The Affair of Others (1333)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Part 1
(A Cross-Section for Secrets and Maps)

Claramae: "Well, it will have to wait." The messanger stood with a slack jaw as the Lady refused to comply with what was written on the paper that often created motion in the world. "No, I am not going to be entertaining any treaties or negotiations unti other pressing matters are completed. should your master find that a bother, well he shall have to reconcile it to himself." She lifted a hand, waving the man way. Voltaire created the necessary physical push tomove his feet while her own made silent tap-a-tap on the study floor. He arched a brow at her, "So it is that serious, Madame." She nodded, "Parliment will simply have to wait, especially if we should wish to mantain and English one. I am beginning to loathe with fervor this English posistion. Let alone merely having to return to England in such a public manner. All of this ...public personage. Govenor. Fye." She stared up at the celing for a moment in anattrative bid to pull sanity from the sky. "You should think one would be content with so high an award. No, our place ought not be this far forward. But so it is, for now." Straight backed propriety rose up to walk throughout the great House in a bid to find some place to think. One was able to think anywhere, but thre were places her thoughts chugged quicker than others. (d)

Michael: Michael was among his peers in the back. He often found ways to irritate Claramae by creating weird sorts of messes within plain view. Such was the case this day, as a temporary forge had amassed itself beyond the entrance of the garden, not yet bloomed cause of the harsh winter. Black smoke rose as the pound of a hammer echoed against the far southern exterior of the house. Standing there with his peers, Michael was attempting to show them the new metal forlightweight swords. He was arguing that given the advantage lighter metals, soldiers would stand more of chance in stand up battles after harsh marches. He soaked the sword, then brought it up to bare, showing the others present. "Test it upon the stance of a tree if you must. The metal is only malleable. It will not give once saved from the heat of a forge. Trust me on that.."[d]

Rosalind: Rosalind was a tall woman by any standard save Skye's. That the gentleman next to her stood quite a bit higher was a feat in itself, particularly when most men merely came up to Rosalind's nose. He was a curious fellow, dressed indark, ill-fitting clothes. His arm was bandaged, and he moved with the pained slowness of a fellow who had more injuries than were immediately visible. Yet he was walking, and Rosalind made nearly anyone's gait look less labored than her own, her cane clicking softly upon stone to support the weight of a badly healed leg. She was not as infirm as some might think. Courtiers had long since learned Rosalind was a force to be reckoned with if they wished advancement, and few were so rude as to ask what a noble woman did with such a lameness. It happened in another lifetime, Rosalind told them, a meaningless smile curving her lips, and then she was back to work. Her companion had asked, though. For some reason, she had given him the story. Perhaps tragedy sought other tragedy as comfort. Perhaps. She led him into Ebony Hall, and waited guidance by the servants, as her guest was unusual, even for this home's peculiar list of acceptable visitors. *

Claramae: "It looks as if your husband is on to some new thing," the indication was black smoke rising from where the gardens would bloom when the season was right. If it weren't for the innovation of his assorted ideas, the irritation would mount that he made a forge by her prized collection of fruit trees. With a shake of her head, the ghost of a private smile surfaced, "Indeed. It is useful, intelligent, and it amuses him. Are not the nobility supposed to find some way to fill our ample leisure time? The Baron enjoys what he is good at, I enjoy poetry or the occasional game of chess." It wouldn't be long before the chance to attend some other leisure activity was remitted. Lady Voltaire emerged to tell them that the Lady Inveryne had arrived with a guest who had seen better days. "And they say this is a time of Peace. What pray tell is this?" Claramae was not in keeping of a broken, nor interrupted stride. What ever injuries there were lay against the covered back and hips that wore some semblance of 'home' attire. The construction was freer in flower than of usual, Italian again, but on the same hand the ornate embroidery indiated one must be fashioned while sitting down. "Good day, Lady Inveryne. What brings you hence today? I was only just speaking with Voltaire on how nothing remains silent forever." In the distance there would be some clatter, no doubt more testing of the metals. "Forgive the sounds, my husband is busy at his work." (d)

Rosalind + Rafe: "Ah, good day, Lady Govenor." It was an overly formal title, but with an inclination of her head toward the gentleman at her side, here was reasoning behind it. "Pray, I did not interrupt you, it is too fine a winter day for matters of politics. However, this is the gentleman I spoke of last night. He wished to have a word with you. Of what, I am not particularly certain, but he knows no English." "Non parla inglesi," he supplied helpfully, with an awkward bow. He rose with a horrid wince, but rapidly composed his features into a genial smile. "Ho bisogno di fare pratica con il mio inglesi. 'Orribile. Molto. Como state? Mi chiamo -- " He glanced at Inveryne, brow furrowing in confusion. Why was she not translating? Rosalind smiled, and gently touched his arm. "I agreed to translate for him today, if it is so necessary. I thought myself out of practice, but my mind is sharper than I give it credit. This is Raphaele di Terracina ben Angelo. He is one of the many Jewish settlers in Venetian Crete, hailing from the port of Candia." She explained for Raphaele how his two ships came to Skye, and that it was utterly unintentional upon his part. When Rosalind mentioned how many had been on the ship, Raphaele nodded his head, mouthing the words Rosalind had just spoken. Leave it to a merchant to memorize numbers first, Rosalind thought,
noticing it almost immediately, but managing to hide the smile of amusement. This woman took too much familiarity with his arm, Raphaele thought with some annoyance. No doubt, she would make the men he'd brought from Candia pass out of shock. How loose these Europeans were! With her hair uncovered, she reminded Beniamino too much of a prositute to take seriously, and so Raphaele, the more traveled of the family, stepped in as spokes person as soon as his arm was bandaged, his head was checked, and he had a hot meal in his belly. Though he hid his annoyance well, he did have words to say to Claramae, speaking as quickly as Rosalind could translate of what had possibly caused the destruction of the second of the two ships that had crossed the vast distance between Candia and Skye. They thought it consistent with cannon fire, given how high upon the hull the damage was. Did Skye have any known enemies? Did pirates frequent these waters? If so, his family must be put in contact with those who could protect the assets that would make this region a highly lucrative port of entry. They also required escort to their actual destination, though they were thankful to find such mercy in Turas Lan. *

