don't f*** with king's cross (an advanced rp) discussion
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Mod
Walking the halls of the Northampton Palace, Noah realized that he was developing a strong understanding of the manor's layout. Of course, he'd had to learn all the ins and outs of it before starting, but being able to see it all on his own was a far better way to learn. He strode past each window and door slowly, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his well-tailored suit. To anyone else, it would appear to be a casual stroll around the palace, but for him, it doubled as a solidification of what he'd learned. A window there, a door there—and each one he passed, he noted where they led to.
He thanked his first week for it. It had been slow, with little to nothing outside of the normal. A few trips into the town, a few times when he'd had to accompany someone to an event or party, but for the most part, he'd had time to himself. And most of that time he'd allocated to things like this: things for his job. It wasn't like he had much else to do anyways. Reading was a good pass time, but that could wait until later. He wanted to make sure he had a good handle on everything, even if it consumed all his time. No one could say he wasn't dedicated.
This evening wasn't different from the others. The sun had just rounded the sky, ready to fall in about an hour or two. Golden rays shone through every window he passed, and if it had been a week from now, he might have stopped to look out one of them. If he did, he knew he would have seen the gardens outside, shimmering in the rareness of a sunny English day.
When Noah thought about it, it was surprising that no one had gone into town this evening. With this weather, he thought someone would have, but he hadn't gotten any word. But it was no bother to him. He just walked along, rounding the corner of the hallway, mind already counting the doors and windows and details he knew he'd see.
Mod
Her father was dreaming if he really believed he could keep Lou penned up in the palace another waking day-!
In light of recent shadowy figures luring about the palace gates and a mysterious threatening note (which, her father still refused to let her read), she had been kept under strict instruction to stay home under the watchful eye of the royal staff. Kept, like a child, with only the company of the staff for entertainment. Only God knew where Dominic was off to, it would seem that the mandated lockdown applied only to the princess. She would be driven to the edge of madness if she were to endure another one of Gregor’s stories. The poor old butler had served her grandfather, the late king, and loved nothing more than to recount mornings spent on the hunting trail with His Majesty. Bore.
The thought to sneak off came as something short of divine inspiration, really, as she swirled the bits of leaves in her afternoon tea. She was yearning to stretch her legs, traipse about town for a new set of pearls considering that she’d misplaced hers and was too terrified to tell mummy dearest. Tonight, Lou decided. Not many minded her, anyway, and so after a few hours deeply rooted in contemplation, Louisa stood from her velvet love seat decisively.
Dressed simply in a lovely cream slip dress, she draped a caramel-colored coat around her frame with the fur collar. Her brown curls were tucked neatly into a hat, a few stubborn tendrils fallen into her eyes. She hoped the hat would help to disguise her among the people, but her dark freckles and unmistakeable eyebrows would do little to help her.
It was nearly supper time, the sun having melted into an explosion of color in the west. Lou poked her head out of her room, and, finding the hallways rather empty, shuffled as quickly and inconspicuously as she could manage downstairs to the west terrace. If she timed it correctly, she could clamber down the lattice lush with vines and be off to the yard, make off with one of the cars parked there, forgotten from this morning.
Tugging her hat tighter around her ears, Louisa fussed with the terrace doors, finding that one of the maids must have locked it to keep the draft out of the hallway. “Well, that won’t do,” Louisa muttered to herself, rattling the door a little harder only to be left disappointed.
The only other option that presented itself in her mind was to walk to the garage itself, and, finding herself otherwise rather available for the evening, decided to venture off on a secret mission of sorts, politely smiling at royal staff as they passed her in the halls. She would leave this palace if it was the last thing she did, God rest her soul.
Then, the garage doors. Not a soul in sight, it was almost too easy. Freedom tasted sweet on her lips, her eyes brightening at the prospect of breathing city air again.
Lou didn’t account for the lean, well-dressed man who rounded the corner into view just as she was a couple meteres from the door, coming her way. The bodyguard, a situation altogether. He was new here, hired by the Head of Security to tighten up the safety of the palace, if just for a few months. She had seldom spoken to him, attended two charity dinners last week with him in her shadows, but she didn't take him as the chummy type. In truth, he intimidated her, with his height and his dark features. She wasn’t even so sure she had heard him speak a single word, not to her, or to anyone. Did he speak?
