WIP - Real Men
Take your mind back
I don't know when
Sometime when it always seemed to be just us and them
Girls that wore pink
And boys that wore blue
Boys that always grew up better men than me and you
Rachele Caligari looked up from the Sorte tapestry she had weaved, trying to pin down the source of the magical disturbance in her house. Her husband Angelo smiled at her, but knew that her news was bad.
"What is it, my darling?" he asked, sensing her distress.
"I've finished the tapestry, my lord," she replied, her shoulders slumping. "There is a disturbance in the patterns of Fate in the house, just as I suspected. It is... an untrained practitioner of Sorte, working magic without realising it."
Her husband relaxed slightly at this news, but soon grew apprehensive again. "Then can't we just find out who it is? If it's one of the servants who picked up some noble blood somewhere in her ancestry, we can either fire her or have her trained in our service. You... you know who it is, don't you."
Rachele buried her hands in her lap to conceal their trembling. She cast her gaze down, tears beginning to trickle from behind her veil. Long moments passed before she could speak, and even then only in a cracked whisper.
"It's Donato, my lord. Our little Donatello."
Angelo rushed to comfort his wife, obviously confused and distressed. "But Donato is a boy, my love. He... the magic only passes down the female line, everyone knows that..."
Rachele shook her head and buried her face against her husband's shoulder in a most unseemly fashion. "Not... not always, my lord. It is rare, and such boys are... are..." She drew herself upright again, adjusting her veil. "By law I must kill him, it is treason to harbour a man with the Sorte magic..."
Angelo stroked his wife's shoulders gently, gazing directly at her. "But you won't. And nor will I. He is our son, our only child. I would commit treason a thousand times before I allowed our Donatello to perish."
Rachele threw her arms around her husband and hugged him tightly. "As would I, my lord... my love. But how do we protect him? He is only eight years old."
Angelo pondered this, the master politican's face creasing in thought. "We could send him away? To be raised by another family, perhaps in Castille? Even among commoners, perhaps? We could still visit..."
Rachele shook her head. "No, he needs to be trained, or he will endanger himself and others. And someone will sense the magic in him sooner or later, it is not something that can be hidden for long."
Angelo bowed his head in thought for several long minutes, while Rachele dabbed at her eyes under her veil and composed herself. Finally, the lord spoke. "Do you trust Veronica with this, my love?" Rachele nodded silently, as her husband's courtesan had been with the household longer than she had, and the two women were steadfast friends. "Then I know what we must do."
He rang for a servant, and asked that Veronica and Donato both be brought to his wife's workroom, where they sat. Donato arrived first, and his parents both wept inwardly at the thought of what the boy would go through. They bade him sit, and soon Veronica arrived.
"You sent for me, my lord?" she asked, giving a deep curtsey. Her eyes took in the family in the room, quickly concluding that she was here for some business other than her usual.
"Please, sit down, my dear Veronica," replied Angelo, indicating a seat next to Donato. She did so, still trying to ascertain what was going on.
"Veronica, I asked you here to deliver some grave news. My son Donato was thrown from his pony this afternoon, during his riding practice. His neck was broken when he hit the ground. He died instantly."
Veronica opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Of course the lord could see his son sitting there, right next to her. A women did not come to be Lord Angelo Caligari's sole courtesan by being unable to understand subtlety.
"That is truly horrific, my lord. I am so sorry for your loss. How does this involve me, though?"
Angelo looked directly at Veronica, speaking with the practised sincerity of a courtier. "The death of my son leaves me without an heir, and I am unlikely to be blessed with another son in this life. Therefore, I called you here to speak about our daughter. Your daughter."
Again, Veronica closed her mouth before the obvious thought - I don't have a daughter! - escaped her lips. Of course he knows that.
"Our daughter, my lord? What about her?"
