Post by Janice Olivia Monroe on Sept 6, 2010 18:56:06 GMT -6
"The experience of survival is the key to the gravity of love." - Enigma
Julian Monroe
"O Fortuna velut Luna" "O Fortune like the moon" Turn around and smell what you don't see, close your eyes..it is so clear. Here's the mirror, behind there is a screen. On both ways you can get in. Don't think twice before you listen to your heart. Follow the trace for a new start. What you need and everything you'll feel is just a question of the deal. In the eye of the storm you'll see a lonely dove.The experience of survival is the key. Janice had always been the key, a golden cut vessel with pearls that hung from her ears like the key upon its string. He dreamt of her all night, the heat of the season returning with the morning and with it his sanity. With his pillow pressed to his chest the morning came to greet him with a sobering reality that this was not a vacation. They were not on a honeymoon, nor was this any sort of retreat. Never had he wished for Jean-Claude more, these questions that ran through him he was too afraid to ask, but was it normal to feel this way? He could hear his Master's laughter even then, see the kindness in his eyes to let him know he would think him a fool, but perhaps these questions were better suited for Claramae. Sometimes he wondered if they were not more alike, but now all he could do was plague himself with the worry of the what if. They have become a bit careless..or he, seeking out Margot and remaining. Yet, Benoit proved to be a perfect match for what was troubling the youth, and put to rest his doubt in himself. Sitting up in his bed the bright light of the morning sun was nearly blinding, but this was not why he shut his eyes behind his hands. A vision came forth with fires along the lines of the formulas that danced circles in his head. It was as if Devil drew with a magic pen and with its wake came fire. Shivering then he chased chills along his spine while heavy breaths drew together his chest, and he would move from the bed to quickly jot down what the minds eye could see his icy eyes could not. (d
Janice deBrabant
The night went down, down to a place of blackness. In the dark her hands, unseen reached out to touch the birthright of stars as the gas combined to combust on her fingertips. In cosmic swirl, she watched her life from now move backwards to the pieces of things, plithy little significance. A mind who wanted to remember could try harder to forget, watching as old ballrooms crumbled down to the bottom of the sea. She laughed in sorrow, cried in joy. When nothing made sense in the universe the flux given remedy by the open wings of a bird: At daybreak she woke up with her hands clutched over the sparrow. A sparrow was no dove, no harbringer of peace nor lark, nor nightingale. It was a bird given a lesser place in poetic cycles but was all the more special for the simplicity it held. The little silver charm stayed aloft of her breast by the suspension of a single ice-blue ribbon. Was it coincidence, that he wore white while she carried it on blue? Nothing, nothing was deemed to chance. Underground the rooster's crow was muffled yet somehow daybreak was not. Benoit's home was not supposed to be yet was what was needed. Pieces of herself no longer floated without tether, and the answers so covered in mist were clear. She rose, not knowing if Julian had gone to bed to truly wait for her to go with him, or felt so insistant he went alone. Whatever his choice, the night had granted understanding. In a fit of industry she rolled out her own leather holders, moving through her satchels to secure the tools to pick locks, pry windows, or grates. (d)
Julian Monroe
In the shadow eyes watched him, from their places in the jars upon the shelves, but even old ancient minds could not understand the path to which a man of math thought. CaO (s) + H2O (l) Ca(OH)2 (aq) (_Hr = -63.7 kJ/mol of CaO) "Janice!" He shouted for her before he pressed open his door, and bare feet moved down the hall bursting in on her with little care of her modesty. "Limestone." Would be all he spoke, "Its limestone." He handed her the paper, "The only way for fire to burn over water. It actually needs the water to ignite. Look." He spread the paper out, for her to follow. "There is a compound in lime that when heated..Quicklime." Wasn't he weird? "Its dangerous. Very dangerous. When compacted it can explode like the powder of guns, but water can't put it out. They can't get their hands on it. You are right. It is Greek Fire. It can be." Reassuring that he had in fact questioned her.(d
Janice deBrabant
The thin slivers of metal were rounded, squared, pronged. Some were in key shapes, others merely needle like concoctions. Some were chisel like. With these things or even sometimes only a hair pin the girl could move her way through the world. As one talent was on the floor, another came pounding in through the room on bare feet. Janice had remained in her night-clothes with only a shawl over her shoulders. It was still early, thinking time would be had to dress. "Julian!" Before she could say anything he said Limestone, she sat on the floor watching as his logic was unfurled. "Quicklime...quicklime....so it is right....you..did it...you have deciphered the secret of Byzantium..what..none can find.you have.." She blinked...just, awe inspired. She had no care of modesty! The small one lept to her feet, moving her arms around him before she broke away, pacing in thecontagious fever. "And you did not even need De Garza's work. Oh my God! Now...now when we leave. we have but to cripple the war pieces that will go with it, surely they will try. The pipes on ships, the flame throwing impliments held by hand..I can hardly..oh my god." She looked on man's destruction with the smile of an angel who blessed his work by coming to her knees to look on it. "If you have this...then i do wonder...if there are not plans writ of these things." Said the little translator..tapping fingers to floor in thought (d)
Julian Monroe
"No..we need his work. What if there is more?" He looked over at her, "I could be wrong, but last night it was so real." He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to breath again, realizing she was in her night clothes..so was he. He pulled tightly like a puppet on his string that small break in his character vanishing quickly as the gloom and doom that came with the boy from Scotland's country couldn't give it all away. "We need to head into town. I'll meet you at the gate. You...You..you should get dressed." With that he pulled the door behind him shutting it rather quickly. (d
Janice deBrabant
"You are right, gah. He must have it in those works as well. The town does hold a univeristy though, perhaps we might have some resource to take along. That is as fitting a reason as any. We came to research in Catalonia, in the university town. We were held up overlong as we each took ill from the strain of our work's zeal." That story was so close to reality it was startling; his modesty became her soft chuckle as she pulled her shawl around her as to conceal her breasts from view in the thin fabric, "I will be ready in mere moments, until the Gate..." He always fled so quickly! Instead of sighing, she chuckled. Drunk on giddiness, of best laid plans, of action...the realization that he had solved her discovery. They were indeed linked. Without delay she saw to it that the bed was made, a rustic sienna dress put on, and her hair pulled back in a loose braid. The leather satchels were rolled up, tied, and put across her in the same fashion as the paperwork. (d)
Julian Monroe
Perhaps they should send word to their guardians, but Julian's mind was elsewhere while he dressed. Washing his face, and rolling his wet fingers through his hair, he was ready to take on the day. The university was a great idea, though he feared of the world they left behind. The horse Margot had stolen would be left behind, but when they started the trek down the mountain he worried of Janice. Until then he had not spoken to her, walking in silence like some blushing fool. "You do not complain of your wounds." His backward way of asking if she was still in pain. Janice he knew well had an uncanny ability to mask her suffering, an through out the years he had perhaps been the only one to notice. Julian felt as though he was walking on stones without the soles of his shoes to protect him when speaking to her, so many of their nights ended in fights, but after last night he was certain he would do his all to not miss that anymore. (d
Janice deBrabant
