Post by yevie on Jul 15, 2011 22:11:59 GMT
The Treaty of Granada
November of 1500
Granada, Spain
A pitter-patter of shoes on stone floors echoed through the vast hall as a young gentleman, dressed in clothes adorned with a little too much lace and embroidery, passed through. The golden haired man strode down at a leisurely pace with his dark pink gown slightly fluttering behind him. Servants of the building angled their heads to curiously glance at the new comer strolling by and were greeted by a sly smile and a wink. The men just turned their heads and continued on their way and the woman did the same, but found a pink blush gracing their cheeks.
It was the early morning and from the rising sun poured red light through towering, cream colored columns, alternating between casting a pink halo around the blonde and barred shadows over his form. Intricately carved arches joined the columns and this seemed to draw the attention of the man. He stopped for a moment to glance up at the designs, blue eyes following the twists and turns of the exotic patterns. A strange longing glittered in those eyes, the wish to remain and memorize the carving instead of to continue on and meet his at times rival, but it lasted only for a little. With an exaggerated sigh, the man pivoted away. He gave a sweeping bow to a young servant girl who had been looking questioningly at him, strode up to kiss her hand before continued on his path, leaving the stunned and confused young woman staring after him.
As the amount of servants where he walked began to dwindle the thoughts of the foreigner turned to the task at hand. The beauty of the surroundings aside, this was not a pleasure trip, there was business to be done, an agreement to be made. There was the prospect of partnership, of conquest and regaining what he lost. A catlike, almost predatory smile twisted on the man’s full lips now and his eyes seemed to become hooded with something that at best could be described as lust, though that wasn’t quite right either. It was more competitive and strangely ancient, too ancient for a face so youthful. But, for those who knew the stranger, it was to be expected. He was the nation of France after all.
Walking on, the nation subconsciously trailed a white-gloved hand across the decorative tile-covered wall as his thoughts on the upcoming meeting developed. There would have to be some sort of compromise or concession given, since this was to be a partnership. The man once more let out a sigh, and sky colored eyes turned slightly icy. The notion was unpleasant to say the least and sent jabs at France’s pride. But, the gains mostly outweighed the sacrifice, the Frenchman told himself.
Espagne must be feeling at least something similar, he continued on thinking. Somehow though, that made things worse. It could mean a betrayal. No, no that would be… Doubt began to linger in the blonde’s mind, and he did not fight it. If something failed, which there was always a chance it would, it is better to have thought the upcoming failure possible than to be taken by surprise by it. The nation did not think that this mistrustfulness could lead to any dangerous consequences.
Shoulders began to slump down and the hand slipped down the wall, falling back to France’s side. He all of a sudden felt tired, the last century weighing upon him. War with Angleterre had left him feeling not quite whole, though he had made sure the savage knew he would never rule him. At least that was over with for now (he was not so much of a fool to think him and his northern neighbor would quit fighting). Humiliation though, the one he faced most recently, that was what bothered him the most at the moment. He had conquered and it had been taken away from him, partially with the help of the nation he would now be fighting with to regain territory. The Frenchman scoffed in disgust with himself.
He stopped, almost reconsidering his actions, almost deciding to spare his pride. Then, the nation remembered his re-conquest of Milan. He had been strong then, he was far from a pathetic weakling. And right now, aid would be the best way to get what he wanted. Bearing a blow to his pride would just have to be done for now, and France was sure he was strong enough to handle it. The golden haired man straightened his shoulders and tilted his chin up. Once he got what he wanted, he thought (the doubting voice in the back of his head aside), he would continue to grow more powerful. This blow would mean nothing in the long run, the Frenchman was (almost) sure of it.
With renewed confidence and a faster pace, France continued on his walk through arched hallways to the room where he would be meeting Espagne. Blue eyes remained for the most part firmly forward, only rarely looking at a particularly interesting rug, curtain or carved pattern decorating the walls or towards a particularly attractive servant passing through. Finally the blonde stopped in front of a large, wooden door, embellished with a weaving, floral like pattern. His gloved hand reached out and pulled the metal handle and the man stepped into the wide room. At the back stood a wide chair, just as decorative as the rest of the building. It stood upon a stand that was covered by exotic rugs and embroidered pillows. Above it hung a tapestry, slightly different then the rest of the adornments, with a lion staring at him from the center.
Drawn to it, France stepped forward to look at the details as he waited for the other nation to arrive. The weave was gold, red and black, tightly sewn together with even the tiniest of details looking precise. He almost drew a hand up to touch the lion, but the last moment pulled it back. There was too much criticism in the gaze of the beast; it seemed to tell him that all his doubts are going to come true. A shudder ran down the blue-eyed man’s spine, but he shook his head, tilting his chin up firmly, as if to tell the lion he was wrong. But, a bit of doubt still lingered.
Notes -
-Well, hopefully this works fine and there's nothing that doesn't make sense. If something doesn't feel free to tell me and I'll change it. ^_^
-After trying to find the exact location, and not really managing to find anything, I decided that the Alhambra probably made the most sense for Spain and France to meet up in Granada, but I left it slightly vague in case you have a different idea.
-I left out the exact date of the treaty because I think negotiations probably take a few days to do. Though if you want to play it out as one day that makes sense too.
