Chapter Three: Swing Me From the Chandelier
Boule de Gomme is a strange name and Bonnibel no longer gets angry when ignorant people deign to laugh at it.
In fact, she has decided that from now on, she is going to laugh with them.
Or, at the very least, she will try to.
Especially now, as she and her brother are being introduced to the various nobility of England with their own very strange names, at this, the most boring event in the English's so called "Season." She has so far been introduced to Lord Cornwall and the very serious Earl of Sandwich. Honestly, with such names, she has more to laugh at than they do.
Boule de Gomme is a strange name but, as it is French, it holds a certain air of elegance.
"Bonjour, Princesse Boule de Gomme." The Earl of Shrewsbury says as he bows low to her. His bald spot shimmers in greeting as he straightens back out. An elegant smile sits on his mustache. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly into a brief smirk and Bonnibel wants to place her whole gloved hand on the man's prominent bald spot. If possible, she would like to push down hard enough so that his nose rubs the tiles on the floor.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance Comte," she says prettily and curtsies. Her strawberry blonde hair is gathered in an elegant braided updo and the slight curtsy causes the pins holding her hair in place to chafe against her scalp. The pain is causing the worst ache in her skull than any she has ever felt. She wants nothing more than to leave right now so that she may return to her rooms and have Matilde, her maid, yank each pin out.
"You must tell me Princesse," the Earl begins, "How are you faring in our wonderful Britannia? We might not be able to match the...excessiveness… of French elegance…" He says with a sneer. "But, I do hope that we are able to exceed those illusions of grandeur?"
Bonnibel glances around the room. This English ballroom is well lit and well ventilated as the windows are open. The gilded doors that lead to balconies in this ballroom are open as well. The chandelier that illuminates the room is very pretty. In fact, Bonnibel has spent quite a few minutes marveling at the various displays of color the chandelier casts upon the ceiling. The small glass prisms effectively bend the light around them.
"That chandelier was made in France." She remarks as she points up to the ceiling. She can recognize French craftsmanship anywhere. Their host has good taste in lighting fixtures. "That alone has placed this room a cut above my expectations. I have not seen another chandelier quite like it in all of England. If only more of your countrymen could embrace such beautiful chandeliers. Only then would they ever hope to just meet even the barest of said 'illusion of grandeur.'" She tries her damndest not to smile as each word wrenches small gasps from the Earl.
If he is going to be petty, then so is she.
The Earl looks perplexed and immediately glances up. "I suppose it does." He looks at Bonnibel and his mouth twitches again. "Have a good evening Princesse. Enjoy staring at the chandelier."
He bows again, a lot more tritely this time around, and walks stiffly away from the Princesse.
Bonnibel does not even bother to curtsy in return.
Which is fine.
These English nobles and their silly names are making her pin headache worse than it needs to be.
AN/: Neither "Adventure Time" nor, "Masterpiece Theatre" are owned by me. I simply use their characters and names as an exercise of writing and creativity. Also, please note that this story is not historically accurate, though an attempt to accurately portray history is certainly made. No offense is intended with any of the interpretations of the people discussed in this piece. I am neither British, nor French, so all language foibles and other je ne sais quoi are unintended. All feedback is appreciated and welcomed.