Claramae: "Indeed. Please, interrupt me Lady. It is no good for politics when all politics well tell you is what we expounded yestereve. The world is floating in a handbasket toward oblivion, as usual. Shall you come with me to the gardens whilst we speak? The pace slow, of course. You have never met my husband." Had anyone? The earnest joke was amazement she had not killed him while they slep. No, she had no intention to kill the one man she loved above all else, even if now he was marring one of her poor peach trees. "Yes, I do remember you mentioning this sir. Bonjorno, Signore. Mm, Molto bene. Mi chiamo Signora Vincere." So much shorter than the full effect, but she listened to what Rosalind had mentioned. Yes, Raphele di Terracini ben Angelo, the name engraved with his origins. As far as the nature of his ships she took that too into consideration. As he spoke, with Rosalind after, she thought perhaps something might help. - You will find most residents of this hall fluent in Italian, if you wish to speak openly I will understand you just fine. I am aware it must be taxing, to seek information through so many venues after such a harrowing time. Pirates are prevalent in any water, I am afraid this part of the world is nearly five years different than it was before. You may have had enemies follow you, or some that sought to use you for a scape goat. Are your people well? Your goods, whole or compromised? We shall do what we can to assist you. - Let us then not branch into women that moved around as they did, with such heads! On the verge of the entryway to the garden, the black smoke she prayed may die down just a little. -Also if you have need of a Hebrew speaker, one of these we can also furnish - (d)

Michael: Michael was still present in the back, standing with a dirtied forge apron, he watched with tattooed arms as a Captain took hold of his creation and bludgeoned a beautiful tree with it. The sword did little to reverbrate in the man's hand, shaking it from his grip until he dropped it. "You have the wrist of a woman, Adam. Let me show you how a man swings." Chuckling, Michael picked the blade up and squeezed the hilt until his knuckles were white. Taking a weighted step forward, Michael planted the sharp blade through the thick bark and got the sword stuck in the tree. He tried yanking on it to get it out, but to no avail. It was then he noticed the advance of his wife, and inwardly he cursed his ego for wanting to show off. He stepped in front of the sword to obscure her view of it, and crossed his arms to clasp his hands behind his back. "My lady... hrm."[d]

Raphaele:"It is very kind of you," Raphaele returned, inclining his head. He looked to Rosalind, then back to the lady. His comfort was with Rosalind, who had easily adapted to his own Venetian dialect, but it was a great comfort to be free to speak his native tongue without the need of a translator. "A few crates were damaged, but we removed most in time. The second ship has sunk completely now, but we still have mine. Most of my family was ... on the other ship." They were all, thank God, safe and well. But it had been so close. It had been too close. He cleared his throat. "I do not think we have enemies that would follow, madam. We are simple merchants. We were given contractto begin trade in the north, and here we are. I have had problems with pirates before, but it was impossible to know the wealth our ships carried so far north. It is perplexing. We lost maybe twenty souls total -- cold, drowning, and the like. They have been properly buried, and the others have been settled into temporary lodging. We are excited to sail again, to make our own homes, and begin the process of selling off what goods we have. But if the damage was not done by pirates, they have had days now to assess how weak our remaining ship is, and how much cargo she carries. Any help would be appreciated."

Rosalind:Though Rosalind listened intently, her eyes had pinned on the gentleman hacking away at the peach tree. Goodness. Her own husband wouldn't have bothered trying to hide the sword after all that. *

Claramae: "I will send word to have the waters thoroughly combed. If it is piracy, they shan't hinder you on your voyage way should wish to go when all are well." The conversation continued while from the side of her glance she observed thepoor, precious peach tree. Last year, it was an orange tree. The year before, one of the olive trees that reminded her so much of the mediterranean was taken down into oblivion during a garden-side training excersise. "My husband, Signore Vincere." She made introduction to the man whom wedged the sword into the tree. Albeit, it was a well made instrument that was for certain. "Michael, this is Raphele di Terracini ben Angelo. Him and his family crashed ashore with their goods some days hence, and it falls to us in part to help remedy a few things. Signore Terracini, Michael Vincere, Baron, Commander of England. Michael this is also the Lady Inveryne, she is our court liason." The conversation continued in Italian as she walked over to investigate the tree. "Well, there is a Pirate in the garden." She jested slightly, though would certainly check, especially after last night's meeting. The pirates could very well be Aragon or Castillian Spaniards. A lost Berber, at this rate. Would that they fired on any other ship save Jewish? "Do you need anything Signore Terracini? If you need lodgings for yourself and your family we are not without room." She knelt over to investigate the handiwork, "You will make me stilettos, to make up for my peach tree?" (d)