It was too late to turn around, so, Louisa, as she had practiced many times before, flashed him a rehearsed smile. “Good evening,” she sang, silently appalled at the way her voice lilted. But, if there was anything the royal staff had learned, it was that Elouisa Winchester was a rotten liar. Already her palms started to tingle, her eyes darting awkwardly around the bodyguard as she slowed, then moved past the man altogether. Perhaps she would be lucky, and he wouldn’t mention anything.
“Off to somewhere?”
She hadn’t gotten a mere step past him before his deep voice froze her in her place, a shaky breath inhaled and exhaled. “Yes-!” She blurted, then, realizing her mistake- “err, sorry- no! Nowhere at all. Just thought I’d… see the cars,” Lou had turned around now, slowly inching backwards towards the garage door while her hands fumbled in her pockets, fingers squeezing the leather fabric of her evening gloves. "Sometimes I visit the garage to look at daddy's Bentley's, I do really love cars." Lie.
"You know, engines, oil, the tires..."
Oh for God's sake.
It didn't appear that he would buy a single word of the tale she'd spun, and perhaps it served her right. It was unraveling in her hands since she was such a rubbish liar.
Noah didn't account for the princess being there either. She was the first thing his eyes landed on as he rounded the corner, and, normally, he would have just nodded and kept walking on. But from the very moment he saw her, he knew doing that would be nothing short of negligent.
She looked elegant as always, somehow making just a slip dress and a fur-lined coat appear regal. Much of her long brown hair had been hidden away, only a few pieces falling in front of her strong, defining eyebrows. He didn't need to wonder why that was the case. And if all that wasn't enough to solidify it, there was that smile. Damning, really.
But she passed him, as though he wouldn't notice, and for a moment, he wondered if he ought to be offended. He almost laughed to himself thinking about it. Did she think he was that daft? She must've, because her excuse was just as laughable.
Ah, yes, he thought to himself, the garage. Of course. What a prat he was, believing she might be headed elsewhere.
Noah turned halfway towards her, his hands still deep in his pockets. There was a smile hidden somewhere inside him, but he didn't let it show. Instead, his composure was calm and leisurely, mouth pressed into a fine line.
"I'll accompany you."
He knew that wasn't what she wanted, but his job trumped her personal feelings, regardless. Instead, he just walked behind her, following her to the garage door. Eyes on her back, he couldn't help but wonder why she was the one trying to give him the slip. From all he'd heard and from the way he'd seen her act so far, he didn't take her to be the reckless kind. Her brother, yes. But her? Maybe her innocent looks were just that blinding, he thought.
Just as they reached the garage door, before she could even turn the door handle, he came to a sudden stop behind her.
"You're a rubbish liar."
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“I’ll accompany you.”
Dammit to hell. That was the last thing Louisa had wanted to hear, her insides shriveled as the thrill of traipsing into the night dissolved into thin air. Suddenly, the idea of stealing away sounded silly, childish really- she almost thought the bodyguard were mocking her, the way he remained calm. She reckoned he saw right through her, offering- no, insisting- that he follow her to look at cars in her very own royal garage. How could she have been so daft!
“That’s lovely,” Louisa’s neck burned, the fur suddenly much too hot for her liking. Pursing her lips as her mind turned, she forced herself to pivot stiffly towards the door, breath held with anticipation as she carried on to the garage at an anxious pace. The bodyguard followed respectfully at a distance behind her, his eyes seeming to bore into the back of her head as if challenging her to entertain the jig a second longer.
Just as Louisa reached tentatively for the door handle, she heard it.
“You’re a rubbish liar.”
The accusation was suspended in the air, a lump forming in her throat. As if she’d had a chance. In fact, she was almost more surprised that he had let her fib her way this far. “I’m not a liar,” Louisa dismissed as passively as she could muster, swinging the door open to the dimly lit garage with bodyguard in tow. “I like cars.” Lie. Somehow it seemed that Louisa sunk herself further and further from the truth, and for what, exactly? A night out?
