The Blue Danube [OLD]

- 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔵. ﾐ

╲⠀╲⠀╲ ╲

⠀⠀╲⠀╲⠀☆⠀ ╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀☆⠀╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ★

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may 1859

Sweet mid-morning light reflected on the perfectly waxed floors of the manor, richened by the spring sun. Flower-patterned wallpaper warmed by flaming patches streaming through the tall glazed windows, luxury curtains pulled back to let in the welcoming rays. The light warmed John's expensive clothes, the rays being particularly attracted to the deep, dark, blue colours, causing his neck to begin to turn red, heat spreading throughout his body and causing him to tug at the uncomfortably tight collar of his shirt.
It certainly wasn't good clothes to wear in this type of weather; the prince being done up in a tie, vest, tailcoat, the works. But it wasn't like he could object - high-end company was about them, and you have to make the best impression. According to Mimi.

"Steamed duck breast, seasoned with rosemary and oregano, side dish-" John flipped over one of the many sleek paper display menus he was reading. "baked potatoes soaked in butter and garlic, with fresh green beans and cherry tomatoes." The thought of such delicious food stirred his hunger a bit, but his boredom at the menial task he had to perform overpowered it.

"Would that be a good meal for the main in dinner?" Cynthia spoke from her seat in the sitting room next to her, twisting a lock champagne-coloured hair between her fingers anxiously. "Of course, we will have multiple types of meat and side dishes for dinner..." her hands reached up subconsciously to read through the menus, but she quickly stopped herself, fixing her gaze on her lap. John felt a pang of sympathy in his chest and glanced around to see if anyone else was watching; thankful when he realised no one was watching them.

"Here. Read them," he pushed the menus across the stark white tablecloth towards her with a small smile. Women, of course, weren't supposed to know how to read; John honestly didn't understand that trope at all, and neither did Cynthia, since she taught herself to, with the help of an aunt.

As his fiance flipped through the papers, he turned his gaze back on the people milling about. Wedding organisers, professional chefs, decorators, the like; all darting back and forth, being instructed to do something or other by Mimi, looking awfully like a tall white and red Christmas tree with her red and white, puffy silk dress, hair excessively done up and curled into a bee's nest style that it looked bigger than her own head. John knew she was wearing special platform heels, under the overhanging dress that covered it up, to make herself look taller. Her face was dressed in her usual stern look, all piercing eyes and a tight-lipped mouth. Her grim tone of voice echoed throughout the large sitting room, which had high ceilings covered in Renaissance paintings.