A million things should be put on paper for the Guardians who worried sick for Janice didn't return with the Julian as promised. A pair of days became more than any cared to count. No one counted for that matter. Braided hair gave a jaunty snap between her shoulder braids as they embarked on the journey downward. Silence was such a staple even after last night she didn't question why it was so. "No, they do not hurt so anymore, only little pricks now and again, thanks to master Benoit." She hardly winced or grit her teeth if the road became bumpy or a thing in the path made it hard to stay somewhat straight on the downgrade. Looking over her shoulder, she felt a little pang of regret that neither Benoit or Margot were along, one belonged here, but the other? Silent prayer of thanks for them was ushered before they continued down. "did you sleep well?" (d)
Julian Morne
"I did. " He spoke quietly, shifting on his feet in the uncomfortable silence that passed between them. If he was not angry with her, confessing his ideas, or kissing her Julian didn't know what to expect, or how to act. Where did they go from here? "Margot put lavender under my pillow. It would be hard not to. Jean-Claude has invited her back to France with us. I'm not sure if you read that part." He smirked with a small bit of laughter. "I would think he would want to marry me off. I've never known him to extend such an invitation." He had a hundred things he wanted to ask her, wanting to get to know her on another level, but this mission now plagued him. "If we get close to De Graza we'll finish this. You are used to pawning your virginity off..could it be done twice?" (d
Janice deBrabant
"That is good. Lavendar is helpful, that is kind of her to do." He was trying not to be what he had been; change was tadamount to a new chapter, a new chance. She sensed that there was more than this he wanted to speak to her of. Her mind though, was down the mountain. It was on roads between Leirida, Toledo, and Aragon. "I did see that, and she would do so well in Skye, I think. Master Benoit has no true appreciation of her as it is." For all the respect she bore Benoit for his affiliation with her parents the man was as companionable as a hedgehog laced with nightshade on the quills. The talk of marriage would add such dimensions to the conversation as she chuckled, "I believe he thinks there would be a chance as you mentioned her," she grinned, sighing a little, "He so wishes to see you happy. You know how well meaning if not quite grandiose his plans are." Janice put her arms out to the side for balance as she came down a hollow log. What was happiness? She wanted to ask him too, of his life before this. Of the dragon wings he heard; leather wings beside his ears same as angel song. "Yes we will. De Lugo will come out but it is de Garza who holds all of the cards. Twice, of that? Yes it could be. In fact, by now he should have drawn forth Vaasco Sanchiz. A good and bane to the royals. As the master would say the chess board is set. I am quite ready to maneuver." For the mission she could. So long as the little sparrow stayed close to her heart. (d)
Julian Monroe
He wasn't crazy. In all his years he had been struck by the church, beaten with sticks until the backs of his hands bled, and told the devil was inside him. Until, Jean-Claude, Julian had simply accepted he was different, but it was every day he got to know the scientist did he understand that what he thought couldn't be wrong if it was in fact his opinion. Those were the dragon wings he saw, and their claws sharp against his the inside of his ribs. However, it was their laughter that woke him at night, and this was what worried his Master. He always thought Jean-Claude did not trust him, and to this day was convinced. Yet, it was not his apprentice he did not trust, but the devil that did hold his heart. His boy was in fact a strong mind, but easily let a weakness take it. They all had scars right? I just needed to feel alive. They both had cried that night, when the blood ran down Julian's fingertips from the act of his own doing, the scars still dominate on his boney wrists. It was an act he deeply regrets, but one he learned to live from. Jean-Claude took his apprentice more seriously, and pulled him from that school in a heartbeat.
"He does have good intentions, he always has, but he has made his mistakes. It was luck that won you to him that night, fate even, but I dare say I am not a gambling man. I know the odds of numbers, there is an equal amount that works against us that work before, but if it is a bit more closed off." He suddenly got hot, worried sick that this would come out right, but the soft spoken mathematician always let his mouth get the better of him. "I did not mean it to sound like I wished to make you his whore, or the courts for that matter...but it is the easiest in. Men go blind when it comes to passion, and it would get us home quicker. Its why I've always shut myself off from it." like Claramae He mumbled the last part, if she heard it she heard it, if not well good. Jean-Claude had watched Julian, quietly for years and somewhere even now he worried if he should not have asked Claramae to take him under his wing earlier. He was cruel, uncaring, and hardly knew the word mercy. Yet, he did not go out of his way to make it known. He did not laugh, he did not smile, and until Claramae, Jean-Claude would have worried Julian to die a heartless bastard. However, there was a comfort in knowing that somewhere under all that regal exterior he had Claramae with laughter very often. Jean-Claude understood her.
The market opened up around them, a flurry of colors in the bright mountain town with the long fabrics draping in the wind. The fluid mix of Spanish had somewhat become a comfort, and now he was content to let her lead. She spoke the language better anyway. The dark almond eyes of the Spanish watched as they passed, and the vendor he purchased the sparrows from smiled. Her trinkets were lovely, small silver carved with precious stones, and as they passed she would cast a wink to Janice.
Janice de Brabant
Sanity was a preferred state of being. It was the correct way, but no one ever could say just what 'correct' meant. Was her way of being the preferred state, or was it only the same smoke and mirrors of the one place in the world she loved as much as she could love a human being? Her life had been an organized construction out of paper, paint, and string. What was simple was never really simple. When she looked behind the scenery to ascertain what the truth was, she thought she began to lose her mind. Human organs sat stuffed around long intestinal tracts in inks of black and red. Heads were opposite bodies in some images. She hadn't ever told anyone that she saw more than the sketch of the human digestive system. Before her father caught her, her horror made her feet go still. Her hands were stained with the freshest pages of yesterday's before as she saw the bodies of men, women, children. Old and young. He labeled corner pages to discuss the bodies of whores at various stages of disease. Cancers of the breast. In a man there were cancers of the lung, revealing bulbous, hard knots called tumors inside of him. Janice had never told anyone that when she'd found the book again it wasn't the first time she'd looked.
By then, it was in fact the third. She could not remember it was the third until some years later when she had already lived for three years in the convent. The numbers synced with a quiet part of the mind. Now unlike the shadow times, what was vivid in her memory was disturbing in the clarity. The Mass was being conducted in the chapel. She looked up at the body of Christ suspended above the altar, broken beauty surrendering for all man-kind. The wound in his wooden side was pierced by a shaft of sunlight, and she screamed. She fell, recoiling from any hand that tried to pull her up again. When the sun sliced his side, she saw the flesh diagrams at younger years. He descended from the cross, showing her his ailments. A dream that night revealed his open feet. Every wound of stigmata had the inner workings to accompany it. "She's sick, her father mentioned she could be. Poor thing. So fragile..he said she was prone to terrors.." She was put inside a cell for privacy, tossing on the palet under a crucifix. A fever took hold. Sweat beads soaked the bedding as she told the nun beside her of the things that she had seen, of the memory that pierced her mind like the side of Christ was pierced. The wound that killed him. The Sisters were fearful of her live, and informed her father that he should take the child home to convalese her last, but he didn't. Instead, Jacob never forgave himself for what he had done. In allowing her to keep the shop clean, its books in order, he had ordained her in the craft by curiosity alone. To heal the balm of her mother's religious fever, he saw to it that she had an education worthy of the place she would be in the world if his brother had lived, and beyond it. Jacob felt that should she die, it would be by his hand she died.