When the garage door closed with a soft bang behind him, Louisa nervously scanned the gleaming silhouette’s of the Royal Fleet, the newest and best automobiles in Britain. It reeked of rubber and oil, but she supposed there was something musky, masculine about the place that was albeit a bit comforting. The garage, thank her lucky stars, was empty.
“You can’t tell anyone!” Louisa blurted, her hands desperately catching the sleeves of his suit. “Please,” Lou pleaded, the crushing weight of dishonesty slumping on her shoulders. If she were any more desperate, the princess might have dropped to her knees and begged him. “We’ll just go to town, for a few minutes, that’s all, really, it’ll be safe- because you’ll be with me, you’ll protect me,” Louisa already began to reason, gaining confidence as she started to snowball. “We’ll pop into Harding’s, I’ll buy what I need and then we’ll be back before anyone will notice we’ve gone!”
Louisa couldn’t stomach the sound of her voice, internally vomiting at the next words to come out of her mouth.
“…Please?”
If the batted eyelashes, the full pout, and the earnest furrow of her brow wasn’t enough to win his heart, Louisa wasn’t sure what was. It was an age-old trick in her book, one that had actually been taught to her by a very clever cousin. Lou was by no means a flirt, but in rare cases like these, made an exception to play her hand the best she could. That, and if she didn’t win the bodyguard’s solemn oath of silence, her father would put her under lock and key, just like in the fairytales.
Noah almost couldn't believe her response. His brows knit together harshly and his eyes narrowed. At the same time, the left corner of his lip upturned, like he was still deciding whether to be amused or offended by her gall. Lying to him once was one thing, but to do it twice (and even more unconvincingly the second time, at that)... Well, she really must have pegged him for an idiot.
He followed her wordlessly into the garage, crossing his arms as the door closed quietly behind him. Like the observer he was, his eyes scanned the room quickly, taking in all the details. He'd been in the garage a handful of times already, but the amount of wealth on display was never lost to him. That was something he'd learned about himself over the years: hard as he tried to leave parts of himself in the past, that poor kid from Liverpool was still kicking.
No sooner had his eyes returned to her back than she whipped around, hands going to his sleeves. His eyes went wide for a brief second, caught off-guard by the sudden contact. He didn't know where else to look other than her pleading gaze. It was one of those puppy-dog stares, sticky sweet and begging for him to cave in. And, jesus, was she good at it. Too good at it.
Doing his best to ignore the pleas, Noah cleared his throat and brought his eyes down, looking at his kecks rather than her. He wasn't sure what the right call was, made fairly clear by his pursed lips and furrowed brows. On one hand, it was getting late and slipping off into town was risky to say the least. No one knew they were leaving, and it would be entirely on his shoulders if anything happened.
But on the other hand, she was right. He would be there, and that wouldn't make it much different from other outings. After all, that's what he was there for: to protect her and the rest of her family. She was royalty; she had the grounds to decide where she went. And if she was begging him not to say anything, then that was basically an order in itself, even if he didn't like it. At all.
When he looked back up at her, he didn't say anything. Instead, he sighed loudly, a clear spark of annoyance in his dark eyes. But despite himself, he silently tilted his head towards one of the cars, a displeased motion that said, Get in.
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Did Lou feel guilty?
Not a single bit.
Or, so she told herself as she folded into the back seat of the Bentley, the car shuddering when the bodyguard shut the door behind her. Well, perhaps, slightly- the poor bugger had now entangled himself in an inconvenient plot at her behest, an accomplice to her escape from the confines of the suffocating palace walls.
Inhaling the fresh smell of leather, Louisa settled back into the seats with her eyes closed and arms folded against her chest. She could only pray that nothing could go wrong, that the night would be rather uneventful and dull, unproblematic by every degree. The idea of her father looking down his nose at her with the slow, dismayed shake of his regal head, it was just enough to make her reconsider the night’s venture. It felt silly then, nothing more than a child’s game, made even worse now that a member of the royal security detail was made to follow at her heels like one of her mother’s wretched corgis.
