The Study {Angelique and Francis}

Angelique fidgeted within the confines of her corset, lamenting its existence. Normally, she'd wear her undergarments a bit looser, but her formal dresses required her form to be a bit less curvaceous. Bondye, I look like a twelve year old, she thought, glancing down at her shapeless form. Well, there was nothing for it. She turned to the mirror and winced. The woman in the mirror was refined, elegant, her curls cascading down her back perfectly. Her dark, bronzed skin glowed, the golden stitching in the crimson fabric of her dress gleaming in the manor's dim lighting. She looked regal, reserved, like any proper Countess should.

In other words, Angelique looked nothing like herself. If one of her sea-faring chums were to see her like this-she shuddered to think of it. Surely she'd lose the respect she'd worked to earn for so long. She hated how fragile she looked in this dress, how weak. The dark skinned woman lifted her chin proudly, turning from the mirror in a huff. Angelique Ramatoulaye was anything but weak. If it weren't for her father's summons, she could be out on the sea, proving her worth to any who dared to doubt her. But alas, her father had requested she meet him in his study, which could only mean one thing-business.

A glance down the hall proved no servants or visiting nobility in the vicinity, so Angelique didn't bother with any stately elegance; no, she bounded past the library, skidding around corners and very nearly overturning a bust of some pompous airhead long deceased. Finally reaching the ornately carved doors to her father's study, she jolted to a stop. Rearranging her hair, smoothing her dress... completely presentable. Without bothering to knock, Angelique let herself in to the well-furnished drawing room. The walls lined with books, the furniture all extravagantly luxurious, the fabrics all in the lastest fashion trends. At the back of the room, a refined blonde man, tall of stature and of a sophisticated air lounged behind a beautifully designed desk.

"Bonzour, Papa. Ya' wanted to see me?"

This needed to happen again. Francis was determined to talk some sense into Angelique, even if he had already attempted at doing so in the past many times.

But unfortunately, she could just not grasp the concept that she was the heir of the Duke of France. When Francis passed away, she needed to be there to become the duchess. She needed to marry, have kids, and run a country. Angelique couldn't just be running about, playing pirates. She needed to smarten up, and smarten up fast. She had responsibilities that she needed to realise and accept. One never knows what may happen in the near future. Francis himself could not have any more kids. He was not the best at staying committed to one single person, and he would be greatly shamed if he ever had an illegitimate child. Angelique did not count, because she was adopted into the family.

Francis sat at his favourite spot in his manor. He simply adored the mahogany desk that stood in front of him. Yes, his office -and the manor's library- was the perfect room for the aristocrat. The room just screamed upper-class French architecture. Francis loved everything about it. The high ceiling, the towering bookcases filled with fine French literature, and of course, the intricate stained glass windows that brought light into the room from behind his desk.

He had asked for Angelique quite a while ago, and wondered if she was even going to show up. He expected her to be clean, and proper, something that she was normally not. At the current moment, Francis was focusing on the paper in front of him. It was a deed to an old abandoned farm in West France, which needed his signature for some reason or another. His attention was averted, though, once Angelique opened the door. Francis sat up straight and smiled. She looked beautiful in that dress.

"Oui, ma jolie. You 'ave been gone for so long, and I want to discuss some things with you." Francis smiled softly, moving his papers aside and leaning his arms on his desk, resting his face in his hands. "Sit. I would not want you to to be uncomfortable."

Just in time, Angelique managed to bite back a groan. Her suspicions were correct; she was about to endure another tediously long, exhausting, and utterly uninteresting lecture. Forcing herself to remain reserved, she crossed the elegant room, sinking into one of the chairs opposite her father's desk. It was she could do not to flounce childishly down upon them in an irritated huff. As it was, she permitted herself to let loose with an eye roll. "O, non, not again..." she mumbled, knowing perfectly well that Francois would hear. She made no attempt to conceal her frustration; how many times had they had this conversation? Six times? Seven? Surely more, and she was no closer to changing her mind now as she had been the first. What was the point?

She'd never truly understood her father's stance on the whole affair, come to think of it. She simply could not comprehend why aristocracy- she shuddered inwardly at the term- could matter so much, not when her time at sea had convinced her it meant so little. After all, being of noble blood did not earn a crew's trust. Certainly, a title could buy anything, but there were some things that had to be earned. Her title meant she had a touch more bending talent then the average commoner, but what else? What gave her the right to govern more than any other woman?

Nothing she hadn't said before, and apparently, nothing that she wasn't about to say again. Angelique sighed, leaning back into the cushions of her seat, and propped her elbow on a chair arm, resting her chin in her palm. She might as well get comfortable; this would probably be a long one. She gave her father an expectant eyebrow raise, her expression already bored. "I d'ink I 'ave a feelin' what d'ings you want to discuss..." she trailed off, her nose wrinkling.