She used to look at the wall just beyond the garden. Birds sang on the top of the stone while she sat beside it. They left while she could not. All of her life she had never questioned the reasons why while understanding that there was more beyond the wall. Her quest to endure was simple until the day the benefactor called for her. Without fail she answered the call, even without seeing her father or bidding her ailing mother goodbye. She answered because Jacob had left instruction that she should answer. So much in life was prepared before she had the chance to make even a sound.
"Everyone makes mistakes. That night, if he hadn't won me, I had prayed that God take my memory of that night as all other memories of my childhood. That I would not begrudge the loss of this night, going forward in all intention. I was frightened, Julian." she whispered soft while looking ahead with far off eyes, "More than I can ever really say." She was scared of death. It had crept up with fingers at the ready to extinguish her candle. Even now it touched the back of her neck to play with baby fine hairs. Kissed the shell of her ear. He tried so hard to make his words right to protect the part of her heart he came to envy and cherish at the same time. Watching that struggle, listening to it, she was thankful for him. Thankful, that someone in this life struggled to be understood as much as she did. Passion. What were her thoughts on it? For her it turned sour a sweet wine even as it was taken in. She choked on the bones of passion's feast even now that she walked behind him. People made eyes at her even as they entered Lerida. Plain clothed in no more than base colors there was something that made delirious rainbows to them. People wanted to love her, and that love could kill her. Still, she strove to exude no less than Christ's example of love, devotion, and surrender. In surrender had she found peace. She surrendered to the urge to give herself to the Order while obtaining a stance in the plain world. Only in surrender, in service..did she find an acceptance of self greater than any hope her parent's may have had in sparing her from the truth all together. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she spoke under the weight of a man's gaze becoming all too familiar. He passed, leaving them to go further on. "Sometimes, I think, that in the name Jean-Claude has given me, that the others embrace in other forms, there is a truth. Only in that there is ..something..that men desire. During the bidding, I received a letter. Someone asked to receive absolution at my feet. Whatever that force is, it must be there for a reason. I know you do not mean for me to be any man's whore, Julian, only that men do seek whores. Mistresses. They seek to fill an emptiness and for a great many my presence is as potent as any courtesan.With it, de Garza is no better. His eyes." She had said a great much on the nature of eyes that looked at her everywhere. De Garza's eyes studied Julian's little 'sister' with an unholy interest. "If it takes us home quicker, and ends it, then let him look until he grows sick with it.." Or until I grow so sick that should he touch me... she was not a killer, she took no pride in what lives she may have removed from this world to defend herself already, but she would poison him. She would hurt another, one last time..if they could go home. She loved the stones that locked together in Ebony Hall better than she had Marius. A sin in her part, one she had no intention of ever fixing. Ebony Hall made her a happy idolator. The sleepy,beautiful district of Bryante Row shone like the soft glass lamps encased with fire. Inside of it, the people were the things inside of a temple. Master St. Laurence, no other title was ever greater than this, was her Mother-Goddess. How well she loved them all in spite of all things, but she did love Claramae not as an elder sister, but as little lower than a mother. The edge of his words, her name contained, went unspoken of for a great while. She didn't hear it, yet would show how similar minds thought.
She stepped ahead of Julian in the marketplace. Colors danced all around her and spices hit the air, thick and sweet. Warm summer sun was permeated by the atmosphere enough to make her smile. Semi-precious stone caught eye corner as she gave a greeting to the vendor with a wave. Stepping closer, she surveyed the beautiful charms. Among the different creatures, she found a bird of long neck and long legs. Touching the beak she said, "Master Laurence is this bird. A crane. Among the Greeks it was a bird of omens. It was written that a thief attacked a Greecian poet by the name if Ibycus and left him for dead. He called upon a flock of cranes, who followed his attacker to a theater. They hovered over him, until so beset with grief, he confessed his crimes. In other tales, the attacker is summarily taken from this world by the pecking of their beaks and the the talons on their feet. It is a beautiful, wise. Yet at the same time it can be overwhelming. It is a bird with many figures and thus many secrets. Something hurt her, something long ago that she tried to solve through imperical deduction only to give herself so wholly, that the omen-bird swallowed her thus. She became the omen-bird, holding her own other self inside. It must have been a great, great loss. I know that at a particular age like when my matches were being decided, she joined her master, who had been a long friend of her Mother." she muttered, "She is frightening only in that everything with her is very intense. So intense it begins to look the opposite." She chuckled, then sighed again. "When she loathes you, she loathes you as deep as she might love you. Master Sorschal could laugh or smile, but he could harden. He used to say she was always hardened strange, but soft, and she spared him from being without a human soul. I think they were one another's omen-birds in the end, restoring what was lost, taking what was to be hidden. You are not so different from them..I think. They are not without feeling or hope or pain. They are only different, that is all. Omen-birds."
Julian Monroe
"After I am finished with my studies. Jean-Claude wants me to intern with her. I feel as though he has been waiting for whatever reason, one or the other to even ask, but you see this is why this mission means as much as it does to me." He admitted freely and without conviction. There was enough of him to show her this one bit of his weak side even if it meant he was only admitting the truth. "He compares me to her often, even when scolding me." With a small smirk, it gave the truth that Jean did it often. His mind went about the idea of trading in her skill once more, but she played the part so well. Yet, was this how Jean-Claude felt? He didn't understand his Master's pain those many years ago before the auction. Julian had watched it bring a nearly cripple man to his knees.
"Perhaps then we should send it back home to her. I had not wanted to tell you,for fear of your heart breaking. yet, to keep the truth from you would have been another heartache. She is in good hands, we must remember this. Above even me, I feel Jean-Claude loves her. He would not let her fall without a fight." Julian touched the ribbons that laced her bodice in the back, letting the ends of them brush the palm of his hand so lightly he had hoped she would not have felt him touch her. "Let them think you pure. Is it so bad to be the only ones to know the truth?" He took a deep breath, letting his hand fall once more before paying the vendor. Her Spanish was flawless as she spoke of their love of pretty things, and of the other. She spoke of how their love of birds was a sign of intelligence, but was puzzled when Julian looked over his shoulder to Janice for the answer.
If it touched him she compared him to Claramae, nothing on his face would give in to the detail of the truth. He could not understand that there was a world without such precious being as this, and though the world outside had known him a long while, Julian did not need to feel to be alive. "Birds have always fascinated me." Julian would start to explain the meaning of the sparrow, "Over the years Jean-Claude has kept many, he would tell me stories of his Father's ravens, how they could take a man's eye out. The Count used to threaten Jean with them, and I feel that this is the reason he never let me keep a bird as a pet."
Janice deBrabant
Julian's words were an offering without being called one to the cause of mending forever the rifts between them. There were things that might never be closed but they could be bridged, couldn't they? The tone of his voice coupled with his actions must have been a struggle as to do so he had to remain conscious of every single aspect of his personality. Or could it be that somewhere inside of the sarcastic, hard exterior lay the real Julian Monroe, someone who was lost in the same winter than his master had found him in? Blue lips were the blight of ice-blue sheen on the soul. "She would be very please to take you, your mathematic and scientific brain is cultivated for what she might teach. In you, she may finally find a successor at long last. Someone to bequeath skill to." The noviates who passed muster enough to become apprenticed to the founding Master or those in the Order's first master's circle were blessed indeed. In the first two years since the erection of Ebony Hall much had happened to wipe away the chosen ones. Other apprentices, from other trades, went on to remain in their maiden organizations. It was speculated that while the Ebony Talons were young, as young as the reign, there was time to find the successors of each founding Master.
