with their clothing, they walked from the hanger and back to the castle. On the way, they discussed the “safe” topics that would be appropriate at the dinner table. “So, no talking about circus daily life?” Rita asked him.

“No, at least not unless the King asks specifically about it. I think your exploits in opium dens and bars might be a bit too exotic for him unless he really wants to hear about it. Do talk about your tamer experiments though, like your miniature animals. He loves to hear about that type of new science. It intrigues him, I think, as he can’t do any of it himself. And he enjoys listening to about unusual ideas.”

They arrived first to the grand dining room where the butler showed them to chairs on the opposite side of the table from the King’s throne, much to Marguerite’s relief. She warily eyed the opulent gilt picture frames and the heavy wooden furniture upholstered in jewel bright brocades that stood around the room.

Seeing Marguerite’s discomfort, Froederick squeezed her hand underneath the table and murmured, “Don’t worry, the dinner shouldn’t last much longer than a few hours. And there will be plenty of other guests here to entertain the King.”

The carved mahogany doors swung open to reveal the next couple to arrive: Asmodeus and Alexandra who both looked elegant and comfortable in their surroundings. The fortune teller and the scientist avoided each others gaze while the gentlemen nodded to each other as the couple was led to a pair of seats down the table to the left of the King.

Colette was the last one to arrive, dressed in her fanciest tail coat in the Cirque’s signature colours of red, gold and green. She was seated directly to the left of the King’s chair and the exchanged slightly nervous looks with the other family members of the Cirque.

A staff rapped three times on the marble floor as the ornately carved and inlaid wooden doors swung open and a herald announced, “King Ludwig Otto Friedrich Wilhelm of Bavaria.”

The King, the prince and favorite courtiers all processed in and took their respective seats. From his golden throne, the Ludwig proclaimed to the table, “Ah, leaders of the Cirque de la Vapeur! I am glad you have all joined me for dinner. My chefs have prepared a delicious feast for us tonight so let us eat and enjoy each other’s company!”

Chefs dressed in spotless white coats and hats wheeled in carts laden with trays covered in silver domes. They walked around the table setting small gold rimmed plates containing delicate hors d'oeuvres and oysters shining in liquid on half shells in front of each guest. Everyone eagerly started on the first course, especially the members of the Cirque who rarely got such luxurious food.

Chatter amongst all the guests started out slow mostly due to the language barrier until each found smatterings of French, German and English in common and the conversation started in earnest. The courtiers were fascinated by the Cirque members: their exotic clothes, their various circus acts and the stories of the many other cities they had visited. And by the time the second course, consommé Olga and cream of barley, was placed in front of them the Cirque family could barely keep up in answering the questions of the courtiers.

At first the King listened as Colette told one of the Barons about how they had to fight off bandits while doing a show in the wilds of mountainous north Italy with improvised flame throwers made from spare hot air balloon parts. But as the third course of poached salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumbers was removed from the table, Ludwig rose from his seat and held his wine glass up in a toast.

“Honored guests, thank you for joining me in my beloved castle and celebrating with me and my friends. I eagerly await your performances in the upcoming weeks and I hope you enjoy your time here in my fairy castle.”

The prince rose from his small throne to the right of Ludwig and held his glass high, “Prost!”

The entire room joined him, standing, raising their glasses and echoed the toast in a loud cry that echoed off the tall ceiling, “Prost!”

As they all returned to their seats, the fourth course of filet mignons lili, sauté of chicken lyonnaise and vegetable marrow farci came and went. Eating was interspersed with more excited conversation as the courtiers continued to ask about the Cirque’s adventures until the next was wheeled in on silver carts that creaked with weighty platters of lamb with mint sauce, roast duckling, apple sauce, sirloin of beef, chateau potatoes, green pea, creamed carrots, boiled rice, parmentier and boiled new potatoes.

Seeing the multitudes of platters Alexandra turned to Asmodeus, one hand pressed to her stomach, and murmured to him, “How many courses will there be? I fear if I eat much more my corset seams will burst.”

“Don’t worry,” the magician laughed, “only five more courses to go!”

“Ugh,” Alexandra resignedly sighed, “at least it’s all delicious.”

“There are advantages to dining with royalty,” Asmodeus said, eagerly digging into the delicate slices of duck on his plate.

As the chefs wheeled the carts of empty fourth course dishes away, the large mahogany doors swung open and everyone turned to look at the small figure that was silhouetted in the doorway.

“Oh good Lord,” Alexandra groaned dropping her head into her hands, “it’s Marie. And she’s wearing my clothes.”

The Spectacle

Normally, as the evening approached, the circus would calm down - even at a new site, everyone would have made sure their own beds were accessible for the night, and would be thinking of getting dinner and turning in. But tonight, even with the big tent up and no plans for the night, the cirque was abuzz.

And Marie wasn't even involved.

Really, the whole situation was horribly infuriating.

Asmodeus had wrangled Marguerite, calmed Alexandra. Colette had calmed down enough to allow herself to be dressed appropriately, and was practicing polite things to say under her breath. Tom Sry and the boys were making jokes, planning a night of revelry to, quote, 'make the King's dinner look like cribbage with Marie's nuns,' and she had punched a few of the smaller ones for the insult. The acrobats were moping that they weren't invited to dress up as well, and, ah, entertain.

And, having had the terribly important task of delivering news of this exciting event, Marie was now entirely shut out.

And the PRINCE would be there!

Marie had pointed this out to no less than three different people, and they had all insisted that she couldn't possibly go.

