RP:Birthday Gift, Maybe Tears

Summary: Queen Josleen gifts King Macon an emotional gift for his birthday. Those spreading rumors that he cried will be executed.

Fort Freedom

Josleen | The day after Macon’s surprise party, as the King slept in presumably to deaden the symptoms of a hangover, Josleen crept out of bed to arrange his gift in his office. A servant was told to warn her when the King stirs, and when the warning came, she raced to the dining room to meet Macon. Augusta had arrived at the castle early to witness whatever plan Josleen has dreamed up. When the Queen walks in, Augusta offers her a rare, secret smile, which Josleen returned with a brow waggle. For once (and possibly the first time), Macon’s wife and mother seem to share something venomless, sweet scheme. Augusta asks Macon how the party went, and despite her good mood and attitude towards Josleen, still chastises the Queen for eating eggs while pregnant. “Jos! Eggs are unclean and a baby’s body is too young to purify it. Children shouldn’t have eggs until they are 3.” More Veratoakan superstition. Then to Macon she repeats what he has surely heard before, just as he chomps down on his own eggs, “You -know- eggs are a chicken’s menstrual waste. She should -not- be consuming them while pregnant.”

Macon wakes late, feeling tired in the way that makes one think that no amount of extra rest would have made him not feel this way. Josleen hadn’t drank for obvious reasons, and so her absence when he finally manages to get out of bed comes as no surprise, and so he suspects nothing yet. He groggily goes through a before breakfast routine and makes his way to the dining room, in a mild stupor one would expect someone to be in after losing a keg stand competition and winning a flip cup competition. Augusta’s colorful description of part of his meal, which is in his mouth at this very moment, causes his chewing to slow and slate eyes to narrow. He swallows in disgust and won’t be having any more eggs this morning. Thanks, mom. He has no patience this morning for being put in the middle of this manufactured (by Augusta) feud over nutrition and grumbles out the response, “My child is stron’ enough t’survive a few eggs.”

Josleen smirks against her glass of juice at Macon’s response, eying Augusta’s flustered response. Changing the subject, the Queen talks about the party and who did what. Augusta, like the contralto supporting role in a comedic musical, chimes in after each of Josleen’s soprano verses: “That whore, Lucia?” “That moocher Brett.” “A gambling addict.” “Abused his pets.” “Family of freaks.” “Her face is bleak.” “I can’t believe that you’d invite such heinous guests!” The number ends with the butler (related to the family of freaks) slamming the coffee service on the service table. Josleen glares at Augusta, but says nothing, as Macon has finished breakfast and it is time to unveil her gift. “I have something for you, my love. It’s in your office.” Augusta trails behind the Royal Couple as they make their way to Macon’s office. There’s a new portrait on his desk, the back of the frame facing the entrance so that it can only be viewed by the person who sits behind the desk. In the back-right corner behind the desk, a white sheet drapes over a tall, human-sized object. When Macon pulls back the sheet he’ll uncover a Veratoakan suit of armor. The body of the suit looks brand new, but the helmet has suffered many scrapes and dings. On his desk is a portrait of his brother George, age 19, the same age as when he died, smile-smirking in the way Macon may remember from his youth. Around the frame is a wool waistband with George Jauzon’s name and address sewn into it, the same address as Macon’s childhood home in Veratoak. In Veratoak, instead of dogtags they embroider names and addresses to the inside waistbands of soldiers’ pants. “The helmet is George’s. Your mother said you could have it. George was buried with the rest of his armor, so I had new armor made in Veratoak in the same style as was used by his division at the time of his passing. The waistband is the one the military gave your mother when two lieutenants broke the sad news. Also, your mother helped me instruct the painter to get George’s smile right.”