Of Sorschal - Ursula Darling was an independent being and had done well in what she'd learned, founding her own collective shrouded in the mystery of theater. Of St. Laurence - the one promising prospect of the Guilded Lily's first blooms she elected for herself, Nairne, was violently murdered. Several of the first generation noviates fell during the clandestine war with Gottschalk and the real enterprises of guarding the realm during the war for independence. Of that generation, they were among the survivors. "I think you would do very well under Master Laurence," she imagined he would elevate to journeyman, a solitary practicioner with ease under such tutelage of that was his path. Would he do the likes of this again, for glory? She had another talent for the sake of glory here. Jean-Claude had cried to think of her on the stage while Peregrine gloated at exchanges. It was like he put his own body there, naked, shaking, when he garbed her in the sheer, snow white gown. "Jean-Claude does so much for so many, I do hope he claims happiness..too."
The vendor talked on the nature of birds was signs of beauty befitting their intelligence. When Julian turned his head over shoulder she replied in smooth, beautiful Spanish how she felt the vendor kept such a wonderful collection, and her days would be long for such a wise choice. Wisdom begets wisdom. She hadn't expected Julian to pay for the bird, just as she hadn't expected his tender loquacious discussion. He was more like Janice than she'd ever realized before. Now that he followed her here, they were cut from two patterns on the same cloth. If she had known of the touch to her back, she would have blushed. Indeed she left the subject alone until they moved away form the vendor. The crane was slid into little velvet pouch,where next she went for a ribbon at the neighboring stall to send it home with. "No, they can think as they please." Had she been ashamed of giving her prize to a man who won in weeks what others had tried months, if not years, to vye for? In part, yes - she felt as if the prize had been sold for a sonnet. Still, it was as if she'd been touched prior or after the Knight. God had kept in place some of her maiden-self. Did he wonder what it would be like, dare to think, on if the chosen had been him? For now she thought on home as she paid the vendor for a ribbon of pure emerald green."It will remind Master Laurence of her England, her Ireland, when it is this color. You wouldn't know it unless her lady cousin remained or she said it, that she is half Irish." Other things needed to be purchased. Horses to barter for, saddles, food stores enough for the little journey back to a wide-wide world. "So now, you are telling me of birds. Master Jean-Claude then has a fear of Ravens, or an annoyance? Is this why you like sparrows? Better messangers by far. Ravens are associate with either a deep wisdom, otherworld mysteries, war, or death. A sparrow I wager is harmless? I do hope you shan't get a bird when we go home to bother de Aquitane with..though the thought of him shooing away a sparrow." She laughed and in the sound the wings of angels fell with glitter, with chimes. "Please, go on?" Gently she touched his arm. Yes, she had found a reason to touch him again. Was it wrong to say she'd dreamed of him, too, lingered in the feeling of his kiss when the stars were exploding in symphonic booms?
Julian Monroe
"It would be a lie if I said I was not afraid," Julian was a soft spoken, his voice quiet yet deep--but when his sarcasm wrote stories of uncertain futures they were the most intricate detailed outlines of the truth beneath. However, today his voice was absent the harsh sounds, quiet and almost reserved. It felt so strange to be so open, speaking freely to another who wanted to listen. Though the years upon the tails of Jean-Claude's coat, Julian had many admirers. Young women of the court came with hopes that they would be able to turn the cat with a ribbon, but they hardly were even able to edge a smile from him. His heart was cold, but his eyes colder; like ice under dark lashes they seemed to provoke only a chill, and by the end of the visit it was no wonder why he stood before her as pure as the silver around her neck."I am excited, it.." He tried to gather the right word as he took a deep breath to center himself, "I'm honored, but nervous. Jean-Claude wants me to go, but he does not want to release me."
The rich vibrant fabrics were being draped over the village square as if in preparation of a festival, but in the heart of Spain was there ever a necessary reason for celebration? A cause to live life as it should be with laughter and cheap wine. Lanterns were being strung through the heart of the village trailing the figure of the streets like veins from the heart, and by the night everyone would celebrate in their fashion. "Jean-Claude, does much for himself. In truth sometimes I feel he does things for others for the pure benefit of gaining an contact. It is a selfish act? He has his projects, and his wine. Ada cooks his dinner, she makes sure he's rested, and when to stop drinking. He loves his daughter, and his God Daughter. He loves you. Jean, is a happy man, trust me." The Spanish that came from her then to the vender warmed him, where before it had caused him to freeze well in his stance held together by an angry passionate hatred for her. The crane he thought somehow really suited Claramae, her long neck had always been the only true sign there was in fact a body beneath all of that fabric, and her passion enough to shelter the world behind the lace. "No, Jean-Claude, is not afraid. He is not afraid of anything, he only keeps the ravens because he does not trust them to be out. He does not talk of his family, only when he has had too much wine do I sometimes hear mumbling of eyes watching. It would be a great deal if they knew him to be alive, and he keeps them all captive. His father called them Blood Ravens, and of only these birds have I known him to be weary--but not afraid. He keeps them in the tower, locked away high above the orrery. Have you been up there? I have only been a few times, he does not trust me enough to take care of his keep. I am surprised he trusts me enough to run the business." There were many words coming then from Julian, as conversation was not forced by flowed freely. His heart was excited to talk to her, to listen and learn. It was a strange new feeling, and even in his relaxed stance with hands in his pockets as they walked he couldn't help but be a bit animated in the telling. Perhaps it could have been a bit comical with still the bruise from her hand.
Janice deBrabant
A fabric sheet was tossed from the top of one building, hanging on the wind for an instant. In two flaps, the look of flight ended as the tips touched the ground. People waited at the bottom to gather the excess material in order to carry it across the dirt street to the opposite end. Was it a Saint's Day? A pagent festival? Inside of a lantern waiting for nightfall to shine a light she saw a shadow reminiscent of a girl's bewilderment that the world couldexplode in such jubuilant behavior. "The Master is frightening, but not so much so as any would think. No one wants to let go of their son. You are like a son to him, he worries if you are ready, if he has given you enough, done well enough by you. He wants you to go because he knows a future lays there but he is not prepared to let you go off towards it. It is hard for them. We are twenty now, and a little beyond." She watched as shredded fabric was turned to fringe on the lap of a woman who sat on a stoop. A second pushed her broom to chase away the dust of Cantalon. The little crane for Claramae was now safe inside of her collection of things, only waiting for the chance to make the journey home. "Sometimes it is hard to say why they do things at all, if you think of their motives it just makes you dizzy, I think." She grinned as she turned her head over her shoulders "How many supplies did he send you for, how many errands having nothing to do with the norm as your head throbbed to figure it? The tower of his ...I have been there. Not to study it in depth no, but I have been there many times. The noviates often referred to me as 'Lady Shadow' because I was always in the shadow of a master. He will come to trust you, you'll see. If not after this, when? Even the likes of him would be horrified. He's a scientist with an affinity for assasination, not an assassin by trade. It would stop even the Laurence heart from beating. No, things await you at home, they await us both. At least I know when I go home, what Blood Ravens are. I hope they do not look on me like that wolf did." She shuttered at the memory (d)
I.