"She is my heir now, and I intend to acknowledge her as such. It will bring a certain dishonour to our name and her own reputation, but we will weather that. She will be raised as befits her station, and trained as a noblewoman of this house, and as a Fate witch, for she has that magic in her blood. I trust you will teach her all you know of how to be a lady, as will her stepmother, my wife."
Veronica looked from Angelo to Rachele, still trying to understand what was happening. "I... will do my best, my lord. Do you, perchance, know where she is at the moment? I fear I have... lost track of her."
Angelo pointed at the boy sitting next to her. "Why, there she is. Our daughter, Angelina. You have a great deal of work to do with her, I fear - you have allowed her to run wild and act like a boy all her life. Can you make her into a true lady?"
Finally the significance of the situation became obvious to Veronica. A boy with Sorte - that explained everything. She knelt at Angelo's feet and looked up at him. "I will not fail you, my lord. Your daughter," - and she turned her head briefly to regard her good friend Rachele as she spoke - "your daughter will be safe in my hands. She will be a fine lady, a daughter to make you both proud."
Veronica turned to take Donato in her arms, hugging him tightly. "Poor child," she whispered, stroking his hair. "What a life you have ahead. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise." The boy hugged her back, not yet comprehending.
And so it goes
Go round again
But now and then we wonder who the real men are
See the nice boys
Dancing in pairs
Golden earring, golden tan, blow-wave in their hair
Sure they're all straight
Straight as a line
All the gays are macho, can't you see the leather shine
Angelina and Stephania sat quietly at the edge of the ball, watching the festivities through their veils. As they watched, eligible young noblemen would approach the knot of noblewomen, flatter one to draw her away from the group, and lead her in a dance. Angelina and Stephania, however, were left to their own devices.
"Always the same way, isn't it, Angie?" asked Stephania with a sigh, fanning herself gently as she watched another dance begin. "They only want to dance with the beautiful ones. As if that's all we have to offer."
Angelina cast his gaze down, trying not to think about it too hard. His father had advised him carefully when it came to men. Women were expected to flirt, after all, and to spurn the advances of too many noblemen would make enemies, not to mention giving him a reputation that he could not afford to build. On the other hand, he would never be able to take a man to bed, or marry, without revealing his secret. Fortunately, few men ever showed an interest in him, thinking him a plain-faced lady with little to attract a gentleman.
"Let's go outside," Angelina suggested, suddenly finding the ballroom too crowded for his tastes. "I don't like dances, they make me nervous."
Stephania accompanied her friend outside, and they stood in the cool breeze, watching commoners mill around in the street below. Angelina leaned close to Stephania. He always found her presence comforting. They shared many of the same interests - not that Vodaccean ladies were permitted many interests beside fashion, needlework, and the study of Sorte for those so gifted. Not for the first time, Angelina wished he had been allowed to continue his lessons in reading and writing, but that had all ended when he had been thrust into a girl-child's role.
Stephania turned to her friend and regarded her critically. "Why nervous, dear heart? They're just men. They won't cross a Fate witch, even one still in her training. And you have your father to protect you from the worst of intrigue-seekers."
Angelina nodded, sighing deeply. "I know. And he even says that if I don't marry, he'll let his nephew inherit his estate, rather than forcing me to marry someone I can't stand. But I still feel like a failure."
Stephania put her hand on Angelina's shoulder. "You're not a failure, Angie. You do very well at your lessons, and you're very... patient." She swept her other hand to take in the ballroom. "But you do want to marry one day, don't you? You don't want to be alone your entire life. Isn't there anyone here you'd be with if you could?"
Angelina kept his gaze directly on his friend. "You know there is, Stephania. There always has been."
Stephania sighed, taking Angelina's hand in hers and stroking it gently. "Oh, Angie, Angie. We're getting too old for this, you must know that. We'll be finished at the Academy soon, and then where will we go? I need a husband. You need a husband. We can't... oh, my love, don't cry..."