Percival:There was a shift of movement behind the stalwart Commander of England. Black hair, black attire. It came in the form of a kick, to which the sword was forced from the embrace of bark to be caught within his hand. Bringing the sword high, the blade was carried downward in an expert display of swordsmanship before being lodged in the dirt, ascant and away from the group. The display was fast, akin to a blur in motion. Stepping from behind Vincere, the man kept his side to the group, glancing up and eying them all. The mention of pirates in the garden made him chuckle. "Yes, it would seem so, my lady." His glance went back to the side of Vincere's face before smirking and turning to the group the man had been demostrating to. "Excuse the Baron, he has more important business to attend. Leave. Now." The military men nodded, leaving the group with privacy in check. Hands clasped in front of the small framed man as he regarded all present with an intent gaze.[d]

Michael: "Sig...Sig..SignorrII.. Hrm. How do you do?" Disgruntled he couldn't even say his name, his cheeks turned a light shade of red. He offered a calloused hand. Following the small interaction, his attention shifted to the other lady present. "My lady.." Claramae had spoken of the misfortune Sig-whatsit had been faced, he frowned in lieu of them. "I am sorry for the unfortunate events that led you here, but I'm relieved you're alive." Attention thwarted to Percival, then his wife. "Of course..." Inside mumble grumble.[d]

Rosalind: "Oh, your husband, how wonderful to finally meet him," Rosalind said with a warm smile. She supplied Raphaele's name again, and with a slight aside, offered, "He seems like like being called Rafe. It is easier for my French tongue to pronounce, in any event." There were so many similarities between Italian and French, but to Rosalind's ear, Italian had a lilt, and definite pronunciation of consonants, that French lacked entirely. "May I ask what offense the tree has given?" she asked at last, arching a brow, much to Raphaele's consternation.

Rafe:Inveryne was right -- he was confused. Had he understood correctly? What offense could a tree give? Trees were trees, said the son of a merchant, who only minded how tall and straight the tree itself was, that it might provide a good mast. Oh, she was joking. Rafe sighed. He was not in a very humorous mood, and he did not like that they joked so freely of pirates. Perhaps he was a bit humorless this week, but he did have broken or bruised ribs, and an arm tied down to his chest while the bones knit. There was also a lump on his head that Ben had tried to hide with a hat, but Rafe despised the things. Always had. "Thank you. And we are grateful, too. It could have been much worse." *

Claramae: "We shall make time to remedy what we can. Rest assured. My brother, Signore Vizharen, Percival Vizharen." Her Husband's Italian was under-used she suspected, though he seemed to be able to speak well in the Irish-Gaelic privacy utlized tney played chess. Percival was all elegance, smoothness, and strength. Well now the tree was bereft of blade but Claramae sighed. That tree would not blossom overmuch, and the Gardener could only do so much. "Let us go inside to discussion better arrangements. Husband, brother, join us? Perhaps you may have some insight onto the matter of piracy. There was talk yestereve of the possibilty of increased Spanish presence in the waters..' As she led them inside she considered what Peregrine had said last night of Castillians seeking sanctuary in the under-dark. As she allowed the others to pass her, perhaps it would be Michael or Percival that saw the momentary flicker ofthought pass over her eyes. (d)

Percival: "You will forgive me, sister, if I am disinclined to speak of my past lifetime." He replied in Italian. His dark eyes swept over all present for a final time before he moved off, attending his own agenda. He was never one for large groups.[d]

Michael: Michael turned to watch Percival stalk off. Typical of the man, but Michael made no particular note of it. The guy was an a-hole. -- He retrieved the sword and cleaned the mud from it as they walked. He didn't say anything, sought to listen so that he may get further insight on what was going on. He normally stayed pleseantly ignorant of what was going on. He'd been a follower his whole life, one that was sent in a direction to kill things. Only one problem with his profession, he got too good at it. He inspected the sword, running his thumb over the creation as they walked.[d]

Rosalind: Rosalind glady moved inside, the cold beginning to get to her, and no doubt it was chilly for the man from Candia. He was used to a warmer sun. She had never given up the idea of a mild French winter, though the last she had experienced was half a lifetime ago. "I had not heard of more Spanish in the waters, though I do know they have been to Skye in the past." The matter of her disappeared dowry had caused some international speculation a few years ago. It all came to naught when they discovered it irretrievably buried, but not before kidnapping Jelenah and causing quite a stir in the court. "I suppose there is one contact particularly close to me I might be inclined to ask," she offered, her voice as dry as ever.

Rafe:"You keep the company of pirates, Lady Inveryne?" Rafe asked, utterly confounded by the women on this isle. A stranger, perhaps, he could accept. But his translator? Certainly not. *

Claramae: "With what we now know, and the impact of them in the under-dark, we must not be too careful. Please, do ask Lady Inveryne. Do ask. I wonder if you will be able to test your new steel, husband, sooner rather than later." Elegant, well mannered women who made no sense to most men got along swimmingly in an unorthdox regime. She rolled back her shoulders to allieviate the stiffness the cold wrought over her skin, for it soaked down to the old scar tissue surrounding her spine. A well mannered woman wouldn't wince or yowl in company, so she bore the hurt in grace. "Signore Terracini," forgive her, she could not yet call him so simple a name as 'Rafe'. He hardly knew her! Shehardly knew him! The man needn't pass out, "You carry spices so that is a commodity to any pirate, yet I wonder if your arrival may have just been a convience to them, posing a plot. Worry not, you and yours will be more than well cared for. We will send our own weapon's master to investigate the damages." As gun-powder happy as the realm was becoming, he would know what a cannon shot looked like. "Please, there is a room just there, Lady Voltaire will bring wine, tea, whichever you wish. Lady Inveryne could you take the Signore there? There is osmething I wish to tell my husband in a moment of private brevity." (d