Julian Monroe
"O Fortuna velut Luna" "O Fortune like the moon" Turn around and smell what you don't see, close your eyes..it is so clear. Here's the mirror, behind there is a screen. On both ways you can get in. Don't think twice before you listen to your heart. Follow the trace for a new start. What you need and everything you'll feel is just a question of the deal. In the eye of the storm you'll see a lonely dove.The experience of survival is the key. Janice had always been the key, a golden cut vessel with pearls that hung from her ears like the key upon its string. He dreamt of her all night, the heat of the season returning with the morning and with it his sanity. With his pillow pressed to his chest the morning came to greet him with a sobering reality that this was not a vacation. They were not on a honeymoon, nor was this any sort of retreat. Never had he wished for Jean-Claude more, these questions that ran through him he was too afraid to ask, but was it normal to feel this way? He could hear his Master's laughter even then, see the kindness in his eyes to let him know he would think him a fool, but perhaps these questions were better suited for Claramae. Sometimes he wondered if they were not more alike, but now all he could do was plague himself with the worry of the what if. They have become a bit careless..or he, seeking out Margot and remaining. Yet, Benoit proved to be a perfect match for what was troubling the youth, and put to rest his doubt in himself. Sitting up in his bed the bright light of the morning sun was nearly blinding, but this was not why he shut his eyes behind his hands. A vision came forth with fires along the lines of the formulas that danced circles in his head. It was as if Devil drew with a magic pen and with its wake came fire. Shivering then he chased chills along his spine while heavy breaths drew together his chest, and he would move from the bed to quickly jot down what the minds eye could see his icy eyes could not. (d
Janice deBrabant
The night went down, down to a place of blackness. In the dark her hands, unseen reached out to touch the birthright of stars as the gas combined to combust on her fingertips. In cosmic swirl, she watched her life from now move backwards to the pieces of things, plithy little significance. A mind who wanted to remember could try harder to forget, watching as old ballrooms crumbled down to the bottom of the sea. She laughed in sorrow, cried in joy. When nothing made sense in the universe the flux given remedy by the open wings of a bird: At daybreak she woke up with her hands clutched over the sparrow. A sparrow was no dove, no harbringer of peace nor lark, nor nightingale. It was a bird given a lesser place in poetic cycles but was all the more special for the simplicity it held. The little silver charm stayed aloft of her breast by the suspension of a single ice-blue ribbon. Was it coincidence, that he wore white while she carried it on blue? Nothing, nothing was deemed to chance. Underground the rooster's crow was muffled yet somehow daybreak was not. Benoit's home was not supposed to be yet was what was needed. Pieces of herself no longer floated without tether, and the answers so covered in mist were clear. She rose, not knowing if Julian had gone to bed to truly wait for her to go with him, or felt so insistant he went alone. Whatever his choice, the night had granted understanding. In a fit of industry she rolled out her own leather holders, moving through her satchels to secure the tools to pick locks, pry windows, or grates. (d)
Julian Monroe
In the shadow eyes watched him, from their places in the jars upon the shelves, but even old ancient minds could not understand the path to which a man of math thought. CaO (s) + H2O (l) Ca(OH)2 (aq) (_Hr = -63.7 kJ/mol of CaO) "Janice!" He shouted for her before he pressed open his door, and bare feet moved down the hall bursting in on her with little care of her modesty. "Limestone." Would be all he spoke, "Its limestone." He handed her the paper, "The only way for fire to burn over water. It actually needs the water to ignite. Look." He spread the paper out, for her to follow. "There is a compound in lime that when heated..Quicklime." Wasn't he weird? "Its dangerous. Very dangerous. When compacted it can explode like the powder of guns, but water can't put it out. They can't get their hands on it. You are right. It is Greek Fire. It can be." Reassuring that he had in fact questioned her.(d
Janice deBrabant
The thin slivers of metal were rounded, squared, pronged. Some were in key shapes, others merely needle like concoctions. Some were chisel like. With these things or even sometimes only a hair pin the girl could move her way through the world. As one talent was on the floor, another came pounding in through the room on bare feet. Janice had remained in her night-clothes with only a shawl over her shoulders. It was still early, thinking time would be had to dress. "Julian!" Before she could say anything he said Limestone, she sat on the floor watching as his logic was unfurled. "Quicklime...quicklime....so it is right....you..did it...you have deciphered the secret of Byzantium..what..none can find.you have.." She blinked...just, awe inspired. She had no care of modesty! The small one lept to her feet, moving her arms around him before she broke away, pacing in thecontagious fever. "And you did not even need De Garza's work. Oh my God! Now...now when we leave. we have but to cripple the war pieces that will go with it, surely they will try. The pipes on ships, the flame throwing impliments held by hand..I can hardly..oh my god." She looked on man's destruction with the smile of an angel who blessed his work by coming to her knees to look on it. "If you have this...then i do wonder...if there are not plans writ of these things." Said the little translator..tapping fingers to floor in thought (d)
Julian Monroe
"No..we need his work. What if there is more?" He looked over at her, "I could be wrong, but last night it was so real." He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to breath again, realizing she was in her night clothes..so was he. He pulled tightly like a puppet on his string that small break in his character vanishing quickly as the gloom and doom that came with the boy from Scotland's country couldn't give it all away. "We need to head into town. I'll meet you at the gate. You...You..you should get dressed." With that he pulled the door behind him shutting it rather quickly. (d
Janice deBrabant
"You are right, gah. He must have it in those works as well. The town does hold a univeristy though, perhaps we might have some resource to take along. That is as fitting a reason as any. We came to research in Catalonia, in the university town. We were held up overlong as we each took ill from the strain of our work's zeal." That story was so close to reality it was startling; his modesty became her soft chuckle as she pulled her shawl around her as to conceal her breasts from view in the thin fabric, "I will be ready in mere moments, until the Gate..." He always fled so quickly! Instead of sighing, she chuckled. Drunk on giddiness, of best laid plans, of action...the realization that he had solved her discovery. They were indeed linked. Without delay she saw to it that the bed was made, a rustic sienna dress put on, and her hair pulled back in a loose braid. The leather satchels were rolled up, tied, and put across her in the same fashion as the paperwork. (d)
Julian Monroe
Perhaps they should send word to their guardians, but Julian's mind was elsewhere while he dressed. Washing his face, and rolling his wet fingers through his hair, he was ready to take on the day. The university was a great idea, though he feared of the world they left behind. The horse Margot had stolen would be left behind, but when they started the trek down the mountain he worried of Janice. Until then he had not spoken to her, walking in silence like some blushing fool. "You do not complain of your wounds." His backward way of asking if she was still in pain. Janice he knew well had an uncanny ability to mask her suffering, an through out the years he had perhaps been the only one to notice. Julian felt as though he was walking on stones without the soles of his shoes to protect him when speaking to her, so many of their nights ended in fights, but after last night he was certain he would do his all to not miss that anymore. (d
Janice deBrabant