So, naturally, when they started parading up to the palace - Colette leading the way, Asmodeus and a still-slightly-bristling Alexandra shortly behind, Marguerite having already run off with that scary man - Marie followed. She took even greater care than usual, doing her best to avoid Asmodeus in particular, and when they went in the front doors, she paused, counting in her head until they had to be suitably far away, before slipping in, putting on her most charming smile and trusting any observers would find her suitably circus-looking and allow her in.

The doors to the dining room were open, and Marie hovered outside, peeking around at the spectacle of it all. A giant fire roared in a fire place at the far end of the room, and while the table setting wasn't terribly large - maybe a dozen seats total, between the King's entourage and the Cirque group - the glittering outfits of courtiers who didn't get to show off very often and performers who weren't practiced at how to show off when not covered in glitter and feathers made the room seem full and sparkly. And right next to the king was the prince, looking completely charming and only a little bit bored as the meal began.

Oh, she had to get in on this. Marie scampered away, wondering how quickly she could find proper clothes.

Colette's Tailcoat!

Finally, Colette's tailcoat has been completed! (Aside from a few final details and matching sleeves, that is). The coat is based off the front of Butterick B5232 and the back from Butterick B4929 with a lot of modification and a muslin mock up for fitting and details.

Fights and Flirtations

Alexandra fumed as she stormed out, down the stairs, through the hallways trying to find her way out of the castle. She and Marguerite had had their disagreements before, as all friends, families and co-workers do, but in her mind none were as bitter or as close to the truth as this one.

Rita had never been fond of Society, at least outside of opium dens, brothels and laboratories, while Alexandra reveled in it. She loved the luxury of high society and how moving in those circles came naturally to her, partially due to her skills in dressmaking.

But it was Marguerite’s last words that really hit home: “If you took that silk off of your eyes you might find your own ship and tinkerer.”

Alex knew well who she would like to have courting her. In fact, that very magician had made it plain he was interested, but the fortune teller knew his habits with women. And she personally preferred a familiar lover over a new one in every town like many of the circus folk did.

Caught up in her own thoughts, she stumbled and almost fell as she turned the corner at the bottom of a spiral staircase when a pair of strong arms caught her.

“Slow down, Alexandra,” Asmodeus murmured as he held onto her until she righted herself.

The fortune teller straightened sharply. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t kill yourself. These stairs can be rather steep.”

“I’m fine Asmodeus!” The fortune teller yelled suddenly, turning her back to him, “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” The magician grabbed her by her shoulders and spun her around. Alexandra glared daggers at him. “So, why?”

“Because, I…” the magician paused, carefully choosing his next words, “I’d rather not see you get hurt.”

To his surprise, Alex neither slapped nor yelled at him. Instead, she just stared.

Encouraged, Asmodeus slipped an arm around her waist and started guiding her down the hallway to an exit of the castle.

“Look, Alex, don’t take Rita’s words too hard. You’re a part of this family you’re the only one who knows how to properly dress all the acts. And I don’t think your fabric is just a collection of rags, we need it to properly clothe the Cirque.”

The fortune teller half smiled, “I do suppose Colette would still look like a ragamuffin I hadn’t come along…”

“Exactly,” Asmodeus continued. “Also you have your own ship, a rather fine one at that. And as for a “tinkerer” I know you’ve had offers before…” Asmodeus trailed off, a sly grin on his face.

A reddish tinge coloured Alexandra’s cheeks at his words. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

“Of course, none of them are quite the caliber as I am…” He said squeezing her corseted waist fondly.

Alexandra elbowed him sharply in the side, stepping out of the circle of his arm. The magician winced, laughing, “All right, all right...”

They walked in relatively comfortable silence out of the castle and across the field to the Cirque. The sun had started slanting through the trees as Alexandra and Asmodeus neared where the ships were anchored.

The magician bowed and opened the door to her ship. “Come on, we need to hurry to get ready in time for dinner. You’re the only one besides me even remotely knows how to behave around royalty. And we need to get you out of those regular clothes and into something fit for dinner with a king.”

The fortune teller stopped, turned and glared at the magician, “you’re not getting anywhere near my corset laces.”

Asmodeus grinned fiendishly, “I wouldn’t dream of it. So, I’ll meet you here in ten minutes, it shouldn’t take that long for you to find something proper to wear.”

“Very well, I’ll see you shortly.” Alexandra replied before firmly shut the door to her ship and hurried to her wardrobe.

The fortune teller hadn’t been in this high of society lately, as the recent fortunes of the Cirque had lead them to choose smaller cities to perform in, but she still had her finer dresses neatly stored in a cedar chest. Alexandra quickly sorted through them, trying to find one that would be suitable for dining with a king. Finally, she settled on an old style blue watered silk dinner dress with a full, high bustle. The fortune teller loved the deep square neckline and elbow length sleeves both edged in antique gold lace and a graceful waterfall bustle.

Quickly changing into the fancy dinner dress, Alexandra fixed her hair with gold pins, wrapped a fine black lace shawl around her shoulders and hurried out of the ship to meet Asmodeus.

“Ah, perfect timing!” He greeted her, gesturing with his ebony and gold tipped cane. The magician looked dapper in a subtle black brocade tailcoat lined in flashy red satin. His waistcoat was fine gold silk and his pants smooth wool. A red jeweled cravat pin flashed from the intricate knot of white silk.

Asmodeus offered Alexandra his arm and, after a moment’s hesitation, she took it and they walked together back up to the castle for dinner with the King.