tampered | log; closed; in progress

log; closed; in progress

When; Monday, December 7th, late afternoon
Rating; PG
Characters;

uxoriousemperor
Summary; Trapped in a room together, there's only so long one can put off that conversation.
Log;

To say that being trapped in a room superficially resembling her study was driving Elisabeth mad would be an understatement. She was restless, annoyed, and all together out of sorts. And it didn't help that she was trapped her with her husband of all people. And he kept pacing.

Perhaps it would not have been as bad if they had been trapped somewhere else. A larger room in the palace. Or even somewhere in the City. But this was, or at least seemed to be, her study. Her private area, and there he was, invading it. Even when he wasn't pacing, his presence was a distraction. She'd been trying to pass the time in correspondence, finishing the letters that had been put on hold with the news of Rudolf's death, writing new letters. Anything to pass the time.

"Stop that" she snapped as Franz started to pace again. "Or at least walk more quietly."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

If Elisabeth was uncomfortable being trapped in her study with Franz, the Emperor was completely out of his element. He was fully aware that this was a room in which he was not normally allowed, or particularly welcome. One didn't intrude into the private rooms of a lady, after all. There was something foreboding in stepping over the threshold, even when invited. Hence, the pacing. Franz was restless, and, having no other outlet on which to spend the nervous energy, he took to walking in the confines of the small room. He'd been unaware that it was giving Elisabeth any particular discomfort; he'd made certain to keep to the opposite wall, give her as much space as he could in the small room.

He looked up as she snapped at him, stopping in mid-stride. "I had not been aware that my walking was particularly loud; I apologize," he said. He glanced down at his feet. The carpet was rather thick beneath them. There shouldn't have been any noise. Perhaps it was the act itself to which she objected, then.

With a sigh, he turned to the small settee opposite her desk and settled himself onto it. "Have you a book, perchance?" he asked her. Elisabeth seemed intent on her writing, so he'd been reluctant to attempt conversation. He'd busied himself with the Network device when not pacing, seeing what the others from the City had been attempting whilst he was trapped, but even the novelty of the contraption had worn off.

She looked up sharply at the question, and then her eyes flicked to the two novels on the corner of her desk. She nodded towards them, repressing a sigh.

"You won't like them" she commented, returning to her writing. Not that it held much interest either. Nothing did right now. She was not one for enforced idleness, not like this. But looking like she wasn't doing anything would invite conversation. But her hand was cramping, and she couldn't write forever. She shoved her chair back from the desk with more violence than she'd initially intended. She paced over to the wardrobe and ran her hand lightly down the edge of one of the doors. At this point she'd even welcome Him showing up.

But no. There was no one here but her and Franz. And the back of the wardrobe was still solid wood.

"I don't suppose anyone else is in this kind of situation" she asked. Perhaps if someone else from the City had escaped this trap, they might have posted to the Network. Not that she held out much hope of that, but it was something, anything to break the silence.

Franz leaned forward and picked up the topmost book. He read the title, frowned, then flipped it open to the first page. A few scant lines told him that Elisabeth's assessment had been correct. It was not his sort of book at all. He continued scanning the page, however, so as not to appear ungrateful.

But he was not entirely upset when she spoke again, giving him an excuse to put the book down, at least for the moment. "There have been several others lured into these false worlds, it seems," he said. "And, as of yet, no one has discovered a way out." He made a face. "Someone, I believe one of the mysterious 'Deities' has implied that there is a way to go back to the City. He called it 'the long way', but said it was not yet ready. I assume that means they shall fetch us back once they have finished being amused at our situation."

Franz stretched his arms above his head for a moment. He glanced back at the book, but the thought of continuing to read such a silly novel wasn't at all desirable. He considered attempting that conversation. He wasn't sure it had been a respectable enough period of time on his wife's end to broach the subject, but here, at least, she could not put him off so easily. And if she objected strongly, well, he could force himself to read more of the silly novel. How she found such a book enjoyable, he had no idea.

"Sisi," he said, looking up at her, "may I ask you a question?"

Of course. The so-called deities would find this sort of situation amusing. Elisabeth did not approve at all, but there seemed to be little she could do. Which of course just frustrated her more. She shut the wardrobe door firmly, but her hand continued to trace the carved detailing almost idly.

"You may ask" she said flatly. It did not require her to answer after all.

He watched her trace the pattern in the carving, wondering quite how to phrase what he wanted to know. The situation seemed so surreal to him.

"Please do not think me indelicate," he began, clearing his throat. "But, it concerns Rudolf. I...I have been thinking over the situation since your return, and it disturbs me greatly. How will...did...does...." He trailed off, frustrated at the lack of a proper verb tense to convey the question. He considered asking the question in Latin, which did have the tense he wished to use, but decided against it. He wasn't sure Sisi would appreciate it.

"How is it that he dies so young?" he finished, striking the right balance of words at last.

Ah. That question. Her hand stilled, but she didn't turn around. For a moment she considered not answering. She'd not promised to answer after all, and the whole situation was still so immediate for her, even with the time in the City providing a slight buffer.