A million things should be put on paper for the Guardians who worried sick for Janice didn't return with the Julian as promised. A pair of days became more than any cared to count. No one counted for that matter. Braided hair gave a jaunty snap between her shoulder braids as they embarked on the journey downward. Silence was such a staple even after last night she didn't question why it was so. "No, they do not hurt so anymore, only little pricks now and again, thanks to master Benoit." She hardly winced or grit her teeth if the road became bumpy or a thing in the path made it hard to stay somewhat straight on the downgrade. Looking over her shoulder, she felt a little pang of regret that neither Benoit or Margot were along, one belonged here, but the other? Silent prayer of thanks for them was ushered before they continued down. "did you sleep well?" (d)
Julian Morne
"I did. " He spoke quietly, shifting on his feet in the uncomfortable silence that passed between them. If he was not angry with her, confessing his ideas, or kissing her Julian didn't know what to expect, or how to act. Where did they go from here? "Margot put lavender under my pillow. It would be hard not to. Jean-Claude has invited her back to France with us. I'm not sure if you read that part." He smirked with a small bit of laughter. "I would think he would want to marry me off. I've never known him to extend such an invitation." He had a hundred things he wanted to ask her, wanting to get to know her on another level, but this mission now plagued him. "If we get close to De Graza we'll finish this. You are used to pawning your virginity off..could it be done twice?" (d
Janice deBrabant
"That is good. Lavendar is helpful, that is kind of her to do." He was trying not to be what he had been; change was tadamount to a new chapter, a new chance. She sensed that there was more than this he wanted to speak to her of. Her mind though, was down the mountain. It was on roads between Leirida, Toledo, and Aragon. "I did see that, and she would do so well in Skye, I think. Master Benoit has no true appreciation of her as it is." For all the respect she bore Benoit for his affiliation with her parents the man was as companionable as a hedgehog laced with nightshade on the quills. The talk of marriage would add such dimensions to the conversation as she chuckled, "I believe he thinks there would be a chance as you mentioned her," she grinned, sighing a little, "He so wishes to see you happy. You know how well meaning if not quite grandiose his plans are." Janice put her arms out to the side for balance as she came down a hollow log. What was happiness? She wanted to ask him too, of his life before this. Of the dragon wings he heard; leather wings beside his ears same as angel song. "Yes we will. De Lugo will come out but it is de Garza who holds all of the cards. Twice, of that? Yes it could be. In fact, by now he should have drawn forth Vaasco Sanchiz. A good and bane to the royals. As the master would say the chess board is set. I am quite ready to maneuver." For the mission she could. So long as the little sparrow stayed close to her heart. (d)
Julian Monroe
He wasn't crazy. In all his years he had been struck by the church, beaten with sticks until the backs of his hands bled, and told the devil was inside him. Until, Jean-Claude, Julian had simply accepted he was different, but it was every day he got to know the scientist did he understand that what he thought couldn't be wrong if it was in fact his opinion. Those were the dragon wings he saw, and their claws sharp against his the inside of his ribs. However, it was their laughter that woke him at night, and this was what worried his Master. He always thought Jean-Claude did not trust him, and to this day was convinced. Yet, it was not his apprentice he did not trust, but the devil that did hold his heart. His boy was in fact a strong mind, but easily let a weakness take it. They all had scars right? I just needed to feel alive. They both had cried that night, when the blood ran down Julian's fingertips from the act of his own doing, the scars still dominate on his boney wrists. It was an act he deeply regrets, but one he learned to live from. Jean-Claude took his apprentice more seriously, and pulled him from that school in a heartbeat.
"He does have good intentions, he always has, but he has made his mistakes. It was luck that won you to him that night, fate even, but I dare say I am not a gambling man. I know the odds of numbers, there is an equal amount that works against us that work before, but if it is a bit more closed off." He suddenly got hot, worried sick that this would come out right, but the soft spoken mathematician always let his mouth get the better of him. "I did not mean it to sound like I wished to make you his whore, or the courts for that matter...but it is the easiest in. Men go blind when it comes to passion, and it would get us home quicker. Its why I've always shut myself off from it." like Claramae He mumbled the last part, if she heard it she heard it, if not well good. Jean-Claude had watched Julian, quietly for years and somewhere even now he worried if he should not have asked Claramae to take him under his wing earlier. He was cruel, uncaring, and hardly knew the word mercy. Yet, he did not go out of his way to make it known. He did not laugh, he did not smile, and until Claramae, Jean-Claude would have worried Julian to die a heartless bastard. However, there was a comfort in knowing that somewhere under all that regal exterior he had Claramae with laughter very often. Jean-Claude understood her.
The market opened up around them, a flurry of colors in the bright mountain town with the long fabrics draping in the wind. The fluid mix of Spanish had somewhat become a comfort, and now he was content to let her lead. She spoke the language better anyway. The dark almond eyes of the Spanish watched as they passed, and the vendor he purchased the sparrows from smiled. Her trinkets were lovely, small silver carved with precious stones, and as they passed she would cast a wink to Janice.
Janice de Brabant
Sanity was a preferred state of being. It was the correct way, but no one ever could say just what 'correct' meant. Was her way of being the preferred state, or was it only the same smoke and mirrors of the one place in the world she loved as much as she could love a human being? Her life had been an organized construction out of paper, paint, and string. What was simple was never really simple. When she looked behind the scenery to ascertain what the truth was, she thought she began to lose her mind. Human organs sat stuffed around long intestinal tracts in inks of black and red. Heads were opposite bodies in some images. She hadn't ever told anyone that she saw more than the sketch of the human digestive system. Before her father caught her, her horror made her feet go still. Her hands were stained with the freshest pages of yesterday's before as she saw the bodies of men, women, children. Old and young. He labeled corner pages to discuss the bodies of whores at various stages of disease. Cancers of the breast. In a man there were cancers of the lung, revealing bulbous, hard knots called tumors inside of him. Janice had never told anyone that when she'd found the book again it wasn't the first time she'd looked.
By then, it was in fact the third. She could not remember it was the third until some years later when she had already lived for three years in the convent. The numbers synced with a quiet part of the mind. Now unlike the shadow times, what was vivid in her memory was disturbing in the clarity. The Mass was being conducted in the chapel. She looked up at the body of Christ suspended above the altar, broken beauty surrendering for all man-kind. The wound in his wooden side was pierced by a shaft of sunlight, and she screamed. She fell, recoiling from any hand that tried to pull her up again. When the sun sliced his side, she saw the flesh diagrams at younger years. He descended from the cross, showing her his ailments. A dream that night revealed his open feet. Every wound of stigmata had the inner workings to accompany it. "She's sick, her father mentioned she could be. Poor thing. So fragile..he said she was prone to terrors.." She was put inside a cell for privacy, tossing on the palet under a crucifix. A fever took hold. Sweat beads soaked the bedding as she told the nun beside her of the things that she had seen, of the memory that pierced her mind like the side of Christ was pierced. The wound that killed him. The Sisters were fearful of her live, and informed her father that he should take the child home to convalese her last, but he didn't. Instead, Jacob never forgave himself for what he had done. In allowing her to keep the shop clean, its books in order, he had ordained her in the craft by curiosity alone. To heal the balm of her mother's religious fever, he saw to it that she had an education worthy of the place she would be in the world if his brother had lived, and beyond it. Jacob felt that should she die, it would be by his hand she died.