"Men, Papa.... again?" She sighed, her slender fingers moving to her temple. "'Aven't we been over d'is? What would d'is be..." she paused, counting... "Bondye, let's just say d'a upteent'." She prayed this wouldn't end in a screaming match; her throat was already feeling a bit course from her time at sea, and she didn't fancy making it worse.

There was a point. There was always a point, if it was something concerning Francis. He knew that one day, one day, he might talk some sense into her. And on that bright day, she would realise her place in society and stop playing pirates with all of the men. A life of a countess was unlike anything Angelique was currently doing. It was unacceptable. And, as her father, Francis was the lucky person that was given the job of informing her. That job came with the title of Père. His life would be so much easier if she listened to him. Alas, Angelique was quite good at making his attempts unsucessful. She was just as stubborn as he was. Perhaps, that was where she picked it up.

Francis mirrored her stance mockingly, before sitting up straight and clearing his throat. "'Onestly, Angelique. 'Ave you forgotten all of your manners at sea? Sit straight." He had nearly forgotten that this was supposed to be a formal subject. Even though he was more than comfortable around her, and vice versa, he wanted to keep things professional this time. The aristocrat folded his hands in front of him, and sighed, taking on a stern face. He waited for her to fix her posture before speaking in the most proper voice he could manage.

"You probably already know what I want to talk about, Angelique. Mais, I need to tell you again now that you are 'ere in France." Francis bit his lip, attempting to speak with the right amount of assertion in his voice. No matter how confident he sounded when he spoke, her ears refused to register the information to her brain. "I do not understand. When you were young, you took lessons. I taught you everything. I gave you everything. I do not understand why you want to give that away to live out on sea." The aristocrat sighed and looked at the ceiling, his brows furrowing together, trying to think of the most polite way to word what was on his mind. "You 'ave duties. You can not just throw those away. They are not something that you can just put on somebody else's shoulders. " He looked back down at her, and stared into her eyes. She really did look like her mother.

In a sense, Francis was very close minded. During his childhood, he was always reminded of exactly why he was conceived. He knew of his responsibilities, and expected nothing less from those around him. This trait carried on with him through his youth, and is still an evident quality.

"It is alright to 'ave fun, oui? But you are almost eighteen. You are almost a full woman! You should 'ave been married by now, and 'aving kids. Are you not glad that I do not force you to?" The blonde took a deep breath, calming himself. "Je t'aime, Angelique. Mais, je veux tu aider à comprendre."

And there it was again, like clockwork; the return of the commanding tone, the fatherly glare. She sighed, and shifted once again in her seat, crossing her legs demurely. She lifted her chin, straightened her back, and rested her hands in her lap- all while rolling her eyes. Quite the talent, she thought, as she pursed her lips. She was well used to being told what to do- after all, one did not earn a captain's respect by constantly rebelling- but she was also used to having a say in matters such as these. She did not appreciate being told to sit down and behave, like a child....Yet even as she stiffened in an automatic reaction to the unspoken word, she knew that a child was indeed what her father considered her.

And there he was again, his expression just as determined as it had been every time- every damn time- that they'd had this discussion before. She sighed, her fingers once again finding her temple, as he prattled on and on about duties and responsibilities. Did he not understand that she herself had duties? She had responsibilities to the crew, to her captain...she couldn't simply sign off, leave them all short an extra hand. Part of her worth was due to her flexibility, something that wasn't easily found in men.

"I know, ya' did give me everyd'in'. Ya' gave me a 'ome, a fad'er, all d'a toys a girl could ask for, men d'ere's one d'ing ya' never could." She stared at him, her eyes wide, pleading, begging him to understand. "I was never free! I was always, always stuck 'ere, listenin' to d'a stupid girls ya'd bring over prattle on and on about d'is boy, or d'at dress, or d'a one girl d'at 'ad d'a gall to live 'er own life!" She huffed angrily, remembering the instance in which one of the young ladies had gotten herself pregnant... It still horrified her, how such a glorious occasion had been belittled by the Nobility, how her peers had shunned her and cast her away.

She shook her head, meeting his gaze once more. "I'm not d'at person, Papa! I was not made to sit about and do nod'in', to find a nice, controlling man and 'ave nice, subordinate children d'at I will stay wit' as I sew by d'a fire!" She was nearly out of her seat, leaning forward, the fire in her eyes rekindling as it always did when she spoke of the sea. "It's d'a waves, d'a salt, d'a breeze... it's not just a boat, or alco'ol, or swearin'. It's freedom, in it's purest form. Ya' can go anywhere, be anyd'in', and nobody can stop ya'."

"I am glad, Papa, d'at ya' do not force me into marriage. Not d'at ya'd succeed if ya' tried, men..." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Ya' 'ave to realise d'at I am different from ya'. If it was just appearin' at certain stupid gad'erin's, or signin' papers...men ya' want me to be someone 'oo I am not!"

She leaned back, the fire fading. He never would understand, would he?