Michael: Michael stopped for a moment to glance between them all. He kept his silence and bearing in check. His sword held with both hands, the blade on show before his torso. He heard that Claramae wished to share a private moment with him, so he waited for her attention.[d]

Rosalind:"But of course. In fact, if you will not mind, seeing my translation services are not needed, I have an errand to run elsewhere in Turas Lan. Raphaele, you should make yourself at home, here I shall show you...." Rosalind inclined her head politely to the others, and showed the Italian? Venetian? Jew? Greek? to a place where he could be most comfortable. Then she excused herself, making her way back out onto the street and toward her carriage. There were a few stores that she must stop in, inquiries to be made, before she could return to Ebony Hall to be more social with Claramae and her husband. *

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Part II

Claramae: "Michael, what do you wish to do. In this life..what makes you happy?" It seemed an exsitential question but the truth of it was he rarely ever asked, he rarely ever demanded anything of her yet came where she went. (LOL) In the privacy shared, she put a hand to his arm, "There is much going on at once, some of which will mean our return to England soon. While I have no qualms with political service..I think I have told you I do not wish to be govenor forever. If not..I tell you now. What is it you wish?" So much around them, the question hung overhead like a cloud. To return to England for some pair of months at a time in any season, to do, but not to be thrust so far forward as this. (d)

Michael: "In this life, you make me happy. And so long as you go where I may follow, I am happy." He lowered the sword, setting the tip into the ground so that he may haphazardly lean upon it. He did not appear to be caught off with her inquiry. He may have expected it. "Why do you ask?"[d]

Claramae:"You are well suited to Commander, Percival is well suited to Inspector, I am terribly at odds with Govenor." She touched the upper portions of the sword. "Ambassador, yes. Advisor. Yes. What else I do, yes. Govenor..no. It is becoming far too much. To quell royal loyalists rebellions..to know, that before what chance to groom a successor can be had.. there may well be a war to fight there. I should think to some state of semi-retirement would be proper. The last several years have been frankly more direct 'adventure' than can be stomached." Fingers actually crept over to his. "Nor should I mind to be a less taxing wife for a patient husband either. " (d)

Michael: "I was hoping you might consider staying here. I don't want to be a Commander. I was suited better as a Lieutenant, a follower. If we stayed, I was looking to re-enlist here. Do some local good. England is fun, but it isn't home. " He glanced down to see her fingers creaping over his. He turned his hands so he could capture her hand and hold it affectionately. His gaze lifted so that he may look her in the eye. "What say you?" [d]

Claramae: "I say that after we do what we need to do in England....to quell it, to secure it.. We go to Adam and find those better suited. This is home.." He felt as she felt, and for that she thanked God. "You could always be Voltaire's second, or midigate the training of the private armies as well as doing whatever suits you beyond the door. Or just what suits you. I care litte so long as we are both able to acquire a little semblance of\peace, as insane as it seems. We certainly shan't be bored here, but at least we would have our companions. So now. There are loyalists for the old crown in England, ships that have blown up, intrigue abounding. Shall we tackle some pressing matter? I feel we should eat first, before Peregrine falls in through my ceiling." That man would never use a door, not since he learned all the secret ones. She winced a bit, given company had gone to its own devices. ""Pardon me, my back is...stiff." The past flared in it again, old half traces of a tree sketched into it with a blade. It ached, and she was done with being sliced. (d)

Michael: "My place is on the front line. I would do no good teaching others what I do naturally, I'm afraid." It was an argument they had often, but his mind never seemed to shift from that mentality. His brow creased with concern when she mentioned her back bothering her. A weakness Claramae had acquired through trial and tribulation, which was a constant in her life. To Michael, Claramae is the strongest woman he had ever met. With the spider web of political intrigue she could create, and her uncanny ability to work through the maze of deceit, he was often surprised she ever found time for him. Michael was a simple man, with simple pleasures. Nothing as complex as the woman whose hand he claimed in marriage several years back.[d]

Claramae: "I am content to be the wife of a warrior-baron." She offered him a small smile as the pain in her back began to fade. The trial and tribulation that related to the carving of her back to look like the Tree of Life was one she wasthankful keen healing diminished the amount of scarring. Only a few remained, trace ones at her shoulders, the long marks at her right hip. Still, the nature of how she was opened and thusly closed was not a favored. Michael was better than he gave himself credit for. Talion owed the man much for his work on the front-lines with little questions, carving a path that kept him whole for many years. He was the heavy hand in her silk clad one. When things became impossible he was an unlikely knight in armor. She would always have time for him. Was it not him that pulled her out of the German states on Talion's behest? Perhaps, unknowing, he finished what was started even years before that day. "My place is well here. Doing what I do. Where did Percival get off to? He was rather brief today." (d)

