Post by Mrs. Potts on Mar 19, 2020 15:08:21 GMT
(January 30th, late evening, after preparations for the events of Some Enchanted Meeting wrap up! Open to Belle Persephone)
”Belle? Dearie?” Far from the shrill whistle of a teapot, Mrs. Pott’s voice was hushed and gentle. She used this motherly tone often, when Chip needed to be soothed, or when The Master’s temper was up. Gentleness was like a fresh cup of chamomile. There was a time for something more bracing, but chamomile was to smooth out stress and cares and help one to slow down long enough to think of the greater things in life.
Of course, she rarely had to use gentleness with Belle.
Only during the first, sad, exciting night of the girl’s arrival did Mrs. Potts brew up some of her famous gentle tone for this lass. She remembered fondly how very quickly Belle recovered from the despair of living in their castle with a Beast. That was when Mrs. Potts had found she could speak to their guest, even with the age difference, as a friend rather than a fragile bit of China that needed tending, or a child who needed teaching. Belle was different.
But this was an exception. Mrs. Potts had a feeling more often than not these days—the days since The Master had left—that Belle was holding herself together only with great difficulty. She’d made the choice to disobey King Robert and run up the Enchanted Suns flag in his absence, and now an embassy from that army was coming tomorrow to their castle. The day had been busy for all the castle staff with preparations, but it was Belle Mrs. Potts found herself fretting over. She carried herself like a true Queen, getting things into their proper place. But surely all that pressure would build up, steam, and boil over.
Not if Mrs. Beatrice Potts could help it. She’d get the poor child to let some of those emotions out now that the day was ended—no matter how many cups of tea it took.
The round, hearty face peaked around the door to the library. Her lipstick was faded now at the end of the day, but the same could not be said of the concern that still marked the elderly woman’s drooping mouth. Mrs. Potts’ twinkling eyes roamed the library. This was Belle’s favorite place. She hadn’t been in her chambers when the kindly elder had rolled her tea tray by. This was the next step.
”I’ve brought you a cup‘ve tea, child.” Murmured the cockney accent, not wanting to disturb the tentative peace the rest of For Chambrod was settling into for the night.
”Belle? Dearie?” Far from the shrill whistle of a teapot, Mrs. Pott’s voice was hushed and gentle. She used this motherly tone often, when Chip needed to be soothed, or when The Master’s temper was up. Gentleness was like a fresh cup of chamomile. There was a time for something more bracing, but chamomile was to smooth out stress and cares and help one to slow down long enough to think of the greater things in life.
Of course, she rarely had to use gentleness with Belle.
Only during the first, sad, exciting night of the girl’s arrival did Mrs. Potts brew up some of her famous gentle tone for this lass. She remembered fondly how very quickly Belle recovered from the despair of living in their castle with a Beast. That was when Mrs. Potts had found she could speak to their guest, even with the age difference, as a friend rather than a fragile bit of China that needed tending, or a child who needed teaching. Belle was different.
But this was an exception. Mrs. Potts had a feeling more often than not these days—the days since The Master had left—that Belle was holding herself together only with great difficulty. She’d made the choice to disobey King Robert and run up the Enchanted Suns flag in his absence, and now an embassy from that army was coming tomorrow to their castle. The day had been busy for all the castle staff with preparations, but it was Belle Mrs. Potts found herself fretting over. She carried herself like a true Queen, getting things into their proper place. But surely all that pressure would build up, steam, and boil over.
Not if Mrs. Beatrice Potts could help it. She’d get the poor child to let some of those emotions out now that the day was ended—no matter how many cups of tea it took.
The round, hearty face peaked around the door to the library. Her lipstick was faded now at the end of the day, but the same could not be said of the concern that still marked the elderly woman’s drooping mouth. Mrs. Potts’ twinkling eyes roamed the library. This was Belle’s favorite place. She hadn’t been in her chambers when the kindly elder had rolled her tea tray by. This was the next step.
”I’ve brought you a cup‘ve tea, child.” Murmured the cockney accent, not wanting to disturb the tentative peace the rest of For Chambrod was settling into for the night.