She used to look at the wall just beyond the garden. Birds sang on the top of the stone while she sat beside it. They left while she could not. All of her life she had never questioned the reasons why while understanding that there was more beyond the wall. Her quest to endure was simple until the day the benefactor called for her. Without fail she answered the call, even without seeing her father or bidding her ailing mother goodbye. She answered because Jacob had left instruction that she should answer. So much in life was prepared before she had the chance to make even a sound.
"Everyone makes mistakes. That night, if he hadn't won me, I had prayed that God take my memory of that night as all other memories of my childhood. That I would not begrudge the loss of this night, going forward in all intention. I was frightened, Julian." she whispered soft while looking ahead with far off eyes, "More than I can ever really say." She was scared of death. It had crept up with fingers at the ready to extinguish her candle. Even now it touched the back of her neck to play with baby fine hairs. Kissed the shell of her ear. He tried so hard to make his words right to protect the part of her heart he came to envy and cherish at the same time. Watching that struggle, listening to it, she was thankful for him. Thankful, that someone in this life struggled to be understood as much as she did. Passion. What were her thoughts on it? For her it turned sour a sweet wine even as it was taken in. She choked on the bones of passion's feast even now that she walked behind him. People made eyes at her even as they entered Lerida. Plain clothed in no more than base colors there was something that made delirious rainbows to them. People wanted to love her, and that love could kill her. Still, she strove to exude no less than Christ's example of love, devotion, and surrender. In surrender had she found peace. She surrendered to the urge to give herself to the Order while obtaining a stance in the plain world. Only in surrender, in service..did she find an acceptance of self greater than any hope her parent's may have had in sparing her from the truth all together. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she spoke under the weight of a man's gaze becoming all too familiar. He passed, leaving them to go further on. "Sometimes, I think, that in the name Jean-Claude has given me, that the others embrace in other forms, there is a truth. Only in that there is ..something..that men desire. During the bidding, I received a letter. Someone asked to receive absolution at my feet. Whatever that force is, it must be there for a reason. I know you do not mean for me to be any man's whore, Julian, only that men do seek whores. Mistresses. They seek to fill an emptiness and for a great many my presence is as potent as any courtesan.With it, de Garza is no better. His eyes." She had said a great much on the nature of eyes that looked at her everywhere. De Garza's eyes studied Julian's little 'sister' with an unholy interest. "If it takes us home quicker, and ends it, then let him look until he grows sick with it.." Or until I grow so sick that should he touch me... she was not a killer, she took no pride in what lives she may have removed from this world to defend herself already, but she would poison him. She would hurt another, one last time..if they could go home. She loved the stones that locked together in Ebony Hall better than she had Marius. A sin in her part, one she had no intention of ever fixing. Ebony Hall made her a happy idolator. The sleepy,beautiful district of Bryante Row shone like the soft glass lamps encased with fire. Inside of it, the people were the things inside of a temple. Master St. Laurence, no other title was ever greater than this, was her Mother-Goddess. How well she loved them all in spite of all things, but she did love Claramae not as an elder sister, but as little lower than a mother. The edge of his words, her name contained, went unspoken of for a great while. She didn't hear it, yet would show how similar minds thought.
She stepped ahead of Julian in the marketplace. Colors danced all around her and spices hit the air, thick and sweet. Warm summer sun was permeated by the atmosphere enough to make her smile. Semi-precious stone caught eye corner as she gave a greeting to the vendor with a wave. Stepping closer, she surveyed the beautiful charms. Among the different creatures, she found a bird of long neck and long legs. Touching the beak she said, "Master Laurence is this bird. A crane. Among the Greeks it was a bird of omens. It was written that a thief attacked a Greecian poet by the name if Ibycus and left him for dead. He called upon a flock of cranes, who followed his attacker to a theater. They hovered over him, until so beset with grief, he confessed his crimes. In other tales, the attacker is summarily taken from this world by the pecking of their beaks and the the talons on their feet. It is a beautiful, wise. Yet at the same time it can be overwhelming. It is a bird with many figures and thus many secrets. Something hurt her, something long ago that she tried to solve through imperical deduction only to give herself so wholly, that the omen-bird swallowed her thus. She became the omen-bird, holding her own other self inside. It must have been a great, great loss. I know that at a particular age like when my matches were being decided, she joined her master, who had been a long friend of her Mother." she muttered, "She is frightening only in that everything with her is very intense. So intense it begins to look the opposite." She chuckled, then sighed again. "When she loathes you, she loathes you as deep as she might love you. Master Sorschal could laugh or smile, but he could harden. He used to say she was always hardened strange, but soft, and she spared him from being without a human soul. I think they were one another's omen-birds in the end, restoring what was lost, taking what was to be hidden. You are not so different from them..I think. They are not without feeling or hope or pain. They are only different, that is all. Omen-birds."
Julian Monroe
"After I am finished with my studies. Jean-Claude wants me to intern with her. I feel as though he has been waiting for whatever reason, one or the other to even ask, but you see this is why this mission means as much as it does to me." He admitted freely and without conviction. There was enough of him to show her this one bit of his weak side even if it meant he was only admitting the truth. "He compares me to her often, even when scolding me." With a small smirk, it gave the truth that Jean did it often. His mind went about the idea of trading in her skill once more, but she played the part so well. Yet, was this how Jean-Claude felt? He didn't understand his Master's pain those many years ago before the auction. Julian had watched it bring a nearly cripple man to his knees.
"Perhaps then we should send it back home to her. I had not wanted to tell you,for fear of your heart breaking. yet, to keep the truth from you would have been another heartache. She is in good hands, we must remember this. Above even me, I feel Jean-Claude loves her. He would not let her fall without a fight." Julian touched the ribbons that laced her bodice in the back, letting the ends of them brush the palm of his hand so lightly he had hoped she would not have felt him touch her. "Let them think you pure. Is it so bad to be the only ones to know the truth?" He took a deep breath, letting his hand fall once more before paying the vendor. Her Spanish was flawless as she spoke of their love of pretty things, and of the other. She spoke of how their love of birds was a sign of intelligence, but was puzzled when Julian looked over his shoulder to Janice for the answer.
If it touched him she compared him to Claramae, nothing on his face would give in to the detail of the truth. He could not understand that there was a world without such precious being as this, and though the world outside had known him a long while, Julian did not need to feel to be alive. "Birds have always fascinated me." Julian would start to explain the meaning of the sparrow, "Over the years Jean-Claude has kept many, he would tell me stories of his Father's ravens, how they could take a man's eye out. The Count used to threaten Jean with them, and I feel that this is the reason he never let me keep a bird as a pet."
Janice deBrabant
Julian's words were an offering without being called one to the cause of mending forever the rifts between them. There were things that might never be closed but they could be bridged, couldn't they? The tone of his voice coupled with his actions must have been a struggle as to do so he had to remain conscious of every single aspect of his personality. Or could it be that somewhere inside of the sarcastic, hard exterior lay the real Julian Monroe, someone who was lost in the same winter than his master had found him in? Blue lips were the blight of ice-blue sheen on the soul. "She would be very please to take you, your mathematic and scientific brain is cultivated for what she might teach. In you, she may finally find a successor at long last. Someone to bequeath skill to." The noviates who passed muster enough to become apprenticed to the founding Master or those in the Order's first master's circle were blessed indeed. In the first two years since the erection of Ebony Hall much had happened to wipe away the chosen ones. Other apprentices, from other trades, went on to remain in their maiden organizations. It was speculated that while the Ebony Talons were young, as young as the reign, there was time to find the successors of each founding Master.