Michael: He smiled in lieu of her reply. Glancing over his shoulder as if expecting Percival to be there, he shrugged. "The man keeps to himself. Most times, he wanders off to read and write, mumbling about this or that to himself. It had been he who asked me to show him the new steel. I suspect he is working on something that revolves around that, or maybe it was brief interest. You know him better than I." His gaze found hers again, always locked there when he regarded her. "Did you need him for something?"[d]

Claramae: "No, merely wanted to pose the same question to him as I did you, but it can wait. I think the answer is far simpler. Duplicitous things amuse him. I rather think he enjoys jumping from the banisters in the castle at London." He was a quandry but at day's end, he was family. Percival was exceedingly good to her. By God, she was surrounded by men on either side of her being. Husbands, a half brother, brothers by trade. Such an odd sort of family it made. "You know all his fascination these days is deciphering things. I would say he were a slight bit senile, were it not merely a sign of craft. You haven't told me of your sword yet, it looks quite sturdy. I want to know more. " "I will forgive you my favorite peach tree if you fashion me throwing knives, or perhaps a hair ornament made from it that is servicable." (d)

Michael: "I think he enjoys his hunt for answers more than anything. His focus on subjects, view, well.. everything about him confuses the hell out of me. I do good to just leave him alone. Since Avaria, we haven't spoken often." The liberation a success because of Claramae and her brother. "Yes, the peach tree. I never liked the placement of it. " He held the sword up so she may have a close view of it. "New steel, more a way it is hammered. It is light weight while retaining its strength. A commodity that will aid soldiers in battle. You may hold the sword if you wish. It is lighter than it looks." He pushed it closer to her, taking his hand from hers to hold the blade carefully out in front of him.[d]

Claramae: "That is fine. He seems to speak to you through me anyhow, not that I mind it. In earnest I've become rather accustomed to it. If you both started speaking I should imagine myself senile." She picked up the blade in her hand, finding that it was indeed a better instrument because of how it was forged. Absent of the weight favored in European arms, it still seemed sharp, with enough length to be effective ."This is quite ingenious.." She took the blade into her dominant hand, giving it a spin before returning it to a stand-still "There was more intertia from my own hand, less of gravity, allowing a more effective strike. You do yourself injustice as a teacher, husband.. This steel would make me love European swords again." The only ones she loved were rapiers, or swords with basket hilts. She could use what she was given, but preferred speed. "Well my tree was also split by my brother, and if it doesn't flower come spring One sword, throwing knives, and a hairpiece." Steep, steep woman. "And a ride?We can do something husband and wife like?She chuckled (d)

Michael: "The problem remains in making the blade. It requires a great deal of focus, and one mistake renders the blade useless. These cannot be made by any smith, only one of master skill." He stepped back to allow the spin, and watched how Claramae handled the sword. Like Percival, she was an enigma of uncanny skill that caught all off guard and raised brows. Michael remained unaffected by the display. The confidence he placed in his wife was vehement, unwavering. He also knew she could handle more than one kind of sword. The thought always made him smirk. He glanced back up to her, listening to her as she spoke. "The tree will bloom. Honestly, I did not hit it that hard. It will just bare the mark of some past battle." He chuckled. "Like us." After chuckling, he considered her demands with a peaked brow. "It will cost you, but I think we can come to some agreement." His smile was always contagious, and it spread across his lips before fading so he could speak. "Yes. Allow me to take you out for a walk, or ride. Surely, we can find something enjoyable about being home; something more than political intrigue and wars. Hm? So take my arm, wife." He smirked and offered his arm. The sword was lifted to fall into an empty ring attached to his belt. It slid in loudly, but stayed vigilant at his side, the bare blade hanging just shy of his high legged leather boots.[d]

Claramae: "Being home, we are awash in ample resources. I am sure you can find someone to make it to your specifications, and my sword, my throwing daggers, and hair piece." Once the sword was passed to him signs of life beyond seriousness appeared on stoic faces. She, smirked? "You can not guarantee my tree will bloom. You could care one with less about horticulture. You just like to eat the fruit instead." Payment for the dealing could be negotiated, but with his sign of life it was easy to tell what he wished. They were at once the oddest of pairs, but it would be harder to find one as happy. When he could hardly recall his past, somehow he recalled enough of her. When she opened enough to cry, he held her. She took his arm with an arched brow, "Yes, husband, I will." She was already dressed for an outing. Being withn and being out were more oft the same. The weather was cool, but not too horrible. She asked along the way for someone to fetch her fur stole. The cap, too, with the veil? She shook her head no. If she kept civility, the least she could do was enjoy her uncovered head, left long today save for only a partial bit of it pinned up (d)

Michael: "Allow me to retrieve these for you, my lady. I saw the effects the cold had upon your back earlier, and that uncomfort is contagious." He smiled a bit, motioning to his own attire. He was still dressed with the forge apron. "I need to look more presentable as well. So wait here for a small bit of time, and I will return shortly." He kissed her, and turned to walk away. Michael was not a tall man, nor was he imposing in nature, but he was stout and had a thick athletic frame which made him intimidating. A factor that passed through many inhabitant's mind as they altered their paths to let him by. He did not return for several minutes.[d]

Claramae: "Then I will wait for you my lord and husband, right here. Your concern for me is very chivalrous, and rather heartwarming." Why, a flush found its way on to her face that caused a smile to rise when he kissed her. Michael, among many things, was quite handsome. His height was fine for a woman who was of average stature. As people stepped aside, this was the way it should be, she thought. Out of respect as much as intimidation. Silent though he was he was her husband. He was a warrior in as much as he was a Baron my marriage. He needed no nobility to enoble him though. While she waited she thought of the fact they were set to head out into the world, rather openly. Even in their years of marriage they had been rather private, so time would show a different side of them. Why should it not? They no longer had to hide anything. (d)