November of 1500
Granada, Spain
A pitter-patter of shoes on stone floors echoed through the vast hall as a young gentleman, dressed in clothes adorned with a little too much lace and embroidery, passed through. The golden haired man strode down at a leisurely pace with his dark pink gown slightly fluttering behind him. Servants of the building angled their heads to curiously glance at the new comer strolling by and were greeted by a sly smile and a wink. The men just turned their heads and continued on their way and the woman did the same, but found a pink blush gracing their cheeks.
It was the early morning and from the rising sun poured red light through towering, cream colored columns, alternating between casting a pink halo around the blonde and barred shadows over his form. Intricately carved arches joined the columns and this seemed to draw the attention of the man. He stopped for a moment to glance up at the designs, blue eyes following the twists and turns of the exotic patterns. A strange longing glittered in those eyes, the wish to remain and memorize the carving instead of to continue on and meet his at times rival, but it lasted only for a little. With an exaggerated sigh, the man pivoted away. He gave a sweeping bow to a young servant girl who had been looking questioningly at him, strode up to kiss her hand before continued on his path, leaving the stunned and confused young woman staring after him.
As the amount of servants where he walked began to dwindle the thoughts of the foreigner turned to the task at hand. The beauty of the surroundings aside, this was not a pleasure trip, there was business to be done, an agreement to be made. There was the prospect of partnership, of conquest and regaining what he lost. A catlike, almost predatory smile twisted on the man’s full lips now and his eyes seemed to become hooded with something that at best could be described as lust, though that wasn’t quite right either. It was more competitive and strangely ancient, too ancient for a face so youthful. But, for those who knew the stranger, it was to be expected. He was the nation of France after all.
Walking on, the nation subconsciously trailed a white-gloved hand across the decorative tile-covered wall as his thoughts on the upcoming meeting developed. There would have to be some sort of compromise or concession given, since this was to be a partnership. The man once more let out a sigh, and sky colored eyes turned slightly icy. The notion was unpleasant to say the least and sent jabs at France’s pride. But, the gains mostly outweighed the sacrifice, the Frenchman told himself.
Espagne must be feeling at least something similar, he continued on thinking. Somehow though, that made things worse. It could mean a betrayal. No, no that would be… Doubt began to linger in the blonde’s mind, and he did not fight it. If something failed, which there was always a chance it would, it is better to have thought the upcoming failure possible than to be taken by surprise by it. The nation did not think that this mistrustfulness could lead to any dangerous consequences.
Shoulders began to slump down and the hand slipped down the wall, falling back to France’s side. He all of a sudden felt tired, the last century weighing upon him. War with Angleterre had left him feeling not quite whole, though he had made sure the savage knew he would never rule him. At least that was over with for now (he was not so much of a fool to think him and his northern neighbor would quit fighting). Humiliation though, the one he faced most recently, that was what bothered him the most at the moment. He had conquered and it had been taken away from him, partially with the help of the nation he would now be fighting with to regain territory. The Frenchman scoffed in disgust with himself.
He stopped, almost reconsidering his actions, almost deciding to spare his pride. Then, the nation remembered his re-conquest of Milan. He had been strong then, he was far from a pathetic weakling. And right now, aid would be the best way to get what he wanted. Bearing a blow to his pride would just have to be done for now, and France was sure he was strong enough to handle it. The golden haired man straightened his shoulders and tilted his chin up. Once he got what he wanted, he thought (the doubting voice in the back of his head aside), he would continue to grow more powerful. This blow would mean nothing in the long run, the Frenchman was (almost) sure of it.
With renewed confidence and a faster pace, France continued on his walk through arched hallways to the room where he would be meeting Espagne. Blue eyes remained for the most part firmly forward, only rarely looking at a particularly interesting rug, curtain or carved pattern decorating the walls or towards a particularly attractive servant passing through. Finally the blonde stopped in front of a large, wooden door, embellished with a weaving, floral like pattern. His gloved hand reached out and pulled the metal handle and the man stepped into the wide room. At the back stood a wide chair, just as decorative as the rest of the building. It stood upon a stand that was covered by exotic rugs and embroidered pillows. Above it hung a tapestry, slightly different then the rest of the adornments, with a lion staring at him from the center.
Drawn to it, France stepped forward to look at the details as he waited for the other nation to arrive. The weave was gold, red and black, tightly sewn together with even the tiniest of details looking precise. He almost drew a hand up to touch the lion, but the last moment pulled it back. There was too much criticism in the gaze of the beast; it seemed to tell him that all his doubts are going to come true. A shudder ran down the blue-eyed man’s spine, but he shook his head, tilting his chin up firmly, as if to tell the lion he was wrong. But, a bit of doubt still lingered.
Notes -
-Well, hopefully this works fine and there's nothing that doesn't make sense. If something doesn't feel free to tell me and I'll change it. ^_^
-After trying to find the exact location, and not really managing to find anything, I decided that the Alhambra probably made the most sense for Spain and France to meet up in Granada, but I left it slightly vague in case you have a different idea.
-I left out the exact date of the treaty because I think negotiations probably take a few days to do. Though if you want to play it out as one day that makes sense too.