Of Sorschal - Ursula Darling was an independent being and had done well in what she'd learned, founding her own collective shrouded in the mystery of theater. Of St. Laurence - the one promising prospect of the Guilded Lily's first blooms she elected for herself, Nairne, was violently murdered. Several of the first generation noviates fell during the clandestine war with Gottschalk and the real enterprises of guarding the realm during the war for independence. Of that generation, they were among the survivors. "I think you would do very well under Master Laurence," she imagined he would elevate to journeyman, a solitary practicioner with ease under such tutelage of that was his path. Would he do the likes of this again, for glory? She had another talent for the sake of glory here. Jean-Claude had cried to think of her on the stage while Peregrine gloated at exchanges. It was like he put his own body there, naked, shaking, when he garbed her in the sheer, snow white gown. "Jean-Claude does so much for so many, I do hope he claims happiness..too."
The vendor talked on the nature of birds was signs of beauty befitting their intelligence. When Julian turned his head over shoulder she replied in smooth, beautiful Spanish how she felt the vendor kept such a wonderful collection, and her days would be long for such a wise choice. Wisdom begets wisdom. She hadn't expected Julian to pay for the bird, just as she hadn't expected his tender loquacious discussion. He was more like Janice than she'd ever realized before. Now that he followed her here, they were cut from two patterns on the same cloth. If she had known of the touch to her back, she would have blushed. Indeed she left the subject alone until they moved away form the vendor. The crane was slid into little velvet pouch,where next she went for a ribbon at the neighboring stall to send it home with. "No, they can think as they please." Had she been ashamed of giving her prize to a man who won in weeks what others had tried months, if not years, to vye for? In part, yes - she felt as if the prize had been sold for a sonnet. Still, it was as if she'd been touched prior or after the Knight. God had kept in place some of her maiden-self. Did he wonder what it would be like, dare to think, on if the chosen had been him? For now she thought on home as she paid the vendor for a ribbon of pure emerald green."It will remind Master Laurence of her England, her Ireland, when it is this color. You wouldn't know it unless her lady cousin remained or she said it, that she is half Irish." Other things needed to be purchased. Horses to barter for, saddles, food stores enough for the little journey back to a wide-wide world. "So now, you are telling me of birds. Master Jean-Claude then has a fear of Ravens, or an annoyance? Is this why you like sparrows? Better messangers by far. Ravens are associate with either a deep wisdom, otherworld mysteries, war, or death. A sparrow I wager is harmless? I do hope you shan't get a bird when we go home to bother de Aquitane with..though the thought of him shooing away a sparrow." She laughed and in the sound the wings of angels fell with glitter, with chimes. "Please, go on?" Gently she touched his arm. Yes, she had found a reason to touch him again. Was it wrong to say she'd dreamed of him, too, lingered in the feeling of his kiss when the stars were exploding in symphonic booms?
Julian Monroe
"It would be a lie if I said I was not afraid," Julian was a soft spoken, his voice quiet yet deep--but when his sarcasm wrote stories of uncertain futures they were the most intricate detailed outlines of the truth beneath. However, today his voice was absent the harsh sounds, quiet and almost reserved. It felt so strange to be so open, speaking freely to another who wanted to listen. Though the years upon the tails of Jean-Claude's coat, Julian had many admirers. Young women of the court came with hopes that they would be able to turn the cat with a ribbon, but they hardly were even able to edge a smile from him. His heart was cold, but his eyes colder; like ice under dark lashes they seemed to provoke only a chill, and by the end of the visit it was no wonder why he stood before her as pure as the silver around her neck."I am excited, it.." He tried to gather the right word as he took a deep breath to center himself, "I'm honored, but nervous. Jean-Claude wants me to go, but he does not want to release me."
The rich vibrant fabrics were being draped over the village square as if in preparation of a festival, but in the heart of Spain was there ever a necessary reason for celebration? A cause to live life as it should be with laughter and cheap wine. Lanterns were being strung through the heart of the village trailing the figure of the streets like veins from the heart, and by the night everyone would celebrate in their fashion. "Jean-Claude, does much for himself. In truth sometimes I feel he does things for others for the pure benefit of gaining an contact. It is a selfish act? He has his projects, and his wine. Ada cooks his dinner, she makes sure he's rested, and when to stop drinking. He loves his daughter, and his God Daughter. He loves you. Jean, is a happy man, trust me." The Spanish that came from her then to the vender warmed him, where before it had caused him to freeze well in his stance held together by an angry passionate hatred for her. The crane he thought somehow really suited Claramae, her long neck had always been the only true sign there was in fact a body beneath all of that fabric, and her passion enough to shelter the world behind the lace. "No, Jean-Claude, is not afraid. He is not afraid of anything, he only keeps the ravens because he does not trust them to be out. He does not talk of his family, only when he has had too much wine do I sometimes hear mumbling of eyes watching. It would be a great deal if they knew him to be alive, and he keeps them all captive. His father called them Blood Ravens, and of only these birds have I known him to be weary--but not afraid. He keeps them in the tower, locked away high above the orrery. Have you been up there? I have only been a few times, he does not trust me enough to take care of his keep. I am surprised he trusts me enough to run the business." There were many words coming then from Julian, as conversation was not forced by flowed freely. His heart was excited to talk to her, to listen and learn. It was a strange new feeling, and even in his relaxed stance with hands in his pockets as they walked he couldn't help but be a bit animated in the telling. Perhaps it could have been a bit comical with still the bruise from her hand.
Janice deBrabant
A fabric sheet was tossed from the top of one building, hanging on the wind for an instant. In two flaps, the look of flight ended as the tips touched the ground. People waited at the bottom to gather the excess material in order to carry it across the dirt street to the opposite end. Was it a Saint's Day? A pagent festival? Inside of a lantern waiting for nightfall to shine a light she saw a shadow reminiscent of a girl's bewilderment that the world couldexplode in such jubuilant behavior. "The Master is frightening, but not so much so as any would think. No one wants to let go of their son. You are like a son to him, he worries if you are ready, if he has given you enough, done well enough by you. He wants you to go because he knows a future lays there but he is not prepared to let you go off towards it. It is hard for them. We are twenty now, and a little beyond." She watched as shredded fabric was turned to fringe on the lap of a woman who sat on a stoop. A second pushed her broom to chase away the dust of Cantalon. The little crane for Claramae was now safe inside of her collection of things, only waiting for the chance to make the journey home. "Sometimes it is hard to say why they do things at all, if you think of their motives it just makes you dizzy, I think." She grinned as she turned her head over her shoulders "How many supplies did he send you for, how many errands having nothing to do with the norm as your head throbbed to figure it? The tower of his ...I have been there. Not to study it in depth no, but I have been there many times. The noviates often referred to me as 'Lady Shadow' because I was always in the shadow of a master. He will come to trust you, you'll see. If not after this, when? Even the likes of him would be horrified. He's a scientist with an affinity for assasination, not an assassin by trade. It would stop even the Laurence heart from beating. No, things await you at home, they await us both. At least I know when I go home, what Blood Ravens are. I hope they do not look on me like that wolf did." She shuttered at the memory (d)