Claramae: Michael returned minutes later, carrying her effects over his arm. He was better dressed for the occasion and weather. He had no sense of modern style, but for once he looked the position marriage had bestowed upon him. When he drew near her, he offered to help her slide into the warmer clothing by holding it out to her with both hands. If she accepted his advance and slipped into the clothing, he would lightly run his hands down her arms before moving to her side once more. He lifted his arm, waiting for her. Smiling, he spoke. "Let us be on.."[d]

Claramae: "so we shall be." She let him fasten the fur stole about her so the cold wouldn't be a hinderance. To see him dressed as he was showed that he was being made into a new man in some ways. He was allowing what he earned to become part of him, not the antithesis. If any man deserved good things with which to have a good life, she thought it was him. "You look handsome." She studied the clothes he had picked with an air of satisfaction. Taking his arm, she would nod for the doors to be open so they could be upon their way. To where? Who knew. In the distance would be aid should e'er they need it, and between the pair of them they were well armed. Let not the state of dress fool one to believing the Baroness was without arms. The woman was a walking arsenal. (d)

Michael: "I know." He replied with a matter of fact tone. He led them from the estate and outside. His eyes roamed, his chest swelling with fresh air. It was a good feeling. His thoughts lingered on various, in-material things but he pushed it all away when he looked her way. "Did you need anything from the market?"[d]

Claramae: "Well then.." She replied with a wry grin as the winter air washed away with its crispness all thoughts of esbionage. It was possible to be merely together. It was possible, to merely be. "You wish me to linger in the market? WhyBaron, what a change has come here? You never wished to go shopping with me before.." (d)

Michael: "Just seemed to be the .. thing to do. I have never given thought to what we may do when our days of .. business came to an end. I figured the idea of shopping was something a woman enjoys. Am I wrong? We can drop into the training arena and make some poor soul wish he were dead." He shrugged, at a loss. This whole.. not killing something, or not planning to kill something was foreign to him.[d]

Claramae: "Well...we will always have the...secretive venture I just imagine they may be less. Frankly with the Order as rebuilt as it is these several years, we could stand to some..minor adjusting." World on end, they might grow bored in total stagnant life but this abound living in England was more than she could bare. She was nobility, and what else was done was done in shadow. That was quite fine. She was capable of teaching her skill, and Michael wanted to use his here at home. But he was right...this was not something they had ever done. This....outing. This....rather..normal bit. "It is something I enjoy, but there are other things. Plays. Debates. The training arena yes, I fear we will be at a loss there." So they would spar one another. It was Apollo's fault. Bringing forth all of this 'direct hands' business. Then Adam continuing it. She rather enjoyed her rapier a little too much (d)

Peregrine: The night before had been taxing, and had not ended until the sun rose of the next day. Of what life was this to live? The borders between right and wrong..He had harbored fugitives, offered them sanctuary and still they put a priceon her head. Long after the meeting was held, he and the Frenchman talked of politics that mixed blood and fine wine. It was whispers of treason, and attack that saw him suited for sleep..a Underdark lullaby. "I've taken the hit Jean-Claude, I need the money.

.Jean-Claude: For a long moment the scientist sat at that table in mercy of the two sided coin, he was repulse by the attempt, but on the other hand thought of the small price..no wonder these men were so sloppy. "Peregrine..the best thing you can do is take it easy, lay low for the night..get some rest." Always had he the answers, but soon morning found the pirate curled next to his fire.


Peregrine:The afternoon came with birds chirping, the fresh air nearly overwhelming by any pirate's desire to run, but all he could do was pillow the blankets against his head. Jean-Claude had ventured off into the day, on business cleaning up the mess the trail of blood did leave behind.'We should not let him sleep here..' 'what if he escapes..' 'there are questions to be answered..' 'I'm going in..he simply sleeps with a knife is all, so the Lady says.' And into the room, the serf did storm to find himself at the edge of a single load crossbow, with the edge of the bolt at his chest. 'Forgive me..' The service would toss his hands, and the pirate's lunch upon the floor. He traded up, or so it seemed. Out upon the bed, a place the pirate never ventured alone, would be his change for the day and calling to the world. He needed out into the fresh air, but was already plotting how easy it would be to hide a dead body in these walls. (d brb

Michael: "This is going to be good.." He said, rubbing his hands together as if overly anxious for something to happen. He led the way into the markets, taking the paths that would bring them to the training area eventually. He was casual with how he walked, showing his obvious trophy off; Claramae. He occasionally glanced her way with a big, chyt-eating grin.[d]

Claramae: "Are you hoping to make what men you brought over from England faint, or the local folk. Either way someone is bound to faint." No they could not merely to for trinkets, wine, or seek a show. The pair Vincere were elegantly attired for something far more adventurous. Their sort of adventure seemed less than that which Peregrine had enacted. While one pair sought to separate business from pleasure, one wondered if for the former pirate all things ran concurrent.No doubt paths would cross in an unlikely way. "You know what is sad, husband? In semi-retirement we are going to be quite adventurous, but that is what we'd consider semi-retired." (d)