Macon snorts at ‘her face is bleak’ and raises a brow at the coffee slamming butler, probably only unconsciously knowing why the server would do such a thing. There is no Rage Aura spike or growl, thanks to the hangover, maybe, and they are soon off to his office with The King trying to think of just what his birthday present could be. The covered suit of armor is the most obvious change in the room and so he unveils it before seeing the picture, so at first glance what is beneath the sheet is only Veratoakan armor. Still a fine gift, but not nearly as meaningful as what it truly is. “Wow. ‘Ow did-” He takes the helmet off of the rack and knows what this really is just before Josleen says anything. He goes silent and frowns while the bard speaks. His body tenses and he only looks at the painting of George for a second or two. His expression is hard stone as he turns his head up slightly, so that he is looking down his nose at the helmet that he now has cradled in one palm and the waistband with George's name. The Rage Knight doesn't feel hungover anymore, which is a gift in and of itself, and the feeling is replaced with a lump in his throat, certainly an uncommon feeling for the Furious King. He carefully replaces the helmet atop the armor and finally looks to Josleen, relatively unable to speak, “It is perfect.” Is all he manages to say, uncertain if that is even the right word.

Josleen steps forward, arms extended, to embrace her husband. Behind Josleen, Augusta, although smiling, wipes away a couple tears and sniffs loudly. She too steps forward and embraces the King from behind, his body much larger than hers and yet it feels to her the same as the boy she held in his youth. Augusta’s hug is brief, however, the hard Veratoakan woman not a natural nurturer, which may explain a lot about Macon, including his inability to show emotion now, though Josleen sees it. Josleen lingers longer, her disposition naturally warmer than her mother-in-law’s. Augusta squeezes Macon’s shoulders reassuringly then lets herself out, shutting the office door behind her to give her son some privacy and extract herself from an emotional scene with which she cannot cope. Stunted emotional intelligence is a defining characteristic of the Jauzons. Josleen, with her arms still around Macon’s middle, leans her head back to get a better look at him. Her eyes are misty. She never met George, so they mist not for him but for Macon, whom she has never seen this affected. “You had nothing to remember him by…” she says softly so that her words don’t disrupt the reverent silence owed to the King’s fallen brother. Her gaze softens and scans his expression for every minute twitch. She strokes his cheek then hair, encouraging him to let that tension go, if he wants to.

Macon’s slate eyes are watery to the point where it is difficult to tell if blinking will aid or harm the obvious mission of keeping any tears from falling from them. Dehydration from that hangover maybe helps minimally in his success in this regard. He nods several times when Josleen reminds him that he had nothing to remind him of his late brother in Larket. He makes it past that and the family hug without breaking down, and so the moments in which he might have passed. The King rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, cheating perhaps in the no tears effort, and he returns, more or less, to the Rage Knight as usual. He embraces his wife before bringing his hands up to hold her face as he leans down and kisses her. “Thank you.” The words are more mouthed than spoken, maintaining that understood silence for George for just a little longer. He glances around his office, looking for the best place for this new armor and old helmet to permanently stand.

Josleen rubs Macon’s back as he rubs his eyes. When he thanks her, she taps her nose playfully against his cheek as if to say ‘It’s nothing, you’re welcome.’ As he gathers himself, she gazes at the portrait of George and gently fingers the waistband. “He was very handsome. Must run in the family.” True, even Augusta in her old age is handsome—not beautiful, or pretty, but handsome. “I spent an afternoon at your mother’s planning the details and talking about George. It was nice. She seemed happy to talk about him.” And maybe Macon would be too? “She said he was funny…” she says in a leading tone to encourage Macon, who speaks so rarely of George, to share something. The departed exist again when remembered.

Macon is surprised to hear about a pleasant afternoon shared between Augusta and Josleen, but making George the subject of conversation would certainly soften the normally abrasive Jauzon matron, and they probably butted heads at least once over the course of the day and that detail is just left out in this sweet moment. The King nods, ‘he was funny,’ and goes on to tell a few stories that Augusta is likely to have left out of her conversation with the queen about the older Jauzon brother’s sense of humor. Macon describes a game, devised by George where they would go to their mother, known for her overreactions, and tell her what profession they were aspiring for when they grew up. Whoever got the most colorful response would be the winner. George would win more often than not.

Josleen chuckles at the story and asks for more details. What would Macon say? What would George say? What was their father like? And so on. In this way they pass a bit of time, eventually the conversation veering across adjacent topics, moving seamlessly from past to present and future with the time traveling ease of conversation between intimates. Eventually they leave the room, do other things, and George fades again in the recesses of Macon’s life, only now he can be summoned to the fore more readily thanks to the summoning powers of heirlooms.