Angelina buried his head in Stephania's shoulder, sobbing quietly. "I don't want a husband," he murmured, clinging to his best friend. "I want you. I love you. Why can't we have that? Why does that have to be something we leave behind when we grow up?"
Stephania glanced quickly at the ballroom to ensure she wasn't being watched, and turned Angelina's face to hers, kissing him tenderly. "I love you too, Angie," she murmured. "You were always there for me when I needed you. Life would have been so much lonelier without you. And I promise you we'll always be friends. But we have to face the world as adults, now, and that means using our magic on behalf of our husbands, when we find them. And you will, I have no doubt about it." She kissed him again, then drew back as she spotted a nobleman stepping out onto the balcony.
Angelina composed himself, feeling, as always, guilty about being so intimate with his best friend under false pretenses. This may be the last time he could hold her, though, and so he savoured it as best he could.
You don't want to sound dumb
Don't want to offend
So don't call me a faggot, not unless you are a friend
"Lady Angelina? May I have the pleasure of this dance?"
Angelina looked up at the gentleman bowing to her. He was... probably handsome, he decided after some thought. And he seemed kind enough. Angelina stole a glance at Stephania, who was nodding eagerly, indicating that he should take the dance. Angelina hesitated, but then Stephania blew her a kiss, and he knew it would be alright.
"I would be delighted, good sir," he murmured, offering the man his hand.
But if you're tall
Handsome and strong
You can wear the uniform and I can play along
And so it goes
Go round again
But now and then we wonder who the real men are
Time to get scared
Time to change plan
Don't know how to treat a lady, don't know how to be a man
Donato skulked along the street, feeling uncomfortable and exposed in his doublet and pantaloons. He had to remind himself that he was unremarkable in these clothes, just another gentleman out for a night on the town. The plain, though fine, brown clothing marked him as either a wealthy individual outside the auspices of any Prince's house, or a nobleman engaged in activities outside his family's consideration or even knowledge. Given his destination, the second conclusion was the most likely to be drawn.
Signora Amantella's Restaurant was, by all accounts, a fine eating establishment, but the open secret was its reputation as a courtesan house, and a very good one at that. His mother had trained under Signora Amantella - his adoptive mother, he had to remind himself, as Veronica was just as devoted a parent as Rachele, so that he found himself blessed with two mothers as well as a father. Veronica had written to her old teacher, introducing Donato to her as a lesser scion of her master's family, and asked that he be found a partner suited to his sheltered upbringing.
Donato was grateful for the effort that Veronica had made for him, but as he hesitated on the threshold of the restaurant, nerves gripped his heart. His parents had explained the facts of life to him, of course, and Veronica had told him many stories of her and her colleagues' exploits, but the reality of actually facing a woman, as a man, frightened him. He had not kissed a woman since Stephania had left town to marry her new husband four years ago, and their physical intimacy had been necessarily limited. The mere thought of being seen in public as a man terrified him, as each moment outside felt like his discovery and execution came a little closer. He scarcely believed that he would be able to bare himself to a woman, even in private, but his mothers had assured him that it would be alright.
"Good evening, Signor. Do you have a reservation for a table tonight?" asked the lady at the door, a woman in her mid-forties with the look of a former courtesan, verified by the fact that she could read the log-book in front of her. A number of gentleman or couples dined at the tables beyond, the light low save for candles at each table. A Montaigne woman in the garb and badge of the Swordsman's Guild lounged against the far wall, seeming not to pay the room any heed, but obviously ready to act if anybody started trouble.
Donato steeled his resolve and cleared his throat, forcing himself to use his natural voice rather than the feminine lilt he had been cultivating all these years. "Donato Caligari, please," he replied, barely able to raise his voice above a whisper when revealing his true name. "I have a recommendation from Signora Veronica?"
The receptionist smiled indulgently, obviously having been informed of Donato's arrival. "Of course, Signor. Please take a seat. Your guest should be with you momentarily."