Franz (with Heinrich in the ante room, which is still open to the salon) wonders whether telling MT to channel her inner Agrippina has been such a good idea because for a moment, she looks like she thinks serving Fritz a mushroom dish is a really good idea. He decides to hope for the best and prepare for the worst, by which he means looking for his son (last seen storming out of the other exit and slamming the door) just in case an intervention is needed. This means, by necessity, there'll be some time (spent Joseph-hunting) MT and Fritz are free to strangle each other without him being able to stop it, but surely Heinrich would intervene... would he?
MT *does have murder in her eyes, but has not survived sixteen pregnancies and childbirths as well as her father's stupid ancient advisors in her first cabinet lecturing her without being able to conjure up discipline as well as a lethal smile*: Cousin, you should have told me you were tired, I'd have given you permission to sit down long ago. Men just don't have the stamina we women do, I suppose. Your dear sister told me what a sensitive boy you've always been, and I now see she was right. You do remind me of little Max and Ferdinand, always grabbing at shiny baubles that aren't yours.
*Pause to let that sink in, while she remains standing. She is at this point of her life of course no longer young herself and overweight, her dancing nights are past, but she's still healthy and the woman his ambassador describes in his dispatches as able to remain hours and hours unprotected in high summer heat outside going through receptions while her court runs for cover*
And here I thought you didn't care for portraits.
*drops the fake pleasantry for pure ice*
Now, may I enquire how you came to see yours by my son's bed?
Re: Crackfic
MT *does have murder in her eyes, but has not survived sixteen pregnancies and childbirths as well as her father's stupid ancient advisors in her first cabinet lecturing her without being able to conjure up discipline as well as a lethal smile*: Cousin, you should have told me you were tired, I'd have given you permission to sit down long ago. Men just don't have the stamina we women do, I suppose. Your dear sister told me what a sensitive boy you've always been, and I now see she was right. You do remind me of little Max and Ferdinand, always grabbing at shiny baubles that aren't yours.
*Pause to let that sink in, while she remains standing. She is at this point of her life of course no longer young herself and overweight, her dancing nights are past, but she's still healthy and the woman his ambassador describes in his dispatches as able to remain hours and hours unprotected in high summer heat outside going through receptions while her court runs for cover*
And here I thought you didn't care for portraits.
*drops the fake pleasantry for pure ice*
Now, may I enquire how you came to see yours by my son's bed?