Peregrine: 'Follow him'. He made his way out into the day, the feeling of freedom washing over him with a delightful regret coming close behind. It was not the Lady Viscreed the target this time, but a might fine pair of hands that had been around his neck a time or two. Though, to buy time was to buy her head, and this was just what surrounded his thoughts as the markets opened up around him. Everything was in line, even for the Sabbath day, and how busy the . He moved in and out across the way finding 'breakfast' in all it's right, and would find himself surrounded by arms that had begged to hold him again..no doubt she wanted paid as well. "I've lost my touch." He pulled from the these streets He moved in and out across the way finding 'breakfast' in all it's right, and would find himself surrounded by arms that had begged to hold him again..no doubt she wanted paid as well. "I've lost my touch." He pulled from the woman flashing the gold band around his finger that for so long many thought was for show. For who would marry such a creature? Peregrine wasn't that bad either. It was when the clouds pulled from the sun did the shadow of another fall out of line, and his bones chilled. His mind raced with a cursed sound, as he sought his way out. They had grown impatient, and there wasn't any doubt that now the life of many others dangled on the line. As the man pushed pasthim he sought out the slip of the shadow...he was not being followed, simply in the line of..Claramae was out in public?? F*ck. An acrobat, an assassin, a gypsy king could think well upon his feet, but often the thoughts were not correct or well mannered..He had to start a commotion, a fight. The draw of the guard had to come forward, so soon the Lady Death's dog on her leash was given the eye, right before his lips came to touch the Madam Death's.."Missed you." His hand came to touch her hips, before releasing all together.

MenL Along the line of escape, three men drew their weapons, finding forward their attention until the lead came to signal the pair to scout the rest of the square. Blood was to be had! (d

Michael: Michael's eyes followed those who drew near to Claramae out of habit alone. When Peregrine, a familiar face, pressed his lips to those of his wife, a line had obviously been crossed. Michael was in the business of reacting, and he did with uncanny timing as Peregrine's collar was scrunched together before being ripped from the vicinity of Michael's wife, Claramae. To replace Claramae's lips was the scarred over, hard as rock knuckles. He shoved the fist forward, connecting and twisting with the upper portion of his torso to inact momentum. His hip even flared with the apparent follow through. From that action alone, attention stirred in the crowd surrounding them. Michael moved to pursue the foppish pirate, and sweep the streets with his face.[d]

Claramae:"One would think you had planned this for days, Michael. If you have, it may prove so droll I will forgive you. You are emassing quite a tally, perhaps with new things I should have a new dress you elect for me?" Why elect a dress when what he found her most appealing in was minimal at best? There were things in her closet that certainly would never find the light of civilized day, nor mentioned so that word of mouth would spread private affair. The world was subject to the oddity of her smile until the moment Peregrine came to -- kiss her? Claramae was abseloutly disguisted! Had the man lost hist mind? Was he trying to get himself sent to an early grave? Before she could tell him that he would make the Lady Inveryne a widow, Michael's fist came crashing through the affront to person, to senses. Lord! But he tasted to her of honey gone wrong! Oh, she would be just thoroughly disgusted were it not for the sight of three men whom were opposite of where Michael had run. "He wouldn't.." She fathoms, the tragic itch of betrayal taking root alongside the will to survive. If the route of escape below was blocked? A vendor along the path to the arena found his stall was marred by the lady's tiny feet jumping atop it. Pulling herself up into the canopy, she pulled herself up to the stairs above it with intention to take off (d)

Peregrine: He had little need to fight back, but for his own pride he would defend. A roll of the man's wrist after the first initial shock would find him far back enough he could gather his breath if only for a moment. There was a death wish, or so he thought against himself in this moment. Perhaps a simple flag of his hands, or gamble on the street would have been enough? He felt the stars of the heavens burst behind his eyes and wondered of his judgement these last few days. Perhaps he was getting sloppy. "That..it.?" Mercy he could barely stand.

Peregrine:"Mon dieu..I cannot get a day off." Jean-Claude spoke from his coffee replacing the parchment over the marble surface of the table as the commotion pulled nearly every persona from it's rabid walls. Really..it was simply a street fight, having little to do with anything until he saw the pirate start to run for his life into the waiting arms of the soldiers.

Maahes:"That will be enough," So spoke the captain of the guard who took in the pirate into custody, livid without reason to see him loose again. "I saw it all..M'Lord, please..enjoy your day."

Peregrine:Suddenly he was very thankful to be in the hands of the soldier, and not left at the mercy of that man...

Men: Into the distant web, a butterfly did swing, the attack upon her husband a perfect draw of attention so they could suddenly favor the odds. The shadow of the three would find the end of the canopy where the lady did retire, and withit there wouldn't be any means of escape. Strange dark eyes seemed to separate from the man's body, over the little Venetian dressed princess and her watch nearly gone. "My my..such a delicate little flower." His accent laced thickly with the rush of his Spanish heritage, and perhaps a trail end of an Arabic ancestor. "Do try not to scream."