Louisa could never ignore the overwhelming self-consciousness that consumed her whenever it was that a royal staff member was even ever so slightly inconvenienced. She instinctively thought of herself as a bother, a royal nuisance. Louisa had eavesdropped on one too many gossiping maids to know that they thought of her as weak, spoiled, and a rather useless piece of an otherwise outstanding family. And, they would never leave her eyebrows alone, laughing to themselves in the tearoom as they polished silverware at the idea of shaving the princess’s brows in the midst of the night.
Now, it was unlikely that the bodyguard was mentally dissecting her character, brewing over the stupidity of her pesky little request to go to town this late. However, Louisa couldn’t help the nauseating feeling in her stomach as the car turned on and lurched into motion, gliding smoothly from the garage, into the courtyards, and to the gates.
Neither said a word for some time, the city bathed in a hazy glow of orange as the sun set over the smoke stacks in the west. Lou chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes anxiously flitting to the intently focused dark figure in the rear view mirror. Something about him made her nervous, shifting in her seat every time she accidentally caught his gaze. She realized she hadn’t even caught his name, and, stewing in her own humiliation, the silence lengthened nearly all the way into London.
“So, what am I supposed to call you?” Louisa finally mustered as the Thames came into view, her attention now forcibly directed out the window so as to avoid yet another twitchy staring match in the mirror. “I thought you were papa’s guard?”
Hardings was a fine place, a large and elegantly decorated department store on the farside of London, wedged in the middle of Knightsbridge and Belgravia. It was new to him, and when the two of them had entered the shop, he did his usual duty of scanning the place for any and all entrances and exits. Considering their surprise visit, it was unlikely that anything extreme would happen, but it was always best to be prepared.
At present, he sat outside the set of changing rooms, nestled comfortably in the waiting room. Despite being a room with a seemingly simple purpose, it was just as grand as the rest of the store, fit with a velour circular couch and staff that seemed increasingly dotting as time went on. That was the usual burden of accompanying a member of the royal family he knew. Even though he wasn't nearly on the same level as them, people seemed to flock anyways. It was somewhat burdensome, especially now, considering the spontaneity of their outing.
But Noah was impervious. His mind was preoccupied on their conversations in the car and the questions she'd asked him. "Noah," he'd shrugged, "Dawson. Whichever you prefer." It didn't really matter to him, but he supposed it was nice for her.
He'd glanced in the rear view mirror at her next question, but she'd purposefully pointed her attention out the window. He couldn't help his amusement. "I suppose I'm there for whoever needs me." You seemed like you needed it, he kept to himself.
"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" A store clerk's voice drew him back to the present.
He looked up at her with a thankful smile, but shook his head adamantly. "I'm fine, really." He hoped that would shut it down for good, but something told him it wouldn't. For now, though, the woman scuttled away with a not-so-discreet frustrated sigh (that he was sure he wasn't supposed to here), and he was once again left to his own devices.
With his thoughts interrupted, he aimed his attention to the curtained dressing room Elouisa had slipped into. It hadn't been too long since, but he was still uncertain that this trip out would be as fast as she'd insisted. She had seemed adamant in the garage, but, well, he knew plans were quick to change, much to his dismay.
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“Your Royal Highness! Lovely to see you again.” A booming, accented voice startled Louisa into next Tuesday, a soft yelp escaping her lips before she had the sense to bite her tongue. Ever since she was little, Lou hated surprises, particularly when it came in the variety of unexpected voices shouting in her ear. It was Mathilde- or was it Mary?- a heavyset Frenchwoman who scuttled from behind a counter to dip into a curtsy. The other shop girls did likewise, giggling quietly and whispering to each other as they stared at the princess.
Before her mother had found an affinity for private foreign European designers, Harding’s had been her mum’s favorite, and would take Lou for a new hat or summer frock on occasional visits into town. Now, although her mother insisted on exclusively wearing custom-made pieces of the finest variety, Louisa favored popping by every once in a while. She hadn’t visited in months, and perhaps Mathilde now was imploding with relief that the princess had returned once again. At least, it’s what she persuaded herself as she mustered a tight smile and several gracious nods for Mathilde’s ambitious welcome party.
