Misunderstanding [Versailles/Public]

"I can cover it up," She answered automatically.

She didn't want to tell him. According to how she was raised, the admission of it would make it real, and make her effectively worthless as a human. "Neither of us would be happy." She told him quietly.

He had succeeded in his goal-- making her feel inferior compared to him. He had none of the problems that she had. To her he was perfect, she there was no way she deserved that. "Just look at me..." She was small, and her cinched waist would have made it difficult even if she wasn't. "It would die."

Auguste knew very little about childbirth. It did not look like a baby would fit inside Franze. He figured it was possible, though. There was no doubt that Auguste was not father material. However, having his child inside Franze would prove valuable. She would be completely dependent on him. He would not have to do much as a father. She would be stuck with the burden when he left. She said she wanted it, though. It would be a win-win situation.

"Don't say that." His words were meant to sound sympathetic, however his tone and actions revealed that they hardly were. "My mother's waist was about your size. I am fine." Well granted, his mother was much less fragile than Franze. "You do not know this for sure, yes? There are always possibilites. And you would be much more happier if the child was born."

She wanted to believe that he was right. She wanted to throw away that memory of those dreams. After all, they were only dreams... Right?

Fränze had already cast aside what she knew was right for his own truth before... And he said his mother was like her (small comfort: men marry women like their mothers, she'd heard) and she was sure she could use the child as collateral if he ever tried to leave. What father would want to leave their child?

She thought for a long while, staring down at her hands. Then, she looked back to him with a small smile and kissed him. "Maybe you're right... I guess we could try."

He gave her a slight glance with the confirmation, there was none of his usual smile. His hands ran over to the back of her dress, like usual, feeling for the zipper. Women couldn't do anything for themselves, for some reason or another. After zipping it down he gave her the rest of the time to shrug it off, while he worked on his pants.

As he proceeded on to her, there was remarkably less passion than he often gave.

((THIS IS SHORT FOR A REASON, THAT IS BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE WRITING SEX AND AUGUSTE HAS SEX TOO MUCH.))

She was growing unsure of herself fast. Fragments of the pain of that dream flashed through her mind even quicker, and even if he was out of passion for her, she didn't feel it. She was numb.

He moved to her and she knew she couldnt go through with it. She didn't remove her dress, and pushed back on his shoulders. "I changed my mind." She murmured. "I know something awful would happen to it..." Or her. She didn't know which was worse, but she was leaning towards the former.

"I'm sorry..." It seemed he would deserve an explanation for it all, considering. "I was just saying all that outside to put pressure on you... This'll seem silly... But I had a dream that I already lost a child... When I was younger..."

There was a pause. That was strange. Oddly enough, Auguste remembered hearing about a miscarriaged child in a few of his dreams about Franze. He remembered seeing the child, broken by another child inside of her. He remembered how he felt no sympathy. Did it mean anything? He figured it probably didn't.

Pulling down her dress, he continued from where he started. Auguste did not bother to realize that he was being pushed away. He would only stop if she resisted further. He was used to getting little 'no's and pushes. Women did that to prove they weren't a slut.

"That's just a dream, Franze-- We all have strange dreams." Augute stated, his lips barely forming into a smile that could not be remotely comforting. He knew his dreams were unusual, that was why he didn't want to reveal them. "They aren't true- they're just silly dreams."

"No." She pushed him away and got off of her bed this time. The more she was touched with the thought of that dead child, and all that pain lingering in her mind, the sicker she felt. Hurriedly zipping up her dress, she shook her head at his assurances. It felt like she would never want to be intimate with anyone again. "It was real, I could feel it."

There was a lingering sensation of shame after that dream... Not all of it being about the child. About... Something else that she'd let fail. She didn't know what.

She needed to see herself, to make sure she didn't look the same as the girl in the dream. To make sure she wasn't covered in blood with a face twisted in the most pain a woman could ever feel. Sitting in front of her vanity, she stared herself down nervously. It didn't matter what she said at the moment, she was too shaken up. "Go have sex with some of those other women if you really have to. I don't care."

He gave a loud and exasperated sigh. A roll of his eyes shortly followed. Women made no sense. Franze made no sense at all. Was this supposed to be about those 'other women' she spoke of?

"You know I am loyal only to you. Don't be so paranoid." Franze was paranoid, alright. Auguste did not hold the stakes that she did in childhood. He didn't understand. However, he did understand that these dreams reflected nothing on reality.

"Dreams aren't real." He stated, slipping his pants back on. "How old did you say you were in that dream, 15, right?" Or at least he thought Franze had said something about the age. In Auguste's version of the dream she was around that age. "It was probably just about some lost childhood, or something. Freud spoke about that stuff, yes? He wouldn't say it was to be taken literal, would he?" Auguste was no Freud expert. However, like most, he knew of him, and Franze had spoken about him before.

"You're ready for one now."

She rested her head in her hands as he talked, growing more and more knots in her stomach with every word he said. Who was he to talk about Freud? She bet the only Freud he ever read was the spines on the books on the shelf when he was waiting for her to wake up in the morning (if he did that at all). "It's not about that!" She snapped at her own reflection. "If it was, don't you think I would realize it?! I felt it, when I woke up..."

She had reacted so suddenly that she didn't catch his admission of knowledge. But it suddenly snapped into her mind, and she turned slowly, suspiciously, to him. "Yes...How do you know that? I never told you." There had to be something to these dreams. She knew there had to be.

"You're exaggerating the experience." Though Auguste also had equally as moving experiences from his dreams. They left emotional scars, more than physical. There had been times when he woke up crying, after his dreams about the guillotine. He had woken up that way at night in Franze's room. She often invoked that dream. "You always talk about Freud, why don't you try to think like him." Auguste did not know Freud well enough to judge her on the matter. He saw that one book about dreams on Franze's shelf, he would occasionally open that. However, he could not get very far. Her copy was in German, he had to rely on cognates. He couldn't find very many.

"And you told me about this dream before...You must not remember..." He smiled. "You were a girl...And your husband in that dream..." Auguste paused. "You spoke about him before too, didn't you?" Auguste remembered in his own dreams that her husband was a good man. He couldn't remember the dream by detail, however, he did remember Franze's husband in it. He was the central figure of that dream. Franze was just a side character.

She threw an arm out to the bookshelf, full of freud's work and even the work of his rivals for comparison. "I've read those over and over. Don't you think I would know what I'm talking about??" He was beginning to seem insensitive again, like he always was, unbeknownst to her. Whenever he had woken up crying because of his dreams, she had wasted sleep to console him. But he wouldn't do the same for her.

And she was sure she never told him about this dream before. And if she had, never in detail. But... On an hunch, she decided to pursue his query. "He seemed like he was Spanish-- we were in Spain. We were both... Important, but almost more than that." She paused to verbalize her thoughts. "He was a... very self centered man." Included in those dreams was the night she was made a woman by said man. And although in her waking life she enjoyed the process and practiced it quite often, in her nightmare, it was one of her most terrifying experiences. "I mostly saw paintings of him. I never really could get a good look at him. "People kept calling me 'La Infanta'."

"He was not self centered, he was a good man." Auguste snapped. "You told me that. He got a little ambitious, once or twice, but he was a good man. From what I can tell, you were his only problem." He paused. This was obviously not told to him from Franze's dreams. The words just came out, it was instinctive. It felt like this Spaniard was a friend.

How did he even know this man? How did Franze know the same man? They couldn't both be talking about the same person. He couldn't remember the man's name.

How was this even possible? Were they both in the ame dream? Two seperate minds could not just have seperate dreams with the same people.

"La Infanta...?" he scoffed. "No they weren't." Not in Auguste's part of the dream. "You were out of the Spaniard's favour...and I...." Auguste stared to her. "You said I was in this dream?

"I was the one who was ignored after our wedding night surrounded by both of our families." She muttered bitterly. As if it actually happened. It felt like it did. "I got sick from the isolation. The baby got sick. It wasn't my fault." Then she stopped herself. "How can you even have opinions on that?"

"I never said you were in the dream." She stood up and eyed him carefully. "Theres something you aren't telling me."

((YOUR AVATAR LMAO--))

It was completely disgusting how she just claimed such innocence. Auguste felt some passion from some unknown source surge through him. "You know what you did to him. He was the victim, he was the one who suffered." Auguste's memories from his own dreams were coming back. Did he help the Spaniard in this situation? The memories were so foggy, but they were coming back.

"You told me all about this dream, once. I- I only sympathize with your ex-husband. He seemed like a very good man." Auguste smiled, as he leaned back on the bed. "You musn't remember the time you told me. Auguste did not want to reveal the secrets of his dreams. When he woke Franze up with his nighmares, he would not dare tell her what they were about. He did not want her comfort, he did not want her to see his weakness. He could not tell her about these things.

(lmao i get it when i google zionist shark.))

"And what did I ever do to him?!" She threw out incredulously. They were both getting worked up over something subconscious.

It didn't make sense that he would have such an opinion if only she only told her side of it. She didn't tell him. She knew that much. Something was really going on. "And what did I say this man looked like?" She had never told him that, either. She just wanted to see if he had the same dream or if he was just deliberately making her upset. It was hard to tell.

"You harmed him. You fail to see that the world is not only about you. You expressed this character as the bad guy, but from what I took out of the story, he was a protagonist. You didn't understand how your child's death could have effected him. You want to hang on to these things, these people. You wanted to hang on to him, you wanted to sink him down to your level. He would not go down to your level." Auguste stated. He had to stop himself from getting passionate about this. Auguste felt like this Spaniard was some long lost friend. It was strange, Auguste had never had a Spanish friend. The man had appeared over and over in these dreams. Auguste forgot so much about him, but at the same time, he knew so much about him. Auguste cracked a smile. "I think that would be what Freud would say about your dream--" No, Auguste had no clue what Freud would say. That was just a taunt.

He cracked another grin. "You told me all about this dream, Franze. You said that this Spaniard was very handsome- with long black hair. He was royal looking, you said he made you feel like nothing. You said that he was so much more than you could ever amount to." She had said none of this. This was all Augute's mind. "And he was older than you- so much more mature than you."

"And how would it have ever effected him?" She muttered back, tone full of venom. "He didn't care at all. All he wanted was a boy. He didn't care otherwise."

Feeling so offended at what he'd said over an intangible man, she frowned. "I was twice the royalty he was." She lit up another cigarette from stress and let the car slowly fill with the smoke. "I never told you. But I'm about to tell you to get out unless you tell me how you know all this."

Maybe he had fabricated her dream... Somehow. If he did, what a bastard. And if he hadn't... Well, she didn't know what to think.

"You didn't realize what you did to him." Auguste snapped. In Auguste's dream, he was the one who had supported the Spaniard against Franze. In justifying the Spaniard, he was justifying himself. He knew Franze did not deserve him. He wouldn't say that outright, not while Franze was in a mood like this. "He wanted a capable child... a good wife... That's what any man wants." The girl obviously did not understand her fictional husband like Auguste did.

"Franze...." He frowned, coughing at the smoke that quickly filled the room. "I swear you did tell me... It was one of those late nights... You whispered it, and we both went back to bed. You don't remember it, but I do. You told me the whole story. " he put a hand to his heart, as his smile returned. "It was very touching. I, I was honestly moved."

He knew Franze did not have the power to kick him out. He didn't need to tell her anything.

She laughed curtly and bitterly, directing her vision to the crystal ashtray as she spoke to him. "You don't want a good wife. And I would have been a good wife, if he ever paid attention to me."

By the end his charm was getting to her again. She knew she woke up in the middle of sleeping with some bleary story to tell often. And he seemed so sincere about it. Maybe it was the truth. "Are you sure...?" She asked him apprehensively.

((Short, sorry ): ))

Auguste had to smirk. She did get that right. Auguste did not want a wife, good or bad. "Come here, Franze- I have more of an appetite for your love now." he said, patting down the pillows beside him.

It was unbelievable, how easy it was to manipulate this girl. "I am completely honest. You musn't remember how much you told me." he gave a small laugh. "I recieved the whole story in detail, one night...." and there was another pause. "Of course you did not mention my role in detail, you did say I had a role, yes?"

He pat the bed again, calling her over.

((SO SHORT.))

She relinquished her vanity chair and sat down next to him again-- though she was sure she still wouldn't have the 'appetite' that he did. She'd faked it before, she could now. Her posture was always prim, straight-laced (literally) and looked decidedly fragile. As if her body was perched just barely on the pillows. Somehow she hardly made a dent.

Pulling the cigarette holder out of her mouth to speak, smoke wafted just as flowing as the words from her mouth. "I do say things in my sleep, don't i? But... I don't remember you being there at all." She remembered a man there, scorning her discretely, but she didn't connect it to him. After all, he loved her. She supposed. "No Auguste in that dream, Es tut Mir leid."

He was lying on the bed, while she was sitting. She was smoking now, so he would not bother to get too far. The man pulled his head into her lap, and he reached up to pull her zipper down, again. Auguste was not an affectionate man. But he was a man who thrived off human contact. His actions could get very affectionate, though he felt no affection for her, personally.

"You did say I was there...." He grinned, looking up to his girlfriend at convenience. "You said..." he shut his eyes, trying to picture the fuzzy image of his own dream. His hands gradually crawled into her dress, and to her small breasts. He was not one to grope, but he was one to feel. He was refined, unlike his father.

"You said that I was...the son..." For lack of a better word. "of the greatest man in the world... A King, the King who commanded Europe, who commanded the world, the universe. He was as central to our world as the Sun. The world, the solar system- no, everything revolved around him- he, he was all that mattered... The Sun King... I was his son, and I too, was the center of the world. You said that I was the man who freed your husband... I was the man who's greatness you fell in love with after our first meeting. You could not hate me, though we were enemies. I was the child of Apollo. I was to be loved, admired and envied by everyone." She obviously did not say any of that in her dream. These were all images from Auguste's dreams. They were images from his favourite, most glorious dreams. Auguste was directly under the Sun in those dreams.

"That is what you say about me in your dream..." He grinned.

Again with the dress. She didn't bother with it, this time. The affection was more than enough for her. Running her hand through his hair, she smiled back at him confusedly. She didn't remember any of this. Was he just making it up?

But suddenly she felt a cool hand somewhere it shouldn't have been at the moment. At first her breath caught in her throat, but she quickly composed herself and leaned down to kiss him warmly, her hand other hand in the meantime gently pulling his arm out of her dress. "Is that so? I don't remember any other kings." Much of what he said she did remember, but she just wanted to see what else he knew. Besides, he looked happy talking about his... Whatever it was. Happier than she'd seen him in a while. "If it was a king as great as you say, I would have remembered. Is this what you dream about, Auguste?"

"Take your dress off, I want to see your chest bare..." he whispered, with the most cheeky of grins. He so quickly grew happy talking about the Auguste of dreams. Auguste had been a sad man since the days of early adulthood, the days that he had lost his old life. Speaking about this life, though, even only to fool Franze, it filled him with some unknown joy and nostalgia. They weren't so fanciful, because they were almost real. Auguste identified so well with this glorious and aristocratic Auguste. Auguste felt love, unlike any love he ever felt for that Sun King of his dreams.

"No, No, Franze, these are all your dreams. My dreams are so very regular. You would be bored by them." he smiled, dismissing those words very quickly, with a wave of the hand. "You remember him, Franze. If you don't so well it is because you are Austrian. They did not know him like the French did. But even they, even his enemies recognized his greatness. The world trembled at his feet. Europe was awed, terrified and in love with him. The world was in love with him." Auguste paused, he spoke those words as if he was speaking of his own love. "This is the King of your dreams, Franze. He was a beautiful man. The most beautiful man in the world. His palace was the greatest in the world. His court was magnificant. Nobody could go against this fictional Sun King, because he controlled them all." He looked in to Franze's eyes, his own blue eyes were full of real passion, of real emotion, of real love.

"You mentioned him in such detail. You, you were also in love with him. You could not resist him, Franze. You tried, but it was impossible. You said he was a mortal- but you described him as a God."

What had happened to cause this immediate turnaround in him? Especially the freshness. Though she was glad to see him happy, she was not amused at his lack of decorum. She tried to fight the smile from her face as she pinched his smile between his cheeks. "I don't think today, Mein Schätz." The smile finally broke through on her face. "Try to be civil or I'll zip it up completely." He'd probably been drinking. This was how he always acted when he drank.

She listened to his rhetoric with the same amused skepticism. "Did I really say all that? It seems I'm quite eloquent when I'm half-asleep." Nevermind his lies about his boring dreams, she had been jolted awake to his sobs on more than one occasion. But at the risk of getting more sobs, she wouldn't mention it.

"Please tell me you aren't in love with a man." She laughed. He was too passionate for his own good.