Jean-Claude: Upon Michael Jean-Claude did set his sight, a man he had only heard about, and in his nearly 4 years of knowing Claramae had never met. "Monsieur.." He spoke with the underlying truth of his birth there upon the surface. He was a tall man, a pale man, and would have been dressed soley in black had he not the fortunate feeling of freedom, and the desire to leave it all behind. "Your wife..where is your wife.."(d

Michael:The sword at Michael's side was produced at the taunt, and Michael glanced back up. "Just getting started, fool." He said, twisting the blade so the blunt, flat end would be the means to justify the end. Pain worked best with victim still alive. He was about to strike the man when someone interfered. Michael had the right mind to kill the Captain AND Peregrine, he felt twice wronged! His sword was lowered in respects to the law, and he nodded. "I will see to him when this debacle has sorted itself out." He took a moment to breath, and it was in that moment his privacy was yet AGAIN invaded by a man who spoke foreign. "Speak English or spit teeth.." He told him following the greeting. When the man inquired on the location of his wife, Michael's brows knit and he turned to where Claramae had been. "Son of a bytch.." He turned about, literally making a circle as his sword was held haphazardly at his side. He failed to answer the gentleman, and instead left to find that damnable woman he called his wife. [d]

Dora: "Oh land a mercy! What sort of troubles have come upon me good friend Pere? " The woman was wearing the shoes he had returned to her ownership. (d)

Ada: Oh, well those were a fine pair of shoes. It was instant love for Ada, who of course -- was in love with the world and all the fine people who inhabited it. She stopped by the stand, picking one of the slippers up, so that the little metal bits reflected torchlight. "Goodness. They sparkle," she said, her fine dark brows arching upward to meet the mass of dark, curly hair clouding around her elfin face. Jean-Claude would go into fits, they were just this side of tacky, but Ada could wear sacking and still look attractive, such were the blessings her mother gave her. She handed over the money, stroking the bits of silk stitched together. The bright, gem-colored hues were fascinating to the apothecary, who immediately removed her own practical boots -- with mud still caked on the bottom -- and put the slippers on. She put her boots atop the blanket covering the odds and ends filling up her market basket, and turned down toward Ebony Hall. Her delivery boy had gone absent -- Ada believed him quite taken with a prostitute. When he figured out that luxurious red hair had been bought, she was certain he would come back to her shop and resume his duties, but in the meantime, all her runs to Ebony Hall served as exercise. *

Claramae"A lady doesn't scream" she interjected. On the landing above the canopy there were some behind, some infront. Claramae was confronted with a classic situation of where to go, what to do and very overdressed for the occasion. That rake was going to owe her a new Venetian dress, or was it Florentine? Whatever it was, he was going to pay dearly for every bit of fabric, every stich, every accentuating stone on it because she intended to come out of this alive. Oh Pish. Her husband was off fighting a man for offending their honor while her Sabbath stroll was entirely ruined. Snarling, they had crossed a very large line for the Englishwoman: by custom she did not 'work' upon the Sabbath. To articulate the point, a hand behind her back pulled a throwing dagger from one of the hidden alcoves. It wizzed beyond the man's ear, knicking it so it bled, while killing the man behind him. Shall we dance?(d)

"Help!" The words escaped her lips in a shout blanketed with the sound of her foreign tongue. Her long, messy brown hair trailed after her, the feathers that had once moved so elegantly with the strands they were boundedto were broken, one from the pair missing. The olive skin of her face was covered with smudges of dirt, those piercing blue orbs wandering the streets consumed by night for any others. Her dress of hide, made with such passion and patience was torn, several strands from its fringed ends missing as the rest bounce in her run. Along the collar of the dress were once an assortment of jewels. Green, blue, golden yellow and black stones were sprawled across the material, but most were gone now, fallen in the handling of rough hands. She was stolen from her lands, the native woman forced to part with her tribe, the Niitsitapi people. "Please!" She begged, her bare feet frozen against the cold stones of the town's streets. -d-

Jean-Claude: There was one down, Jean-Claude thought to himself as he watched Peregrine get escorted out. His ducks though were not all accounted for. "Bite your words, brute your wife may be in great danger." So spoke the man who just as much lace as the darling Claramae. Already Jean-Claude prepped for battle, folding back the rough lace of the rounded cuff so that it would not get caught on the mechanics of the tools of his trade, and his
Peregrine Rogue: overcoat was pulled away. Undoing the silk scarf of his ascot, he would move to tie it around his hip as they went up the follow of the lead. A small packet was opened the white powder of the contents swirled into his glass of water, and swung back. Ready. For aging quickly on 50, one did have to have some kind of stimulate.

Men: Let's dance. Without thought the man pulled the invisible mask of his rage forward, this woman had foiled nearly all of his plots. The dagger did hit, but only added fuel to the fire. Pressing back his hand to open the palm, a shallow end of a dart would flair to life splicing the air with riveting motions..one..two..three. One after the other, as he advanced forward, pushing the space between them until it closed and he offered her the back hand of his fist. Behind the alley's the markets seemed all but normal, and as the rest started to join gateways from the Underdark were opened. From behind Claramae another would emerge, and behind that..two, but the pair would soon turn to block the space of where Vincere and Jean-Claude would come, and then there were two. Jean-Claude would make his round another, knowing full well this brute just laid out the pirate..he could handle the Spanish. "Your momma was a Coward.." Leave it to the Spanish to get dirty. (d

Dirty they would get. The Baron and Baroness Vincere, Govenor and Commander, the Masters, one may take what they wish, fought with the likes of Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine against a sudden rash of Spanish fever. Others came into the scene whom spared Peregrine the joy of being caught in a possible faux paus in the arrangements. Were it not for the love of Dora Lynch or the kind hand of a stranger, where would he be? In the end, the attempt on lives was diverted by the ability to conquer, though not without some marks. Why, then, had the focus suddenly turned toward the others from the translator? The game was well afoot.