Louisa was grateful now for Dawson, who stood just behind her without saying a single word. The shop otherwise seemed to be empty, which she wasn’t so sure was a blessing in disguise or an inconvenience. Already Mathilde-Mary propelled herself to Lou’s side, hands clasped in overeager anticipation. “Might I get you anything to drink, princess? Nora- be a good girl and fetch the good champagne, will you?” Before Lou could protest, a brunette nodded and disappeared into the back of the store, no doubt to pour the princess a drink she wouldn’t be able to stomach.
Exchanging a look with Dawson, Louisa forced a pleasant smile, edging slowly into the store. Crystal chandeliers hung from the tall ceilings, dresses displayed on mannequins in glass cases. “What might you be looking for today, miss? Beautiful shipments of taffeta came this morning, gorgeous for a princess, hmm?”
Overwhelmed, Louisa swallowed her nerves, trying to remain calm. She dared not ask for just a measly pearl strand, knowing she would hurt the woman’s feelings. Lou could see the pearls in the display, and had she had an ounce of courage, she might have put her foot down. “I-I’ll just be looking around, if that’s alright,” Lou began to say feebly, before Mathilde snapped her fingers at a different shop girl. “Arrange a fitting room for the princess at once, bring her the finest pieces, the new fall collection from the Italian designer, too.”
Lou shot Dawson an alarmed look over her shoulder, but was whisked away to the fitting rooms in a flurry of conversation before either could intervene with the shopping excursion that was turning something more like an exhaustive nightmare.
Just a few outfits. Perhaps, she could entertain the poor woman with a half hour of her time, then abscond with the pearls with the excuse of a dinner appointment; the plan almost seemed foolproof, giving Louisa a shed of comfort as she stared at the heaping rack of finery the girls had left her with. Standing barefoot in her stockings with her toes sunk into the plush carpet, Lou rubbed her bare arms in attempt to summon high spirits into the next task that lay arduously ahead: changing into every outfit.
Just when Louisa seemed to have shed the last jumper to the floor, Mathilde and her girls appeared with more. As much as she admired the flowing gowns and the cheeky glittering mini-dresses that were all the rage, she was very self conscious of a certain weary figure seated in the chair just outside her fitting room. It had been just past some half hour since she had disappeared, garments flying left and right.
“Dawson. Psst.”
Poking her head from behind the curtain, Louisa’s eyes darted around the empty lobby. Mathilde and her army were collecting more pieces for her to try, it would come as no surprise. “Dawson, come here,” Lou whispered sharply, waving him urgently over. She had shimmied into a floor-length gown, pulling back the drapes to reveal just so as Dawson approached her apprehensively. A few buttons were left unlatched out of her sheer frustration to reach them. “Get in.” Lou insisted, blue eyes skimming the lobby behind him in anticipation.
“Get-“ the princess did away with the curtain, releasing the bunched fabric with an exasperated sigh to grasp her puzzled (and, at this point, quite useless) bodyguard by the sleeve. She yanked him into the confines of her overcrowded dressing room, the curtains drew taut, and the two were left in thick silence. Louisa held her breath and strained her ears for voices that were to come at any moment.
“This was never my intention, honest,” Lou earnestly apologized under her breath, toying with the loose draping sleeves while guilt addled her freckled expression. “I’ve only come for the pearls, but they won’t have it, unless I walk out with their entire new collection,” Lou rolled her eyes, laughing drily.
Just then- “Hello? Miss?”
“-Yes…?”
“Your bodyguard has gone, where has that gentleman disappeared to? I’ve got a glass for him, poor thing looked rather crabby, thought he could do with a drink.”
Lou clapped a hand over Dawson’s mouth, already knowing what would happen if the woman learned the two occupied a single dressing room together. “He’s gone off, for… for a smoke,” Louisa looked to Dawson for approval, mouthing an apology. “Actually, might you go and fetch him? He mentioned he would be off to the pub a few doors down.”
Silence.
“Right, then, Your Highness- I shall be right back! Just a moment, princess!”
Well, this was new. Noah couldn't say he was expecting the day to end with him standing a woman's dressing room. But there he was, standing in front of the princess, of all people.
This looked bad. Unbelievably bad. He was grateful for the long curtain that just reached the floor, otherwise, it would look even worse. Scandalous, even. The clerk already sounded quite mouthy, and, honestly, losing this job after just a week because of something like this would be a reputation killer at best.
So as Elouisa explained everything to him, he tried his best to keep quiet. It was his eyes that were intense. They were narrowed, giving her a pointed look that said are you insane? He opened his mouth, ready to say it out loud, but her hand went over his mouth. He didn't think his eyes could narrow any further.
In that moment, between the excuses she gave Mathilde and her hand leaving his mouth, he got the chance to look at her. She looked stunning, honestly. Before, when she'd asked him to come close, he'd only gotten a glimpse. Now he could see the dress she wore in its entirety. It was a light beige color, layered with flowing toile over top and adorned with loose, full sleeves. It suited her. He couldn't help the way his eyes looked over her, down and then back up to her blue eyes. It suited her a lot.
That was when he realized how close they actually were. The dressing room was a good size, but when she'd pulled him in by the sleeve, he'd never stepped away. Now, they were nothing but a few inches from each other—him looking down at her, her looking up at him. They were trapped like that, racing heartbeats, until he heard fading heel clicks on the marble floor. That was enough of a cue to take a step back, leaving her hand to fall from his mouth.
"Have you completely lost the plot?" he whispered defensively. He grimaced almost immediately. The slang was too informal. Not that this whole situation wasn't, but making it less so certainly didn't help his case. What if she was uncomfortable? What if she told someone about this? It's not as though he meant any of this to happen, but that didn't matter, did it? He ran a hand over his face. This whole thing felt like a mistake.
"You should get dressed." But she couldn't, could she? Not with him standing there. Maybe he should turn around, he wondered, only to drown that idea out completely: No, he thought. What am I thinking? Instead, he tipped his head to the curtain. "Is it clear?" He would have checked it himself, but god forbid the woman turned around on her way out. That would be an even worse scenario than the one they were already in.
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It would appear that Dawson quite disliked her clever plan to steal him away into her dressing room; the scowl on his face said it so. The bodyguard was properly worked into a lather as soon as the heels clicked away, his wild eyes darting frantically across her face as if she’d made a grave mistake. Lou thought herself to be rather bright, sending Mathilde away like that. After hours of shuffling about with her curls tousled from fine fabrics being pulled over her head, Lou had to put an end to this lunacy.
“Have you completely lost the plot!”
Lou blinked at Dawson, taken aback by his bold tone. While other members of the Royal household might have struck Dawson across the face for being cheeky, Louisa was instead intrigued by the sheer nerve of the very man that loomed over her. He had a pair on him, that was undeniably sure. It was almost sort of… exciting.
“It may have escaped your notice, but we’re currently being held captive in a women’s boutique- fancy you any other ideas, then?” Louisa countered under her breath, but Dawson had already edged around the overflowing toile that pooled at her feet. With her hands on her hips, she exchanged a perplexed look with her bodyguard, the two of them surrounded by gowns and coats. Dawson couldn’t seem to stand still as if he were ready to burst from the curtains at any moment and expose them both.
Louisa toyed with her sleeve, bewildered at the idea of changing in front of a stranger- much less, her bodyguard. He was pushy, this one, always telling her what to do- Lou wasn’t quite sure how to react. Perhaps she ought to have changed before she nicked Dawson from the lobby- there was no sense in fretting now. Any minute, Mathilde would return; then would the princess truly have something tragically humiliating to fuss about.
“Is it clear?”
“Move aside, move aside, and keep your voice down,” Louisa swatted him lightly, holding her breath to peel the corner of the curtain back. She could see the shop girls, milling about the front of the boutique sorting garments onto racks.
Louisa gasped, jolting backwards into Dawson with a start. She had met eye contact with one of the girls, and she could only think how relieved she was that Dawson hadn’t been the one to check. They hadn’t much time, and the fear of the showgirls crowding round the outside of the dressing room had become all too vivid of a threat. “Turn around, and no peeking, you,” Louisa turned her back to him, checking that he complied once before fussing with her dress. It was beginning to feel rather hot in the toile, the fabric clinging to her arms as perspiration began to bead at her hairline.
“Help me with this,” Lou whispered frantically moment later, swiping at the mismatched buttons along the spine of her dress.