"He..." she paused, and looked up, searching for words. She could feel her chest tightening, the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. "He took is own life," she said finally, the words sounding thick and dead even to her ears.

Whatever Franz had been expecting, it had not been that. Assassinated, perhaps. An accident. Disease. But, suicide? Franz stiffened on the settee, as shiver passing over him. Rudolf, the most lively, rambunctious child, choosing to end his own life did not make sense. What on earth had happened in the intervening years to drive him to such a state?

"Took his own life," Franz repeated dully. He looked up at Sisi, not quite seeing her. There really was only one response to such a statement.

"Why?"

Elisabeth let out a short humorless laugh. "I can not say for certain. I... I think it had something to do with... politics" She said the last word as if it tasted foul. And in a way it did. She'd never enjoyed the complicated tangle of politics, with its implied web of dependencies. It seemed so pointless, so foolish. Certainly not something one would kill one's self over.

But all she could see was Rudolf's face when he'd visited her that last time. His desperate hope, his naive belief that she could somehow make everything right. And she'd turned him away, thinking it a childish fancy. What a fool she'd been.

She could feel the tears burning in her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Not here. She would not break down here, in front of her husband, who was no longer quite her husband if she was having to explain this whole situation to him.

"Politics," Franz echoed. Again, his voice was flat. It made no sense to him. Whatever the boy's concerns, surely there had to have been a better way to handle them than taking his own life. "He damned his soul for politics...."

He shook his head. There had to be more to it than that. He looked up at his wife, about to ask if she knew more, but stopped himself when he noticed how carefully she held herself. "Sisi...." He rose and took the few steps required to cross to her side. He wasn't sure if she would allow it, but he reached out, intending to put an arm around her shoulders, at the very least.

She flinched from the touch, and managed to force another sardonic laugh past the thickness in her throat. "You and he... argued a lot" Or so she'd been told. If only she'd known the situation better she might have... what? No. She moved away from Franz and sat back down at her desk.

"From what I understand he got tangled up in a... revolutionary movement." She knew a bit more than that, but it didn't really matter. What mattered was that he was dead.

When she flinched, Franz pulled his arm away. The hurt was plain in his eyes, but he didn't press the issue. If she didn't wish comfort from her husband, that was her choice. He managed a short, almost barking laugh when she said he and Rudolf argued. Somehow, based on the boy Franz knew as his son, he wasn't surprised. Would he get to experience that himself, however? And, could he change it, as both Youko and Saxon had implied?

Those were thoughts for another time. Sisi's next words drew his attention and a frown to his face. "Revolutionary movement...." No question there, aside from mild puzzlement. Disapproval laced the words. Had someone tried to blackmail his son, perhaps? Or, almost worse, managed to convince the boy that revolution of whatever sort had been a worthwhile endeavor, filling his head with lies or empty dreams? He hadn't considered Rudolf to be so easily impressionable, but with twenty years' experience unaccounted for, anything could have happened.

"I am sorry, Sisi," he said, resuming his pacing. Nothing in her explanation had helped him understand the situation. He stopped in front of her desk, offering her a sympathetic smile. "You and he must have grown close in the years to come." Damned verb tenses! Of course they would. One of the last things Franz had experienced was Elisabeth taking charge of the boy's education, securing new tutors for him. Perhaps she had even sent for him on her travels. He could almost see the letter in his mind, requesting the boy's presence in Greece or Spain or wherever her travels had taken her.

He hadn't intended his words to hurt, but Elisabeth felt like she'd been punched in the chest. Grown close? No, her son had been almost a stranger to her. That had been part of why she'd pushed him away that night. She didn't know him, not like he assumed she did.

"I barely knew..." It was barely more that a breath, trailing off, rather than ending. She buried her face in her hands, unable to further repress the grief and yes, guilt that welled up. She had not lied about wanting to be dead rather than deal with it.

Sisi muttered something, then seemed to crumble. Franz hadn't caught the words, and so missed the reason for her grief. He interpreted her action as being overwhelmed with sadness at the loss of the son she'd grown so close to. Whether she wished it or not, Franz could not let her simply sit there and cry. To leave her alone now would be cold and insensitive, and Franz felt he was neither, especially where his wife was concerned. He walked around her desk and embraced her from behind, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"Sisi...."

She didn't want comfort, except maybe the comfort of death. She most certainly didn't want Franz, this Franz's attempts at sympathy. She twisted in his embrace, trying to get him to let go.

"Leave me alone" she growled, the words made harsher by the roughness in her throat.

He felt her twist, but that only compelled him to embrace her more tightly. She was suffering, and this was the only thing he could do for her. How could he not?

Her words stung, and he shut his eyes, forcing his own pain at them back. He wished more than anything that she could take a little comfort in his presence. But, he acquiesced, releasing her and taking a few steps around to the front of her desk again. He sat back down on the settee, unsure of what he could do to help his wife through her suffering.

"You ask the impossible," he said at last.

She breathed easier once he let go. Grief was trap enough, coupled with this latest trick of the City, the last thing she wanted, needed, was him restraining her.

"Let me mourn in peace" she said, but there was little force behind her words. She wanted, needed to be left alone. But that was impossible.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

log; closed; in progress

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject