"What color of roses would you like in your room today?" Nanny asked a 20-year-old Oscar. The older woman was smiling as she gestured toward a vase that held several colors—some were even two-toned. "I'm going to start decorating your room as soon as you and André leave for Versailles!"
"It doesn't really matter," Oscar answered her, rubbing at her temples in a distracted manner. A headache was already coming on? Ah, damn. That would most likely mean that she had a long day ahead of her.
"Lady Oscar! How can you say that?"
"They're only flowers, and I'm hardly around to enjoy them anyway."
"Roses, Mademoiselle, roses!" Nanny huffed a little bit and pointed to the vase again before picking it up, eventually setting it in front of the young commander. "Isn't there one color that stands out among the rest to you?"
Gently, she ran the tip of her index finger over the edge of the soft petals of a red rose, and then a white, and a pink, and a yellow—even a cream-and-peach. "They're all equally beautiful, Nanny. How could I pick a favorite?"
"Easily! Easily! Lady Oscar, I want to do your room to your tastes, but you do make things awfully difficult!"
She chuckled, her light laugh filling the room. "A rose is a rose. Just pick whichever you think would look best, Nanny." The young commander stood and made her way to the door just as André opened it.
"The horses are ready," he said to her, opening the door so that she could walk through it. "I wondered what took you so long…"
"Lady Oscar, you can't leave yet! You didn't pick the color best suited to your tastes!" The old woman sighed, almost in defeat, and shook her head as the person she was talking to walked out of sight.
"Put white roses in her room, Grandma." Her grandson grinned at her, leaving the door wide open for just a minute before he left, letting it slam closed behind him. "White is the only color that can't pale in comparison to her!"
Well, this is in honor of Bastille Day, and also of the death of our lovely Lady Oscar François de Jarjayes. I know, it's really short. Luckily, I meant for it to be. I've been dying to do a 'fic about why André liked white roses, and what color Oscar might have liked. Personally, I don't think she would be too particular about it. I wanted her to use André's later line-- "A rose is a rose"-- and I wanted her to be unable to pick a favorite for several reasons, but mostly for symbolism.
But really. Oscar is the best! Another 'fic to celebrate life, right here. (And hopefully more to come!) Thank you for reading! Please review if you have the time.