Francis had to hold back his chuckles. She really was quite good at faking for him. He appreciated it. It made him feel more in power against her than he usually did. Sometimes, he did not feel like he was her father. She had grown up, and hormones had presumably gotten the better of her. Like every teenage daughter, there was the need to rebel, to stray away from the norm that their parents gave them. Or in this case, parent. Francis could only hope that the effect was temporary, though he did not hold high hopes for that. She wasn't just a child, she was his child, and therefore, his responsibility.

The Frenchman had tried and tried again to understand her point of view. Heck, sailing was something that he was familiar with. But he came to the conclusion that if he stopped sailing, one day, she would too. However, he wasn't as infatuated or involved with it as she was. He had made a few companions on his journey, yes, but they weren't like his family.

Francis couldn't help but roll his eyes at her statement. Of course she was free. She was allowed to go out whenever she wanted, as long as there was a chaperone. Maybe it was his fault that she refused to be so social with those of a higher status. Did he truly never give him any freedom? Of course he did. She just didn't appreciate it. "I did give you freedom, je faisais! You just did not recognise it. There is a difference between what is free and what is unacceptable. You are lucky I am so euuh... flexible! If I was my own father, you would 'ave been disin'erited by now."

By now, Francis was getting irritated with her, as he always seemed to when they had this talk. "I never said you 'ad to do that, Angelique. All I am saying is that you need to grow up and learn about your real duties." The Frenchman leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms. "Alcool? That is 'ardly acceptable. Is all you do drink and sing merry songs?" The Frenchman sighed and shook his head, leaning forward, rubbing his temple with two of his fingers. "Désolé. I know it is not just that. Mais, you are acting like I know nothing about it. I am older than you, and 'ave experienced a lot too. Do you forget? I was also out at sea for a long time. But then I came back! I realised that it is not freedom, that you do not 'ave a 'ome. Some place to always go to. You are just carelessly roaming, never settling down."

He repeated his last words in a whisper. Never settling down. She would never settle down. No matter how much sense he would talk into her, she would never do it. Never listen to him. Never understand his words. But, the feeling was quite mutual.

"I want you to be my daughter! And I want you to be 'appy, I do! But 'ow do you know that you will never be 'appy if you 'ave never tried it? You are a countess right now. Being a duchess is not much different, you are just more important. I was a Marquis once. It is not very different. So why are you so against the idea?"

There is a difference between what is free and what is acceptable.

This- this was why she could never truly understand him, why they'd never seen eye to eye. Perhaps, she mused, it would help for her to find a dictionary with the true definition of the word freedom and read it aloud to him, possibly even requesting that he memorise it and recite it at the next formal gala. Freedom was not limited to any theory of what was acceptable and what was not; freedom did not care for propriety. The very essence of freedom was the overthrowing of such shackles, such mind-numbing restraints.

She played her part for him, and played it as well as someone such as her could. She attended the tedious gatherings, she dressed in the outlandish, impractical clothing deemed proper for a woman- the corset of which she could already feel digging into the curve of her breasts and leaving marks on her waist that would take days to fade. Yes, she played her part in company- but she could not, would not pretend she was anything but herself.

It had crossed her mind, several times, that perhaps Francis would be happier had she been such a proper lady, who delighted in gossiping with her friends, giggling behind fans, powdered cheeks and fair curls rosy in the summer sun. Determined to please, so weak willed, so useless, and so much more preferable for the daughter of an aristocrat.

She was not that girl.

"Disin'erit me?" A low blow, if any. It was not the fall from grace that hurt her-truly, there was no one she had met in the Nobility worth impressing- but his threat to remove her from his family. "Simply because I do not bow to your whims? Do so, d'en, by all means!" she hissed, refusing to allow tears to spring to her eyes. No, no weakness, not now. "Ya' do not determine what my 'real' duties are. I'm out d'ere doin' d'ings of wort', not sittin' around all day drinkin' tea and readin' books ya' deem acceptable for a young lady!"

She rolled her eyes, beyond any semblance of propriety, and flicked a wayward curl from her furious gaze. "Wi, I drink. Non, d'at's not all I do." For a moment, she could not help but jeer. "I smoke, too. Cannabis is nice d'is time of year, non?" She mimicked his movement, almost unconsciously, and groaned. It was still odd to consider her upright, stern father on the seas. "Per'aps ya' were not suited for d'a waters. After all, d'a ocean is a good a 'ome as any, non?"

She was stalling now, and she knew it. She'd come to the root of her argument, and he wouldn't understand. Or, worse perhaps, he wouldn't care to understand. "I don't want to become like d'ose ladies in d'a galas, Papa. I don't want to end up like d'em, lazy, immature, never worked a day in d'eir lives." She shuddered, her eyes trained on the large window behind him, imagining such a future. "I don't want to live as d'ey do. I don't want to be useless, or weak." She hesitated, directing her steely gaze to her father.

"I want control of my own damn life."